Is There a Place for Love?

519

This story concludes the events that take place in Lynna Bright‘s A Place in the Sun series.

In A Place to Hide by Lynna, Hutch, who left the police force to be a lawyer, is living with the daughter of his boss, also a lawyer. Starsky is a police captain, husband, and father of two. When Starsky comes to his ex-partner for legal help, heat flares between them and they become lovers.

In A Place in the Sun by Lynna, even though Starsky and Hutch’s new relationship fills them with guilt, their commitment to each other grows deeper. Hutch leaves the woman he’s been living with but learns she is pregnant. When the two men take a weekend ski trip to Aspen, it only makes the lovers’ parting more difficult. What can their future hold? And why is someone suddenly tailing Hutch?

Since A Place in the Sun was never finished, other fans have added their conclusions with the writer’s and publisher’s blessing. So, this open series will list additional stories as they’re submitted.

Flamingo’s conclusion picks up where A Place in the Sun ends.

Special thanks to Keri T and Suzan, who never gave up hope that I’d finish it, and never got tired of nudging me about it. And as always, many thanks to Lisa A and Amber Raine for all their help and encouragement.

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Starsky sat in the cab as the city floated by his window without seeing a thing. The weekend in Aspen had shown him just how good it could be, how right. Yet here he was driving away from it. Away from Hutch.

To what?

Home and family. His children. Even while he and Hutch had been absorbed with each other at the ski lodge, the kids were never far from his mind. They were his blood. Flesh of his flesh.

And Liza? She was part of his heart. He might not be in love with her anymore, but he still loved her. But living with her, climbing into bed with her every night—and especially waking up to her when he longed to wake up with Hutch—was becoming harder and harder. And now, after Aspen, how could he go back to being her husband again?

Impossible….

The city turned into suburbs and soon they entered his neighborhood. The houses rolled by, each one tidy, comfortable, with families going about their daily activities. How many houses held dark secrets? People who no longer loved, who kept together solely for security, for comfortable sameness?

The questions tore at him. Living this double life was against his nature. He only agreed to it because Hutch wanted it.

Was that really the only reason? Or did it seem easier than confronting Liza with the truth?

He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he could stop thinking, but the taste of Hutch was still in his mouth, the scent of Hutch’s warm skin on his hands. The cab turned a corner and began to slow. He could see his house waiting for him to return to his living lie.

Who was he kidding? He had no right to that pretty suburban fantasy any longer.

“Do me a favor, will ya?” he said to the cabbie abruptly. “Just cruise around for a while. That okay?”

She shrugged amenably. “Sure, buddy. It’s your dime. Any place special?”

“Just… outta this neighborhood. I’ll give you a destination—” As soon as I can figure out where I’m going.

And how long would that take? In his heart, he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d already arrived. He lived in Hutch’s heart as Hutch lived in his. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t exist until he was in Hutch’s presence, wrapped in his arms. He’d given himself body, soul, heart, bone marrow, to Hutch, and there was no getting around that.

If we were still cops, the way we’d been back then, there’d be no way I’d have been willing to live like this. Back then, everything was so clear to me, all black and white. We were the good guys. We knew what color hat we were wearing.

He had a sudden memory of Matt Coyle taunting him and Hutch the night they brought him down. “I’ll do my time. And when I get out, you’ll be older and more weary. And then… well, then me buckos… then you’ll be callin’ me.”

It hasn’t even been ten years. Is that where I’m at now? Willing to compromise everything I am, everything I believe in?

That very first night when he and Hutch had discovered their passion, he’d laid it on the line. “I’m talking about telling Liz how things stand.”

Hutch had stopped him, the guilt of being responsible for breaking up Starsky’s family more than he could bear.

But Starsky knew Hutch wasn’t the cause.

Liza and I had been falling apart for months, maybe years. Our relationship was built on sand. I’d run to Liza because I desperately needed to deny my true feelings for Hutch.

Looking back on it now, he could finally admit that his secret desire, hidden even from himself, had been the root of his breakdown, the reason he’d shoved Hutch away so hard. It was no accident that he’d stayed with Liza even though she was hostile to Hutch—she clearly viewed him as a rival. She knew subconsciously what Starsky had refused to face.

His head hurt. He couldn’t spend his life riding around in a cab looking for answers that weren’t there. He thought about going to Huggy’s for a drink, talking to him, maybe getting some advice, but even Huggy had no experience in this arena. He was on his own.

He paused. There was one person who might understand; someone who’d been there. Would it be fair for him to bring up all that old pain? Is that what friends were for?

“Hey, cabbie… take me over to Montrose and Clearview, will ya? I’ll show you which house.”

“You got it, pal.”

***

Hutch clutched his steering wheel, feeling the adrenaline flow, just like the old days. He cruised through Venice, the neighborhood he knew so well, picking his streets, keeping his eye on the green Chrysler that hung back just far enough.

He passed by Venice Place and felt a stab of remorse. How far had he come from that funky old place with the second hand furniture and driftwood decor? Had becoming a high-priced lawyer in a prestigious firm really changed him?

It was one of the first things Starsky had accused him of when they’d had that confrontation—the meeting that had sparked changes they couldn’t have imagined. “When did you change? You’re not even the same guy! …somewhere you mislaid your integrity…!”

He remembered telling Jeri he needed to find himself, and suddenly, cruising the familiar canals of Venice, he felt that young, brash cop coming back to life again.

That cop would’ve never let a woman like Jeri dictate his life to him the way I did, especially involving the future of my son. That cop would’ve been willing to tilt at windmills, no matter how hopeless, to have the right to be part of his child’s life.

Those thoughts brought him up short with other, stronger memories…

Of course, that young cop would’ve still been spending every day side-by-side with his partner. It was easy to be brave with that kind of back-up.

Hutch suddenly realized how much of his courage and personal integrity had been shored up by Starsky’s presence.

Well, you’re not here to back me up now, partner, so I’m just gonna have to tough it out. But I know damned well what plan you’d come up with.

He turned leisurely into an alley he knew had no exit, pulled the car up to the end of it, and parked. Getting out, he darted behind a dumpster closer to the mouth of the alley and waited.

And here I thought my dumpster days were over. He smiled grimly, unable to deny the rush of being in the thick of something, even if he wasn’t sure what it was.

Several minutes later, the green Chrysler drove past the alley.

Hutch waited.

A few minutes after that, it drove past again in the other direction.

He waited some more.

Finally, the Chrysler pulled into the alley, moving just past the dumpster, but stopping several car lengths away from Hutch’s car. Close enough for a quick getaway back into the street. The occupant never left his seat but took some photos, then made some notes on a clipboard.

Hutch waited, biding his time.

The old man slowly, quietly, opened his car door, and stood for a moment to get a better look at the surroundings. Hutch waited until the man had seen enough and started sliding back into his seat.

Darting out from behind the dumpster, Hutch grabbed the car door before the man could react and yanked it open. The expression on the bastard’s face was worth the essence of eau de trash that hung in the air. Seizing the man’s lapels, Hutch hauled him out of the car, then, spinning him, slammed him belly first against the vehicle’s frame in a move he hadn’t used in years. It felt good. Pinning the guy with his own, larger body, Hutch kicked the man’s feet apart.

“Hands against the car!” he yelled. He had to stop himself from saying, “You’re under arrest!” Shoving the man’s head against the car roof, he quickly frisked him. He was unarmed, but Hutch used the opportunity to remove his wallet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the old man began sputtering, as Hutch spun him back around to face him.

Pushing him roughly against the car again, he let the man watch him leaf through his wallet. “Oh, no you don’t… Mr. John Haddon… Licensed Private Investigator. That’s my line. And you’ve got exactly ten seconds to answer it right.”

“Or what?” the man said, mustering some bravado.

Hutch loomed over the shorter, older man. “Well, I’m not a cop anymore, so I can’t arrest you. But it also means I don’t have to worry about an Internal Affairs investigation into police brutality. I’ve never had that kind of freedom before when dealing with scum like you. That’s a pretty heady feeling, pal.”

The man struggled to keep his composure, but he was clearly rattled. “You’re not a cop, but you’re still a practicing lawyer. You know the complications that can arise with assault charges: suits, counter-suits, damage to your career, possible loss of your license….”

“If you know I’m a lawyer,” Hutch said, grinning wolfishly, “then you know who I work for. And you know he’ll fight for me, and there isn’t a more qualified man in the city to have at my back. But, let’s not talk about legal technicalities. Let’s get down to what’s really important. Who are you working for?”

“You don’t really think I’m going to betray my client’s confidentiality—?”

Hutch gripped the man’s suit jacket and lifted him off the ground, slamming him hard against the car, making him cry out. “Understand this, Haddon. You are in one of the most remote back alleys in a neighborhood that isn’t known for getting involved in street crime. I could break every bone in your body, beat you within an inch of your life, and leave you in that dumpster. You’d be damned lucky if anyone ever found you.”

Hutch let that sink in for a moment before easing his grip on Haddon, letting him slide against the car in a struggle to gain his feet. “Now, you think about that, about the kind of real physical pain that you may have never experienced. You think about that nice white suit covered with your blood, torn and filthy from crawling over this damp, dingy street while I take my sweet time with you. You think about months of recovery and physical therapy, months when you won’t be in any shape to take your little pictures and follow your victims. You think about that and I’ll come back to that question I asked you in a few moments.”

Haddon was perspiring, clearly imagining the vivid images Hutch had painted.

Yanking open the back door of the Chrysler, Hutch dumped Haddon into the car, slamming the door shut. “You can try dashing out the other door, if you want. I’d even give you a head start. It would be fun to tackle you to the ground.”

Haddon didn’t move, just watched him warily. Hutch reached into the front seat, taking the camera and the clipboard. Rummaging around, he found several other rolls of film, some more notes, and a small tape recorder. Opening the camera, he ripped out the film and tossed it into the alley. He quickly went through the other rolls, opening them, unspooling them, and dumping them. The frightened man huddling in the back seat just watched him without saying a word.

“Now for all I know,” Hutch said, “those films could’ve been family photos, your granddaughter’s Girl Scout meeting, your wife’s picnic. Too bad. And I’m sure you already have the damning photos of me you were assigned to take. I’m acknowledging that, just so we both know where we stand.” His voice was shaking with rage. He had to get a grip on himself. He didn’t have Starsky here to rein him in before he went too far.

Shuffling through the random notes written in a neat, cryptic handwriting, Hutch saw enough to give him pause: his schedule, day by day, up to the departure for Aspen. That was cataloged, too: airline, flight number, time of departure, destination. This level of investigation was expensive. There was money behind this man.

“Sorry you couldn’t follow me to Aspen,” Hutch commented. “It was beautiful there. You missed a great time. But then, it seems, you really didn’t need to go, did you? You already had enough to hang me.”

Wisely, Haddon said nothing, just sat perfectly still, poised on the edge of the back seat.

Hutch wound back the tape recorder and listened to a few of the dictated notes. It was obvious that he’d been the focus of this man’s investigation for weeks now. He pulled the tape out of the recorder and unspooled it, balling it up in a mass like so much brown spaghetti, then dumped it in the alley.

He re-opened the rear door and reached into the back seat. Grabbing the old man by the tie, he hauled him out again. “Have you been thinking about what we talked about?”

Haddon said nothing, but couldn’t suppress a nervous swallow.

“Good,” Hutch said. “Now I’m going to ask you again. Who are you working for?”

“Come on, man, you know this business. You know I can’t tell—”

Hutch slammed him hard against the car, then spun him again, grabbed his arm and twisted it high over his back. This wasn’t some flexible young punk, and Hutch knew what he was doing had to be excruciating. Haddon screeched then somehow managed to swallow the sound.

“And you know damned well I’m fighting for my life,” Hutch snarled. “I don’t want you; I want the money behind you. And you’re going to tell me. So how about making it easier on yourself and giving it up now. Because I’ve got nothing to lose by breaking you into a million pieces, and a whole lot of satisfaction to gain.”

***

Starsky used the brass knocker on the freshly-painted front door. He waited a moment, worried. Maybe no one was home. He looked back at the cab and waved. Just as he was about to lose his nerve and return to the cab, there was a click and the door opened.

“David! What a nice surprise! Whatever are you doing here in the middle of the day?”

David hesitated. Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing. “Hello, Maggie, how are you?”

She looked past him at the cab sitting on the street. “Won’t you come inside? Are you here to visit?”

“Actually… yes, I am. But it’s not just a social call, Maggie.”

She caught the anxious tone in his voice and gave him her full attention. “David, what’s wrong? Are the children—?”

“They’re fine, the family’s fine— It’s… me, Maggie. I need to talk to you. I… need advice.”

She frowned, clearly confused. “Of course. Please, by all means, come inside. I’ll make some fresh coffee.”

Starsky ran a hand over his face, realizing how odd all this must seem. “Maggie… I’m… uh… I’ve just come back from a trip. I’ve got a ton of luggage in the cab—”

Taking yet another odd surprise in stride, she said, “Just bring it in, dear. I’ll go make coffee.”

Starsky nodded and turned to settle things with the cabbie.

Leaving his vacation gear in Maggie’s tidy foyer, he entered the neat, clean kitchen, still hesitant, wondering if this was the right thing to do.

Maggie Blaine had been like another mother to him when he was growing up. Sent to live with his Aunt Rose and Uncle Al after his father died—partly to keep him from getting involved with gangs, and partly to give the bitter young man a father figure—Starsky had had a hard time connecting to his California relatives. Everything was so different from his home in New York. The kids made fun of his accent. He was wise beyond his years, looking for angles in every new encounter.

He’d been drifting towards the same street life the move had intended to disrupt when John Blaine, a police detective living next door, saw his potential and took him in hand. John wasn’t involved in the discipline issues Rose and Al were struggling with. John could just be his friend. Blaine became the strongest influence in his life. John taught him to fight—and win—taught him right from wrong in the black and white manner John believed in. More importantly, John showed him there was a future for him on the police force. It had been a point of pride with Starsky to end up in John’s precinct and to work with him occasionally.

He’d felt no pride, however, investigating John’s murder. Or when he discovered that the man who’d been a second father to him, the man who’d given him his own sense of morality, had been living a double life. Starsky had thought John and Maggie were the perfect couple. But the investigation into John’s murder revealed his secret life as a closeted gay. He’d been even more upset to learn that Maggie had long suspected it. It had been a difficult time for Starsky, but he’d had Hutch to help him through it.

All these years later, Maggie was still a close friend. They had dinner with her, her new husband Andy, and Al and Rose at least once a month. Maggie was a fabulous aunt to his kids, and had gone out of her way to befriend Liza when his new wife felt overwhelmed by all the enthusiastic Starskys she’d had to meet.

