by Josie Kerr
Manny wiggled his eyebrows and grinned but stopped giving Junior a hard time. “Anything else, Junior?”
“Where can I find Gene?”
“Now, Junior,” Manny began.
“Where can I find him? I know he’s supposedly in the wind, but the Eugene Patillo I knew isn’t gonna stray far from home.”
Manny sighed. “I know Nanda had to go pay his tab and drag his drunk ass out of that go-go bar up the street. I’d try there. Ask for Cindy.” Junior raised an eyebrow. “She’s my brother’s second wife’s kid. Working her way through law school.”
Junior laughed. “Yeah, I’m definitely back in Jersey.”
Chapter Five
Gene, of course, was not at the go-go club, but Junior got a list of other dives that he frequented from an overly friendly barfly.
“Dios, I need a drink and a shower after that.” Junior shuddered.
Not wanting to go back to the house just yet, he decided to stop off at a neighborhood bar that he frequented before he moved to Wisconsin to be Colin’s trainer.
He pushed through the heavy double door into the dark interior and took a deep breath, grinning when he inhaled the scent of stale cigarette smoke and flat beer. Since he had moved from New Jersey, he generally didn’t come home, except for holidays, and when he did return, he stayed with his family, not going out to his old haunts. This was the first time he had been in a Newark bar in years.
“Junior? Hey, man, how you doin’?” Big Tommy, the little bartender, grinned widely as he stuck his hand out.
“Ha-ha, hey, Big Tommy. Long time no see.” Junior grabbed the bartender’s hand. “It’s been a hell of a day—give me a Seven and Seven.”
Big Tommy grinned and slid the Collins glass across the bar.
“This is a good look for you.”
Junior huffed a laugh and ran his hand over his head. “Bald is beautiful, baby.”
“Bald is beautiful.” Big Tommy scratched his chin. “So, what brings you around? Heard you were in Atlanta—how the hell did you end up down there?”
Junior threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, I’m in Atlanta. Been there for a couple of years now. It’s . . . different. It’s good.” Junior fiddled with a coaster. “Carmichael retired, moved to Atlanta to be with his family, opened an MMA gym there. I figured I’d tag along.”
“Ah, C. I should have known. How’s he doing?”
“Retired. Happily married.”
“Married? Carmichael?”
Junior barked a laugh. “Why does everyone find that so unbelievable?”
Big Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know—the guy always seemed so . . . closed off, uptight. And besides, I always thought you two were together.”
“Everyone thought that. Just because a fighter isn’t a total whore doesn’t mean he’s gay,” Junior huffed. “He’s just a good friend. That’s all.”
“Oh, holy fuck, Maldonado’s back. What’s up, you old goat!”
“Paulie! Oh my God, is that Jackie, too?” Soon Junior was surrounded—hands slapping him on the back, shots ordered and served—by people he knew from high school, from the fight club, and just around town.
He was laughing at some story that Paulie and Mike were tag-team telling when he got a glimpse of a once familiar face.
Surely, it couldn’t be . . .
But it was.
“Junior.”
Junior’s eyes swept over his former boyfriend’s figure. The years had not changed him much at all. Derek still wore his sandy hair cut Ivy League short and still sported khakis and a polo, just like he had thirty years previously. Really, the only big difference was the fact that he wasn’t wearing his thick, coke-bottle-bottom glasses. “Hello, Derek.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Twenty years.”
“Twenty-five years,” Derek corrected. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Junior sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, you can buy me a drink.”
Chapter Six
A drink at the bar turned into dinner at a table in the dining room, where Junior learned what Derek had been up to for the past twenty-five years since that fateful day that Junior returned from Kuwait to find a man named Frank occupying his place in Derek’s bed.
Derek had gotten a degree in accounting and had gone on to work for a Big 5 accounting firm and lived with Frank in Manhattan until three years ago.
