“The Sinners always were a shitty bunch,” Foghorn muttered.
“Maybe we should pay them a visit,” Trace suggested, cracking his knuckles.
“Been there, done that,” I said. “Before you were patched in. We hit the Sinners good after the first time Kilbourne roughed up Mick. That’s when they hurt him real bad and left him in the alley.”
Blaze ran a hand through his hair. “We thought he’d be safe staying with Dante—”
“I can’t be with the kid twenty-four seven,” Dante snapped.
“Hey, cool it, we know that,” Blaze said. “Nobody’s blaming you, and you shouldn’t blame yourself.”
“Yeah, man,” Axel agreed. “Look, Mick was at work. Like you said, you can’t be around all the time. From what the cops got out of him, somebody lured him out behind the shop making noises like a wounded cat.”
“He’s just so…clueless,” Dante said. “You look at him, and you think he’s not, but he is. He trusts too much.”
Reclining in a chair, sucking on a pistachio from the bag he held, Jeo said, “The kid would be a sucker for a wounded animal. He probably wanted to take it back to the shelter.”
“And Kilbourne knew that,” Axel said, his disgust for the Sinner evident. “Did someone tell the cops about him and his crew?”
“Isaac and I did,” Dante said. “But I got the idea they wouldn’t be following up on it.”
“Bunch of fucking homophobes running that small town police force,” Tease muttered.
“What are we gonna do, Bossman?” Foghorn asked Blaze.
“Unless we want a full-out war between us and the Sinners, I’m not sure what we can do other than watch Kilbourne for something we can hold over him.”
“He’s always at The Banana looking for young, innocent meat,” Axel said. “I’ll keep an eye on him there.”
“Something’s gotta break sooner or later. What’s the status on Mick?” I asked.
Jeo spit the pistachio shell into his hand. “Still unconscious. Nick’s at the hospital with him now.”
“Isaac and I will be going later tonight,” Dante said.
Foghorn heaved himself off the couch. “Celine and I will take the morning shift tomorrow.”
After we’d worked out a schedule for the next few days, Blaze turned to Trace. “You’re good with locks, right?” At Trace’s nod, he continued. “Kilbourne works days. What about giving his apartment a look through?”
Trace nodded. “I’d be glad to.”
“Okay, guys. That’s all I got. Be safe.”
We all stood.
“Hey, man,” I said, catching Trace by the arm. He was our newest member, and I felt like I never talked to him. “I heard you’re doing some scenes for Blaze with Tatiana. How’s it going?”
Trace pushed his longish hair out of his face. “Good money for sure, but I’m getting so much sex, it’s putting a crimp in my libido. Plus, what woman wants to date a guy who fucks for a living?”
I chuckled ruefully. “One of the pitfalls of doing porn, I guess. Probably why so many only do it for a while before moving on to something else.” We talked for a few more minutes before I left. On the front porch, I took a deep breath of crisp autumn air and patted Tease on the back where he stood looking out over the darkening neighborhood. In anticipation of Halloween, the family across the street had lit a row of misshapen jack-o-lanterns that stared at us with flickering sneers from their porch.
“How are things with you, buddy?” I asked Tease.
With caramel skin and light green eyes, the man was a looker and very popular on the Hard Time porn site. Tease normally did straight scenes but had no problem getting his cock sucked by a guy in a three-way if the money was good.
“Hanging in there, man, what about you?”
“Same.”
“How’s your grandmother?”
“She’s doing good. You’ll have to come by for dinner again soon.”
“If she’s making manicotti, I’ll be there.”
“She’d love nothing more than to stuff you full of it again.”
Tease groaned. “Man, I gained five pounds that night.”
“I promised her I’d be home tonight.” I started down the steps.
“Have a good one,” he called after me.