When Maggie remarried, Starsky was happy but cautious, too. As a captain, he’d been able to have the man thoroughly checked out. Andy wasn’t just a nice guy, he was clean as a whistle. Maggie was truly happy this time with someone who had no secrets, and wasn’t keeping half his heart for someone else.

A man like me, Starsky thought, chagrined. Did he have the right to intrude on Maggie this way? Bring up all those painful memories?

She put two mugs on the kitchen table and poured the coffee. Cream and sugar were already there. Collecting a plate of chocolate chip cookies—Starsky’s favorites—she placed them in front of him. Wearily, Starsky sat down and sipped the coffee, warmed, as he always was, by her hospitality.

“David,” she said quietly, “something’s obviously troubling you. How can I help?”

He looked at her anxiously. “I don’t know if anyone can help me, Maggie. But you’re the only person I could think of who might have some idea of the scope of my problem.” He paused. “Can I ask you something really personal?” He felt like he was about to step on a landmine.

“Of course, David. You’re one of my oldest friends. You can ask me anything.”

He swallowed, stared at his cup, then took the plunge. “Maggie… when Hutch and I were investigating John’s death, and we told you about him, you said you had really always known. That, uh, that stunned me. I’ve never been able to understand why, if that were true… why you stayed with him.”

Maggie sat back in her chair, obviously startled. “I stayed because I loved him. John was a good husband, David. He was attentive, kind, loving.” She paused. “I’d had a difficult family life as a child. My father abused us. John was so different. He was big and strong and yet so gentle. He had such an open heart. You know that, David. You practically lived here when you were young.”

He nodded. They had always seemed so happy. “But, Maggie, if you suspected….”

She sighed, as if trying to find the right words. “David, we’re talking about a different generation. Everything’s so open now. People talk about things we never even whispered about when I was young. Women expected to put up with certain things in their married life. If your husband came home, if he was responsible, if he was good to you, then you were supposed to ignore some things. And John’s work separated us frequently, when he was on cases. You understand that.” She fiddled with the cookies as if collecting her thoughts.

“It’s not the same now,” she reminded him. Her tone had changed; he could hear a note of bitterness in it. “Young women getting married today expect a different kind of life: children and careers. They expect a level of frankness that was unheard of when we were young. Nowadays, the kind of relationship I was content to have with John wouldn’t be acceptable to a modern wife. Probably not even to me, now.”

He nodded. That made sense. Since adulthood, John had always been more friend to him than parent-figure, it was easy to forget about the generation gap between them.

Maggie leaned over and took one of David’s hands. He hadn’t realized it, but both of his were balled into tight fists. “David, why are you asking me these questions? Why now?”

He wet his mouth. “Maggie, if—if John were still alive, and you and John were married now, and you found out about his secret, if it became public… what would you do?”

She frowned. “I honestly don’t know, David. I’d like to think I’d still love John, still be his friend. But I don’t think I could have remained married to him if it became public knowledge. I think that wouldn’t be good for either of us. I’m only sorry that John never had the chance to be truly happy—as happy as I was, as happy as I am now. Everyone deserves to be happy.”

“You don’t hate John? You wouldn’t have hated him then if it had become public?”

“Well, I can’t say for sure, but after living with the father I had, I don’t think there is anything that could’ve made me hate John. If he’d fallen in love with another woman it would’ve broken my heart, so if it became public that he’d fallen in love with a man, I’m sure it would have hurt terribly. I’d be sad, bitter for a while but John was a good man, in spite of all that. I don’t think I could’ve ever hated him. I certainly don’t hate him now. And I still miss him. He was my best friend, and that’s something I can never replace.”

Starsky took another sip of the coffee, just to have something to do. This wasn’t really helping him. He didn’t know if anything could.

“David. You haven’t asked me questions like this since John died. Why now? What’s troubling you?”

He turned to her and took a deep breath. “Maggie, John’s been on my mind a lot. Because something’s happened to me that I never expected. I’m afraid of losing my family over it. And I don’t know what to do.”

She stared at him as if trying to make the connection and failing.

“Maggie, I’m doing the same thing John did. I’m living a double life. I’m in love with someone else, and I don’t know how to deal with it, what to do.”

She nodded in understanding. “You meet so many people in your work, David. I imagine there must be a lot of young women who—”

He turned his hand around and gripped hers. “No, Maggie. That’s just it. It’s not a woman. I’m in love with Hutch.”

***

Remembering how defeated and depressed he’d felt the last time he’d walked through these halls only fueled Hutch’s temper. His anger was already at the white-hot stage, the stage where, had he been there, Starsky would have been holding on to his jacket, trying to restrain him before Hutch went too far. But Starsky wasn’t here.

He half-dragged, half-carried the limping, wheezing form of John Haddon through the tasteful halls of Smith, Diggs, and Eastman. Of course, the halls weren’t quiet now. He’d already hauled the old man past the protesting receptionist who was trained to keep ordinary people waiting, but would recognize important clients who’d be ushered in immediately. As far as Hutch was concerned, no one was more important than he was; no issue more urgent.

The receptionist trailed, frantic and impotent. “Mr. Hutchinson, please, you can’t go in there! Security will be here any minute and—and—”

“Don’t bother with security, Janice. Go right ahead and call the police. Trust me, they’ll be making an arrest.”

“Mr. Hutchinson, please, Mr. Hutchinson—” She was still babbling behind him, like a gnat hovering around a rampaging bull.

Hutch just kept storming through the halls with Haddon stumbling and jogging along beside him, desperately trying to keep up. By the time he got to Jeri Eastman’s office, the entire firm knew he was there.

That’s fine with me. I want them all to know. I’ll make sure they do.

He didn’t bother to knock on Jeri’s door, just flung the door open hard, letting it bang.

The two occupants of the office jumped in surprise as he marched in with the old man. Hutch recognized the client; he was one of their oldest—and richest.

Good.

The well-dressed man rose in astonishment, gaping. People like him were never exposed to violence, or any genuine emotion like anger. It simply wasn’t done.

“You,” Hutch said jerking a thumb in his direction. “Get out.”

Jeri’s face contorted in shock. She tried to recover and regain the upper hand that being on her own territory should have conveyed. “How dare you come in here like this, Ken. You have no right—”

Hutch pointed a finger at her. “And you, shut up!”

The client moved quickly to escape a scene he clearly wanted no part of. He got out of there so hurriedly, he nearly knocked over Jeri’s father, Chuck Eastman, in his haste.

“Glad to see you, Chuck,” Hutch said, with no joy at all. “We’re taking a meeting. Have a seat. Don’t worry; we won’t need refreshments.”

He dumped Haddon into the nearest Queen Anne chair. The man looked incredibly relieved to be off his feet.

“Ken…” Chuck Eastman said hesitantly. “John. What’s going on here?”

Haddon lifted a hand in acknowledgement but just shook his head and remained silent.

“You need to ask Jeri that, Chuck,” Hutch said, glaring at her.

She looked defiantly from Haddon to Hutch, and finally faced her father. “This is my personal business, Chuck. It doesn’t involve the firm. It’s none of your concern.”

“Oh, yes it is,” Hutch said, cutting her off. “I intend to make it his concern. Because when I press charges I will name him and your grandfather, Robert, as co-conspirators so it most definitely is his concern.”

“Charges?” the senior Eastman said, confused. “Charges for what? Jeri, what is happening here?”

“The charges will be conspiracy to commit blackmail,” Hutch said clearly, meeting Jeri’s stony expression.

“Blackmail!” Chuck Eastman said. He shook his head. “Look, Ken, simmer down. I have no idea what all this is about, but I’m sure we can—”

“Too late for that, Chuck,” Hutch said, never taking his eyes off Jeri. “Your daughter is a sick woman. I’ve heard pregnancy makes some women a little crazy. I don’t know if a jury will buy that excuse, but you can try it.” He turned away from her outraged expression and faced Chuck Eastman. “Jeri hired this man,” he indicated the shaken figure of John Haddon, “to follow me, record my activities, and document who my associates were. You know the routine. And he did. According to Mr. Haddon, Jeri has a thick dossier in her office safe. Maybe she’ll show it to you. Not only did she violate my civil rights—the right to conduct my business without being spied on, and my right to privacy—her only possible motivation would have to be blackmail. She was planning to blackmail me with Haddon’s information.”

Before Chuck Eastman could sputter a response, Jeri lashed back. “You can’t prove any of that. You can’t even prove I hired this man.”

“I know all about your handshake agreement,” Hutch told her. “Haddon here is an old family friend—isn’t that right, Chuck? He’s been on your books before. I’m sure we can find records in the firm to corroborate that. We call that a ‘previous relationship.’ And while you, Jeri, might be willing to lie under oath about your business arrangement, I don’t think Mr. Haddon here is willing to.” He spun on him. “Are you, John?”

Shaking his head rapidly and glancing nervously in Hutch’s direction, Haddon mumbled, “That would be perjury. I could lose my license.”

Chuck Eastman held up his hands. “Ken, please, lower your voice.”

“The hell I will!” He pointed at Jeri angrily. “It’s time to ask Jeri some tough questions, Chuck. Like whose child is she carrying?”

Eastman looked increasingly uncomfortable. “Look, Ken, that wasn’t too hard to figure out. But I still don’t understand what—”

“Your daughter,” Hutch said, never taking his eyes off Jeri, “your partner in the firm, has had me followed and investigated from the moment I ended our relationship. She has collected quite a bit of evidence to find out who I left her for. When I ended our relationship I did so because there was someone else in my life. I respected Jeri too much to demean her by having a relationship behind her back. After I’d been up front with her about the reasons of our separation, she investigated me. Believing she has discovered the identity of my lover, she continued to collect more information. Her only possible motivation has to be blackmail, so she can use the details of my relationship to ruin me or my lover.”

“Ken, people commit blackmail for personal gain, like money,” Eastman protested. “Why would Jeri need to extort money from you?”

“People blackmail for a million reasons, Chuck, and if you ever worked in criminal law, you’d know that. Blackmail forces others to do your bidding. Some do it just for revenge. Money never has to enter into it. Jeri wanted to blackmail me to stop me from pursuing whatever means might grant me rights to a place, however small, in my son’s life. That’s my best guess. Unless, it’s plain old vengeance, huh, Jeri? If you can’t have me, no one can? It doesn’t matter. The crime is there: conspiracy to commit blackmail.”

Jeri’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “It’s a frivolous case without an ounce of merit. And all it will do is expose your tawdry secret.” She turned to her father. “Ken is a homosexual, and he’s having an affair with a married man. That’s the sordid truth.” She turned back to Hutch as if that statement had solved everything. “And there isn’t a court in the world who’ll let you near this baby.” She rubbed her belly possessively. “I’ll make sure of that. And by the time I’m done, they won’t let your lover near his children, either.”

“Jeri!” Chuck Eastman snapped, clearly stunned.

“Don’t you dare try to intimidate me by threatening Starsky,” Hutch said angrily, striding over to the desk. He leaned toward her, shaking his finger near her face. “I may lose the criminal case against you. I may even lose the civil case. But I’ll tell you this: I’ll worry this thing like a bone. I’ll drag you through every appeals court, every civil court, every family court I can find. And if you think I intend to leave it up to you to decide how much my son knows about his father, think again. I intend to sue for custody, for full parental rights, and I’ll take the custody battle to the Supreme Court if I have to. How many years will that take? And I’ll make sure that every tabloid in the country gets every single detail. I may lose, but before it’s over, you’ll be ruined. You won’t have a single client who’ll want to be associated with your firm. Your cultured, refined, conservative old-money types aren’t going to sit around and worry about whether these messy personal cases of yours are going to distract you from making sure their assets are protected from Uncle Sam. Besides, what are they going to think when they find out your out-of-wedlock child is fathered by a queer?”

Chuck Eastman physically got between the two combatants, and his presence was enough to make each of them withdraw. Jeri sat back in her chair, and Hutch moved a few feet from the desk. He was shaking from the adrenaline surge and could’ve easily overturned the desk and broken some furniture just for the fun of it. Starsky would be proud of his restraint. He hoped.

“Clearly,” Eastman said, in the reasonable tone he obviously wanted everyone else to adopt, “there are some serious issues here to discuss.” He glanced at the old man in the rumpled white suit still sitting in terror in the Queen Anne chair. “John, I don’t think you’ll be needed here any longer—” He caught sight of Ken’s angry expression and added, “Do you agree, Ken?”

Hutch shrugged. “Yeah, fine. Let him go.” He gave Haddon a steely look. “But don’t think about taking any trips any time soon, Haddon. You’ll be called upon.”

Haddon nodded and slunk out of the room, clearly grateful to be released.

“I hope you don’t think, Chuck,” Hutch said, “that you’re going to smooth things over here with a little glib wheeling and dealing. It’s gone way too far for that.”

Eastman took a heavy breath and released it. “No, Ken, I agree the situation is too complex.” He looked at his daughter, his eyes unreadable. Leaning over her intercom, he pressed a button. “Janice, are you there?” He had to wait a moment and Hutch couldn’t help but wonder if all the support staff stood clustered around the office doors, trying to overhear whatever they could.

“Yes, Mr. Eastman,” came a tinny voice in response.

“I want you to put a call through to Quentin Cohen. Tell him it’s a matter of urgency… involving his associate, Mr. Hutchinson. Ask him to come to our offices. Offer to send a car.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered and clicked off.

“Ken,” Eastman said, “I’d like you to try to calm down, have something to drink. When Quentin gets here let’s meet in a conference room, put our cards on the table, and sort this out.” He turned to Jeri who was about to say something in protest. “And while we’re waiting for Quentin, you and I are going to have a private talk. Now.”

***

Starsky felt as if he were a condemned man walking—or riding—the last mile as Maggie drove him home. He finally understood how much simpler it had been to do nothing, to let events follow their own course. He had thought that what Hutch had wanted him to do—to continue his life as a family man—had been difficult. But this—

They pulled up outside his house and he sat in Maggie Blaine’s car for a moment, hesitant to open the door.

“You’re doing the right thing, David,” Maggie said quietly.

“Am I?” For a moment, he felt like breaking down and crying. How could the most perfect love he’d ever known cause so many people so much pain? He took a deep breath and let it out.

“Are you ready to give Hutch up forever and pretend to love Liza for the rest of your life? Is that really the kind of life you want to live, that you want her to live?”

He sighed again. No. What he was about to do was incredibly difficult, but giving up Hutch and living a life of pretense was impossible. It wasn’t like this was making Liza happy either.

Stepping out of the car and walking the short path to his home was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. And that would be the easy part. Maggie followed him in and when he didn’t see Liza in the kitchen, Maggie settled at the table and waited while he looked for her.

