Give Faith a Fighting Chance

TAD STARTED walking outside the next week, painfully, with a cane, Guthrie or April—or sometimes both—by his side. The first time, he barely managed to make it around the apartment complex. By the time Guthrie had to leave for his gig, Tad could go around the block.

The next time Guthrie left, he could go a half a mile, which should have made his recovery go faster but somehow didn't.

He hated when Guthrie left. There was something so practiced about the way he packed up his equipment, threw his clothes in a knapsack, and went. True, he'd been bringing more clothes from his apartment in San Rafael, but Tad was starting to realize he didn't have that much to begin with. When Tad's wound had healed enough for him to go swimming in the apartment pool, Guthrie had needed to go buy a pair of board shorts to join him. In spite of the fact that it was rapidly approaching July in a city that lived at over 100 degrees in the summer, Tad had yet to see him wear more than one pair of shorts. When that pair was dirty, he wore jeans without complaint, and Tad thought he got most of his ventilation through his T-shirts, which were not in good shape. His performance clothes—new jeans, two pairs, and three slick, studded-up country and western shirts—were sharp, though, and he had a decent pair of boots to go with them.

Tad and April had started buying the odd T-shirt or pair of socks or underwear whenever they ordered something for themselves. Tad was expecting two pairs of cargo shorts to arrive this time so Guthrie could enjoy the summer and not suffer through it.

At eight in the morning, before the heat got too intense, he and April had just started walking along the outer apartment sidewalk when he saw a familiar police-issue SUV pull up and park where Guthrie usually did. Tad might have resented that if he hadn't been so happy to see who was inside.

"Chris!" he said, taking slow steps to greet his partner. "How's the department treating you?"

"Not bad," Chris Castro admitted, "but right now I still have hero stink on me. I need you to come back so that doesn't go away."

Tad grimaced. "Four more weeks, minimum," he said. "And then mostly desk duty, I assume, until I can do the physical stuff again."

Chris nodded. "I hear you. Mind if I walk with you? It's going to be hot as balls today. Might as well get my steps in."

Tad grunted. "Hot as balls" was a pretty accurate description of Sacramento in July—although the breeze off the river seemed to help things in the evening. He found himself missing the ocean, or even the mountains of Colton, where there was at least shade.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm an AC baby after my swim. Can't take the heat when I'm hurt."

Chris gave a laugh. "Well, your complexion pretty much makes you a walking heat blister anyway. It's going to be a boring summer for both of us, buddy, but, uhm…."

Tad's gaze sharpened. "Uhm what? You're not ditching me, are you?" He paused, and April grunted next to him. She hated the heat as much as he did and wanted to move to the swimming portion of their morning.

"No." Chris shook his head. "But, uhm, you remember Aaron George?"

"The guy who saved my life several times in Colton?" Tad asked dryly. " That Aaron George?"

"And his soon to be husband…."

"Larx." Tad smiled just saying the name. "Yeah—I got an invitation to their wedding. Did everybody else?"

"Oh yeah. Me, Janine, Mary Lee—everybody who came to help with that situation got an invite. There's already talk about who's going in which vehicles, and people are making hotel reservations. The whole nine yards. You going?"

Tad tried to tamp down his smile and couldn't. "Well, yeah. Guthrie's playing at the wedding. George's daughter asked him in particular." Guthrie had refused the fee; Tad had caught that part of the conversation, and his heart twisted for the weight of Guthrie's pride.

Chris nodded. "Yeah. Well, Aaron called to chase down how many of us were attending, and then… well, I know he'd done this for you before you even got rescued, but this was the first time he'd done it for me."

"Offered you a job?" Tad asked. He wasn't particularly surprised. Aaron had joked about "poaching" Tad before they even fell down the damned canyon.

"Offered us a job," Chris said seriously. "As a package. Has already tapped a real estate agent to get us a break so the wife and I can move into a house, and there's probably one up there for you. He's got a project for you until you're ready for the field, and he's working on getting funding for it, and it's right up your alley." Chris smiled at Tad's sister, his voice going gentle. "He'd like to hire you too, Miss April. No pressure. If you don't feel up to it, you don't have to."

"What's the job?" April asked.

