Page 79 of More than Need

“Finding family—new or old—won’t take away the one you have now. As if we’d ever let you have that kind of peace and quiet. If I’m stuck with them, you are too.”

Riley snorted, almost dropping his glass. Kellan couldn’t ever know how comforting those words were, or how much he’d needed to hear them.

Dawson followed the officers’instructions, weaving his way through the precinct until he found Riley’s office.

TheDetective Senior Sergeant Riley Sinclairplaque helped.

Dawson ran his fingers over the name, looping around the S all the way to the R. What would it have been like if he’d grown up with Sadie? If Dawson had known him all this time? Would he have fallen like this?

No way he wouldn’t have. Riley and Sadie had lost so many years together that they wouldn’t ever get back. With more on the way since Riley didn’t have any desire to reconnect with her. How many years hadDawsonlost with him too? Would Riley have looked at him the same way if they’d grown up around each other? What had teenage Riley been like?

Dawson’s lips twitched. A hellion, he bet. Big eyes, messy hair, ready to cause some trouble in the name of justice. He bet the bullies at school had been afraid ofhim. He wouldn’t be surprised if his brothers thought of him as their protector. He had gooey insides, not obvious at first. Easy to see if someone looked in the right place. Riley led by actions, not words. Dawson had seen beneath the surface, and now he couldn’t see anything else.

He knocked softly, not wanting to break the quiet serenity of midnight. Not the same hustle and bustle he bet the place hadduring the day. Night shift had a stillness to it unlike anything else.

He went inside at the command from Riley, still sharp even this time of the night. Did he ever turn “off”?

Dawson knew the answer to that. Hadseenit. Riley slouched on the sofa, eating dinner with a six-year-old boy asking them sixty questions, drinking coffee and debating the merits of hot chocolate. Riley smiling, laughing. Wearing something other than his suit. Morning bedhead. Hair flat and dripping wet, coming out of the shower.

Riley sat at his desk. The dim light of his lamp cast shadows across his face. Closed brown manilla folders with writing scrawled on the front of them were spread across the wooden surface along with open ones and so many stacks of paper that Dawson grimaced. He’d never have survived in a desk job.

Riley looked tired. Still ridiculously handsome but also like he needed about twenty hours’ sleep.

“Is something wrong?” Riley asked. “How is Gideon?”

“No.” He’d wanted to see Riley’s face. More than that, he’d wanted Riley to come back to them, crawl into bed, and hold Gideon closely between them. He’d been conspicuously absent the last few days. “Gid’s sleeping. His fever broke, and he’s been more coherent this afternoon, so I’d say we’re over the worst of it.”

Riley nodded, a hint of relief in his blue eyes. “Good. Do you feel unwell?”

“Nah, I have a great immune system.” He tilted his head with a self-deprecating smile. “My body usually waits till I’m on vacation before infecting me.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Tell me about it.”

Riley leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and resting them on his stomach. “If nothing is wrong, what are you doing here so late?”

“We missed you in bed.”

Riley pursed his lips, averting his gaze for a heartbeat. “I don’t like to disturb you when I work so late.”

Dawson ventured further into the room. “Yeah, I figured that.” He held up the bag of leftovers he’d put in containers to bring with him. “Have you eaten? I brought sustenance.”

Riley didn’t say a word as Dawson stacked some of the paperwork—trying his best to keep sections together so it didn’t make more work for Riley later—and unpacked the bag. He’d gone the classic route of chicken noodle soup. A staple for the sick, no matter how old. The nostalgia alone helped with recovery; Dawson would die on that hill.

“You’ve been working late a lot,” Dawson said, leaning a hip against the desk. He hadn’t in the beginning, so Dawson had to assume whatever caused it was recent.

Riley massaged the bridge of his nose and threw his pen down. “There’s been an influx of new cases,” he said. “And two of my best detectives decided to infect each other with a common cold that’s taken them out of commission. I’ve delegated what I can and picked up the slack where I can’t.”

Dawson nodded slowly. He understood the logic. Except that Riley’s workload already looked enough for six people, without adding more to it. “If their boss doesn’t slow down, there might be a third person coming down with the same cold soon. And then where will everyone be?”

“Is that considered a holiday?”

“I guess you could call it that, though I wouldn’t consider it the most pleasant holiday. Wouldn’t you rather be sipping a mai tai out of a coconut on a beach in Hawaii?”

“No.”

“Is it the beach or the coconut that’s turning you off?”

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