He walked through the house, seeing evidence of the kid’s day—half-eaten sandwiches, toys strewn about. The normalcy of it nearly broke him. Before he had a chance to look for his wife, he saw her descending the stairs and coming towards him.

“Oh, you’re home!” she said, startled. “I don’t know what you’re being so quiet about, but your timing is good. I just got both kids settled down for a nap. They’ve been running me ragged, and didn’t want to sleep because they knew you were getting home soon.”

“Liza—”

“Do I even rate a kiss hello for the New Year?” she approached him almost warily, as if she could sense the change in him already. “Or are you so wrung out from skiing all weekend that you don’t even have…” She trailed off, finally taking in his body language and expression.

For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, quietly, “You’ve finally decided to be honest with me, haven’t you?” Her voice cracked on the last word, but she swallowed hard and set her jaw.

“Liza—”

“Just say it!” she snapped. “Tell me the truth. Or do you want me to tell you?”

He moved to take hold of her, wanting to embrace her, to try to find some way to convey his anguish, how sorry he was.

She moved away, hugging her own arms, closing herself off. “No! Don’t touch me. You know you can convince me of anything once you give me one of your hugs. Just say what you have to say. I’ve been waiting for it long enough. You don’t love me anymore. Go on, say it!”

“Liza, that’s not true. I do love you. I’ll always love you. You’re the mother of my children. Nothing can change that. But you know we’ve been heading for this for a long time. You said it yourself—our marriage has been crumbling—”

“And one weekend away from home makes you remember how much fun it is to be single again, is that it?” A tear coursed down her cheek, followed quickly by another. She wiped at her face impatiently, as if angry that her eyes had the nerve to reveal her pain. “Aspen must’ve been full of lovely young things! Did some long-legged twenty-year-old convince you that you were the stud of the year?”

He shook his head. “Nothing like that. I swear it, Liza. Believe me, there’s no other woman. There never has been…” He trailed off guiltily.

She stood perfectly still and stared at him as if all the pieces just fell in place. “Oh my God,” she breathed, sitting down abruptly in a nearby chair. “It’s Hutch!”

***

“Jeri,” Chuck Eastman said, “tell me just one thing.”

Jeri sat in her father’s office, confused, embattled, and furious. If he expected her to react like a chastised child, he would be sorely disappointed. How dare he take over this situation and try to arbitrate it by pulling in Quentin Cohen? The Eastmans didn’t arbitrate cases, they won them. How dare he pull her from her office and demand she answer his questions like a client? And how in the world could she possibly answer the question he would undoubtedly ask—what she intended to do with Haddon’s information—when she didn’t know herself?

Warily, she tried to put him off. “I don’t have to tell you anything. Chuck, this is my business—” but before she could get up a full head of steam, he cut her off.

“It stopped being just your business, Jeri, when you continued to represent this firm while carrying a child out of wedlock. Your grandfather—the founder of this firm—has been nearly apoplectic over the situation. I’ve managed to convince him not to terminate you, but the only leverage I’ve had was the fact that you’re his favorite grandchild and the favorite lawyer for some of our best clients. But it has already affected relations we’ve had with some of our most conservative clients. Ken worked for us long enough to know our vulnerabilities, and public scandal is one of them. We do corporate law for a reason! The situation is volatile, and has been made more so by your steadfast refusal to discuss it with me. Well, it’s too late for stalling anymore. I need answers and I need them now. Honest ones. Jeri, why did you decide to carry this pregnancy to term?”

That was not a question she was expecting and her surprise had to be evident. She had never been very good at lying to her father, not when she was a child, or a teenager, or a grown adult. He was a good lawyer. He could smell a lie ten minutes before someone told it. And how could she answer when she wasn’t really sure herself? Tell him that she was growing anxious about her biological clock, when she’d never cared about that before? That Hutch was a good genetic match? After announcing he was gay, she doubted her father would agree with that. She hadn’t really faced the truth about her motivations, so she had no idea what to say.

He leaned forward, nearly knee-to-knee with her in a matching leather wing chair that faced hers. “Jeri, bringing a child into the world is a very serious thing. You come from a good family. You were a child we planned for, cherished, you were raised by a doting mother and a devoted father. You had every opportunity a child could have: the best schools, best tutors, country club sports, designer clothes— But the most important benefit you had was something money can’t buy: you had parents who loved you and wanted you, parents who took joy in your every accomplishment.”

He paused as if wanting that sentence to sink in.

“I remember when you passed the bar,” he continued. “Your mother and I were so proud. It was the year before she died… I remember her saying, ‘Chuck, she is truly your daughter.’ And I said, no, of course not, she’s our daughter. And your mother laughed and said, ‘If she were my daughter, she’d be married with children by now.’ Raising children was your mother’s greatest ambition and her proudest accomplishment. An ambition you never showed the least interest in. So I’m asking you again, and I expect an honest answer: why did you decide to carry this pregnancy to term?”

She rested a hand on her taut belly and felt the child within her kick, as if asking himself. “I don’t see why I need to justify a natural event…” she mumbled. “Doesn’t every woman want a baby? I’m getting older. This, uh… might be my best chance. It’s the eighties, for heaven’s sake; women have the freedom to do whatever they want, with or without a man. I can certainly afford the best in child care—”

“Jeri,” her father said quietly, cutting her off, “that’s the wrong answer. There’s only one good reason for having a baby. And that’s to love it. Do you love this baby? Do you want to rock him in your arms and sing him to sleep? Your apartment building doesn’t allow children, have you forgotten? Have you found another place to live, a place where you can have a nursery? Have you even thought about the nursery? A baby isn’t a pet you arrange to have other people care for when it’s inconvenient. That’s not the way you were raised. And everything you are—your poise, your professionalism, your intelligence, your accomplishments—reflects the nurturing, loving atmosphere you were raised in. Jeri, tell me—do you want to be this baby’s mother? Or are you having it solely to punish Ken Hutchinson for leaving you?”

The words dammed up behind her teeth and wouldn’t come out. Remembering her mother, the kindest, most loving human being she’d ever known, made her feel ashamed. Her seesawing emotions—the thing she’d come to hate the most about this pregnancy—nearly overwhelmed her with depression. Tears she’d always had control over before suddenly flowed down her perfectly made up face. She was fifteen-years-old again, telling her dad a boy dumped her a week before the prom. She began to dissolve.

“Daddy… he left me… and I loved him. I really loved him.” The sobs hitched up under her compressed diaphragm as the tears flowed.

Her father gathered her in his arms and pulled her to him, stroking her hair the way he used to when she was a child. And she found herself confessing everything.

***

“You took long enough to get here,” Hutch snapped when Quentin walked into the conference room. He was pacing a path in the carpet while he’d been left to stew. He was all too familiar with this room. He’d negotiated enough big money deals in here for the Eastmans.

Quentin only smiled benignly. “Have a good weekend in Aspen?”

That took the wind out of his anger. The wonderful weekend with Starsky had been Quentin’s gift in the first place. He flopped into a nearby chair and exhaled in a rush. “Yeah, actually, it was. It was incredible. I can’t thank you enough. We had the best time. I sure didn’t expect it to end up like this.”

“Look, Hutch,” Quentin said, “when I got the call from Eastman’s office, I touched base with some of my own contacts here. Or rather,” he grinned again, more slyly, “Grace’s contacts. She’s been good friends with some of the staff for years. I’m sure the information wasn’t totally accurate, but even if it was half-true, it was enough to let me figure out what the issues were. But just to be sure we’re on the same page, I’d like you to run down the events for me.”

So Hutch did. He told him about finding Haddon tailing him, cornering the man in the alley, and dragging him into the Eastman offices for a furious confrontation. Quentin listened with rapt attention.

“Okay, that brings us up to Eastman calling me,” Quentin said. “And right now he’s talking to Jeri? What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on that wall. You know, when you told me about how things went with your initial meeting with Jeri after Christmas, I couldn’t help but wonder what old man Eastman was thinking. This is a very conservative firm. It was hard to believe Robert had suddenly become an advocate of a liberal lifestyle.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt if he’s become an advocate for a gay father’s lifestyle either,” Hutch said, bitterly. “You know, Quentin, just before Starsky and I discovered how we felt about each other, we had a confrontation over a client right in these offices. And Starsky asked me if I’d become something I’d once accused another lawyer of being: a prostitute in a silk suit.” Hutch had to smile grimly, remembering. Quentin gave a short laugh. “Well, when I realized what was happening with Haddon, I felt like I’d sold myself for safety, when I didn’t fight Jeri on the whole custody thing.”

Quentin shrugged, as if commiserating with him. “You were trying to protect Starsky, too.”

“And where did it get me? Believe me, I saw that happen way too many times when I was a cop. Caving in never solves anything, it just creates different problems.” Hutch ran a hand through his hair worriedly. “I wish I could call Starsky right now, talk to him, make sure what I’m doing is okay with him. After everything I said to him about not jeopardizing his situation, now I’m doing it!”

“We really don’t have the time, Hutch,” Quentin reminded him. He shook his head. “I know you warned me things might get messy because of your relationship, but I didn’t think they’d get this interesting. I’ve had quite a few clients that would’ve loved to have me arbitrate a deal with the Eastmans, but old man Eastman would never go for it. Hard to believe I ended up here at Chuck’s request! I just wish I knew what they had up their sleeves. Of course… they don’t know what we have up ours either.”

Hutch looked at him in surprise. “We have something up our sleeves?”

“Why do you think it took me so long to get here?” Quentin said, smiling.

***

Starsky stood in the doorway of his son’s room and fought back tears. Downstairs, his wife was still shedding them. Maggie was comforting her in the kitchen, trying to make her understand that, while it was bitter and painful, their separation really was for the best.

The best? Starsky thought, depressed. He’d gone upstairs to pack some essentials and make some arrangements. He’d already called work and told them that a family crises would keep him out of the office for a few more days. He’d need time. To find a lawyer? A place to live?

Living with Hutch would be out of the question. It was too volatile right now. The reality—that he’d fallen in love with another man—had been overwhelming enough for Liza to deal with. She was still coping with it, and Maggie was trying to help her. He feared she’d assume their affair had existed prior to their marriage, but she guessed its start accurately enough. Apparently, she’d overheard part of the conversation he’d had with Hutch the night after they’d returned from the cabin, and had drawn enough damning conclusions.

He was exhausted. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to crawl in with his sleeping son and not wake up for a week. It was hard to think that he’d never spend another night in this house again.

“You go explain it to the kids!” Liza had shouted at him, her pain and anger right up front. “You tell them why you’re leaving them. You make them understand that you’re breaking up your family because you’re in love with Uncle Hutch!”

They would never understand. Feeling the tears fighting to break free, he rubbed his eyes hard, fearing that if they started, he wouldn’t be able to stop them.

“Daddy?” Sarabet tugged on his slacks to get his attention.

He took a deep breath, trying to collect himself, needing to be together for this. “When did you wake up, honey?”

“Few minutes ago,” she said quietly, her expression worried. She glanced toward the stairs and frowned. “I thought I heard Mommy crying. Why is Mommy crying?”

He picked her up and hugged her. How could he walk away from them? And would Liza do what Jeri was doing to Hutch—punish him by taking his children away?

He heard a small cough from his son’s room, and turned to see Kenneth sitting up, blinking sleepily. “Daddy? You’re home?” With a child’s natural instinct, Kenny zeroed in on the emotional turmoil in the house. He looked scared, anxious, even if he didn’t understand why.

Starsky carried Sara into her brother’s room and put her down on the bed. He took their hands and held them tight. Swallowing, he took a deep breath. “You know Daddy loves you very much, don’t you?”

“I love you, too, Daddy,” Sarabet said solemnly.

“Me, too,” Kenny said quietly, looking worried.

“And Mommy loves you,” Starsky said, trying to smile. “We both love you more than anything in this world. You know that, don’t you?”

Both children nodded, but their expressions were still terribly serious. Starsky felt like he was robbing them of their ability to smile. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Remember how Daddy went away this weekend? And how I went away a few months ago for a few days? I missed you very, very much while I was away, and I thought about you all the time. But I came back and we played together and had fun again. You remember?”

They nodded again.

“Well… Daddy has to go away again. But I’ll call you on the phone every day and talk to you for as long as you want. And I’ll come back as soon as I can to spend time with you and play with you. I’ll think about you all the time and I’ll miss you, and love you with all my heart. Do you understand?”

“But when will you come back for good, Daddy?” Sara asked.

He shook his head. “I’m… not going to come back for good… Mommy… and I aren’t going to live together anymore. But that doesn’t mean I won’t see you as much as I can. I promise. I swear it. I’ll see you every chance I get. I’ll be there whenever you need me. I’ll still be your Daddy. That will never change.”

Sarabet started to cry and that frightened Kenny, so he did, too. “I don’t want you to go away, Daddy!” Sara said. “I don’t want you to live someplace else. Please, don’t go! I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Oh, honey, you are a good girl!” Starsky said, nearly choking on his own emotions. He scooped up the kids in his arms. “You’re the best girl. And Kenny’s the best boy in the world. Please, don’t cry….”

Because Daddy’s barely holding it together. Oh, God, Hutch… I’ve never needed you more than I do right this minute. Will you ever be able to forgive me for doing this?

***

“What do you mean, I can’t be there for the initial discussions?” Hutch said, indignant.

“Hutch,” Quentin said patiently, “we’re talking about a highly emotional situation here. Your display of temper combined with Jeri’s advanced pregnancy and emotional state makes their request reasonable. It doesn’t mean anything will be decided without your input. It just means that the parties with less… emotional involvement, Chuck Eastman and myself, will open up the negotiations. We’ll find out what the issues are, look for some middle ground we can agree on, and bring what we think is a reasonable settlement back to you and Jeri. This eliminates her responding to your anger with more hostility. You’ll both have to agree to anything we come up with, and if you don’t, it’s back to negotiation. This is what arbitration is, Hutch, you know that.”

He knew it but wasn’t sure he was going to like it. He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he could call Starsky.

“You trust me, don’t you, Hutch?” Quentin asked him sincerely.

Hutch looked into Quentin’s eyes and smiled. Quoting Quentin’s own words back at him, he said, “I know when a man’s worthy of trust. Trust is the rarest thing in the world. Next to Starsky, Quentin, you’re the only other thing in my life I can count on.”

“Then trust me to look out for your best interests. We’ve talked a lot about your relationship with David, about your feelings about the baby Jeri’s carrying, about your dreams for your future. Trust me to keep those issues in mind.” Quentin stood. “Besides, Grace will be in there with me. She’d have my head if I did any less than the best for you.”

“Then it looks like I’ve got the All-Star Team on my side,” Hutch said, trying to muster a smile. “How can I lose?” As Quentin moved to leave, Hutch said, “Quentin—I don’t know that I ever said thank you for this.”

