CARS passed by again and again, twenty–five, twenty–seven, thirty–two miles per hour. God, he hated traffic duty with a passion. Justin Briggs reached absentmindedly for the cup of coffee in the console. He had to do something to stay awake. The speed limit was thirty, and his job was to make sure that people drove sanely and carefully where South Hanover Street narrowed from four lanes to two.

The Borough of Carlisle had gone on a "road diet" a few years ago and narrowed both main streets through town to one lane each way. The purpose was to try to slow traffic, reduce trucks coming through town, and add bike lanes. While it had done all that, it had also created a drag–race scenario where the road narrowed, and the chief was determined to nab the offenders, especially since his wife had been involved in an accident a few weeks earlier right in front of where Justin was sitting in his cruiser.

So, here he was, babysitting the chief's new pet peeve and watching car after car pass by just below the speed limit. Granted, he was parked in the ambulance garage parking lot, where he could clearly be seen. The chief wasn't as interested in giving out tickets as he was in making sure drivers slowed down and stopped acting like idiots on the roads of their town.

Justin, on the other hand, would have liked nothing more than to give out a few tickets just to alleviate the boredom. He'd been sitting here for days, spending his entire shift watching cars pass, burning gas to keep the air–conditioning going. He tried not to fall asleep, but it was getting harder and harder.

He heard the car before he saw it—the low rumble of a gunned engine. Justin pointed his radar gun at the oncoming car, but the guy barely slowed even once he clearly saw Justin's vehicle. The white Charger weaved around a slower vehicle right in front of Justin. He flipped on his lights, sounded the siren, and took off. Cars got out of his way as he chased the other car through town. The idiot made no effort to slow and just kept going. Justin called in for backup, keeping the other vehicle in sight. Finally, the idiot pulled off, and Justin slowed behind the vehicle, waiting for another patrol car to show. Once it did, Justin slowly approached the car. The driver's window lowered, and a pair of huge blue eyes surrounded by long blonde hair batted up at him. "I'm sorry, Officer," she tittered. "I was listening to my music and got all caught up."

"License, proof of insurance, and registration please, ma'am," Justin said, keeping his attitude all business.

"Of course," she said, still batting her eyes. She reached into her purse, and Justin tensed until she pulled out her wallet. She handed him her driver's license and then leaned over to the glove box, making sure her endowments were on clear display. Justin paid no attention—she didn't have anything he wanted to see. He took the registration once she handed it over and then walked back to his car.

"Everything okay?" Marty asked as he walked over from the other car.

"Yes. Just a blond bunny who thinks she can do what she wants then bat her eyelashes and shake her boobs to get out of it," Justin said.

"You gonna let her?" Marty asked.

"Heck, no. She can shake her boobs at the judge if she tries to fight the ticket," Justin said, opening his car door so he could run her information.

"I'd let her off if she was clean otherwise," Marty said.

"Yeah." Justin smiled. "But you think with your dick." He punched up the program on his laptop and scanned the barcode on her license—Brenda Patterson—before letting the computer do its thing.

"Like you don't," Marty said from outside the car, and Justin nodded his agreement, because that was easier than getting drawn into a discussion of how what Brenda was displaying didn't do the least bit for him. It wasn't like he was deep in the closet or anything; he just never talked about his sex life at work. Hell, he didn't talk about his personal life at all if he could help it. He figured it was safer that way. Justin didn't like lying or deception of any kind. His entire life was built on openness and honesty. He'd had enough deception and tricks growing up, and he didn't need or want them now.

His computer returned the results that Brenda had a clean driving record. Somehow, Justin doubted that greatly, and he pulled out his book of citations and began filling one out. "I don't think you need to stay around," he told Marty. Justin could tell the other officer was itching to get a closer look at the bombshell in the Charger, but he banged on the car door.

"Okay, but I'll keep an ear to the radio in case you need backup." Marty winked and then moved away from the patrol car.

Justin finished making out the citations and then got out of his car, following standard procedure to keep an eye on everything and everyone. As he approached the car, he saw Brenda once again smiling and batting her eyelashes at him—that is, until he handed her the ticket. Then she scowled and narrowed her eyes. The woman went from Barbie to harpy in the blink of an eye. Justin ignored her scowl and mutters, explaining all the information.

"Ma'am, you broke the law and endangered other drivers and pedestrians along the way. Now, I suggest you slow down and take your time." Justin backed away from the car. "Drive safely," he added before heading back to his cruiser. Inside, he made a series of notes in his book and then turned out his lights and drove back to his post for a few more hours of watching cars go by. He parked and set up the gun again before settling back in his seat and radioing in that he was back on station.

