by Bethany-Kris
“I’m not following, and Leonard’s going to be here soon for a session, so—”
“Michel and Pink.”
Ah.
“Listen, it’s not been explicitly said or anything,” John explained, “but they do what they do, and it works for me. I know they’re not made men—”
“They don’t have to be. They just have to be your men. There’s been many bosses who had right-hand men that weren’t in with the family in one way or another. Associates, or whatever the case may be. No one is going to think less of you or them because they’re not made men.”
“Might it cause trouble, though?”
Andino smirked. “Well, we’d handle that, yeah? Easy. Same way we handled it when you took over the Calabrese faction. It’s really that simple.”
But was it?
John didn’t know.
“It’s not just everyone else,” John told his cousin. “It’s also them. Lev and Michel, I mean.”
“What do you—”
“I haven’t asked them, Andi.”
“Michel is spending his afternoon picking up his son before making a trip to see your Capo, and Pink is waiting for your therapist so that you can take your breakfast in peace without interruption while you have a session. What more needs to be said?”
John stared hard at his cousin. Andino looked right back, unbothered.
Nothing new to see here.
“I don’t know,” John murmured.
Andino nodded. “Yeah, me either.”
His conversation with Andino lingered in John’s mind long after it finished. He was halfway through his breakfast and chat with Leonard before he’d blinked, and yet his mind kept going back to his cousin and what he’d said.
“John?”
“Hmm?”
Across the table, Leonard smiled at him. “You seem distracted.”
“Work.”
“Oh—bad things?”
“No, just things to think about,” John returned.
“That happens. That thing I’d mentioned—I was hoping you might make time to meet with someone for me.”
That had John’s full attention.
“Who?” he asked.
“A friend,” Leonard replied. “I think he could help you with things that perhaps, I cannot.”
“You help.”
“I might not always be able to, though.”
John took more than a few seconds to reply to that. “Why?”
The silence grew longer.
Heavy.
It wasn’t like Leonard.
John didn’t like it at all.
Eventually, his therapist said, “I’m sick, John. Bladder cancer. My first treatment was two weeks ago, but I wanted to wait until everything was settled with you before I brought it up. I hope you understand.”
Why—when everything in his life seemed to be going so well—did the world have to come crashing down around him?
SIX
Apparently, Siena’s first day back at work—which just happened to land on a Friday—was also welcome Siena back day with a constant stream of visitors. Everyone from John’s mother to his sister came to say hello and drop her off a little something.
Candy.
Coffee.
Flowers.
She loved it all.
But she also wanted to work.
After the third visitor who knocked on her office door, however, Siena simply settled herself on the fact that she would not be getting anything done. At least, not today. So, she shut down her laptop, ordered a round of drinks and sides from the kitchen, and made her way out to the dining room to sit down and enjoy her friends and family.
“I’m not too late, am I?” Haven asked, tossing her bag to the floor before dropping into a chair. “I had some things to handle, is all. Sorry.”
Across the table where she sat next to John’s mother—because Jordyn decided today was the best day to go over the plans for her sister’s birthday party—Siena laughed and shook her head. “Listen, after Ginevra left when Alessio came to pick her up and Catherine called to say she would be here around supper, I gave up any hope of getting work done today.”
Haven grinned widely. “Aww, you have friends who love you. Shame, that.”
“I’m not complaining.”
And she wasn’t.
Truly.
“But you all could have spread out the love over several days, maybe,” Siena said. “I just caught a bout of pneumonia—I didn’t die.”
Haven, as serious as she could be, simply stared at Siena. “And?”
God.
These people.
She loved them, though.
“How’s Val doing in Toronto?” she asked.
“Rose gold or gold and silver?” Jordyn asked, peering down at her phone. “Although, there’s this cute black and rose gold theme I’m really liking. We could make that work.”
“Rose gold and black,” Siena returned. “Definitely. She will love that. I swear since Ginevra moved in with Alessio and Corrado, they’ve both bled into the girls more than anyone knows. One is all class and screams wealth—the other is all dark and moody … it’s like two entirely different people. Which they are. I don’t know how she does it.” Then, back to Haven, she added, “I haven’t seen Val in forever.”
Never missing a beat, Haven said, “Really well. I don’t get to see her as much as I like, but we figure it out and do what we have to so that we get time together. Or you know, I bitch a lot to Andino, which he can’t stand, and then he gets mad enough to call Chris and do his thing. We make it work.”
“Your husband can be kind of horrible.”
Haven smiled again. “I know—it’s why I love him.”
Good thing somebody did.
That’s what counted.
“But seriously,” Haven said, giving Siena a look, “how are you feeling?”
“A lot better.”
“Yeah?”
“Less dead,” Siena replied honestly. “That’s an improvement, trust me.”