Quentin gave him a thumbs-up and a grin. “Don’t worry, Hutch. Remember what I told you—no free rides. Your meter’s running. After this, I’m gonna own your soul.”

Hutch laughed. “Didn’t you know? You had that already!”

***

He gave up any notion of packing; it would have been much too traumatic for the children. After that first difficult talk and a lot of tears, they all moved from Kenny’s bed to the floor where he tried to distract them with their toys. Eventually he was able to get them to play some games and actually got them to smile, but it was strained.

When Maggie showed up in Kenny’s doorway, Starsky dreaded what she was about to say.

“Aunt Maggie!” the children cried out, running to her for hugs and kisses, needing the reassurance that she loved them, too.

She got down on their level, hugged and petted them for several minutes, then said, “I bet you two are really hungry, aren’t you?”

The children stared at her, not sure how to answer.

“Mommy’s downstairs and she’s made a snack,” Maggie said.

“Is Mommy still crying?” Sarabet asked, and both children clouded up just from her asking.

“No,” Maggie said honestly, not trying to pretend that she hadn’t been. “Mommy’s not crying now. She wants you to have your snack, so go on downstairs. I’ll be there in a minute. And be careful on the steps, okay?”

Sarabet looked between Maggie and Starsky, as if she suspected some collusion between them. “Is Daddy coming?”

“Daddy?” Kenny parroted, taking his hand.

“Not right now,” Maggie said. “You go on. Daddy and I will be downstairs very soon, okay?”

Solemnly, the children walked away to go downstairs. They were unnaturally quiet as they trudged downstairs to join their mother.

“How’s Liza doing?” Starsky asked, genuinely concerned.

“As well as can be expected,” Maggie said. “She keeps seesawing between grief and rage. I suspect that’ll go on for a while. I went through a lot of that when John… Well… I’m going to stay with her for a few days. To help with the children… and the changes… all the difficult things that crop up.”

Starsky felt relieved just knowing someone who cared about Liza would be with her.

“David, it might be best if you found a separate place to live for a while. Separate, I mean, from Hutch. It might make things easier when you have to deal with Liza.”

He nodded. “I already figured that.” As a cop, he’d seen enough domestic disputes to have some idea of how to handle them. “Maggie… do you have any feeling for… if she’s gonna try to keep me away from the kids? I don’t care about the house, the cabin, none of that stuff. She can have my whole salary if she wants. But if she won’t let me see the kids—”

“She’s angry and she’s hurt, David, but she knows her children need a father. There may be some issues about you spending time with the children while Hutch is there, too. You’ll just have to wait and see. If that’s what she wants, I’d suggest you go along with it. In a year or two… I think when it’s not so raw some of these things may resolve themselves.”

He nodded, his throat tight.

“Are you okay, David?” Maggie asked softly, placing a hand on his arm.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “I just broke up my beautiful family, Maggie, which is the one thing Hutch didn’t want me to do. I brought all this pain on them, and for all I know, when Hutch finds out, he could be mad enough to dump me over it. I’m gonna be living in a hotel out of a suitcase for I don’t know how long. And I have no idea if any of this is gonna get back to my job and jeopardize that. Am I okay?” He laughed bitterly. Then he caught sight of her sad expression. “But at least I know I’ve got friends who’ll stand by me, no matter what. Thank you, Maggie. I’ll owe you for the rest of my life.”

They hugged briefly, before Maggie went downstairs to help with the children and Starsky went to pack.

***

One of the worst things about loving a married man, Hutch realized, was that you couldn’t just pick up the phone and call him whenever you wanted. Having had the holiday weekend with Starsky, it would be too awkward to call him at home the same day they parted. Starsky would be making up to his wife for leaving her for four days and spending time with his kids. Hutch would have to wait until tomorrow, and try to catch up with Starsky at work.

But it had been hours since Quentin left to discuss the situation with Chuck Eastman, and Hutch ached to talk to Starsky right now. He wanted that simple privilege, just a single phone call—

Is it ever gonna get easier for us, Starsk? Or will this issue with Jeri blow up in my face and end up being our downfall? Will you forgive me if that happens? If you lose everything because I blew my stack and dragged everything out in the open?

Suddenly, Quentin and Grace both entered the room. Quentin had a very neutral expression on his face—his “lawyer” face, Grace called it—and she was too busy glancing through her notes for Hutch to gauge anything by her expression.

He stood up, nearly bouncing on his toes, wanting to know something, anything—

“Hutch, sit down, relax,” Quentin said, sitting himself. “We’re taking an early dinner break. Food’s being brought in. It’s going to give us some time to regroup, discuss things with you and Jeri—”

“Quentin, you’ve been in there forever!” Hutch blurted. “What the hell’s going on?”

Quentin and Grace exchanged a glance that said something Hutch couldn’t interpret. He just hadn’t worked with them long enough. Finally, Quentin said, “The topic we spent the most time on was parenthood—what was involved, the time commitment, the emotional commitment, all the different factors that make up a good parent.”

Hutch immediately felt inadequate. He remembered telling Starsky he didn’t understand anything about kids.

He must’ve looked as despondent as he felt, because Grace reached over and patted his hand. “Try not to worry, Hutch. There’s something going on behind the scenes that may surprise you.”

“Such as—?”

“Such as that Chuck Eastman was a doting father with a wife who was the ideal mother,” Quentin said. “He has strong feelings about what children need to become valuable members of society. And, while he certainly hasn’t said anything this definitive, Grace and I have both gotten the feeling that he thinks his daughter isn’t up to the job.”

Hutch frowned. Would they ship the kid somewhere else to be raised by strangers?

“How do you feel about being a father, Hutch?” Quentin asked.

“I feel responsible. I feel a sense of duty. And I feel like… I want to give that child every chance to be happy, every chance to have a good life. It takes more than money to raise a kid; it takes love! I’ve always loved kids, but never had the chance to have any. When I was married, my wife wasn’t ‘ready’ to have kids, and we divorced before she was. I was a Big Brother for years to a kid named Kiko. He’s a freshman at UCLA now. I was briefly a foster father for a young girl named Molly. She ended up living with Kiko’s family—Starsky and I arranged that—and she’ll be starting college next year. I still have a good relationship with the family and the kids. That was the closest I ever came to fatherhood. When I lived with Jeri, the topic never came up—but then, neither did marriage. I never got the impression that Jeri had any interest in kids. She never fussed over babies the way some women do. It’s one of the reasons I was so floored when you told me she was pregnant, Quentin. I didn’t even think she liked kids.”

“I’m not sure she does,” Quentin agreed. Grace was frowning disapprovingly. “I think it’s fairly obvious to everyone around the table that Jeri’s only interest in that baby was as something to use as leverage against you. And Chuck’s having some real problems with that.”

Hutch leaned forward, anxious. “They’re not gonna squirrel the kid away somewhere, will they? Adopt him out so I’ll never be able to find him, ever?”

“I don’t think that’s really an issue at the moment, Hutch,” Quentin said. “Chuck Eastman said you claimed you wanted to fight for custody of the child. What he wasn’t sure of was why you would do that. I think he’s worried that your only interest in the child is the same as Jeri’s—to use against her.”

Hutch sagged back in the seat. “Nothing could be further from the truth. I went to Jeri once you told me she was pregnant and told her I’d help her in any way with the kid. I told her I wanted to be his father, to be there for him however he needed me. I wanted to be there for her if she needed my help. You know the results of that meeting. But there were plenty of people who saw me go to her office that day. There weren’t any harsh words, no shouting, no temper tantrums. Just her vicious threats and my capitulation.” He looked Quentin in the eye. “I intend to do whatever I have to do to be a significant part of my child’s life. I want to help raise him; I want to be there for him when he needs his father. If that means court, fine. If that means an ugly custody battle, okay. No matter what happens, I want him to know I wanted him.”

Quentin and Grace exchanged another of those meaningful glances. “Well,” said Quentin, “that’s where the surprise we’ve had up our sleeve comes in. One of the reasons it took me a while getting over here was because I was trying to reach Taylor Montgomery.”

“Taylor?” Hutch said, surprised. He couldn’t imagine what possible connection Taylor might have with this, especially with him living in Miami.

“I know Taylor’s told you about his partner, Gilbert Bloom.”

Hutch nodded.

“Well, Taylor probably didn’t mention it, but Gil is not just Taylor’s lover and partner and business associate—Gil also does a lot of pro bono work for the ACLU. He works on civil rights issues, particularly civil rights issues involving gays. There are a few new precedents on the books due to Gil’s work. He’s still very much that radical young student I met all those years ago. I called Taylor and discussed this situation with him, and he got a hold of Gil. Gil talked about it with his associates at the ACLU. He’s prepared to drop what he’s doing, come here, and help you sue for paternity rights as a civil rights issue. And the ACLU is ready to back him up.”

Hutch sat there, trying to figure out how all this happened while he paced, fuming, in an empty conference room.

“Quentin dropped that nugget of information in the negotiations,” Grace said, with a smug smile.

“I used it to emphasize to Chuck Eastman just how interested you were in being a father—a real father,” Quentin added. “I didn’t think you’d mind my making some assumptions on your behalf.”

Hutch smiled tentatively. “How’d he take it?”

“I think it impressed him, that you’d risk so much—potentially exposing your sexual orientation, the risk to your relationship with Starsky and your own personal well-being—to pursue having the right to be a part of your son’s life.”

“Even though I’m gay?” Hutch asked.

“Remember, Hutch, Chuck Eastman worked with you for years. He knows the kind of man you are. He knows that you handled the break-up with Jeri with discretion and respect, and that you never went after her aggressively once you found out about the pregnancy, but that you did offer to help her in any way that she would let you. Your behavior throughout this has been above reproach. Which is more than we can say about hers. I think the whole ‘gay’ issue just isn’t as relevant to him as the issue of real parenthood. He wants his grandchild to have at least one devoted parent.”

Hutch ran his hand through his hair. He couldn’t help worry about how all of this might blow back on Starsky, on his marriage. If only he could call him—

Just then the door opened, and a delivery person brought in a cart with food on it.

“Ah,” Quentin said. “Lunch is here.”

Hutch had never felt less like eating in his life.

***

Where the hell is he? Starsky wondered again, glancing at his wristwatch in the dark as he sat behind the wheel of his Volvo. He was parked in Quentin Cohen’s long driveway. Having gotten settled in the motel that was now his temporary shelter, he drove by the office and picked up the pager he rarely used. He gave Maggie the pager number and hotel number, and he gave her Hutch’s number, too, just in case anything happened to the kids and he was needed. When he couldn’t reach Hutch by phone and got tired of trying, he finally gave up and drove over to Hutch’s apartment. He’d spent years of his life staked-out in cars waiting for strangers to show up—at least this stake-out was for someone he wanted to see. But hours had ticked by and there was still no sign of life in Cohen’s abode.

Where could Hutch have gone? Could Quentin have been waiting for him with an emergency assignment? Could he be on a plane to God-knows-where? Starsky didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t at least talk to Hutch before this eternal day was over. Had it been just this morning that he and Hutch had woken up in each other’s arms? It felt like months ago. He felt old, suddenly, more aged than he’d felt even after he’d been shot. The separation from his children was like a raw amputation still bleeding, all the nerve endings exposed. He needed to see Hutch, be with him.

He remembered when Hutch had called him after he’d found out about the child Jeri wouldn’t share with him. Intellectually, he’d known how badly Hutch was hurting but tonight he understood Hutch’s pain in his cells.

Two sets of headlights suddenly lit up the driveway, surprising Starsky. Neither of the cars was Hutch’s, so he didn’t know what to think.

Then Hutch stepped out from a vehicle Starsky had never seen, while Quentin and his secretary left the other one. Starsky got out of his car and stood there, waiting for Hutch to notice him.

“Starsk?” Hutch said in surprise.

He waved, and started walking over to the group.

Hutch shook Quentin’s hand and said something to him, kissed Grace, then left them to jog over to meet Starsky halfway. “Starsk… what the hell are you doing here? I mean, it’s great to see you… but….”

He knew he couldn’t disguise the expression on his face. “Hutch, can we go inside? We need to talk. I’ve been waiting for you—”

Hutch reached out, squeezed his arm companionably, his eyes searching Starsky’s, trying to figure out what was going on. “Sure. Come on inside. Have you had anything to eat? I might be able to throw something together….”

They entered the neat apartment and Hutch moved around, turning on lights, opening windows to freshen the place up since it’d been closed for the last four days. A cooling breeze swept through the rooms, making the curtains dance and Hutch’s plants sway. The place had really become Hutch’s home, reflecting so much of him, Starsky thought.

Suddenly remembering he no longer had a home, Starsky was swamped with feeling adrift, of actually being homeless. It was crushing.

“Starsky?” Hutch said worriedly, coming to him. “What’s the matter? Talk to me, love.”

For a moment, he couldn’t. He felt overwhelmed by grief and loss.

Hutch knew him so well; he just gathered him in his arms and held on. Starsky clutched his lover, gripping his jacket. There was nothing sexual in the embrace, just comfort. Right now, that was the thing Starsky needed most in the world.

After a few minutes, he regained control of himself. Hutch guided him over to the couch, eased him onto it, and settled next to him. The two of them reclined, still clinging together, holding on for strength. And slowly, haltingly, Starsky told Hutch what had happened to him after they’d left the airport.

Hutch never interrupted him, just let him talk it out. It was almost like writing out a police report, a dry recitation of facts that only skimmed the surface of the emotional cost. Hutch held him tight, and, after a while, rocked him gently, rubbing his back.

“You mad?” Starsky said after he’d finished relaying all the grim facts.

“Am I what?” Hutch said, sounding surprised.

“I mean, I did the very thing you told me you didn’t want me to do. I know you didn’t want to be the cause of the end of my marriage. But I did it anyway. You mad at me? That’s all I kept thinking when it all went down. That I was gonna go through all this pain and maybe lose you, too.”

“Ah, Starsky! No, no, you’re not going to lose me. I wish it hadn’t gone this way, but I know it’s been eating at you. I know you were staying for me because I asked you to, but I know it went against your basic honest nature. I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did. It was wrong of me to put that kind of demand on you. Somewhere inside me, I had to realize that sooner or later it was going to end up like this. Any idea how Liza’s handling it?”

Starsky shook his head. “‘Bout as well as can be expected. I’m just hoping that having Maggie there to talk things over with will help somehow. As if anything could.”

Hutch hugged him, pressed a kiss to his temple. “Well… it’s been quite a day all around, hasn’t it?”

Starsky sat up for a minute. “Where were you all this time? I was gettin’ worried that Cohen had sent you to Timbuktu or something.”