"He wants to start an addiction treatment center in Colton. It would be small, because the place is small, and the model would be based on the CPS model, in which all branches of law enforcement and health care are tapped depending on the recipient's needs. That kid that got stranded in the canyon with you?"

Tad nodded, remembering Curtis MacDonald with a hazy intensity. Poor kid—his life had been a mess , and much of it hadn't been his doing. And then someone he'd trusted had offered him a taste of "candy," and Curtis had learned what a real mess was.

"Yeah," he said softly. "How is that kid?"

"He's in a sixty-day rehab program, and Aaron's getting him funded for an extra thirty days because the kid doesn't have a support system. He's in Auburn, which is about an hour's drive from Colton, and Colton's the only place the kid knows. So Aaron wants a small halfway house, a rehab center, something to meet the needs of the population and to educate people on addiction. Tad, you'd be doing setup at the beginning. April, you'd be a consultant and then maybe a resident or a counselor—or even a dishwasher. Aaron wasn't picky. He said sometimes helping people is the best therapy, and he wanted to offer you the chance to do that."

"Oh," April said, and she put her hand to her mouth. "Wow. Tad, did you hear that?"

Tad nodded, thinking about how nice it would be to live in a small town again, and how April seemed really excited about the prospect.

And the downside hit them at the same time.

"What about—" she started.

"Guthrie," he finished, both of them looking guilty.

"Would he be willing to move up with you?" Chris asked, glancing from one to the other.

"Maybe," Tad said, shaking his head. "But he needs time, Chris. He's still doing gigs down in the Bay Area. How soon does George want us up there?"

"First week of September," Chris said. "And to be honest, we need to give our notice before the end of July. I talked to the captain, and she understood. It's a great opportunity. My wife would love it up there, the kids are all moved out of the house, and, you know…."

"It's smaller," Tad said. "Same problems, but…." He'd seen the way things worked there. Law enforcement, education, health care—there was a strong network of people wanting to do some good. It was why he'd wanted to work in Bodega Bay, but better, because the good ole boy network wouldn't be working against him. He peered at April and saw both hope and unhappiness radiating from her eyes.

She loved Guthrie too.

"We'll talk to him," Tad said, clearing his throat. If he turned his face toward the sun and closed his eyes, he could see Guthrie as they'd last made love, tears leaking like they did, but a look of openness on his face, of acceptance, that Tad only saw there in the aftermath of touching together. Oddly enough, Guthrie had rolled into Tad when they were done, and as though they'd been in the middle of the conversation and had never stopped, asked if, when he got back this time, he and April could go pick out a cat for April. Tad had been excited. It was… was a promise of sorts, that Guthrie would be around to play with said cat. Tad wanted to be part of that. Unbidden, hope fluttered that his musician, who disappeared every so often and turned up at odd hours of the night unwashed or unfed, looking like something the cat dragged in , might actually be around for a while.

"Yeah?" April asked, and he smiled at her.

"Yeah," he said. "Colton's two hours away. It's not the ends of the earth."

They were rounding the corner for the end of the block, and Chris grunted. "Yeah. My wife started talking about getting a dog. A big dog. And a little bit of property. In twenty years I never knew she had a giant crush on golden retrievers and pit bulls, but apparently they are the things that have been missing from her life ."

Tad and April laughed, and for a little bit, they talked about other things. Chris's children—how his youngest was enjoying her summer in Santa Cruz, where she was working a part-time job before school started, and how Laura was excited about the wedding and wanted to talk to Janine and, yes, April, to see what they were wearing. Although April didn't say much besides, "Shopping would be nice," Tad could feel a longing in her for normalcy, for companionship in small doses. After all, Guthrie had turned out to be a good friend, right? Maybe she could find other friends outside the halfway house. Maybe she could remember what real life felt like without the drugs. Small doses of reality; he was all for it.

By the time the walk was done, Tad was more than ready for his time in the pool, and Chris had to get back to work. He was paired up with a veteran of the force since Tad was on leave, someone Chris said, sourly, "Actually retired years ago, but he's been collecting a paycheck ever since." They gave a bro hug before Chris climbed back into his SUV, and he said, "Talk to your guy, okay? I… this move, up into the mountains, this sounds like dream-job shit to me, and you and me saw all the bad shit about it when it almost killed you. I sure would like to check it out."

