The Single Dad and his Soul Mate

by Rebecca James

  I got dressed, and as I stood looking around to see if everything was in order, I again considered what it might be like if I started dating Tyson again. He was different now. We got along. The sex had been good before, and I’d bet it would be even better now that things were different. Coop liked him well enough.

  But I didn’t love him and doubted I ever would. Not like I loved…

  Matteo.

  I paused in the doorway.

  Had I seen Matteo last night?

  Where?

  I locked and closed the door and took the elevator downstairs, trying my hardest to remember, but the whole night after we arrived at the bar was a blur. As I pushed through the door to the street, I gasped when I came face-to-face with the man himself. Matteo. He looked behind me at the building, then back to me, gaze lingering on my still-damp hair before his mouth firmed into a flat line.

  “Uh, hi,” I said. “I was just thinking of you.”

  “Were you?” he asked. He sounded angry.

  “Yeah. Did I…did I happen to see you last night?”

  “I guess you wouldn’t remember. You were three sheets to the wind.”

  “I ran my hand over my face. “Yeah. Not smart. I’m paying for it today, believe me.”

  “Well, I’m sure Tyson gave you something for that nasty hangover. He lives here, doesn’t he?”

  “How did you know that? How do you know Tyson?”

  “You really don’t remember seeing me last night?”

  I winced. “Shh. Can you lower the volume, please? I kind of thought I saw you, but it’s all a blur.”

  Matteo sighed. “We ran into you at Flashpoint. A gay bar over in midtown.”

  “We?”

  “I was with a friend. Maria.”

  I did remember a woman. “Why did I think her name was Julia?”

  “You were shitfaced. I’m surprised you remember her at all. But I’ll bet you remember that kiss Tyson laid on you.”

  “You sound angry. What are you even doing here?”

  “I came to find out where your Romeo lives.”

  My brows flew up, sending a zing of pain through my head. “What? What the hell, Matteo? You’re spying on me?”

  “I didn’t trust him.”

  “How’d you find out where he lives?” I asked, incredulous.

  “You told me his name and said he was one of our ‘finest,’ although I wasn’t positive you were talking about the police department.”

  I covered my face with my hands. “What the fuck are you doing? Why do you even care?”

  Matteo touched my arm, and I shivered.

  “Of course I care. I’ll always care.”

  Anger stirred. He cared. He was out last night with a woman, and today he was spying on me. Dropping my hands, I glared at him. “When’s the wedding? Better start looking for a tux. When can I expect a birth announcement? When’s the next generation of Costas going to be born? When—”

  Matteo slammed his mouth on mine, and I grabbed hold of him, steadying myself more than anything else, but then his tongue was in my mouth, and I was sinking, my body reacting as it always did to Matteo’s touch.

  Finally, I came to my senses and pushed him away.

  “What the hell?” I stepped back. “You have no right, Matteo. No right.” I turned and began walking down the street, head pounding in time with my feet. I didn’t even know where the fuck I was going. How dare he? I bumped into someone, and they cursed at me.

  Quick steps alerted me seconds before Matteo grabbed my shoulder and swung me around, pedestrians parting on the sidewalk as they passed, talking and laughing and staring at their cell phones like the stupid things held the answers to the universe.

  “I’m not fucking getting married,” Matteo said. I looked at his handsome face and suddenly wanted to cry.

  “Leave me alone,” I said before turning and walking on, sure the glare from the sun on the snow would blind me if my head didn’t explode first.

  “Flynn, wait.” Matteo caught up with me and matched his steps to mine.

  “I don’t want to talk to you, Matteo.”

  “Are you fucking that guy? That big, muscle-bound—”

  “Fuck off.”

  “You spent the night with him.”

  “What I do is none of your business.” I shielded my eyes and wished for sunglasses.

  As though reading my mind, Matteo took his mirrored shades from his pocket and placed them, askew, on my nose.

  I stopped, righting them. “How do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Read my fucking mind like that?”