Hutch shook his head as if he didn’t know where to begin. “Starsk… do you think I’d be a good father?”

“You kidding? You’d be a great father. I told you that before! Why…?”

Slowly, haltingly, Hutch relayed the events of his day, which was even more remarkable than Starsky’s.

“The negotiations went on forever,” Hutch concluded, “and nothing’s been decided. Jeri won’t admit it, but she doesn’t really want the baby, and apparently, her father won’t tolerate her using it as a bargaining chip for revenge. I don’t know if there’s a chance we might share custody, but at least I can stop worrying she’ll send the baby away for adoption. For now, her father’s convinced her to ‘go away’ somewhere, some exclusive, private resort where she can carry the child to term and deliver it in private. He’s worried about the effect her unmarried pregnancy could have on their firm. He wants to give the firm time to forget the scandal. And the whole issue with the private investigator is moot. The information he collected will never be used against us.”

Starsky sat there, dumbstruck. “Hutch—that’s a relief. But you still have to feel like you’re spinning in the wind.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I do. Quentin and Grace have been incredibly supportive but any resolution will take time and more negotiations. I guess I just have to be patient.”

“Good practice for fatherhood,” Starsky said wryly.

They both smiled. “And listen,” Hutch said softly, “I know you probably aren’t ready to think about this, but Quentin was serious when he offered to handle your divorce. Let him do it. The guy’s a genius at arbitration.”

It was too soon for him to think about that, but he didn’t dismiss Hutch’s opinion. He would need someone smart and savvy on his side. In a few days, Liza’s anger would be cresting, and if he wasn’t careful they’d be locked in a vicious battle. He’d do anything to avoid that.

“Sure, Hutch, that sounds like a good idea.” Suddenly, his pager went off, making him jump. He hadn’t expected anyone to use it so soon. He glanced at the number. It was home.

Hutch nodded, indicating the phone, and Starsky went to it and punched in the number. To his surprise, Liza answered. Her voice sounded tight, strained.

“Dave, the kids are ready for bed. Maggie thought it might help if you said goodnight to them.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to bawl. “I’d love to. Thanks, Liza. I appreciate it.”

There was a pause, then she said, “They’re still upset. They need to know you’re still available for them.”

“Any time. Any time at all.”

There was another pause, and then he heard Sara’s little voice saying too softly, “Is this Daddy?”

“Right here, sweetheart,” he said clearly. “It’s late. I’ll bet you’re sleepy.”

“Aunt Maggie read us a funny story,” Sara said. He could tell by the way she was talking that she was sucking her thumb again. She hadn’t done that in months.

“I’m glad, honey. Don’t forget to take your bunny to bed and say your prayers. I love you very much.”

“I love you, too, Daddy. Good night.”

There was a fumbling over the phone and then he could hear Kenny breathing into the phone, waiting for someone to say something in his ear.

“Is that my big boy?” Starsky asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Daddy, will you take us to the park tomorrow?” Kenny asked without preamble. He must’ve been exhausted since his baby lisp was strong.

“If that’s okay with Mommy, sure I will. You ask her. She might want to do something else, though, okay? It’s bedtime now. You do what Mommy tells you. And don’t forget that I love you.” He made kisses over the phone, and heard Kenny return them.

He could hear Liza ushering the kids to beds, and heard Maggie in the background taking them to their rooms.

“Thank you,” Liza said. “That seemed to help.”

He wanted to beg her forgiveness, insist he still loved her, then realized those were the only conventions he had to cope with this situation, and that they were totally inadequate. He didn’t even feel like he had the right anymore to ask her how she was doing, even though he cared about that.

“Me, too,” he said guilelessly. “I’m not going to work this week. If… they need me, want to see me… if you want that to happen….”

“We’ll see,” she said noncommittally. “Goodnight, Dave.” And the phone went dead.

Hutch was right behind him, rubbing his shoulders, trying to convey all that he felt through his hands.

Starsky was wrung out, exhausted, totally spent. He turned around to hug Hutch hard.

“Stay tonight,” Hutch whispered into his hair. “Please, Starsk. Look, I know we’ll need to have separate places to live while all this stuff works itself out. But we need to be together tonight more than ever.”

Starsky looked at the anguished expression on Hutch’s face, as if he expected Starsky to refuse, to go off and lick his wounds alone. Well, isn’t that what you did the last time? Isn’t that what caused the split between you, because you couldn’t share what was really inside you?

“All my stuff’s at the hotel,” Starsky said, with a catch in his throat. “Toothbrush, change of clothes, everything.”

Hutch laughed and hugged him again. He started guiding him towards the bedroom. “I think you can still fit into some of my stuff, and I’ll bet I have a spare toothbrush around here somewhere. I know I’ve got a fresh nightshirt with your name on it right in my room.”

Starsky nodded, letting Hutch take charge, too drained to do anything else.

“Tomorrow, we can start looking for a place for you to settle into,” Hutch said. “Someplace not too far away. I’ll bet Quentin will have some ideas.”

Starsky couldn’t think about that. The echo of his children’s voices was still in his ear. His heart was torn; this was the moment they’d been waiting for, the happy ending they deserved. If everything went right, they would eventually be together the way they wanted. Why couldn’t he take any joy in it?

“Are you worried about your job?” Hutch asked, as they started to undress.

“Haven’t really had a chance to think about it,” Starsky said. “But I suppose between Jeri Eastman and Liza, it wouldn’t be too hard for word to get back to the wrong ears. Right now, it’s the last thing I care about.”

He remembered Hutch worrying about that for him. He’d lose his pension if he were dismissed. They might not be able to fire him outright for being gay, but they could probably find some other reason to get rid of him. In a few more years, he’d be able to retire but it was too soon for that now.

Hutch handed him the maroon nightshirt he’d bought for him months ago—the nightshirt he’d never had a chance to wear. It felt odd putting it on now, felt even more odd he wouldn’t have to worry about making excuses to Liza for being here, or have to get up at the right time to get home so she wouldn’t suspect. They’d been playing the game for so long, he wasn’t sure how to act now that they didn’t have to anymore.

“If it comes to that,” Hutch said, as they climbed into bed, “you could just resign. They’d have to give you what was in your pension fund, then. You could reinvest it yourself.”

“And then do what? I know you make a good salary, Hutch, but I can’t see me sitting around here all day waiting for you to come home from work. I just don’t think I’m good housewife material.”

“Starsky,” Hutch said, “we haven’t had much of a chance to absorb everything that’s happened today. But you said it once; we’ve got to believe in each other. I believe in us, Starsk. And I love you with all my heart.”

“Hutch,” Starsky said, nearly breathless, “I love you so much! That’s the only thing that got me through this.”

They drew together in the center of the bed, arms tightening, Starsky’s embrace desperate. Hutch kissed his forehead, his temple, kisses of comfort and love. Neither of them was aroused, and right now Starsky couldn’t imagine feeling that way again as heartsick as he was over his kids.

“Hutch, I’m sorry. We should be celebrating being together, making love, being happy—but I’m just too down.”

“Ssshhh,” Hutch soothed, rubbing his back, holding him tight. “We are together. We don’t have to rush anymore, or grab every second like we’re starving. We can slow down. We can take our time. And we were friends first; we’ll always have that. Tonight, two old friends need the comfort of closeness. The lovers can see how they feel tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. Things will get better. And we’ll be happy again. You’ll see.”

“You promise?” Starsky asked tiredly, much the same way Sara would often ask him when she doubted what he was telling her.

“I promise,” Hutch said, holding him close. “I promise with all my heart.”

Starsky felt his body yielding to the warmth and safety of Hutch’s embrace and let sleep take him.

***

Hutch unlocked the door of the two bedroom bungalow that was Starsky’s new residence. Hutch couldn’t call it a home. Two weeks after moving in with a few suitcases and work clothes on hangers, Starsky still treated the place like a hotel. Today, Hutch decided, it was time to change that.

Starsky looked up from the newspaper he was reading on the kitchen counter. “What the hell is that?”

He looks so tired, Hutch thought, mustering a smile of his own. “You’re a detective. Figure it out.” Approaching Starsky, Hutch held out the object.

Starsky sighed. “Very funny. It’s a plant. What’s it doing here?”

“Looking for a job,” Hutch said. Pulling a small dessert saucer out of a kitchen cabinet, he placed the four-inch pot with the baby plant on it, and perched it near the window over the sink.

“One of yours?” Starsky asked, looking back down at the paper. He took a sip of coffee.

“Nope.” Hutch took a cup to pour some for himself. “Brand new. Acquired just for you.”

“Because—” Starsky said, without looking up.

“Because this place needs a little life in it. You’re not providing any.”

That must’ve hit a nerve. Starsky turned away from the newspaper and finally really looked at Hutch. His expression showed a touch of remorse. “Sorry. Good morning, Hutch.”

“Good morning, Starsk.” Hutch leaned in for a kiss, which urged a small smile from Starsky as he returned it.

“Thanks for the… housewarming gift?” He finally gave the plant a real look. “What is it?”

“Split leaf philodendron.”

“Go on. I know you’re dying to give it to me in Latin.”

Hutch always sneered at common names for plants when most were incorrect. Smiling, he said slowly, “Thaumatophyllum bipinnatifidum.”

“How long did it take you to memorize that?” Starsky asked, looking impressed.

“Coupla days. I’ll forget it by tomorrow.”

“Philodendron…” Starsky said.

“You can’t name it Phil. You already used that one back when we were detectives. And it’s really not a philodendron at all. People just call it that.”

“Herman. I’ll call it Herman.”

Hutch nodded, glad Starsky didn’t ask him how big it was going to get. The plant could become a monster if Starsky didn’t kill it.

In the two weeks Starsky had been here, he still hadn’t unpacked. Hutch could see underwear spilling out of his suitcase. His suits, shirts, and ties were occupying one of the closets, but except for three framed photos he’d taken from his house—one of each of the kids and the photo of him and Hutch as young detectives—he’d done nothing to settle in.

Hutch tried not to worry about that, tried not to imagine Starsky giving it all up some night and going back to his wife, but he couldn’t help it. Logically, he knew the chances of Liza ever taking Starsky back were slim to none; she was too angry. But Starsky’s drawn out adjustment to his new circumstances was taking a toll on them both.

Folding up the newspaper as a signal he was ready to talk, Starsky asked, “Are you just a floral delivery service this morning, or do you have something to tell me?”

While official notification regarding his divorce proceedings would come from Quentin, Hutch, as Quentin’s right hand, was usually privy to negotiations. It often helped soften the news in the early days when things were going badly. Liza’s anger often flared white hot and both her lawyer and Quentin would have to wait a few days as she mulled over the realities of her new life without a live-in husband. A husband who left her for another man.

“Yeah, I do have something,” Hutch said. “Liza’s lawyer is making some inroads. She’s had time to cool down a little and he’s urging her to set up realistic expectations. Especially after Quentin made the latest offer regarding alimony and child support.”

Starsky had left the hotel he’d been staying in after Quentin found him this two bedroom bungalow. It had once been a servant’s quarters behind an elegant estate house belonging to one of Quentin’s wealthier clients. The owners of the estate traveled extensively and were thrilled to think that a policeman would be living on their property, keeping an eye on it. While the place had an elaborate security system, the owners respected Starsky’s official status much more. They asked only that he pay utilities, which was fine with him.

It let him offer Liza more of his salary in child support and alimony, and his generosity, Quentin told him, might help temper Liza’s rage. Apparently, her lawyer reminded her that most husbands fought to the death over every penny if they paid alimony at all, while Starsky was leaving himself barely enough to live on. Liza, however, was well aware that Starsky could lean on Hutch for help if he needed it.

“Liza was somewhat mollified to find out your new living quarters was a good fifteen minutes from my place,” Hutch told him. “She seemed to think we’d be shacking up immediately. Finding out your place wasn’t that close—”

“—That the kids wouldn’t be bumping into you on a regular basis—” Starsky filled in.

“—Took the wind out of some of her sails. Also, that you agreed to not ‘expose the children to your new lifestyle unnecessarily.'”

“What does that mean? That you can never be here with them? That they can never see you?” Starsky got that edge in his voice that crept in whenever they were discussing Liza keeping him away from the kids.

“You know Quentin would never agree to that,” Hutch said, hoping his softer tone would smooth his lover’s mood. “It means, basically, that I won’t be spending the night when they’re here for sleepovers, that we should limit our time together to daylight, or public places, no public displays of affection. That you spend time with them alone until they’re used to this change in their lives. Sensible stuff. They’re just kids. They’ll figure out when we mean to each other as time goes by.”

Starsky took a deep breath. “Okay. You’re right. That’s not too bad.”

In the first few days of negotiations, Liza insisted the kids would never see Starsky again in person. He was still limited to bedtime phone calls, since the kids wouldn’t settle down for the night without it. When Quentin only laughed at this demand, her lawyer, a reasonable man experienced in LA divorces, explained that unless Starsky volunteered to accept those terms, no judge would agree to limit a father’s visitation to such an extreme. Especially a father willing to support his children and ex-wife and give up his claim to the home without forcing a sale. It wasn’t like in this day and age married men coming out was that rare.

Liza was also sensible enough, even in her anger, to not threaten his job with the truth of his affair with Hutch. Quentin had reminded her lawyer, who no doubt passed it on, that it would not be in Liza’s best interests for Starsky to lose his position. If he became unemployed, she was likely to lose most of the financial benefits he was offering for her and the kids. Private investigators, his most likely next career, simply didn’t make that much money.

“The kids still won’t go to bed at night until they hear from you,” Hutch reminded him. “They’re putting pressure on her. Every day all they wanted to know is when is Daddy coming home. Until visitation is settled, she can only deflect that by vague promises of when they might see you again.”

“And Maggie’s still offering to be a go-between and babysitter, right?”

Hutch nodded. “That helps. But ultimately, Liza is too much of a mother, and the children’s need for their dad too strong for her to ignore. As much as she might like to, Liza won’t hurt her kids just to exact vengeance.”

“It’s hard to be separated from them,” Starsky said. “I know you understand. Some days are just… worse than others.”

Hutch did understand that. He was still in limbo regarding access to a child he might never see. Things weren’t going nearly as well on that score.

Hutch smiled. “Quentin thinks in time, especially as the kids get older and don’t come home talking about the drag shows we took them to or the orgies we’re having in front of them, she’ll relax. And as weeks pass and she wants more time to herself she’ll realize she can only get that if you relieve her of child care.”

“You know I was never very good at waiting,” Starsky said.

Hutch remembered all the hours of stakeouts with his fidgety young partner and nodded. “I do have one interesting bit of news that might cheer you up.”

Starsky’s expression was doubtful and lacked any sense of curiosity.