About an hour later, a speeding car heading out of town caught Justin's attention, and he flipped on his lights and pulled out to follow the car. He'd just gotten behind the driver and was about to radio in the call when a long screech, like nails on a blackboard, crawled up his spine. Justin looked up from the car in front of him and saw a school bus facing him on the freeway overpass. It took him a second to realize the bus was hanging over the edge of the overpass, and by then, he'd already disengaged from the speeder, who had sped up again and was heading up onto the freeway.

"Bus accident on I–81 South," Justin radioed in. "Don't know number of people involved. Need emergency services. Bus hanging over overpass, need South Hanover closed both ways. On my way to assist at the scene." Traffic was already stopping on the surface streets. Justin needed to get up to the freeway, but the lane to the on–ramp was clogged, so he went up an off–ramp and turned so he went the wrong way down the freeway shoulder, siren and lights blaring so he could get to the bus.

It was teetering on the edge, and as soon as he stopped his car and got out, he could hear children on the bus, screaming. Cars on the highway were slowing, and Justin got the first cars to hold. He knew he was backing things up, but he needed to help those kids. "Stay there," he told the drivers, and they held still, effectively closing the freeway. The bus screeched, and Justin saw it move slightly.

"It's all right, kids," Justin yelled, and the screaming subsided. "I want you all to slowly move to the back of the bus. Don't move fast or suddenly, but slowly walk to the back of the bus." He saw the kids begin to move inside and heard sirens approaching from what seemed like all directions, but he kept his eyes on the kids. "That's it. Keep walking slowly," Justin encouraged as the back wheels of the bus settled back down onto the pavement. "Good, now all of you stay where you are. We're going to get you out, but it will take a few minutes. No one move," Justin said. "Is the driver with you?" he asked the kids through an open window.

"No," a small kid about seven answered. "He's in his seat with red stuff all over him."

"That's blood," one of the other kids said, and a few of the kids began to cry.

"It's okay, you're going to be all right. We're going to help you, and then we'll get the driver out too. I promise," Justin said, trying anything he could to calm them down. Other emergency vehicles arrived, and Justin continued working to keep the children calm. "Is anyone hurt besides the driver?" Justin asked.

"I hit my knee," one little boy said.

"I hit my head."

"My arm hurts."

"Is anyone bleeding?" All the kids he could see shook their heads. "Is anyone else bleeding?"

"Timmy's hiding under the seat," one girl said.

"Make sure he's okay," Justin said, and he waited a few seconds as the girl's ponytailed head disappeared.

"He's just scared," she reported. "He told me so."

"Very good. Please don't move around, and we'll get you all out as fast as we can," Justin said, then turned around to the gathering group of vehicles.

"How many are hurt?" Rockland Sparks asked him, and for a brief second Justin's composure failed him. Damn, why did he have to be the one who responded? Every time the EMT was around, Justin got completely tongue–tied. Rock, as everyone called him, was just that: built solid, with arms that stretched his shirt sleeves. Justin swallowed and opened his mouth to respond, hoping like hell some sort of sound came out.

"The driver," Justin said, closing his eyes for a brief moment to clear his head and moisten his dry mouth. "The children seem to be okay. A few got banged up a bit, but they say they're okay for the most part.

"What's the status?" the chief asked gruffly from behind him.

Justin turned away from Rock to face the chief, wondering which man made him more nervous. "When I arrived on the scene, the bus was teetering on the edge. I got the children to all move to the back, and the bus has stabilized for the moment. The driver is injured, but the bus is too unstable to get inside, and if we take the children out, the weight will shift and the bus will go over the edge," Justin reported quickly, still a bit in awe of the chief and desperately wanting to do good and be noticed.

"Any fuel leaking?" the chief asked.

"I smelled nothing when I was by the bus," Justin answered as still more sirens sounded and additional fire trucks and a massive tow truck arrived.

"Good. Keep the kids settled," he said, and then he hurried away. Justin saw him consult with the various chiefs. Justin hurried back to the bus with Rock just behind him. Great, just what he needed—tongue–tied and dry–mouthed. Taking a deep breath, he put it out of his mind and focused on the task at hand.

"We're going to get you out really soon," Justin told the kids. "Just sit still and everything will be fine."

Rock walked as close to the front of the bus as he could, peering into what was left of one of the driver's windows. He looked for a few minutes and then turned back to Justin, the expression on his face saying everything. The driver was most likely dead already. Justin and Rock continued talking to the kids, and eventually Justin heard the beep, beep, beep of a truck as it backed up.

