Lunchtime Chronicles: Sweet Georgia Peach

by POSEY PARKS

  He flashed a grin.

  My heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “I’m thankful my aunt and uncle own this exclusive piece of heaven.” Expensive oil paintings rested on the golden-brown walls throughout.

  “Flattery will get you everywhere. Have a seat.”

  He sat beside me. “Tell me what happened and don’t leave anything out.”

  My brows rose, and I took a deep breath before hashing out my secret relationship with Deacon’s sister to the women and the baby drama.

  He sat back in the chair. “The moment this happened you should’ve come to me.”

  “I violently grabbed him in front of a room full of people.”

  “Listen, I know a guy. He’ll take care of the problem.” Uncle Bo swiped his hands together. “Finito. Finished,” he stated.

  There were whispers that my great uncle Julianno was in the mafia. My dad and uncle Bo always downplayed the rumor. Maybe because I was a kid at the time. Might’ve been true after all.

  “I’ll talk to him. We’ll agree on a date and time to meet here.” His index finger slammed against the table.

  “Nessuno parla con mio nipote. No one talks down to my nephew,” uncle Bo growled.

  “Love you, uncle Bo.”

  He stood and patted the back of my head like he did when I was a boy.

  “Hey, Deacon, how’s it going?”

  He smiled as he approached. “Good, Mr. Oakley.”

  “Have a seat. Look over the menu. I’ll be back soon.”

  Deacon rubbed his hands together. “I’m starving. I can’t wait to eat.”

  A devilish grin stretched across his face as he unbuttoned his navy blazer, sitting across from me.

  “Let’s order first before we talk.”

  His smile withered. “Talk about what?”

  I shook my head. “The horrible lies Messy Mandy reported about me and these so-called baby mamas on her Facebook posts. They are out of control. Everyone’s tearing me a new asshole on that blog.”

  He bent over laughing. “Oh, yeah. I’ve kept tabs on those posts. Someone posted a meme of you carrying a baby on your back and one clinging to your chest. The other two babies were in a double stroller.” Deacon couldn’t contain his laughter.

  Happy he found humor in my nightmare.

  After looking at the menu, uncle Bo returned to take our order. He left bottles of Johnny Blue, Grey Goose, and two short glasses filled with ice.

  “How was your flight back?” I wasted no time pouring my favorite scotch whisky in my glass.

  “Lakelyn was distant. Not her usual talkative self. She didn’t laugh once when I made fun of your situation.”

  Some best friend you are. Asshole.

  The weight of the world teetered on my shoulders. The woman I loved with every ounce of my being was in pain because of me. My aching heart felt like a mutilated piece of flesh. I never wanted to hurt Lakelyn.

  He sat the vodka bottle on the table after filling his glass.

  “Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’ve seen my sister happy in a long time.” He downed the harsh contents in one swallow.

  “Thanks for your support, Deac.”

  I sucked down the whisky scotch.

  Two months ago, was the last time I made her laugh. Those big brown eyes beamed with love. For me.

  I had to make this right. No way could I lose Lakelyn forever.

  “Hanging out this weekend?”

  “Nope. You?”

  “Not sure. I’ve hung out with the same woman for a month straight now. You remember that Bella chick I told you about months ago?” his face lit up.

  “Yeah, I remember.” Sitting back in the chair, stretching my back a smile picked up at the corner of my lips.

  “Wow, still excited about the same woman for months now. This is new.”

  “Let it go, Wyatt.”

  I couldn’t stop grinning.

  He poured another glass of vodka just as uncle Bo placed four hot dishes before us.

  Deacon and I always shared the starters. My mouth watered at the sight of the butter braised Maine lobster with truffled potatoes.

  “I know you didn’t cook all this yourself, uncle Bo. Tell aunt Aria I need to give her a big kiss. The crisped duck confit looks and smells delicious.”

  “Mr. Oakley, I’m about to devour the pan seared sea scallops and sweet potatoes.” He rubbed his stomach.

  “By the time auntie steps to the table my mountain trout may be in my belly.”

  Uncle Bo and Deacon burst into laughter.