“Liza was relieved you were willing to give up all claims to the house. She wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with packing and uprooting the kids,” Hutch said. Pausing, he kept his expression neutral, never sure how Starsky would take the latest turn of events. “She wants you to keep the cabin.”

Starsky had offered to give up all claims to their joint properties, so this was a surprise, considering the value of the cabin and land.

He laughed but there was a bitter tinge to it. “I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s not stupid. She figured out where we first got together. No wonder she’d rather not see it again.”

Hutch decided to take a risk and prod the bull. “Are we ever going to see it again?”

Starsky blinked, surprised. “Huh? Why would you ask that?”

“Starsky, come on. You know why.” He kept his tone low, without rancor or even a hint of accusation.

Starsky swallowed hard, his eyes darting away and then back again. He glanced at the paper on the counter and swallowed again. “Hutch, I’m sorry, I….”

“No apologies. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling. Tell me why you haven’t touched me since you left your wife.”

He shook his head. “You know it’s never been easy for me to talk about my feelings.” Taking a breath, he finally met Hutch’s gaze. “I’m missing my kids, I’m missing the joy they bring me, I’m missing their love. And it’s my own fault. I did it. For my own selfish needs. My need for you. I’m so wrapped up with guilt and sorrow, I feel like I can’t enjoy anything anymore. I feel like… my love for you contaminates you. My love for you is denying you access to your own child. How wrong was I to—”

“Stop,” Hutch said softly. “Love isn’t something you can control, Starsk. Like grief, it simply is. It’s something to experience, for good or ill. I love you, just like you love me. I can’t control that. I can control my response to it, but only to a certain extent. This is a difficult time in our lives, but we can get through it, but only if we work on it together.”

Starsky looked as if he were letting that sink in.

“I’ve made an appointment to see a counselor,” Hutch said.

Starsky couldn’t hide the surprise on his face.

“Will you come with me?” Hutch waited for Starsky’s walls to slam down. “It’s a couples’ counselor, but she’s willing to see me by myself.” He left a lot unsaid. They hadn’t slept together again after the night Starsky left his wife. They hadn’t made love since. And Starsky wasn’t opening up about it whenever Hutch broached the topic.

When Starsky didn’t say anything, Hutch continued. “The appointment is Wednesday night, around 7 pm.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and put it on the counter. “You could meet me there. Or come with me. Or, obviously, let me go alone. I’ll be seeing her weekly. I think it will help me. I think it could help us.”

Starsky looked like he was struggling with words. He looked away, blinking, as if trying to control his emotions.

“It’s your call,” Hutch said. “It was a tough decision for me. Grace suggested this counselor. It’s a gay woman who’d previously been married to a man, has a couple of kids. Quentin handled her divorce, which was very public and pretty messy, so she’s in a unique position to understand.”

“Why…? How can this even begin to help?” Starsky finally stammered. “How can it change what’s happening? Can it make Liza change her attitude? Can it make my kids happy again? Can it make Jeri understand how much damage she’s doing by holding your child hostage?”

Hutch let him protest until he ran out of words. “No, of course not. But counseling can do other things. It can give you tools on how to deal with your own emotions, help you think of ways to channel your own responses. Sometimes those ideas can bring about positive change. Sometimes, if it can’t do anything else, it can lead you to some peace of mind. Help you develop patience as legal processes move forward slowly. And it can help you stave off instinctive responses that, if you indulge them, can only make things worse. I guess ultimately, I look at counseling as something that might help. It certainly can’t make things worse.”

That made Starsky face him again. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Yeah. That’s a good point.”

Hutch didn’t press him, just let the invitation sit there.

“Let me think about it, okay?” Starsky asked. “I’ve never been a huge fan of counseling, as you know. But… the mandatory counseling I had to have after Gunther really helped.”

Hutch smiled. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to bring that up himself. Whether Starsky showed up for the first appointment or not, Hutch knew he’d made an inroad. “I’m making lasagna tonight. Think you can make it?”

Starsky’s expression said volumes. “If I have to work late….”

“It just gets better with time. I can heat it up whenever you get there.”

He nodded, capitulating. “I’ll call when I’m on my way.”

“Doesn’t matter. Just show up.” That was Hutch’s way of telling him, “No expectations, partner.”

Starsky finally smiled.

***

Jeri thought about standing up when her father entered the room, then realized how awkward she’d look with her extended belly. Sitting in the comfortable armchair with her legs on the ottoman would give her an appearance of casual grace, someone who didn’t care that her only living parent had come to visit.

My jailer. My warden. She felt her temper rising, and tamped it down. She hated the way her emotions swung so wildly from one extreme to another. She took a slow deep breath to bring herself under control.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” her father said. He was carrying a vase of flowers, red roses, her favorites. He put them on the sideboard in her sitting area, then approached and kissed her forehead.

She didn’t move. His using the term “sweetheart” was to reduce her once more to a child, his child, a minor whose fate he controlled.

She decided not to say anything. Sooner or later, he’d reveal what this visit was for. Her father’s visits weren’t regular. He didn’t show up on the same day of the week, or the same time of day. He’d just appear. Unlike her, he could come and go as he pleased.

If she didn’t feel like talking to him, he’d do all the talking. He was a lawyer; he was good at entertaining a room. If she felt like talking, or yelling, or railing at the injustice of what she considered her incarceration, he’d listen patiently and try to soothe her. Usually that just made things worse. Yet, she couldn’t deny the truths he spoke to her. And he only ever told her the truth, no matter how difficult.

“Has the Van Ritter case concluded?” she asked.

His eyebrows rose. He seemed pleased that she was willing to talk for a change. Had she made an error at initiating conversation?

“As a matter of fact, it has,” he told her, sitting in the armchair facing hers.

“Did we—you—win it?” It was a land case that was very important to her. She’d worked on it for six months before she got pregnant. It was one of the last cases she had worked on with Ken. He’d brought interesting ideas to the case, and she knew, if they won it, she couldn’t deny his help on it.

“We did win it,” her father said. “We didn’t get everything we wanted, but most of it. The client was pleased. They wanted me to make sure you knew how they appreciated all the work you did on their behalf.”

She nodded, bitter that she couldn’t have been in the courtroom for the end of it. Would that have reminded her of the joy she experienced any time she and Ken had a successful case together? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? The baby kicked her suddenly, hard. Then again. She grimaced.

Her father, wisely, said nothing.

“That’s good to hear,” she finally said when she could breathe again.

“Jeri,” her dad said.

She sat up a little straighter. His tone said he was about to say something official.

“Quentin is asking you to consider—”

“No!” she snapped.

“You can’t put this off forever,” he reminded her patiently.

“I’m never going to ‘consider’ giving that lying pervert access to the baby. He can forget it.”

Her father winced at her choice of words. “He’s not going to forget it. And he has one of the best lawyers in the business—and the ACLU—fighting for him. This isn’t 1950. And he’s not being unreasonable—”

“The hell he’s not. His pretending to love me was unreasonable. His fathering a child is unreasonable. He’s a fucking queer—!” She was almost shouting. The baby kicked again, taking her breath away. God, she hated this. She hated him. Ken or the baby, right now she couldn’t say. Maybe both of them.

“That’s quite enough,” her father said in the same tone he used when she was a child that would bring her tantrums to a complete halt.

She hated that it continued to have the same effect on her as an adult.’

“Jeri, you can’t consider this child as an object of leverage over a man you’re angry with. It’s a human being. If you don’t want it, he does. He makes a good living. He’s a decent human being—”

She would have jumped to her feet if she could have, but her belly prevented sudden moves like that. “The hell he is, he’s a fucking—”

“Enough!” he snapped, clearly at the end of his patience. “We’ve never tolerated talk like that in our house, and I’m not about to sit here and listen to you spew such poison. If your mother were here—”

“But she’s not,” Jeri said, and her voice cracked. Damn it, she hated when he brought up her mother.

“Tell the truth,” he insisted, his “lawyer” voice in full bore. “Do you hate this child?”

She wouldn’t answer. She really didn’t know.

“Do you love it?”

Not at all, she thought. Shouldn’t she? Isn’t that something that should just come naturally to her? She had never played with dolls when she was a little girl. She wanted toy briefcases, and played “Perry Mason” instead. All she ever wanted was to command authority in a court room, to make the legal world accept her the way it did her father and grandfather. And it had. But now, she was trapped here. Away from her own cases. Unable to control her seesawing emotions, she started to cry.

Her father sighed. “A baby needs to be loved, nurtured, not shunted around. Ken wants visitation rights. He wants this baby. He’s a man capable of decent, honest feelings, who can provide for it. You have to make a decision about this or we’ll all be in court for months and months, maybe years. And if you think he’ll automatically lose this case because of his sexual relationship, think again. I can bring you a list of recent cases where gay fathers have won parental rights through some of the most brutal cases. You know Ken. He’s not going to give up.”

Why not? she thought. He gave up on me.

A soft knock came to the door, and after a too brief pause, a nurse stuck her head in. “Everyone all right in here?”

It wasn’t the first time her tirades brought unwanted attention to her room.

“I’ve got lunch!” the woman said too cheerily when no one answered. She opened the door wide and wheeled in a tray. “I saw you’d signed in, Mr. Eastman. So I brought some for you as well.”

“Thank you, Darlene,” he said, as she brought the tray over and placed it between them.

Jeri’s food was on a footed tray that the nurse placed over her lap. When she looked at the cup of soup and the hearty sandwich, she realized how hungry she was. Or maybe how hungry the baby was. She never knew. She’d stopped having morning sickness weeks ago, and now was hungry most of the time. She was terrified that she’d be saddled with her weight gain for the rest of her life, the way her mother had been. Her tailored designer clothes would never fit again. She stared at the food as if it was a monster she couldn’t defeat. The baby in her belly rolled over. She reached for the sandwich and checked it for mayonnaise. Of course. The kitchen never forgot.

As the nurse headed for the door, her father took his own sandwich and prepared to eat it. “Let’s take a break for now,” he said as she chewed her food. “We can talk about this some more after lunch.”

It was a negotiating tactic, she knew. You’ll be easier to handle once you’ve eaten, she could imagine him thinking. She suspected he categorized her swinging moods as “hungry, angry, hungry, furious, hungry, depressed, not hungry.” He wasn’t wrong.

She took another bite.

***

“Sign here, Dave,” Quentin said, handing him a document.

Grace passed the papers to him on a clipboard.

Taking the clipboard, he prepared to sign it when Hutch spoke up. “You should read it, Starsk.”

He paused.

“Always good advice,” Quentin agreed.

He knew they were right, so reluctantly scanned the document. He wasn’t surprised to see it was straightforward. He would have the children every other weekend, assuming his work permitted. He could see them every Tuesday evening for dinner. They would substitute dates if he couldn’t get free due to the nature of his job. Likewise, if something came up at her gallery and Liza needed a sitter unexpectedly, she would call him first (through an intermediary, usually Maggie Blaine), and if he were available, he’d take the kids.

He was surprised there was nothing in the document that officially limited Hutch’s access to the kids. But he was smart enough to know that he should confine the kids’ exposure to Hutch to public places, where there could be no question about appropriate behavior. When Starsky had the kids for the weekend, Hutch would sleep in his own apartment.

“Looks just like you said it would.” Starsky scrawled his name in all the places Grace had marked for him to do so. He’d sent his first official alimony and child support payment in just that morning.

He wanted to think of it is as a new beginning, but it felt too much like a bitter ending. He knew he’d have to bring it up at counseling this week.

It had been eight weeks since he and Liza had separated.

The first time he’d seen his children had been at a restaurant. Maggie brought them for an early dinner, but he and the kids were so overwrought with emotion at their reunion, it nearly derailed the entire event. Wisely, Maggie suggested they walk over to a nearby park and play on the swings until the kids calmed down. Starsky was nearly overwhelmed himself; he’d struggled to contain his emotions.

Maggie was a rock, shepherding him through painful moments while the kids were crying and clinging to him, changing topics, distracting the kids by getting them to tell Starsky what school was like or what new toys they’d just gotten. Within a half hour, they were settled down, if subdued.

Over the course of their play and dinner, Starsky was honest with them about the future and before they separated for the evening, the kids seemed to reluctantly accept their new reality.

The next time they’d visited had been at his new residence. Hutch had added some homey touches to it so it wouldn’t seem so sterile, which included a toy chest filled with some familiar toys, duplicated from ones they had at home. Things had gone better. Starsky’s refrigerator had new artwork on it that the kids brought for that first get together. They hadn’t spent the night, but they knew that would happen soon.

“I hear you’re planning for a weekend getaway,” Grace said as she transferred the clipboard back to Quentin.

We are? Starsky said, frowning.

Hutch caught his expression and raised his eyebrows. “We’re taking a few days up at the cabin,” he said, reminding Starsky without making too big a point of it.

Oh, yeah, we are, Starsky recalled. He felt chagrined that it had slipped his mind. He glanced at Hutch, silently apologizing. “Gotta take advantage when things are quiet at work,” he said. “I’m looking forward to it.” He meant it. He longed for a sense of normalcy and wanted a chance to focus solely on Hutch for the first time since all this had started.

Hutch was smiling at him. His expression said what it always did, that Starsky was everything, all that he needed.

He let that expression fill up the hole in his heart.

***

“What a beautiful baby,” Nurse Barbara cooed to the tiny newborn in the basin as she washed him.

“He is, isn’t he?” another nurse, Lily, preparing a bottle, agreed. “All blond and pink.”

The baby waved his arms as the warm water sluiced over him from the nurse’s hands.

“I think that’s part of the problem.”

Lily looked at from the warming station. “What?”

“I heard Jeri say the baby looks too much like his father,” Barbara said, rinsing the infant off and gathering him in a warm drying blanket.

“Is that what’s going on with her?” Lily asked. “I’ve never seen a new mom this depressed or this angry. She acts like she hates the baby. She hasn’t even given him a name.”

“She doesn’t want to hold him, doesn’t want to feed him,” Barbara agreed. “She could be home already if she’d just start taking care of him.”

“And you’re such a good baby, aren’t you?” Lily said, testing the liquid in the bottle against her wrist.

After quickly drying the infant, Barbara laid him on the changing table, diapered him, and dressed him in a warm onesie. The baby blinked and looked around the brightly lit room.

Lily handed Barbara the bottle as Barbara put the baby back in the portable bassinet. “I’ll see if she wants to feed him.”

“You think she might?” Lily asked.

Barbara shrugged. “Gotta believe in miracles. Like this little guy. He’s a miracle. If only his mom could see it.”

“I heard a whisper about his dad,” Lily said quietly, as if the baby could understand them.

Barbara looked up, curious.

