The Counterfeit Claus by Cherie Noel Page B

down, Rose. I stubbed my toe. Christ, Kid, one day you’ll be the death of me, but—”
Rose grunted, and a muffled thud told Devon the younger man had just obeyed him. “Hell, Sarge, I know how that ends. Today ain’t the day, right?”
Devon paused long enough to pull a plain black teeshirt out of the middle drawer and slip it over his head. Spying the bottle of his favorite cologne, Drakkar Noir, sitting dead center on the top of the dresser, Devon sprayed a shot on as he checked himself out in the mirror. Same brown hair, same brown eyes as always. Same faintly olive skin two shades lighter than that of all his cousins, because his madre had gotten pregnant by what she called a beautiful Englishman. Seeing as how it happened during her senior class trip, Devon had to agree with his Abuelo when he called the man an unscrupulous cabron.
Devon eyed himself drolly. If his madre, Rosario Soto, had picked a nice Puerto Rican man like the rest of his aunts, then the dark circles under his eyes might not be so damn apparent. He snorted. The sleep deprived smudges were familiar from both his military stint and more recently from working two jobs and going to school full time. They were not his best look. He sprayed on another spritz of Drakkar to compensate for his haggard appearance, answering Rose as he did so. The kid had always been his favorite soldier, even though squad leaders weren’t supposed to have favorites.
Devon’s exasperated smile shaped the sound of his voice. “That’s right, kid. You still use the same locker combo?”
Rose coughed, one of those polite little coughs people gave when they were embarrassed as shit and didn’t know what to say. “Ah… yeah.”
Devon rolled his eyes.
Rose grunted. “Stop rolling your eyes, Dev. I only keep the stupid suit there. I hate learning new combos and passwords and shit.”
Devon sighed. Narrowing his eyes, he dropped his keys into his pocket and sat back on the edge of the bed to pull his socks on. “Not addressing that right now. You better believe we’re gonna deal with your lack of security as soon as you feel better.”
Rose full out whined. “Aw, Sarge, come on. That’s not fair.”
Devon shrugged regardless of the fact that Rose couldn’t see him. Snagging the edges of the duvet cover, blanket and top sheet all at once he flipped them all up over his queen sized bed. He shifted the phone back to his shoulder to free both hands. Devon straightened and smoothed the covers. “Life’s not fucking fair, Rose. I’ve been telling you for three years now that you need to get serious about protecting your identity. If it takes me kicking your ass at the gym to get my point across, then so be it.”
The petulance in Rose’s voice could be spread with a trowel. “Dev, you’re being a dick.”
Damn, the guy only got whiny like this when he was really sick. “Rose, is someone there with you?”
No answer came for a moment. Devon opened his mouth to ask the question again when Rose’s response came over the line. “Not exactly.”
Devon shook his head. Leaving his bedroom he strode into his living room and swiped his brown leather bomber jacket up from the couch on his way to the front door. “Not exactly had better mean you already called your brother and you’re just waiting for him to show up or I’m going to call him myself.”
Rose laughed weakly again. “Better. Mom’s coming.”
Devon’s shoulders dropped down a whole inch at those words. “You mean Mrs. Jimenez, the woman who mentored your Gay-Straight Alliance club all during high school?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. She just has to drive over. I think she’s gonna bring me back to her house if she doesn’t take me to the hospital.” Rose’s voice faded at the end of the sentence, signaling his exhaustion.
Pulling the front door open, Devon patted his pockets to make sure he had everything as he answered. “Okay. I’m just leaving the house now. You’re lucky I showered before I went