  “Aria, baby, get out here.”

  She jogged toward the table, dressed in a chef jacket. Her mousy brown hair was hidden under the chef hat.

  Deacon and I stood and kissed her cheeks. We’ve always shown her love whenever we ate her delicious meals.

  “Auntie, the duck with the raspberries are scrumptious.”

  “Wyatt and Deacon, I’m so happy you guys love the dishes. I’ll send some extras home with you guys.”

  Deacon picked her up and spun her around. “Thanks, aunt Aria.”

  Uncle Bo and I laughed.

  “I’ll let you get back to your meal if you need anything give us a shout.” The laugh lines at the edges of her blue eyes danced.

  “We will.”

  Deacon and I raved about our meals as we ate.

  I sat back in an effort to make room for dessert.

  “Deacon, we need to talk about that night.”

  His brows rustled together. “What night?”

  I threw my hand in the air. “The night we talked to Johnny.”

  He sighed. “What about him?”

  Leaning forward, I circled my finger before him. “He set this shit in motion with the women. I’ve never slept with them. You know that.”

  His brows rose. “How would I know that?” He stretched his hand out.

  “Deacon, we left the party together,” I spat out in frustration.

  “We did. Then we had drinks at Bucky’s Bar until two. Did you see the Addicted chick or did you meet up with those ladies? You were fucked up when Fosco picked you up.” He brought the glass to his lips.

  “Deacon, I didn’t see Addicted.”

  “So, no one can account for your whereabouts.” He popped a sea scallop into his mouth.

  “Is this what you’re doing now? Turning your back on your best friend. You know me, Deacon. I survived college and five years in the NFL without getting a woman pregnant. Why would I slip up now?” I shook my head.

  “Don’t answer. You’re punishing me for something. I’ve known you all my life. We’ve always had each other's back.”

  He sighed, running a hand over his dark hair. His lip tipped up at one end, then his thick lips flattened in the blink of an eye.

  “I don’t think you had sex with the women.”

  Bracing my elbows on the white tablecloth, I balled my fists, bringing them to my lips. A ragged breath released from my lungs. “Thank you, Deacon.”

  He quirked a brow, tossing his brown linen napkin on the empty plate. “You’re welcome.”

  I knew my best friend. His odd behavior told me he knew about me and Lakelyn.

  “Do you want to talk about why you’re pissed at me.”

  “Not now. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” He stood, glaring into my eyes.

  My fingers stroked my ink black hair. “Say what’s on your mind.”

  Nostrils flaring, he pointed his finger in my face. “You betrayed me. Broke up the perfect brotherhood. I’m tired of pretending you didn’t toss a grenade into our friendship. If I mention it...” he paused.

  “...I’ll jump over this table and kill you.” His lip curled as his chest heaved. Deacon’s grip tightened on the top of the wooden chair.

  “Despite your fuck up, I want to watch your ass play the first football game of the season. Tell uncle Bo and aunt Aria thanks again for a great lunch.” He spun on his heels and stalked out of the restaurant.

  Yup,
I’d say he didn’t accept Lakelyn and I together. And he had to witness the pain I caused his sister. Thankfully, he didn’t hit me the second he walked in. If he did, we would’ve destroyed my aunt and uncle’s restaurant.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WYATT

  Sitting in my gray and orange Lamborghini that doubled as my office, I combed through more statements Nancy’s PR team created and the legal forms my attorneys prepared.

  Hunched over my laptop in front of Lakelyn’s condo, I hoped to catch her walking to her car. Calling was a bust. She blocked my number.

  Sylvie said I should give her time to calm down. No chance of that ever happening. Lakelyn would never forgive me.

  Taking a deep breath, I entered her building one night. Standing outside her door, I turned my baseball cap to the back and leaned my forehead against the thick wood.

  “Lakelyn, open the door. I need to talk to you.”

  “Go away, Wyatt,” she yelled.

  “Tend to the other women in your life.” Her voice became clearer as she stepped closer.

  “There aren’t any other women, just you. Open the door so we can talk.”

