Because his marriage was falling apart.

Because he was dying.

The truth was right there. Out in the open. No way to ignore it anymore.

Larkin’s professional career dealt with damaged relationships every day. Abuse led to unhealthy complications with lust, money, and the pursuit of power. This in turn led to death. Every time.

And the victim was always the last to know.

Funny how Larkin knew this—knew all of this—and yet here he was, the last person in the room to realize his relationship had grown toxic as fuck, and he’d, maybe years ago, fallen out of love with Noah.

Maybe shouldn’t have ever gotten married.

Maybe should have ended things within the first two years of dating after he sensed Noah’s inability to respect Larkin’s job commitments or his profound insecurity when Larkin was around other men or his frustration when Larkin didn’t spend his free time solely with him.

Damn.

It was a hell of an epiphany. One that hurt a lot.

The bedroom door opened.

Larkin didn’t look up.

“Everett?” Noah sounded sleepy. “When’d you get home? It’s the middle of the night. Come to—”

Larkin stood and said, like a man who’d finally given up, “I kissed Doyle.”

A beat.

Noah asked, “What?”

“Ira Doyle. I kissed him.”

“I heard that part.”

“I’d have kissed him again if he let me.”

Noah said nothing for a long time, his chest heaving in silent rage. Then, as if a part of him managed to be mindful of the time and the fact that they had neighbors above, below, and to the side, Noah hissed, “What the fuck, Everett? You—you won’t fuck me, but the first chance you get at a new face in the precinct, your dick works again?”

“You’re not listening, as usual.”

“The hell I’m not!”

Larkin closed his eyes.

Doyle’s smile as Larkin corrected the button on his vest.

Sitting together on the back of the ambulance, Doyle tugging the hair tie.

Doyle’s whiskey voice reduced to a teasing whisper in Larkin’s ear, followed by his larger-than-life laugh.

Being told, “Love and sex can only be used for good.”

So much sensory stimulation, and yet, it all had felt right. Like coming home after being lost in the dark woods for a very, very long time.

Larkin looked at Noah—his face red, eyes too bright. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not forgiven!”

“No. I’m sorry that we’ve been unhappy for so long. I’m sorry I didn’t see the warning signs sooner. I’m sorry we let it get to this point, because it’s going to hurt so much more. But I’m not sorry I kissed him.”