Climbing on my bike, I belatedly remembered I’d wanted to have a few words with Adam. He’d left the room quickly after the meeting was over, and it had slipped my mind. Promising I would soon, I pulled out of the driveway and headed in the direction of the house I’d shared with Nonna for years. Thinking about that—a man in his late thirties living with his grandmother—my thoughts drifted to a night years ago that had been at the forefront of my mind a lot lately.
“Sorry, but I have to cancel tonight.”
“Of course you do. I don’t know why I’m even surprised.”
Flynn threw down the magazine he’d been reading, face reddening with anger and drawing my attention to the two white slashes by his mouth where he was clenching his teeth. He stood from the couch. Dressed in a slim-legged navy suit with a tan shirt, glasses perched on his long nose because he’d been reading while waiting for me to finish getting ready, he was gorgeous. I resisted the urge to pull him into my arms and kiss away his frown.
“Nonna’s friend can’t make it,” I said.
Flynn took off his glasses and flung them onto the couch where they landed next to the magazine. “You’re living your life for her.”
I sighed at the old argument, although it hadn’t come up in a while. Sometimes it felt like it was just below the surface of our interactions, lying in wait for that moment when I disappointed him somehow.
“I told you, she’s sick. At her age, a cold could turn into something much worse very quickly.” I softened my voice. “It’s only one night. We can go out when she’s feeling better.”
“I would say it’s our two year anniversary, but it technically isn’t since we had to put that off. But that was the intended celebration. I have tickets for a Broadway play. I’ve had them for weeks, and you know it.”
I’d forgotten I’d had to cancel before, and then months had gone by before we were able to find a night we could spend together—one when I wasn’t working and I had someone to stay all night with Nonna. I couldn’t blame Flynn for being disappointed. I was disappointed too. I stepped closer to him and cupped his cheek with my hand.
He jerked away from my touch. “Don’t.”
Normally, Flynn was the type who rolled with the punches, but I guessed I’d thrown too many at him lately. I let my hand fall and said the words I always said.
“I have to look out for her. She has no one else.”
Flynn remained silent. Frustrated—because how many times did I have to go over this?—I said, “You just don’t get it.”
Flynn’s eyes flashed like copper in fire. “Right. Because I was a foster kid.”
I could have mapped out this argument, it was so routine between us now.
A child stuck in a system that didn’t work, Flynn had grown up shuffled from home to home, leaving him with emotional scars he tried to hide from most people. I wasn’t most people; I loved him. I knew he knew that. But sometimes it wasn’t enough. Not with how things stood.
“You’re saying that, not having had real parents, I couldn’t possibly understand things like familial duty or respect.”
When I didn’t reply because that kind of was what I was saying, Flynn advanced, forcing me to take a step back. He pointed his index finger at me. “You need to understand that, just like mine, your parents are gone now. I know your grandmother was a huge presence in your life growing up, and taking care of her in her old age is commendable. But that doesn’t mean you should live your life for her.”
“Flynn, we’re talking about a play. We can go another time.”
“Goddammit, Matteo! This is about much more than tonight, and you know it!”
I shook my head. “If I was trying to please Nonna
, I’d be married with children by now. To a woman. But I’m not; I’m with you.”
“She doesn’t know you’re with me,” Flynn said bitterly. “So what’s the difference?”
Why couldn’t he understand? What we had was good. A change of plans wasn’t that big of a deal. I struggled to put my feelings into words.
“I just can’t let her down. She’s old. Who knows how much time she has left?”
“But you can let me down.” Threads of hurt cracked Flynn’s icy words.
“She’s an old woman!” I suddenly yelled. “There. Are you happy? You’ve made me angry.” The hurt in Flynn’s eyes as he defiantly stared back at me softened me some. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I lowered my voice. “I get it. I do. You hate hiding that we’re together—”
Flynn barked out a derisive laugh, something hard, cold, and infinitely sad filling his eyes. “We’re not together, Matteo. Not really. And the worst thing about it is you don’t even get that.”