“I heard he’s gay, that he left Jeri for another man. That’s why she’s so mad, why she doesn’t want anything to do with the baby.”

Barbara frowned. “Careful who you repeat that to,” she warned the other nurse. “Management doesn’t like gossip about their wealthy clients.”

Lily accepted the correction with grace. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have repeated that.”

“But it does explain something about her behavior,” Barbara conceded. “But none of that is your fault, is it, beautiful?” The baby kicked and squirmed as if agreeing with her.

“You think she’ll put him up for adoption?’ Lily asked.

“She needs to do something,” Barbara agreed. “I’ve seen other mothers who weren’t happy to have a baby. I remember a famous movie star who was livid about giving birth and what it did to her body. We kept waiting for her ‘mother’s instincts’ to kick in, but it never did. Not every woman has it. That kid ended up being raised by a crew of nurses. It was sad.”

“I hope that doesn’t happen to this little guy,” Lily said.

Barbara nodded. “His future is the only thing she and her father talk about.” Fight about, she thought, aching for the innocent child waiting to bond to someone, anyone, who could love him.

***

Starsky was getting used to Hutch showing up at his place with some new surprise. He was on a crusade to turn Starsky’s residence into a home, not just a place where he slept sometimes. He brought some of his artwork, toys for the kids, even curtains when Starsky kept procrastinating on making the place more private and livable. Starsky felt Hutch’s place was his real home, if he had one, but Hutch wouldn’t accept that. He knew Starsky’s place reflected his unsettled mind.

The counselor agreed with Hutch. So Starsky didn’t protest over the newly hung canvases, the curtains that could be drawn when needed, the toy chest, kids’ easel, tricycle, and gameboards that Starsky had to admit made the place seem less sterile.

But this—this was a hill too far.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” he sputtered at Hutch’s latest surprise.

“Nope,” Hutch said confidently. “Meet Winston.”

“No,” Starsky said. “Just—no!”

As usual, Hutch ignored his protest and continued as if he’d said nothing. “What is the one thing your children always wanted that Liza wouldn’t give them? The only thing she wouldn’t give them?”

Starsky blinked, hating when Hutch used his lawyer’s skills to out maneuver his sensible arguments.

“Go on, Winston, go say hello to Starsky,” Hutch said cheerily while Starsky stammered to say something that would derail this latest intrusion into his life.

The big yellow Labrador walked up to Starsky and sat facing him, as if waiting for him to respond. The dog lifted a paw.

“He wants you to shake his hand,” Hutch said.

Starsky stared at his lover. “You can’t be serious.”

The dog waited patiently until Starsky couldn’t ignore him any longer. He took hold of the offered paw and gave it a brief shake. The dog broke into a large smile and wagged his tail.

“Winston isn’t just any dog,” Hutch explained, as if showing up with sixty-pound living breathing responsibility Starsky never asked for was the best idea ever. “He’s a failed guide dog. Well, I don’t mean failed. His previous owner passed away suddenly. Winston’s eight-years-old. He’s too old to start with another blind person, since they’re usually ‘retired’ at ten. So he’s looking for a new job.”

“And, what, you just saw his want ad in the paper? Looking for employment. Good with kids. Housebroken. Sheds moderately….”

Hutch laughed. “Actually, he was one of Kiko and Mollie’s projects in junior and senior year.”

That stopped Starsky abruptly. That was during the time he and Hutch had grown apart, so he hadn’t always been aware of what the kids were doing as they grew up.

“They became puppy raisers for a guide dog organization,” Hutch continued. “Rearing specially bred puppies in a home for socialization, doing obedience training, taking them to public places to get them used to those environments, until the pups were around eight-months-old when the organization would take them back for serious training and eventual assignment. I think they raised three dogs before their first year in college. When guide dogs fail, the puppy raisers get first choice at adopting. Dogs like Winston that get close to retiring are often kept by the person they’ve been guiding if possible. The sudden death of Winston’s handler was an unusual situation. The handler had no family, and an older dog can be hard to place, even a talented one. So, the organization contacted Kiko and Mollie to give them first choice… and they asked me. Since they’re still in school, they really aren’t in a situation to take the dog. But they thought—”

“They thought—”

“—Winston might find a place with one of us, or someone we knew. Look, Winston’s better house trained than most humans, excellent with children, and doesn’t even bother Dick, our office cat. The kids are gonna flip when they see him.”

Winston nudged Starsky’s hand as if to say, “Hey, if you’re not doing anything, why don’t you pet me?”

“You’ve always wanted a dog,” Starsky said. Unlike Hutch, Starsky was ambivalent about them, so when Liza said she didn’t want the added work a dog would bring to a house of toddlers, he’d easily agreed. “I’m not sure I have the time….”

“I thought we could share custody,” Hutch said quickly. “Maybe you could hold onto him when I have to travel, but otherwise, he can live at Quentin’s with me. But he can be here when the kids come. You’ve been saying how bad it makes you feel that you’re turning into one of those dads who have sad little dinners at restaurants with their kids. Winston can change that.”

“He can be trusted with kids?” Starsky asked, already knowing the answer.

“He adores kids. His owner used to take him to the park where there were lots of kids to play with on a regular basis. He even went to schools to show kids what guide dogs were all about. You can trust him with Kenny and Sara.” Hutch paused. “I think he can make a big difference when the kids come over. For all of you.”

The shock was subsiding and Starsky was mulling the idea. His visits with the kids, he had to admit, were depressing. He tried to summon up the same enthusiasm he once had playing and spending time with them, but it had been an effort. The kids were quick to tears when they arrived and quicker to shed them when they had to leave. Swamped with guilt, it was hard for Starsky to be cheerful under the circumstances and that wasn’t helping at all.

Winston nudged his hand again, refusing to be ignored. He stroked the dog again, watching the dog grin in delight. He didn’t have to imagine his kids’ reactions when they found the dog here.

“He’s a lovely animal,” Starsky conceded. “I don’t suppose you’re lining up a pony for the back yard, are you?”

Hutch laughed. “Not a bad idea!”

“Have I told you lately that I appreciate all you’ve been doing?” Starsky said seriously.

Hutch said nothing, because Starsky knew damned well he didn’t say such things often enough. He was adjusting way too slowly to his new reality, while Hutch marched ahead of him, pompoms waving when they were needed, sober reality checks when that was called for, and always, always unquestioning loyalty, patience, and love.

“I really do, Hutch,” Starsky repeated. “I may not act like it sometimes, but I appreciate it, and love you for it. For everything. Even the counseling.”

Hutch laughed wryly again. “Baby steps, Starsk. They add up over time.”

“This looks more like a giant leap for Daddy-kind,” he said, petting the dog again.

Winston seemed to melt onto the floor and expose his belly, tongue lolling out.

“He really enjoys retirement,” Hutch said, coming over to rub the dog’s softly furred tummy.

“Oh, when he meets the kids, he may rethink that. They’ll put him through his paces.” Starsky smiled at the sight of his partner petting the dog. “Joint custody, huh?”

“Only way it’ll work,” Hutch said.

“Okay,” Starsky agreed. “But only if you promise no ponies.”

“It’s a deal.”

***

“You can’t keep me here forever!” Jeri insisted. “Why can’t I go back to work?”

Her father knew she was right. The baby was six weeks old. He kept waiting for his daughter to accept the child, kept waiting for the maternal instinct that had been so much a part of her mother to kick in. He was frustrated that it still hadn’t. The baby’s cries just annoyed her, and his bodily needs repelled her. She didn’t want to clean him, or feed him, and she only held him reluctantly. He understood reality; the baby was being raised by the staff.

He tried to deflect her demands. “Do you even care about him? Even a little? Your son.” He watched her contemplate his question like the lawyer she was and consider her answer carefully—too carefully. She was looking for a response that would please him and win her freedom. He cut her off before she could flat out lie to him. “Babies need someone to love them. It’s not just physical, it’s emotional. He needs a parent.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You can be his parent. You’re the one who wants him.”

“Jeri, you know what I’m talking about. You have a solution to your problem if you’ll just be—”

“Is that what the modern baby really needs? A queer daddy?”

“Is that your true motive,” he asked her bluntly. “A chance to face Ken in court and humiliate him there? Deny him the one thing he wants, a chance to be part of his son’s life, out of revenge? Is that your plan for your future? For your son’s future?” He couldn’t hide the disgust he felt. How did his child who had been so loved learned to harbor so much hatred and spite?

Her chin quivered but she fought the emotion. “Daddy—” she finally whispered, her voice cracking a little. “I can’t help how I feel. Everything’s changed for me. My body isn’t my own anymore. I’ve gained weight. I’m awkward. My mind is foggy. I want to go home. And I want to go back to work. I want to have something to look forward to! Not just diapers and snot and a screaming baby.”

“I’ve managed to postpone Ken’s custody suit,” he told her bluntly. “But Ken’s lawyer is pushing to go before the court. This is no amateur in family counseling, either. He’s an experienced ACLU lawyer used to facing difficult odds. He knows Ken’s request is reasonable. You need to figure out how you feel about your child. You need to see a future for him that isn’t just obligation and nannies. A future with love. Not just his grandfather’s love, but his mother’s. You have to at least try. Until I see your honest effort, you’re not coming back to work. And you should know your grandfather is talking about making you retire until your son is in school.”

She gasped, clearly shocked. “He can’t do that!”

“He most certainly can. He still owns the controlling shares in the business,” he reminded her. “And he doesn’t give a damn about Ken’s sexual orientation or this baby. He considers the whole thing an embarrassment and a reflection of your poor judgement.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, clearly rocked by this latest turn of events. “Okay. Okay, Daddy. I promise. I’ll try. I’ll… do my best.”

He shook his head. This wasn’t a task she could force herself to learn the way she tackled the harder classes in law school. On the other hand, her need for revenge was a powerful motivator. The wrong kind of motivator, but he suspected it was all she had. More than ever, he missed the counsel of his wife.

***

“You’re a goddamned genius,” Starsky said in awe.

His children’s squeals lit up the playground, as they raced around the slide with Winston. The dog worried every time they climbed the steps to the top of the short slide, then raced over to the bottom to greet them when they slid down safely. Over and over again, the two kids laughed and giggled every time the dog met them at the bottom, licking and nudging them. He was tireless.

Other young children were approaching Starsky’s kids, wanting to play with them just so they could meet the dog. Starsky realized some mothers and nannies at the park were smiling at the kids, the dog, and even at the two men who were clearly in charge of the energetic play group. No one seemed to care that he and Hutch were two men taking care of these young kids. They were just enjoying the happy atmosphere.

“‘Bout time you admitted it,” Hutch said, as he opened a picnic basket. He handed Starsky a wrapped sandwich. “Pastrami on rye. With mustard.”

Starsky opened his mouth to say something, but Hutch interrupted him. “One word about what a great wife I’d make and you’ll be wearing it.”

Starsky grinned. “Guess you can still read my mind.”

“It was never that hard,” Hutch said, pulling out a turkey on white for himself.

The kids had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with yogurt and fruit for dessert. The men let them play on the slide a little longer, finally calling them away before the dog was exhausted.

The children never referred to Hutch as their uncle anymore, and Starsky didn’t encourage it. Hutch said he preferred it this way, since that let him be simply their friend.

Sara pulled herself up onto the park bench to enjoy her sandwich, while Starsky lifted his son up to sit next to him. Winston took the opportunity to lie at their feet and recover. Hutch took a water bowl out of the picnic basket and gave Winston a drink, which he appreciated.

“Daddy,” Sara asked with a mouthful, “why does Mommy always get mad when me or Kenny talks about Hutch?”

Kenny nodded, agreeing, but too interested in lunch to care much either way. The little boy pulled off a bread crust Starsky knew he wouldn’t eat anyway, and offered it to the dog. Winston looked at Hutch, who gave him the command that permitted him to take food. The dog took it from Kenny with a retriever’s soft mouth.

The two men glanced at each other across the bench. Figure it out, Starsky thought. They’ll have even tougher questions in the future.

“Well, honey,” he said, “it’s just that Mommy and Hutch aren’t friends. Maybe they will be someday, but right now, they aren’t.”

Sara blinked as if thinking that through, and seemed to accept the answer.

Starsky suspected it wouldn’t take the kids long to learn not to mention Hutch at all when they went home.

Liza hadn’t demanded that the children stay away from Hutch. The two men played it safe, though. When Starsky had the kids for the weekend, Hutch slept in his own apartment, meeting them in the morning, and leaving at bedtime.

As Hutch had predicted, Winston’s presence when Starsky had the kids took a lot of pressure off him. He seemed to love the kids and he was safe; he was both playmate and guardian. The kids would fall asleep on mats in Starsky’s living room at nap time, with the dog between them, all three sleeping in the exhaustion happy play produced. They couldn’t wait to visit Starsky and Winston in his new home, and Starsky could now honestly enjoy their weekends and evenings together.

Life wasn’t perfect, but it was getting better.

“I wanna go on the swings,” Kenny demanded, nearly dropping his sandwich.

“When you finish lunch,” Starsky insisted.

Kenny immediately tried to hand the rest of his sandwich to Winston, but the dog refrained without the right command.

“No, you don’t,” Starsky admonished. “That’s your lunch. Eat up. Then the swings.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Kenny said, subdued.

Sara leaned against Hutch, who wiped some jelly off her cheek. “Getting tired, Sara?”

She shook her head, even as she yawned. That made the two men laugh.

“Finish your lunch,” Starsky said, “and we’ll hit the swings. Then we’ll go back to Daddy’s place. Winston needs a nap.”

Hutch glanced at him. “Winston, huh?”

“Yeah. The old man’s exhausted. Look at him.” Winston was resting, tongue lolling, but clearly happy and ready to go some more.

Starsky looked at Hutch. “Heard anything more about your court case?”

“Postponed,” was all Hutch said.

“All done,” Kenny announced showing his empty, if sticky, hands.

Starsky took out a damp washcloth from a plastic bag in the picnic basket and wiped his son’s fingers as Kenny slid off the bench and tried pulling his hands away. “Okay, okay, the swings, I get it,” Starsky said, barely able to finish.

“Push me, Daddy?” Kenny asked, even as he darted off to the swing set.

“I’m coming,” Starsky said.

Hutch was wiping off Sara’s hands and packing up the remains of their lunch. “You want the swings, Sara?”

“Okay. Come on, Winston,” she called and the dog obeyed.

Could we be any more domestic? Starsky marveled. No one even looked twice at them anymore, two grown men, a dog, and a couple of kids.

He caught Hutch watching him. Always worrying, his partner. He smiled and watched Hutch visibly relax. Starsky tried not to worry about Hutch’s future with his own son and just live in this moment where they could enjoy sharing his kids. Not perfect, but not bad, either.