  “You were wincing and squinting into the sun. It doesn’t take fucking Sylvia Plath to figure something like that out.”

  “I think you mean Sylvia Browne. Sylvia Plath was a poet.”

  “Did she commit suicide?”

  “Yeah. I think she stuck her head in the oven.”

  “Huh. Whatever. Look, there’s a coffee shop. Will you come in and have a cup with me so we can talk?”

  “The last time we tried going to a coffee shop to talk, we wound up in bed,” I muttered, but coffee sounded really good to my aching head. I grunted, and we walked together into the shop. Matteo insisted on buying mine, and while he ordered, I sat down in a green pleather chair in the back and texted Gloria I’d be slightly late picking up Coop.

  Take all the time you want. We’re playing Chutes and Ladders. I’m winning.

  When Matteo joined me, he handed me my latte and sat down in the chair next to mine.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  I glared at him over my cup before taking a sip. “For what?”

  “For being a dick.”

  “Which time?”

  Matteo rolled his eyes. “Every time.”

  “Rolling your eyes kind of ruins the apology,” I said. “Plus, I’m jealous because I can’t roll mine without detonating the bomb in my head. Are you admitting it’s none of your business whom I choose to sleep with?”

  He sighed and leaned his head back, making the pleather crackle. “I guess it just hurts to know you’re moving on so quickly.”

  “You were with Maria,” I reminded him.

  “I’m not sleeping with her,” he said. “And not for lack of trying on her part.”

  “Well, good for you.” I sipped my coffee before mumbling, “I’m not sleeping with Tyson.”

  “You spent the night with him.”

  I shot him a poisonous look, and he held up a hand in surrender.

  “Okay. Sorry. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “We’re friends,” I said.

  “He said you were more.”

  “Were being the operative word. We dated a few years ago.”

  “That seems to be a pattern with you.”

  I put down my cup. “Yeah, one I need to break. It doesn’t lead anywhere good. Although Tyson and I get along better now than we used to.”

  “So why aren’t you dating?”

  “I don’t know, Matteo,” I snapped. “Are you trying to convince me to date him?”

  “Definitely not.” He looked away. “Maria took your side.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “She asked me why I didn’t just tell Nonna I’m bi and want to be with you.”

  “You told her you’re bi?” I asked.

  “She said it was obvious by the way I look at you.”

  I thought about that a moment.

  “I wish you could understand it isn’t easy,” Matteo said softly.

  “I do understand. I didn’t really before, but I’ve given it a lot of thought and now I do. I want you to know that. I just can’t live that way. I have to come first.” He started to say something, and I held up my hand to stop him. “No. Don’t. I don’t want to start this fight again.” I picked up my coffee and drank.

  “We’re at an impasse, Matteo,” I said after a moment. “Always at an impasse. I should date Tyson. We’d be good together. But
it’s too soon. I can’t do it.”

  “I can’t date Maria either,” Matteo said.

  “It’ll probably just take a while.” My heart hurt thinking about him with her.

  “I guess so.”

  Matteo’s phone rang, and I watched him answer it.

  “Nonna?” His expression changed. “Paola? What’s going on? Is Nonna okay? I’ll be right there.” He stood abruptly, spilling his coffee.

  Grabbing some napkins, I mopped up his hands.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “It’s Nonna. She’s—she fell over. She’s unresponsive. Paola’s called an ambulance.” His hands shook as he ran them through his hair.

  “Which hospital?”

  “St. Mary’s.”

  “Come on. We’ll get a cab.”

  I took him outside and headed for the curb, holding my hand up aggressively the way you had to in New York City if you wanted a cab. When one pulled over, I shoved Matteo into the back.

  “Aren’t you coming with me?” he asked, looking so lost, my heart melted.

  “You want me to?”

  Before he could answer, I climbed in. “St. Mary’s Hospital,” I told the driver.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Matteo

  I don’t think I would have made it to the right place if it weren’t for Flynn. When we arrived at St. Mary’s, my grandmother wasn’t in a room yet. Flynn took me to the emergency room where we found Paola knitting in the corner.