Tad nodded. The place had put a bullet in his ass, but he'd also started to yearn for the scent of pine dust and the quiet in the black dark of the night.

"Will do," he said. "I… hopefully any place I hang my hat's home, right?"

Chris's expression softened. "That's how it works for me and Laura," he said. "It should work that way for everyone else."

Tad nodded and started the slow walk toward his apartment. He was never so grateful for picking a downstairs unit as he had been since he'd gotten shot, and suddenly he wasn't sure if he was going to make it to the pool today.

"What's wrong?" April asked softly.

"I… what if he's not ready?" Tad asked. "I mean, I think he's happy with us, but…." He remembered the things Guthrie had said about how he'd grown up, about becoming the nine-hundred-pound gorilla to defeat Mr. Hyde. Was this what Guthrie was afraid of? How could Tad defeat a ghost like that, particularly when it still lived in some nameless town down south?

April blew out a breath. "He-he doesn't seem to have roots," she said after a moment. "If he does, they're hidden. Maybe we ask him and we'll see what we're dealing with." She leaned her head briefly on his shoulder. "Don't worry for me, big brother. I've got you. I'm gonna get a cat. As long as the cat can move with us up the hill, I'll be okay. What about you?"

Tad made a hurt sound. "I'll live," he said sadly, "but it won't be much fun."

"Yeah—well, if this falls out badly, it'll be worse for him," she said. "But I don't know how to fix that."

By caring for Guthrie as best they could, Tad guessed. But sometimes, not even that could do the trick.

THEY EXPECTED Guthrie the next night, but when he didn't show up, they weren't too concerned. Tad called Agnes to see if he was sleeping there, and her answer was not reassuring.

"No, he said he was going to try to go to your place tonight, but supposedly something went down at Scorpio, and we can't get any information. I don't know where he is, and Lulu isn't home yet, and I'm worried!"

Tad's breath caught, and he checked Guthrie's phone to see if the tracker still worked. It said between San Rafael and San Francisco, but that was where the damned club was. Dialing Chris's number took no thought at all, in spite of the lateness of the hour.

"It's midnight, Tad. The hell."

"My Guthrie sense is tingling—and no, not in a good way. He didn't show up, and he's usually here by now, and his other apartment says he was planning on coming here tonight. The roads are clear, there's no accidents―"

"Hold your horses," Chris muttered. "I'm texting dispatch right now. Give me the address of the club."

Tad did and waited breathlessly for the answer.

"Okay," Chris said, coming off hold a few minutes later, "so don't panic."

"Nothing in the history of ever that started that way was good," Tad said, panicking.

"He's fine, but there was a mugging. I guess he took a knife to the shoulder. I got hold of an officer down there who said he'd lost his phone in the scuffle. My guy's going to look for it so he can call you."

"Oh Jesus." Tad felt sick. "God, Chris, I can't even go pick him up." Tad might have been able to sit for the hour and a half it took to get there at this time of night, but the way back would have been ex cruciating , and he wouldn't have been able to drive.

"Yeah." Chris sighed, and it sounded like he was moving. "Laura, honey," he murmured. "Want to help me do a thing?"

"Chris?" Two months ago, Tad had been afraid to trust this man with his dating history. Apparently, they really were partners now, the kind who had each other's backs.

"Do you have a code word or something?" Chris muttered. "Like, ‘This guy's a cop, he doesn't bite'?"

"Did you bite him up in Colton?" Tad asked.

"I wasn't real gentle," Chris admitted. "But I was worried about you."

"Well, fine. Tell him I'm worried about him , and maybe you should drive the truck back because that thing's a monster and I think the suspension's going."

"And the bushings," April muttered, "and the chassis and the brakes…."

"Great," Chris said. "I'll have Laura say a rosary for me. It's worked so far. If he calls, tell him to watch out for us. We'll be there before he's discharged."

Tad felt tears in his throat. "Thanks, man."

"Can we go to Colton now, partner? Please?"

Tad laughed a little, and the tears started to break free. "Yeah. I'll talk him into it. You'll see."

"Blackmail. It's a way of life. Talk more soon." Chris ended the call, and Tad sank onto the couch, missing his donut pillow by a mile and wincing.