Winston barked, catching his attention. Kenny was trying to climb into the swings designed for older kids without help, and that would only lead to disaster. The dog deliberately blocked him until Starsky could catch up to them.

Grabbing his son around the waist, he hoisted him into the baby swings, and pushed the boy until he was giggling. When Hutch helped Sara into the swing next to Kenny’s the dog went off duty, watching from a resting position. The kids’ infectious giggles lifted his spirits as they always did, and Hutch’s open hearted love for them did too.

Starsky could only hope Quentin’s lawyer friend, Gil, could work some miracle for Hutch, so he could at least see his son. But right now, that seemed like a dim possibility.

***

Starsky felt odd being back at the cabin. He hadn’t been here once since that fateful weekend when he and Hutch fell in love. Everything looked the same, and yet different, as if filtered through the events of the last six months.

“Hey, Starsk,” Hutch called as he stood on the deck looking out at the pool. “Is it useable?” Indicating the pool, Hutch asked, “or are we going to have to spend two days getting it ready for our first swim?”

Starsky looked over his shoulder at his partner. As he did, the sun broke through the clouds as if it were Hutch’s own celestial spotlight. His hair gleamed, blowing around his face like a halo. Starsky’s breath caught in his throat, as if he’d never before realized just how beautiful his lover was. In spite of everything they’d been through, all the hardship and the pain, Starsky knew in it his heart it was worth it to be able to freely love this beautiful, precious man.

“No,” Starsky said, “looks like the pool company actually did a good job. Though there’s always a chance the chlorine level might turn your hair green.”

Hutch laughed, coming to hug Starsky from behind and planting a wet, noisy kiss on his ear. “Well, in that case, maybe we’d better not waste any time swimming.”

Starsky shivered, and rubbed his ear on his shoulder, as though the kiss annoyed him. “Yeah, maybe we’d be better off fishing instead.”

“Mmmm,” Hutch agreed, nuzzling Starsky’s neck. “Fishing sounds good. Maybe I’ll get lucky and catch me a big one.”

Starsky couldn’t hold back his laugh at Hutch’s awful double entendres. “I have a feeling it’s a good thing I picked up some trout for dinner!”

“You know, this is our first chance to really relax alone since New Year’s?” Hutch reminded him.

“Yeah, I know,” Starsky said, feeling just a bit melancholy. He didn’t think he’d ever view New Years the same again. He turned around to face Hutch.

The sun reflected off the water and made Hutch’s eyes glitter with a hundred shades of blue. Starsky felt himself falling into those eyes, and suddenly, all the pain of the last months fell away. He wished he could stand here forever staring into the blue of Hutch’s eyes. “I love you,” he said.

“I’m so glad,” Hutch murmured back. “Because I love you so much, it’d kill me to find out I’m in this all on my own.”

Their mouths met with the tentative gentleness that had marked their love-making lately. There had been times when the guilt of all the secretive months caught up to Starsky, when he felt he had no right to feel joy in Hutch’s arms, not after bringing so much pain to his family. Hutch had been incredibly patient with him, understanding him better, it seemed, than he even understood himself. It only made him love Hutch more, especially when Starsky felt himself particularly unlovable.

Hutch had wanted, needed, this weekend alone with him. He’d wanted them to reconnect, to try to get past all the conflict and the heartache, and the pain of separation to just be together again. Four days of privacy, that’s all he’d asked for. It was little enough to give.

On the way up, they’d promised each other no shop talk, no family chatter, nothing but the two of them alone, together, sharing joy. Winston was spending the weekend with Grace, even though the cat, Dick, wasn’t wild about his new guest.

Like a honeymoon, Starsky thought suddenly, liking the idea.

“Hey,” Hutch said softly, “do you remember what you asked me for the last time we were up here?”

Starsky frowned, not sure what Hutch was referring to.

“I asked you if there was something I could get you, some special gift,” Hutch reminded him. “And you said—”

“All I wanted was a place to hide,” Starsky recalled. “With you. Someplace where we could give each other whatever we’d have left when everyone and everything else in our lives took what they needed. And you said, you never minded hiding out… as long as it was with me. I remember. I never said this out loud, but I remember thinking at the time that we couldn’t hide out forever, that sooner or later payment would come due.”

“And it did,” Hutch agreed. “And we paid it, are still paying it. As hard as it’s all been—as hard as it gets—we’re getting through it together. And that makes it worth it. We’ve got our place to hide. I mean…” Hutch laughed lightly. “I didn’t have to buy it for you, but we still have it. Hiding out here with you is just fine with me.”

Starsky embraced Hutch, squeezed him tight, feeling his solid masculine strength, the warmth and security that he’d always represented to Starsky as his partner, and now, so much more. “Me, too,” he said, choking up a little. “It’s fine for me, too.”

Hutch pulled back, latched onto him with that blue-eyed gaze, the kind that flayed the clothes right off him. Hutch’s eyes lit a fire in Starsky that he’d feared had cooled with all the stress they’d been under. Their love-making had been so gentle, so tender lately, with none of the incendiary passion that had marked their early joinings. Feeling that fire start again thrilled Starsky to his core.

“I… I need you Hutch,” he said, almost apologetically, as if realizing it himself for the first time.

Hutch grinned. “I’m glad. ‘Cause I need you so much it hurts. Come inside, love. The sun’s streaming through the cabin, all bright and beautiful, and I want to see you in that light.”

He took Starsky’s hand and led him into their cabin hideaway. Hutch made a point of turning off both their pagers and taking the phone off the hook. No one was going to be allowed to interfere, to take anything from them, not now.

Starsky smiled. The cabin was awash in light, the sun warming the wood interior. The large bed with its pristine white sheets called to them, and they went to it eagerly, reaching for each other, pulling at their clothes, unfastening, unbuttoning, tugging garments away until they were both bare and wrapped together in a light-on-dark-on-light tangle of limbs. Their mouths played the melody they knew so well now, but the tune felt new, and their hearts responded with its own tympani. They tasted each other’s breath, each other’s flavor, relishing the freedom to do it here in their own private sanctuary.

Hutch stroked Starsky’s body with his large hands. “You’re so beautiful,” Hutch said, “especially when you’re like this, wanting me, your body reaching for me, straining.” He took Starsky’s erection in his hand, stroked it, easing it and exciting it all at the same time.

“God, Hutch, how I need you,” Starsky gasped, impatient, hungry, eager. Just once, he remembered saying, I want us to be inside each other so deep, we wouldn’t be hungry for each other anymore. He realized now that that would never happen, that he’d always feel this hunger, this need for Hutch. And that was okay, because Hutch felt the same way. Most of the time they could assuage the hunger just by being together, through simple friendship, companionship, except when, like now, it flared up like a wildfire. At times like this, it would scorch through them in a blaze, and there’d be only one way they could control it.

He rolled on top of Hutch, and his lover moaned in anticipation, spreading his legs, telling him with his body that he was wanted so much. Their mouths kept touching, drinking from each other, as the fire built, roaring out of control. Starsky claimed his love with little warning, almost no preparation, he was that hungry for him. And Hutch cried out in passion and gave him what he needed, all that he needed, and then gave him more. They rode the crest of their desire together, each rocking the other in a perfect back and forth, give and take, arms and legs locked tight around their sweating, straining bodies.

“Hutch,” Starsky gasped, feeling more out of control than he had in a long time, “I need you!”

“Take what you need,” Hutch said back to him, “take it all. It’s all for you.”

He groaned, legs pumping, hips thrusting, his erection plowing deep into the man he loved so very much. No, Starsky thought dimly. It’s all for you. Don’t you know that? And then it crested so quickly, it took him by surprise. But not Hutch, who held him tight, clenching down on him, as the two of them came spectacularly into and over each other.

Their rocking slowed, but they couldn’t seem to let go, holding tight, trading soft kisses of reassurance and love, murmuring soft words of contentment and joy.

Eventually, they rolled onto their sides, catching their breaths, knowing how the rest of the day would go. The trout would wait for tomorrow. Today they’d never leave the bed except for liquids, quick snacks, and bathroom breaks. And that would be just perfect.

It was barely an hour later when Hutch rolled Starsky over to return the favor, with the same fever Starsky had. Starsky sprawled on his stomach and let it happen, happy to be the victim of such unremitting passion as Hutch gripped his hips and thrust into him. By the time Hutch came, Starsky felt dissolved with passion, and loved feeling that way.

“You okay?” Hutch whispered when he finished, having little breath left to speak.

“Lots better than okay,” Starsky said. “Shattered. Devastated. Totally destroyed.”

“That mean you can’t go again?” Hutch asked.

“Give me five,” Starsky said, chuckling. They wrestled playfully with the pillows, but neither of them had the strength to put anything into it. Sleep claimed them before they realized it, and they awoke hours later to twilight, a slight smattering of stars, and Starsky’s growling stomach. Quick cold cut sandwiches and big glasses of milk solved that problem as the two of them ate in bed, still naked.

They spent most of the weekend that way, enjoying the freedom and privacy that allowed them to forego clothes and any other inhibition. They might have been the only two people on the earth that weekend, in their own little Eden, with nothing to do but eat, sleep, and make love, not necessarily in that order.

They’d arrived on Thursday, and by Saturday, they were both feeling renewed and exhausted. Once their fever cooled, they made time for healing talk about the past, and hopeful talk of the future.

Starsky realized that with everything that had happened to them in the last few months, this was the first time he and Hutch had a whole weekend to deal with themselves as a couple. Their counselor had reminded them more than once that connecting together regularly was critical during this very stressful period. They needed to not let the outside forces fray their bond, which was still new and fragile. So this weekend was a honeymoon in every sense of the word.

By Sunday morning, Starsky was feeling more secure and happier than he’d been in a very long time. He could tell by the bright expression on Hutch’s face, by the joyous way he made love, by the pleasure he took in just being with Starsky, that Hutch was feeling the same.

Starsky knew then, that when things became overwhelming for them in their complicated lives, they’d return here together, alone, to rejuvenate and reconnect. It was their special place to hide, at the same time that it was their place in the sun. They might spend time here with the kids, mini-vacations, or other special times, but only when they came here alone together would the magic of this place come alive for them. It was something wonderful to look forward to.

***

On Sunday afternoon, they packed to get ready for the drive back to the city.

“Feels weird to be wearing clothes again,” he said to Hutch, who laughed. “This is the only vacation I ever took where I didn’t come home with a bunch of dirty laundry!”

“Yeah, but look at how often we had to wash your birthday suit!” Hutch said with a grin.

Hutch was fiddling with their pagers, turning them back on, reminding Starsky of all the obligations they’d left behind.

That was okay, he realized. The vacation had eased those burdens and gave him the energy to take them up again. He was ready.

Hutch was frowning at his pager.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a call waiting for you on that thing?” Starsky said. Quentin had promised that he wouldn’t bother them no matter what. He respected the time they needed together.

“I don’t recognize the number,” Hutch said.

“Could be a wrong one?” Starsky said, zipping up his bag.

“Let me just check, okay?” Hutch said, reaching for the phone.

Starsky went into the bathroom to pack up their few toiletries. When he came out, Hutch was having an oddly quiet conversation. He sounded surprised. Starsky stood there waiting to find out what it was about.

Finally, Hutch hung the phone up quietly, still staring at it with dismay.

“Everything okay?” Starsky asked. “You look like you either won the lottery, or they discovered a planet somewhere and named it after you.”

Hutch turned to him, as if he’d forgotten he was there. His eyes were luminous, and Starsky recognized that his lover was seconds away from bursting into tears. He hurried over to him. “Hutch? What is it?”

“You’re right—” Hutch said, broken-voiced. “The lottery…” He grabbed Starsky by the shoulders. “That was Gil. He’s been pushing hard on the Eastmans to grant me visitation privileges. It’s been going on so long, I’ve stopped thinking about it. I was beginning to accept that chances were I’d never see my son until he started college. But… Gil got an offer today from Chuck Eastman, Jeri’s father.”

Starsky’s whole body flushed. He was afraid to hope. “They’re going to let you see him?”

Hutch shook his head. “No. They’re offering to give me— custody.”

“Custody?” Starsky said, confused. “What kind of custody?”

Hutch squeezed his eyes shut. “Gil says, Jeri wants her life back. Her lawyer life. She hates being a mom. But her father won’t let her come back to work and leave her son to be raised by staff. They’ve been at an impasse over it. Gil said he thinks she believed her father would give in, while her father was waiting her out, hoping she’d find her maternal instincts. She thought she could farm out that responsibility. Her father wouldn’t accept that fate for his grandchild.”

“I don’t follow,” Starsky said, afraid to hope.

“But Jeri hadn’t figured on Old Man Eastman—her grandfather—getting involved. He threatened to force her into retirement until the baby went to school. She finally accepted that she couldn’t fight her grandfather and her father if she hoped to return to her job, and her former life. She finally realized she wanted that more than she wanted revenge on me. She conceded. She’s willing to give me full custody… now!”

“What? Seriously?” After all the bitterness of the negotiations between Jeri and Hutch, Starsky kept waiting for another shoe to fall. “What limitations?”

“I’m not sure,” Hutch said. “Gil didn’t mention any. But he did say we’d better get back and pick up this baby before she changes her mind.” Hutch started to laugh, but Starsky could see his eyes brimming with tears.

They hugged and blinked the moisture out of their eyes.

“Bad news for Winston,” Starsky said. “Another kid to babysit.”

“Gil promised to have the paperwork ready before we get back.” Hutch was still clearly stunned at the turn of events. “If we hurry, they’ll transfer the baby tonight.”

Starsky was astounded and joyous, both. “Damn, Hutch—you’re a daddy!”

“We’re both daddies,” Hutch reminded him. “Remember what I said all those months ago when you wished your kids were ours—well, now all three of them are. Kenny and Sara have a new baby brother, David.”

Starsky was dismayed. “She named the baby David?”

Hutch shook his head. “She wouldn’t name him. And she definitely doesn’t want him to carry the name Eastman. So I get to name him. My son’s going to be named David Quentin Hutchinson!”

“Ah, jeezus, Hutch, you’re gonna get me bawlin’ all over again.”

“This is it, Starsky, don’t you see?” Hutch said, gripping him. “This is our happy ending; what we’ve been waiting for all this time, what we thought would be forever out of reach. You and me together… with our family.”

Starsky could barely swallow around the lump in his throat. “Hutch—God, I love you.”

They met together for a soul-rocking kiss, then broke apart, grinning like fools.

“How fast can you get us back to town?” Hutch asked.

“A hell of a lot faster than we got here, that’s for sure,” Starsky said.

“Then, let’s go, partner. We’ve got to pick up our son.”

The new parents grabbed their bags and dashed out to the car, rushing toward the future they could now make together.

The End