****
Isabella Costa lived in a small single-level brick home a few blocks from the clubhouse. Well into her nineties now, she’d recently given in and let me order her a medical bracelet that alerted authorities if she pressed a button on it. I used to beat myself up that I worked nights until Zeke had pointed out it was better that way because Nonna was safe in bed and in less danger of getting hurt. I’d installed an excellent alarm system on the house that would have the police there in minutes if it went off. As I couldn’t be with Nonna all the time, these precautions eased my mind somewhat. I wished I’d had them in place back when Flynn and I were together, but Nonna had only recently begun to bend when it came to her health and safety.
I punched in the code and entered the small house.
“Matteo?” Nonna called.
“Yes, Nonna.” I shut the front door and flipped the deadlock.
I heard her shuffling down the hall a moment later and the light came on in the living room, illuminating the familiar brown couch, matching recliner, and overstuffed chair upholstered in heavy brocade. A picture of a suffering, white-skinned Jesus hung over the flat-screen TV, and several elaborate crosses adorned the wall over the couch. A photo of my grandfather when he was nineteen sat on the end table next to one of me and my father taken at my high school graduation.
Nonna wore the thick burgundy velour robe I’d given her for Christmas several years ago and stood remarkably straight and steady for a woman her age. Her reading glasses hung around her neck on a beaded chain that had been a gift from Blaze.
She smiled at me dotingly. “Caro. Have you had dinner? I made the stew you love. It’s in the refrigerator. I could heat it up for you.”
“Thanks, Nonna. Maybe later.”
She shook her head, dislodging a strand of white hair from the bun she always wore. I knew from pictures her hair had once been long, thick, and soot black. Her small dark eyes were still lively as a bird’s as she took me in, frowning at the sight of my leather jacket, jeans, heavy boots, and disheveled hair.
“You should clean up more. It’s no wonder you aren’t married.”
“Women like the bad boys, Nonna,” I teased.
She smiled indulgently. “Naughty boy. You are so much like your father.”
I didn’t agree but said nothing. I’d lost my mother to cancer when I was six and had often wished it had been my father instead. Nonna had always doted on him as she had me, and when he’d died a decade ago, the entire force of her attention had shifted my way.
“Have you had a nice day?” I asked her.
She eased herself into the recliner and motioned for me to cover her legs with the colorful throw draped along the back of the couch. “I finished a quilt piece. Agata and Paola came over, and we listened to opera. They were showing me pictures of their great grandchildren. So adorable. Have you heard from Maria, Matteo?”
“Nonna.”
“What? You can’t prefer one of those bleached-out American protestants to a nice Catholic Italian girl.”
“Maria and I are only friends.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe that. Maria is easily the prettiest at our church.”
Her church. Not mine. I very rarely attended with her. I’m sure she thought if she could get me married to a nice Catholic Maria, I would be at Mass every time the doors opened. When I was young, I’d sung in the choir. Those had been some of my grandmother’s proudest moments. A photograph of me at the age of ten in my choir robes hung in her bedroom, directly in her line of sight.
Nonna was still talking about Maria. “You’re such a catch, Matteo. What lovely babies you’d have together. Don’t you ever think about that?” When I didn’t answer, she said, “Caro, you are getting close to forty with no girlfriend in sight and the Costa name dying out. If I didn’t know better…”
I’d been about to turn on another light and froze at her words. I’d always gone out of my way to give her the impression I was somewhat of a Casanova, always dating women casually because I didn’t want to settle down. In all the years, she’d never once insinuated she might think anything else.
I relaxed when she chuckled as though at something ridiculous. “But people who don’t know you well might think things like that.”
When Zeke and Morgan had gotten married, I’d told Nonna about it to see her reaction. It had been pretty much on par with what I’d always imagined, only worse. She’d spent three days praying for him over her rosary. If I’d ever been unsure before, I’d known then that I couldn’t bear to see that look, hear that tone, directed at me. To find out her only grandchild was “one of those” would kill her, and if it didn’t, she certainly wouldn’t speak to me again.