  Her open palm slammed against the door. “No. So you can sweet talk me. Get in my head, then between my legs like you did in L.A. You said you didn’t have sex with the groupies, but you did.”

  I braced my hands against the door. “Deacon and I hung out that night. He can vouch for me.” But he wouldn’t.

  Silence.

  “Were you together all night?” My heart beat in my ears.

  I exhaled. “No, I texted you from the party.”

  Clenching my eyes shut as the words left my lips, I realized that was the wrong choice of words.

  “I told you I was coming over─”

  Lakelyn cut me off. Her bitter laughter filled my ears. “Oh, and that’s the same night you never showed. You’ve never stood me up, Wyatt.”

  She was right. Johnny got in my head and the scotch whisky became my companion that night. “Lakelyn, I can tell you everything that happened play-by-play that night. Baby, please let me in,” I paused.

  “I love you.”

  “Leave,” she growled. “Before I call the police.”

  My heavy fist pounded on the door a final time.

  **P**

  Uncle Bo and a tall bulky guy who looked to be in his early thirties, sat in the middle of the restaurant deep in a conversation.

  I opened the glass door, stepped over the threshold, and sauntered in their direction.

  “Hello Uncle Bo and...” I stretched my hand out toward the man.

  They stood. That slick smile my uncle often produced appeared. What the fuck was this guy up to?

  His rough, callused hand shook mine.

  Gripping the football and lifting weights over the years, left my hands rough. Lakelyn never complained. She loved placing my palm against her face and smiling into it. I fucking missed my woman.

  Forcing a grin across my lips, I placed thoughts of Lakelyn in a corner pocket in my head.

  “Nickulas Pitucco.” He released my hand.

  Was this guy in the construction business? Because his hand felt like sandpaper. His tailored blazer, dark slacks, and two-tone oxfords, screamed wealth.

  The wheels turned in my head, then my brows lifted. “You’re from my dad and Uncle Bo’s side of the family.”

  “Yeah, my dad is Julianno Jr. Your great uncle is my grandfather.”

  I nodded, still piecing together parts of my family tree in my head.

  “We live in New Jersey.”

  Great uncle Julianno’s family. The family no one spoke of. The ones you only heard whispers about.

  The mafia.

  “Didn’t know I had cousins in Jersey.” I peeked at Uncle Bo.

  “Guys, sit. I need to tend to the soup on the stove. I’ll prepare a bowl for you both.”

  “Thanks.” I returned my attention to Nickulas, who sat next to me at the six top oval table. His green eyes studied me.

  He removed his phone from his inner navy blazer pocket and placed it on the white tablecloth between us.

  “You’re a great fucking wide receiver. I haven’t lost a bet I place on you, yet.” His lips tipped up at one end.

  My brows wrinkled again as I sipped the glass of water.

  “Before we get started, what questions do you have?”

  “I heard uncle Julianno had mafia ties. My dad and Uncle Bo brushed me off. Is it true?”

  He flashed a cocky grin and glanced at the bar. I followed his line of sight.

  A buff guy in a dark suit sat in the shadows, laughing behind his dark sunglasses before taking a sip of whiskey.

  My skin heated. The mood shifted in the restaurant. Everything felt heavy and ominous. I noticed Nickulas sat across from me. His back was to the wall. He had a perfect view of the street and the entrance to the kitchen.

  Yup, he was a mobster.

  “You have a problem I can fix in a couple of ways.” His hand swept over his dark, curly hair.

  “I can break his legs. Or, he can take a walk.” He turned up his lips and shrugged.

  “You decide.” He rose, then walked to the dark wooden bar lined with top shelf liquor and wine. Nickulas patted the large man’s shoulder before rounding the counter.

  I met his sinister gaze in the mirror behind the bar. He was fucking serious. I knew what taking a walk meant. I’d watched enough mafia movies over the years. He’d whack Johnny.

  And to think this guy killed for a living? He reminded me of a well-dressed guy who graced the cover of GQ.

  Nickulas returned, placing a bottle of Jim Beam and two short glasses on the table.

  I pointed my thumb over my shoulder. “Who’s the guy at the bar?”