"He's okay," April said softly.

"No," Tad told her. "He's in the hospital. Again. Because he got mugged. Again. And he's probably thinking nobody's coming for him—hell, for all I know, he'd planned to sleep in the hospital and walk to the gig to find his phone. God dammit , April—at least when we have a cat, we can keep it in the house!"

She sank down next to him and put her head on his shoulder. "Tadpole?"

"Yeah?"

"Guthrie's more complicated than a cat."

He sighed. "I know."

"You've got a partner who has your back," she said.

"I know."

"Have a little faith."

Another sigh. "Fine."

THE PHONE was apparently smashed beyond repair. Chris gave him a call at 4:00 a.m. to say Guthrie was being released in the morning. Chris was catching some shuteye on a spare bed, because LEO had its privileges, and they'd drive up after Guthrie got his pain meds.

"How is he?" Tad asked anxiously, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes.

"Surprised to see me," Chris admitted. "Loopy as fuck. He was going to turn down the ride home until my pretty wife pointed out she would have driven me down here for no reason at all at fuck-you in the morning. He seems to melt around women, Tad. Are you sure he's gay?"

Tad thought about what Guthrie had told him about his childhood. "I'm sure his mother wasn't in the picture and his dad was an asshole," he said, because that was the extent of Tad's knowledge.

"Ah," Chris said with a yawn. His voice dropped seriously then. "He's really high and trying not to admit he's shook, Tad. I've seen some tough cookies before, but this is special. His big worry was his band. He was the last person into his car, and he wanted to make sure none of the others got jumped too. This happen often?"

Tad grunted. "Three times since I've known him?" he answered. "I think maybe he's having a run of luck, but people know musicians get tipped cash. And he's had to live hand-to-mouth before, so he doesn't just roll over and pay up."

Chris blew out a breath. "Okay. So maybe you talk your boy into coming up to Colton with you, and you can escort him home from any gigs. What do you say? I'm not going to be okay with him on his own now that I know he's bait."

Tad fought back a hysterical laugh. "Your mouth, God's ears. Can you arrange that for me? Please? That would be great."

"I'll see what I can do," Chris murmured and then yawned again.

"Catch some sleep. You're beat," Tad told him. "Chris, I can't thank you enough."

"Coffee and a breakfast burrito," Chris told him. "The kind from the place in your neighborhood that Laura calls cholesterol in a blanket. I want that. I want it bad."

"Call me when you leave, it'll be hot and ready when you get here," Tad told him loyally.

"Good man. Night, kid."

"Night."

Tad signed off and collapsed against his own pillows. April was lying next to him, on top of the comforter but under her own blanket because she wanted news when he got some.

"What did you promise him?" she asked.

Tad gave her the order, and she hummed while making a reminder in her own phone. "Tell me when he calls and I'll go out a half hour before he's supposed to get here," she said. "Mind if I sleep here, big brother? No designs on your virtue, I swear."

He grunted. Their mother had been the best, but she'd also been overworked and always tired. He and April used to climb into each other's beds as kids whenever they had nightmares or something was bothering them at school. April had been the first person he'd told about his crush on a boy in the seventh grade, and knowing that she didn't actually care had given him heart. And boy, had she not cared. She fell asleep in mid telling, and when he woke her up hissing, "April, did you hear me? I'm gay !" her reply had been, "So. I'm still getting beat up in the bathroom. We all have our problems."

He'd beaten up her bullies the next day, and she hadn't said a word about him being gay to anybody until he'd been ready to come out.

"No," he mumbled now. "Thanks for…." And it hit him. "April?"

"Yeah?"

"I really needed you tonight. I've needed you this whole last month."

She gave a little gasp. "So?"

But he knew she knew why this was important. "I've needed you. And you've been here. Honey, you've really been here. Think about it. I know recovery is always a process. I know there's going to be hard times ahead. Just… remember. You can be here for me. You are that strong. You are that person. So even if you need help, that's okay. You give some you get some, okay?"

He felt her back up to him so they were touching through the blankets, but not ickily close. "You're a good brother. Go to sleep, Tadpole. We'll take care of each other. I get it now."

And he did.