"We're going to hook the tow truck to the bus to stabilize it so we can get the kids out, then we'll pull it back onto the road," the chief said from behind him. "You're doing great," he added and then left again.

"What's happening?" one of the kids asked as the tow truck got closer.

"We're going to get you out real soon—stay where you are," Justin said, and he heard Rock telling the kids the same thing from the other side of the bus. The beeping got louder and then stopped. Men got out of the huge truck and lowered a cable from the winch on the back. One of the men walked it to the bus and took a few minutes to attach it to the frame. Then a second cable was lowered and attached. "Okay, tighten them," the one man called, and the lines were tightened. The bus began to move, and the kids screamed inside.

"Stop!" the operator called and the winch went silent.

"Okay, get those kids out. The concrete of the overpass railing is starting to go," the chief said, and Justin opened the back door of the bus, reached for the first child, and lifted a little girl in a pink dress to the ground. As soon as her feet touched the road, she burst into tears, and an emergency worker led her away.

Justin was already reaching for the next child when the bus shuddered and scraped. He lowered another girl and reached for the little boy after her. "Go to the ambulance," he told each one, not waiting for the emergency workers any longer. He had to get these kids out of there.

"Just hand the kids to me," Rock said from next to him, so Justin lifted the kids out of the bus and handed them to Rock, who got them away from the bus. Kid after kid came out. Justin's arms burned, but he kept working. Finally, the last one appeared in the door, and Justin lifted him down.

"Anyone else in there?" Justin called, looking down the right and then the left row of seats. He saw nothing and was about to move away when he heard a small cry. "There's someone in there," Justin said, and he was about to climb inside when Rock stopped him. "Someone has to go—you're too big," Justin told Rock.

"Get a rope," Rock called, and one of the firemen, a huge guy who looked like he was about to bust out of his uniform, hurried over. "Lee, fasten it around his waist. That way, if the bus starts to go, we can hopefully pull him out."

"Okay," Lee said, and he fastened the heavy rope around Justin's waist.

"Be careful, and no sudden moves," Rock said as Justin slowly climbed up into the bus.

The nearly empty shell creaked and groaned with each movement, and as Justin got closer to the front, he could almost feel the tension the tow–truck cables were under. It seemed to run right though his body. "Where are you?" All Justin heard was a low whimper, and he followed the sound. Seat by seat he got closer to the front, and the floor under him moved a little more. "Please talk to me."

"Here," a small voice said, and then Justin heard crying.

"Can you move? If you can, stand up and slowly walk toward me."

"I can't," the child said and then began to cry again. Justin felt the floor move under his feet and knew he was reaching the bus's pivot point. His weight was going to start to shift the bus, but he had to continue, one row of seats and then another, the bus creaking ominously with each step.

"Are you okay?" Rock asked from behind him. "We have you," he added, and Justin nodded, his throat completely dry. He took another step and reached the third seat. A small boy of about five or so clutched the seat behind him, his legs encased in braces.

"You're going to be okay," Justin said as he reached for the little boy.

"My crutches went over there," he said and pointed to the well by the front door.

"We'll get them later," Justin said, lifting the featherlight kid into his arms. He turned and slowly retraced his steps toward the back.

"Mama will be mad if I lose them," the boy said in a small voice as the bus began to shift under their feet.

"Hurry," Rock cried. "The overpass railing isn't going to last much longer." The bus moved and shifted violently. Justin felt the rope around his waist pull tight, and he began to run, clutching the boy in his arms. The bus began shifting sideways and Justin wondered how much longer the cables could hold. "The tow truck is being pulled," Rock shouted, and Justin kept going as fast as he could, climbing uphill as the bus tipped forward still more. Justin reached the door as the bus moved further. Without thinking, he jumped and hit the pavement, letting his legs buckle and using his body to shield the boy as they rolled. Someone lifted the kid from his arms, and then Rock lifted Justin off the concrete and moved toward safer ground. Justin heard a whir and looked up as the winch released its tension. The concrete railing gave way, and the bus tumbled over the precipice in a crash and rumble that felt like it shook the entire world.

"Did everyone get out?" Justin asked before leaning his head against Rock's chest and closing his eyes.

"Yes," Rock said. Justin's eyes got heavy and he closed them. The last thing he remembered was Rock holding him tight. Everything else blurred and then went dark.