Laughter passed between the three women at the table. They quieted when one of the servers made her way to the table to refill Siena’s coffee, bring Jordyn another glass of lemon water, and then took an order from Haven as well.
“And John? How’s he doing with … all of this, I mean? I know he gets a little on edge whenever something is going on with you. I imagine he must have been something else for the past few weeks, huh?”
That made Siena pause.
Just for a second.
Haven didn’t mean any harm by asking. And nothing that she said was a lie, either. It was no secret that John could become just a touch unbearable when something was wrong with his wife. Snappy, difficult, and moody … those were just a few of the things that anyone in direct contact with John had to deal with during times that put him under a lot of stress.
At the same time, they were so private. They didn’t share a lot about what was happening in their personal lives because it was one way that John felt like it kept his mental illness a closed book to anyone who wasn’t his parents or wife. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share, but without meaning to, people often projected their own assumptions or beliefs about how John should deal with it even when they knew nothing about it.
It was easier to just … well, not.
“He’s fine,” Siena said. “You know John.”
Yeah.
That seemed like a good way to say it.
Or deflect.
But hey, if Haven was offended that Siena didn’t get deep into the details about how John had handled her sudden illness and short hospital stay, the woman didn’t know it. Not that it stopped Siena from still feeing like she had to be defensive of her husband, and their choices not to discuss anything that even remotely touched his bipolar disorder or might even bring it into the conversation.
It was only after Haven’s order came in, and her phone rang with a call that she stepped away from the table to take that Siena t
urned to her mother-in-law who was still busy making an entire inspiration board for her younger sister’s birthday party.
“Is it always going to be like that?” she asked.
Jordyn lifted her head. “What do you mean?”
She sighed.
And took a second to think.
Maybe feel, too.
If there was anything that being with John had taught Siena, it was that there was nothing wrong with taking a moment to handle yourself before someone else. It was a good lesson to learn because everyone had to look out for themselves first whether that was for their mental health or whatever.
“John,” Siena eventually said. “Will I always feel like—when it comes to other people—I have to defend him or protect him … you know, without offending everyone who asks about him or me or us?”
Jordyn smiled softly. “Do you feel like you have a reason to be defensive about John—or rather, has he given you a reason to do that?”
Siena didn’t even have to think about it.
“No, he doesn’t. It’s just … I don’t want anyone else to, either.”
“Well, that’s your answer, then. And if you don’t allow them to, then they can’t. What’s to be offended over about that, Siena?”
She had a good point.
Siena would remember it.
SEVEN
Rosewood Central—a new park located outside the city limits and popular for those living in the upper scale suburbs—was quieter than it would usually be on a Wednesday. John would know considering he spent every Wednesday walking through this park with Leonard because it was what his therapist liked to call a middle ground for them both. Instead of a session at Leonard’s office or the man’s house, or even John’s, the two of them met here.
Very few joggers passed John by on the pathways. Only a handful of dog owners had been milling in the dog park section. He wouldn’t complain about the lack of people, however, considering the man he would usually be meeting here would not actually be showing up today, though the plan had been for him to be here, because—
“Johnathan, you’re looking well. It’s been what, a few years since we last spoke?”
John found the source of the question sitting on a nearby bench under a rather large oak tree which provided a good spread of shade for anyone sitting underneath its heavy branches. Cara Guzzi smiled his way and that alone felt welcoming even if every inch of him radiated with hesitance and wariness. It wasn’t because of her—or her presence, really—but it just was.
New things could be … tricky.
Especially for John.
This would certainly be that.
“A few years for sure,” John replied, making a careful effort to keep his tone pleasant and measured. He didn’t want Cara to feel uncomfortable at being the middleman here—as Leonard liked to say—because she was simply doing a friend a favor. “Are we—”
“Come sit,” Cara said before he could say another thing. “And we’ll have a chat for a minute before we do anything else.”
John dragged in a burning lungful, filling his chest to capacity before letting the air out just as fast. If the woman on the bench noticed his discomfort and stress, she didn’t say anything one way or another. He was grateful.
Taking a seat on the right side of the bench and leaving lots of space between him and Cara, John busied himself with undoing the two buttons on his Armani blazer while he peered down the pathway leading toward the small lake. “Quiet today.”
“Oh, is this not the norm here? Shame, I liked it.”
“Well, it’s never overflowing,” he replied, “so it’s quiet enough that you can enjoy yourself.”
“Hmm.” Cara passed him a look, adding, “And I’m sorry Leonard couldn’t make it today. Seems his chemo ran later than usual, did it?”
“Apparently. Things happen, though.”
Life had taught him that.
John rarely expected anything to go as planned regardless of how much he wished for that to be the case. Things in his world would be far easier to process if everything was exactly how he wanted it to be. And yet, he was the one who still learned daily how to adapt to the fact that nothing was perfect. Including himself.