  “I should have come home last night,” I told her. “What’s happening?”

  “They think maybe a heart attack.” Paola turned to Flynn. “Hello. I’m Paola Russo, a friend of Isabella’s.”

  “Flynn Bishop. Friend of Matteo’s.” They shook hands.

  “Where is she?” I asked Paola.

  “They’re doing tests. Matteo, I hate to do this, but I have to get home. The bus will be dropping off my grandson in a couple of hours. I’ll call Agata and fill her in. This happened after she left this morning.” She stuffed her knitting into her bag.

  “Of course,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”

  “I didn’t do much. I wish I could have done more. Keep me posted.”

  She left, and I sank into an uncomfortable chair.

  “What can I do?” Flynn’s concerned face hovered over me. “Do you want me to call someone in your club? Blaze?”

  I nodded and handed Flynn my phone, then closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall.

  I should have been at home with Nonna, but I was too busy worrying about Flynn being with Tyson.

  I felt Flynn sit in the chair beside me and didn’t open my eyes.

  “Do you want me to stay?” he finally asked. “I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”

  “Blaze knows about you,” I said.

  “But your grandmother…” he left off.

  “Don’t leave,” I said and opened my hand for him to take, smiling when he laced our fingers together. I was tired. I hadn’t slept all night, thinking about how I’d lost Flynn all over again.

  As though I hadn’t already lost him before last night. As though we hadn’t just discussed that we were over. But I didn’t want him to leave.

  Maria’s words kept coming back to me, asking me what I was planning to do. No Flynn. No her. No other man or woman. What, then? Always to be alone? All because my grandmother thought she knew what was best for me? Because I was afraid of losing her like I’d lost my mother? My father?

  Would I exist on occasional blowjobs in bathrooms? Was that what intimacy would look like for me from now on? Nameless guys I’d pretend were Flynn?

  Keeping my eyes shut, I told Flynn about the guy sucking me off in the bathroom of Flashpoint. “And the whole time, I was thinking about you.”

  He was silent for a full minute before saying anything.

  “Well, that was a little more than the cleaning woman probably wanted to know.”

  I opened my eyes in time to see a woman pushing a large steel cart down the hall while shooting me a disgusted look over her shoulder.

  “Christ.” I broke out laughing, and Flynn laughed with me.

  “Want me to suck you off in the broom closet?” he offered after a minute.

  “That’s so sweet,” I said, and we laughed some more. It felt good.

  “Mr. Costa?” the voice brought my head up to meet the eyes of a middle-aged woman with a nurse and someone else. My heart dropped to my feet.

  A chaplain.

  I couldn’t move.

  Flynn stood. “This is Matteo Costa. How is his grandmother? Isabella Costa? They brought her in with a heart attack?”

  Flynn didn’t seem to realize what was happening, but I knew.

  “Could we go in this room over here, Mr. Costa?” the doctor asked me.

  Slowly, I got to my feet. Flynn was looking between me and the doctor, and then he seemed to get it. Tears sprang to his eyes.

  “Wait here for Blaze,” I told him. “Okay?”

  He nodded, swallowing hard.

  The next fifteen minutes were a blur. I listened to the doctor’s condolences and her telling me Nonna had flatlined in the emergency room after the first massive heart attack at home. Then the chaplain had spoken to me in a quiet voice. When I indicated I didn’t want to talk, they left me alone. Not too long after, Blaze came into the room. He stopped behind my chair and put his arms around my shoulders, chin resting on my head.

  “You okay?” he asked after several moments of my crying silently.

  Miserable, I shook my head, and Blaze tightened his hold on me. “It’s just us, buddy. Let it out.”

  I sobbed, then, and Blaze moved to the chair beside me, holding onto me through a tempest of tears that seem to last an eternity.

  “Let’s go back to the clubhouse, buddy,” Blaze said when I’d finally finished. He pushed my hair out of my face.