Justin woke a few minutes later resting on something much softer than the concrete. He opened his eyes and stared into Rock's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Just the impression he wanted to make on the man who filled his dreams.

"It's all right," Rock told him in a rich, resonant voice that went through Justin like a hot knife through butter. God, he wanted to listen to that voice for the rest of his life. "You got pretty scraped up and bruised, but you're going to be fine."

"Then...," he began, finally finding his voice again. "Then why did I pass out?" Justin lifted his head and the world stayed in one place.

"Stress. It happens sometimes," Rock explained, and then he helped him up. "You're going to be fine, and so are all the kids you got off that bus before it tumbled off the overpass."

Justin looked around at the kids standing together. "What about them?"

"We're transporting them to the elementary school, where their parents are waiting for them," the chief said as he appeared at Justin's side.

"Sorry, sir," Justin said as he stood up, making sure everything was working.

"Nothing to be sorry for," the chief said. "Now, if you're done lying down on the job"—he winked at him. The chief actually winked—"we could use your help transporting the kids to the school."

"Sure," Justin said, and the chief walked away. "Thank you for everything," Justin stammered to Rock. "Umm, I have to get back to work." God, he was such an idiot. It always worked out this way. Every time he saw a guy he might be interested in, he stammered and sounded like a moron. "I'll see you," Justin said and hurried away. The kids were being loaded into squad cars, and Justin helped three of them into the backseat of his patrol car. Once he made sure they were belted in, he slowly drove off the freeway and down the ramp.

"Can you put on the siren?" one of the boys asked.

"I will when we get to the school," Justin answered, and that seemed to satisfy the boy. He drove through town and pulled up to the elementary school, where a group of parents were waiting. He turned on the lights and siren and pulled up to the group, then turned everything off again and let the kids get out. The children were immediately engulfed in their parents' arms, with plenty of crying, more hugging, and then some more crying. Another car pulled up and more kids got out. After more hugs, the families drifted away, many thanking him for his help before departing.

The other police cars left, and soon it was just Justin and one extremely nervous family. "He's going to be fine. They said he was fine. Just a scrape," the man said as he held his wife. "Marky is going to be fine."

"I know," she said, "but what if he hadn't been able to get off the bus?" She blew her nose in a tissue. "He can't walk on his own very well." She buried her head in her husband's shoulder. Justin was about to say something to them, but an ambulance pulled into the drive and stopped near them. Rock got out and walked around to the back. When he reappeared, he was carrying the last little boy Justin had just gotten out of the bus.

"Marky," the woman cried, rushing forward. Rock set him on his feet, but she scooped the boy into her arms. "I was so scared." She rocked him back and forth as she hugged him.

"I'm okay, Mommy," he said, and she stopped. "That man saved me." He pointed at Justin. "He jumped out of the bus just before it fell, boom! Then we falled, but I'm okay—he says so." Marky pointed at Rock, who smiled.

"You saved my son?" the woman asked, and without waiting for an answer, she hugged the stuffing out of Justin. "You saved him."

"It's okay, Jane," her husband said gently, and she transferred her hug to him.

"Don't be sad, Mommy. I'm okay. I lost my crutches, though. They went boom in the bus," Marky said. His mother laughed through the tears and hugged him again.

"We'll get you new crutches and new anything else you want, as long as you're okay," she said. "Thank you, thank you both for saving my son." She was crying again, and Justin felt his throat constrict. The woman carried her son toward the car with her husband behind her. Marky leaned over her shoulder, waving to both of them before they bundled him into the backseat. Justin watched as they drove away.

"That's why I became a cop," Justin said softly. "Not to watch traffic, but for times like that." Justin took a deep breath and turned to Rock after checking his watch. He was officially off duty, and he wanted to ask Rock if he might like to grab a bite to eat or something. The hours he'd spent at the accident scene had felt like a few minutes. But now that he was away from the chaos and things had slowed down, he was starved. Justin caught Rock's gaze, and he was sure the other man was looking at him with interest. Maybe if he just asked him, he'd say yes. Justin was about to say something when his mouth and throat went completely dry. He tried to speak, but he knew he must have looked like a ridiculous largemouth bass in a police uniform when nothing at all came out. He tried again, but now he was so nervous and flustered he couldn't stand it. He'd been able to talk to Rock before, but that was about work and stuff, and he hadn't thought about it. Now that he wanted to ask him to go to dinner, nothing seemed to work and he felt like an idiot. Trying to leave some of his dignity intact, if that was possible, Justin walked hurriedly toward his car, making a hasty retreat.