It was a process.
As were most things.
“Has he discussed his illness with you?” Cara asked. “Since I was the one who made the call to Cree, and both he and Leonard knew you and I were acquainted, Leonard thought you wouldn’t mind me being here. I hope he was right. I wouldn’t want to make you feel out of place, John.”
“You don’t. Mostly. The whole day does but that’s not unusual for me.” John swallowed thickly. “And Leonard and I spoke briefly about the cancer—the important parts and what’s happening now. How it looks, and all of that. I think he realized I was not taking it well and decided it was better we didn’t get too particular about it.”
A soft smile stared back at him.
“You consider him a friend, yes?” she asked.
“One of the few I do have.” John clasped his hands in his lap, needing the tight control of his fingers wrapped around one another to keep his tone level when he added, “And I haven’t discussed the fact he is sick or in treatment with my family yet. Not even my wife.”
“Why not?”
“They’ll worry. Partly. It’s just … Leonard is sick. It’s him. And he’s my therapist, not theirs. So, these aren’t issues of theirs. They’re issues of mine, that’s all. I would like to keep them as my issues to handle and not theirs.”
Then, John turned to her and asked, “So, Cree, hmm?”
Cara nodded. “Yes, Cree. I think you’ll like him.”
“Oh?”
“He’s … an unusual breed in our business. Let’s just say meetings with—well, he doesn’t call people patients, I guess—but his meetings don’t take place in offices or parks. That’s not really his style.”
Right.
Because that’s why John was here.
To meet his secondary therapist.
“So, where are we meeting him?” John asked. “And when?”
“Not far from here, and whenever you’re ready to go.”
A lot of things about this day made John want to go home, crawl into bed with his wife who he was sure he could convince to take a day off, and pretend like nothing else existed. But the thing was, he’d signed up for the long haul with Leonard, and the man’s ways when it came to treating John and his bipolar disorder. Including this because right now, it was needed.
“I’m ready anytime.”
Cara smiled brightly. “Wonderful. Let’s go.”
John wasn’t sure what he expected this Cree—who apparently had a major hand in a venture in Las Vegas that included training and auctioning assassins with a partner—to look like or anything. Leonard hadn’t given John much to go on when he said he wanted the two to meet so that he could consider working with a secondary therapist alongside his preferred one, but he didn’t expect the man who waited inside a boxing ring.
Wearing nothing but loose shorts, with his hands already taped up as though he were ready to fight, and his long, black hair plaited into a single rope down his back, Cree grinned at John.
“That suit isn’t going to do in here,” Cree said.
John arched a brow and stared up at the man. “You think I’m getting in there?”
“I think by the scars on your knuckles, we’re not going to pretend like you’ve never thrown a punch, Johnathan.”
“I prefer John.”
“Do you? Interesting.”
Was it?
He didn’t sound like it.
John passed Cara a look over his shoulder, but she simply shook her head and looked away with a smile. “So, Cree?”
She laughed under her breath. “Cree—he can take a bit to get used to. Give it a moment to warm up. That was my husband’s suggestion.”
“I do not need a moment to warm up to,” Cree returned. “I am simply an acquired taste that
very few have been lucky enough to try. And I will accept no other description.”
John gave the man points for confidence.
“I promise he’s … give it a chance,” the woman said as though she knew personally. Hell, maybe she did. Cara shrugged at John’s questioning stare before saying, “Everyone, even men like you, John, living the life you do, need safe places, spaces, and people. Leonard does know what he’s doing—Cree simply does it differently. We all do.”
Right.
He’d try to remember that for this.
“Take the blazer off,” Cree called from the ring. “I’m sure you can spar in the rest. Next time, less formal clothing.”
Well, that was that.
EIGHT
Everything was about to change.
Again.
That was most certain, and it also seemed like the only thing Siena could be sure about in her life, now. Her and John would just become settled into some kind of a routine in their marriage—it happened over and over again in the last three years since they said I do—and something would come along to give them a new normal.
Except this couldn’t be the same.
Not at all.
If there was one thing—above all things—about her marriage and John that Siena thought was most important to remember, it was that surprises were not welcomed. Especially if said surprise meant a huge change in their lives, or something that could cause a massive emotional upheaval.
For other people, a change could be a good thing. A little stress, and a bit nerve-racking, sure. They would, however, roll with the punches and accept the change.
For John, though, a change that could and would impact his entire life often led him to overthinking, panicking, and more. It almost guaranteed a hypomanic episode would be on the horizon, and once that was controlled, a short bout of depression to battle.
Siena never blamed him for these things.
She never wished for anything different.
Oh, she loved John.
Every part of him was hers to love.
So as she sat on the edge of the tub in their master bathroom, and stared at the little strip of plastic in her hand … she couldn’t help but think of what this would mean, and what would come of it.