  I took a shaky breath and let it out. “I’m sure there are things I should do here.”

  “They’re going to call you later. For now, come home. Okay?”

  I nodded and let Blaze help me up from the chair.

  “Where’s Flynn?” I asked, suddenly remembering him.

  “I sent him home. He wants you to call him when you feel better.”

  I felt like an old man, taking careful steps as Blaze escorted me out of the hospital into the late afternoon light. I couldn’t believe this was happening. That Nonna was gone. That I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye. Or to tell her.

  Anything.

  ****

  A week passed, then two. Through the funeral arrangements, the ceremony, the burial, and what had to be the entire church visiting my house in small groups, I floated through things as though in a dream. If it hadn’t been for Blaze, I don’t know how I would have gotten through it. He’d been a rock. I’d texted Flynn the night Nonna had passed to tell him I was okay and to thank him for his help. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to call, and I hated myself for that, among other things.

  He must have been at the funeral because he’d signed the book. So many people had been there from Nonna’s church, I wasn’t surprised I’d never spotted him. Maria and Blaze had stood by me the entire time, fielding questions when my mind went blank, saying all the appropriate things to people when I couldn’t.

  I wanted to call Flynn and really talk, but what would I say?

  Hey, well, it looks like that concrete block we’ve had between us for years is gone now. Wanna go on a date?

  I cringed just thinking about it.

  Instead I spent days at work and nights wandering the house, avoiding Nonna’s room. It took Zeke and Dante coming over and insisting they help me for me to snap out of it and go through Nonna’s things. I didn’t know how to feel when I ran across a notebook filled with names of possible women I should marry with pros and cons listed under each. The amount of time my grandmother must have spent thinking about it was a little scary.
<
br />   “Wow, she was determined,” Zeke said. “There must be sixty women on this list. Hey, this one has courteous as a pro and ugly toes as a con. Did she think you have a toe fetish?”

  Chuckling, I looked at the list more closely. I pointed to a name. “This lady is at least fifty-years-old!” I noticed she hadn’t crossed off Maria’s name. She’d still held hope.

  I tossed the notebook into the trash and continued cleaning. Suddenly remembering Blaze had planned to propose to Lake on New Year’s, I asked the guys about it. They looked at each other.

  “No,” Dante said. “He didn’t say anything about it.”

  Zeke shook his head. “Morgan and I left Lux before the ball dropped. Things were a little loud and crazy there.”

  I pulled myself up off the floor and fished my phone out of my pocket. When I got Blaze on the line and asked him, I could hear him moving around and then shutting a door before he answered.

  “No, I didn’t,” he whispered.

  “No? But you said—”

  “I know what I said, but I wasn’t able to do it. Lake got drunk at Lux that night, and some jerk put his hands all over him. I hit the jerk who turned out to be one of the owners, and to make a long story short, I was lucky not to get arrested. Lake spent the rest of the night puking and was hungover all the next day. Then he was mad that I’d punched the guy when he said he could have handled it himself, which wasn’t true because he’d been so shitfaced he’d thought the guy was me.”

  “So what are you gonna do?” I asked.

  Blaze sighed. “I guess it’s going to have to be Valentine’s Day.”

  After Dante and Zeke left, I made a trip to the real estate office where I arranged to put the house up for sale. It had been a month since Nonna had died, and it was time. I was about to get on my bike that I’d parked down the street when I caught site of Flynn walking into the same building. He didn’t see me, but the massive, handsome, Black dude with him did.

  Detective Tyson McCormick.

  Jealous anger washed over me as I watched Tyson wrap a proprietary arm around Flynn’s shoulders as though to say, “I’m not embarrassed to be seen with a man. Asshole.”

  Something snapped in me, and for a moment I entertained the idea of walking in there, throwing Flynn over my shoulder, and walking out. Of course, I couldn’t do that. Not only was my life not a gay episode of the Flintstones, but Flynn undoubtedly wouldn’t appreciate it. Detective McCormick probably wouldn’t either, but who cared about his opinion.