JUSTIN closed the door and tossed his keys on the table before removing his equipment belt. His entire body felt lighter as soon as he unsnapped the heavy belt. He rarely noticed the extra fifteen pounds or so he carried until he took it all off. The vest came next, and he held his arms away from his body, letting his skin breathe. He wanted to sink into a chair and do nothing, but his equipment had to be taken care of. He went through his routine to see it was all cleaned and properly put away and cared for before wandering into the kitchen. He lived in a small apartment above an antique store downtown. He loved the old building. It had character, and his landlords had been thrilled to have him move in. It seemed their last tenant had been difficult, and they'd had to evict him. Justin refused to let his thoughts wander all over the place, and his stomach brought his attention to dinner.

In the kitchen, Justin reheated a quick dinner—spaghetti with meat sauce he'd made on his last day off—and settled in front of the television to try to forget his idiocy. He couldn't understand it. He could talk to anyone in the course of his job. He had no problem there, but in a personal situation with someone he was interested in, he clammed up, his heart raced, and his voice completely escaped him. It truly sucked, and it didn't only happen with Rock. When he'd been in college and first started to explore being gay, instead of having fun, he'd ended up a monk because he couldn't talk to guys who interested him. Soon he'd given up altogether and concentrated on his schoolwork and training, which served him well because he'd been able to snag the one rookie opening the Carlisle police had had in three years.

"Fuck," Justin grumbled as he slumped in his living room chair. He'd been able to talk to Rock when they were working together, and he'd thought that his problem might actually have gone away. No such luck—as soon as he'd thought Rock might be interested and decided to try to talk to him about it, everything had gone to hell. Maybe he was meant to be alone.

His buzzer sounded, indicating that someone was down at the door to see him. Justin never had visitors, and it took him a few seconds to realize what he was hearing. He got up and opened his apartment door, then trudged down the stairs, expecting to find some kids playing tricks or someone selling something. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Rock through the window in the door. Excitement raced through him, and he swallowed, making sure his mouth was wet before pulling open the door.

"What's wrong with you?" Rock asked, and Justin stared at him wide–eyed as anger rolled off the other man in waves. "We worked great together, and then you just left like you couldn't get away from me fast enough back there. Is it because I'm gay? If that's it, I ought to beat the shit out of you right now to prove how big a man I am, you little shit." Well, that answered that question. Now Justin tried to figure out how to make his mouth work.

Justin opened his mouth and something that sounded like "no"—at least to him—came out. He stood there helpless, shaking with frustration.

"You don't have anything to say? I should have figured that you were just a bigoted coward," Rock said before turning and marching briskly away.

Justin reached for the door to slam it closed. Anger built inside him. He might be many things, but he was nobody's coward. He'd fucking rescued a kid from a bus just before the damn thing tumbled off an overpass. He was no coward, and he certainly wasn't a bigot. He stepped through the doorway, raced up behind Rock, and yanked the man to a stop, turning him at the same time. He opened his mouth to say something, but again, the words wouldn't come. Fucking hell, he thought. This was his one and probably only chance. Rock had actually come to his place, and if he couldn't bring himself to say something, or do something, the chance he'd longed for would be gone forever.

Rock stared at him like he was an idiot, and Justin knew he looked like one. When Rock stepped away, Justin knew this was his last chance. He reached out, grabbed Rock's cheeks, and kissed him with all his might. He might not be able to get his freaking vocal cords to work, but his lips certainly did, and Justin let them do the talking for him. Rock didn't react right away, and Justin ended the kiss, gazing quickly into Rock's eyes before realizing he'd probably only made an even bigger idiot out of himself. He stepped back and then turned around as the notion sunk in that Rock probably already had a boyfriend, and he'd just been kissing another man right on the sidewalk where everyone could see them. At least he wasn't in uniform, but still, probably not the smartest thing he'd ever done.

Well, screw it, he thought while he turned around, striding back toward his building. Inside, Justin slammed the door closed and climbed the stairs. At least Rockland Sparks wouldn't be calling him a coward again anytime soon—stupid, maybe, but not a coward.

At the top of the stairs, Justin went inside his apartment, then closed the door behind him before flopping back into his living room chair with a huff. He'd been completely stupid to kiss Rock like that, and he was probably lucky the huge man hadn't punched his lights out—not that Justin couldn't defend himself. What bothered him most was how Rock's lips had tasted and felt. His own lips still tingled from the touch. At least once, just once, he'd gotten to kiss Rockland Sparks. He curled his lips into a slight smile.