Needing to escape for a moment, I turned toward the kitchen. “I think maybe I will warm up some of that stew after all. Would you like a bowl, Nonna?”
“No, thank you.” She reached for the television remote. “You give Maria a call. You two are perfect for each other. I know it feels like you’ll be young forever, but it’s time you stop sowing your wild oats and start thinking about the future.”
In the small, warm kitchen, I heated a portion of the stew on the stove because Nonna didn’t have a microwave. She said it was the Devil’s appliance, whatever that meant.
As I sat eating at the small oak table, I thought about Maria. Attractive, playful, and sexy, it was a wonder some hetero guy at church hadn’t snapped her up yet. Women could do it for me sometimes, but I’d accepted a long time ago I preferred men.
I’d taken Maria out to dinner because Nonna had practically asked the woman in front of me when we’d run into Maria at the grocery store one evening. The date had been awkward, and I’d worried Maria might talk at church about how uninterested I’d been in her and that it would get back to Nonna. But as far as I knew, Maria had never said a word other than we’d had a nice time. I’d told Nonna Maria wasn’t my type, and in the weeks following, made sure to bring a few casual dates by the house—women who were blond or red-headed and not like Maria at all. I wasn’t sure what had gotten Nonna harping about the subject of Maria again.
The knowledge of how pathetic that was—a grown man spending his time thinking up ways to fool his aging grandmother about something that was truly none of her business—wasn’t lost on me. I thought about it more and more these days, particularly since Flynn had dropped back into my orbit.
To say seeing him at Dante’s had been a shock would be putting it lightly. I’d thought him beautiful seven years ago when his features had still retained some of the softness of boyhood, but now, a grown man, he was breathtaking.
And he belonged to someone else. He had to. I knew Flynn well, or I once had. He wanted marriage and a family, and the fact he had a child told me he was with someone for good. The thought tore at my insides like a living thing with claws. I wondered if he’d met the guy in California, and if so, did he now consider the breakup that sent him there a blessing in disguise? What were they doing back in New York? How
long had Flynn been in the area without my knowing it?
One thing was certain: Flynn didn’t want to talk to me. He’d left Dante’s as soon as the last firework had fizzled in the sky.
In the long years I’d had to think things through, I’d come to understand Flynn’s side more than I had at the time. Between work, the club, and my grandmother, Flynn had only gotten what was left of me, and it hadn’t been much. Not long after I’d canceled that last time, Flynn had broken things off and moved to California, leaving me to slowly figure out that Flynn had been as much family to me as Nonna. I’d learned it the hard way; his absence was an ache I carried with me constantly. I missed his touch, the sound of his voice, his quirky sense of humor. I thought about him every time I saw that actor he hated with the accent Flynn had said was fake, or every time I came across a fucking plastic bottle. I missed knowing he was just a phone call away and that, on the rare occasions it worked out, I could look forward to lying beside his warm, naked body all through the night.
I’d taken advantage of him and paid for it every single day with loneliness and regret.
Suddenly no longer hungry, I washed out my dish and put it in the dishwasher before telling my grandmother goodnight and heading to bed, hoping I wouldn’t dream of Flynn but knowing I would because I almost always did these days.
CHAPTER THREE
Flynn
Jessica and Gloria lived in an attractive townhome on West 22nd Street in Chelsea that put my tiny apartment over my shop to shame. Every time we visited, Cooper’s eyes got wide, like he was walking into a palace. I had dressed in a form-fitting, lavender T-shirt, black jeans, and my black boots with straps. When Jessica saw me, she whistled.
“You look gorgeous.” Her long ebony hair was pulled up in a clip and her pretty face was clean of makeup. She wore sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, and I figured she and Gloria hadn’t been home from work long.
“That’s really nice of you to say, but—”
She held up her hand. “Don’t argue with me.”
The Single Dad and his Soul Mate Page 2