  “Donnie’s my muscle. The chance that I travel without him, is slim to none. I hold a very powerful position in my family.

  The mob boss.

  Shit, the mob boss flew to Atlanta to get rid of my problem.

  “If it helps you sleep better at night, tell me about the guy first. How he wronged you. Oh, and Donnie swept the restaurant for bugs. You can speak freely.” He poured the whiskey into each glass.

  I tossed the burning contents down my throat.

  “That asshole, Johnny borderline, stalked me for years. All because he wanted me to play for the San Francisco Forty-niners. I lost my girl over this bullshit scandal. Not to mention every fucking endorsement I had.” My jaw twitched.

  I could feel my heart constricting in my chest.

  “Wyatt, you don’t have to lift a finger. Just give me the word.”

  “No.” I slammed my open palm on the table.

  He rested his elbow on the table and tapped his thick, black brow. “Let me get this right, you don’t want to inflict pain on this bastard?”

  “Nickulas.”

  “Call me Nick.”

  “Nick, I want to be there.”

  Uncle Bo returned, sitting a bowl of soup in front of each of us.

  “How’s it going?”

  Nick sat back in his chair. “Bo, I thought my father took care of the problem with the Forty-niners.”

  “He did.”

  “What?” My brows deepened.

  Anger coursed through my veins. What did Uncle Bo do?

  His olive skin turned a hue of dark red. He ran a hand over his gruff chin as he sat between us.

  “Julianno heard whispers that the Forty-niners planned to draft you as their number one pick. I told him under no circumstances could that happen. Julianno told the owner if he loved his family, he’d let you go. The owner spoke to Johnny. Told him they were going another route. And you went on to play for the Falcons.”

  I threaded my fingers through my hair. “Maybe Johnny abided by the owner’s order for a few years, because he’s back at it. That bastard ruined my life.”

  I turned my attention to my cousin.

  “Nick, I want to be there.”

  Uncle Bo grabbed my a
rm. “No,” he scowled.

  “Your dad will kill me if I let you get too deep.”

  Dad knew. I thought back to his chill persona the day of the draft.

  My heart sank. They pulled strings behind my back.

  I narrowed my eyes and curled my fists as I stared through my uncle.

  He removed his hand. “Bruno said you told him you had to play in Atlanta.”

  I remembered standing in the loft, peering across the street into my neighbors’ yard. Paralyzed by the beautiful young woman dressed in a stunning navy gown, posing for pictures with her prom date, made my blood boil and my lip twitch. Even though I knew he wouldn’t sleep with her that night, anger still coursed through my veins, because I wanted to be the man taking her to prom.

  She glanced up at me and smiled. My heart slammed against my ribcage as I flashed a grin.

  “Wyatt, we paused the movie. We’re waiting for you. Are you coming?” Dad’s heavy hand landed on my shoulder.

  “Oh, I see. Lakelyn’s off to prom. Did you tell her how you felt about her?”

  “Yes. Dad...I need to play football in Atlanta,” I stated, through bared teeth.

  He gripped my shoulder tighter. “Ok.”

  I palmed my face, realizing what the weight of that statement had on my dad that day.

  “He told you I didn’t want to play elsewhere because of Lakelyn. Didn’t he?”

  Uncle Bo shook his head. “Yes.”

  Grabbing his neck, I pulled him into a bear hug. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. Family looks out for each other.” He sat back and smiled at Nick.

  “Isn’t that right?”

  “It sure is.”

  “Like I said, I need to be there. That motherfucker needs to see my face. Be at my mercy. I told him there was no way in hell I’d play for him, not even if my career went up in smoke. He made that shit happen for shits and giggles. He’d rather see me benched or released from the Falcons. All because I won’t play for the Forty-niners.”

  “Got that Italian blood running through your veins,” he snickered.

  He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “When do you want to make this happen?”

  “Keep eyes on the women and Johnny. Since a roomful of people saw me lift Johnny off of his feet, it’s best we wait until after the first game. During that time, scare the women into making a statement, too. They need to tell the world they lied.”