“Then Pop had a massive heart attack, and I took over the company, just like he always wanted me to. Then when he had a stroke, I stayed here mostly and only went back into The City about once a week or so. Then he died, and here I am, back in Newark full-time.” Derek chuffed a laugh.
Junior shrugged. “Newark looks good on you,” he said. “How’s Frank?”
“Frank’s good. He’s in Geneva.”
Junior shrugged again. “Not a terrible commute. You see him on weekends, then?”
“Geneva, Switzerland.”
“Oh.”
Derek laughed. “Yeah. He had a great opportunity. Pop had just died. I couldn’t leave; he couldn’t stay.”
“I’m sorry, Derek. I really am.”
“Well, if it helps, twenty-five years late, I’m sorry, too.”
Junior nodded but didn’t trust himself to say anything.
“So, you’re a trainer for a world champion fighter, huh?”
“Eh, he’s retired, so I’m not Colin’s trainer anymore. I do train fighters, though.”
“I never even saw you fight. I mean, I saw you brawl in the school yard, but I never went to one of your official fights, back when you were at De La Garza.”
“I know. I understand. I understood then, too.”
“Pop would have let me. Hell, he would have probably snuck out with me.” Derek chuckled and then huffed a breath. “You look good. You look like you’re doing well.”
Junior lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Yeah, I’m doing okay.”
“So, did you come back for business or pleasure? Apparently MMA is legal in New York again?”
“Yeah, I’m back to visit family. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them, and Nanda’s been having some issues, so I thought I’d stay for a bit.”
“Little baby Nanda? How old is she now?”
“Little baby Nanda is almost thirty-seven,” Junior said with a laugh. “Yeah, we are fuckin’ old, Derek.”
“Jeez. That doesn’t seem possible. She was what, eight or nine when we graduated?”
“Yep. She was eleven when I came home from Kuwait that first time.”
Derek grew pale at the mention of Junior’s return from the Middle East. He opened his mouth, and Junior shut him down before he could even begin speaking.
“I don’t want to talk about that now. I’m sorry I mentioned it.” Junior clenched his jaw tight and then scrubbed his head and face with his hands like he was trying to get rid of what he saw in his mind’s eye. He cleared his throat. “So . . .”
“When’d you start losing your hair?”
Junior barked a laugh. “You know I was thinning in high school. After a decade of high and tight, I just shaved it all off and kept it shaved. When did you stop wearing those coke-bottle glasses?”
“About seven years ago when I got Lasik.” Derek grinned at Junior.
“I always liked your eyes.”
“I always liked your dimples.”
“I guess we’re even, then.”
“Yeah, I guess we are.”
Chapter Seven
Junior slipped into the house quietly, hoping not to disturb his sleeping sister. He was tiptoeing through the living room when Marta turned on the kitchen light.
“Junior? You’re forty-seven years old. Why are you sneaking around like a guilty teenager?”
Junior chuckled. “Martita, what are you doing up?”
“Old ladies don’t sleep. Between the hot flashes and the charley horses, I’m lucky if I sleep three hours at a
time. Warm milk?”
Junior waved. “No, I’m good, and you’re not old, Martita.”
“I have more hair on my chin than Little Beto. Trust me, I’m old. Where have you been?”
“Oh, I stopped by the local bar to see Big Tommy and ran into some of the boys and some old friends.”
“Oh, yeah? Paulie and the crew?”
“Yep. They’re still the same guys, just with a little more gut and a little less hair.” Junior swiped his hand over his own bald head.
“Who else did you run into?” Marta sat down at the kitchen table and motioned for Junior to join her. “Hmm? This is not your usual post-bar behavior.”
“I . . . ran into Derek Martin.”
“Derek Martin? The Derek Martin that started seeing someone as soon as you left for basic training? That Derek Martin?” Marta said with a disapproving snort. “What the hell did he have to say?”
“He’s moved back to Newark and taken over his Pop’s company.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He split from Frank a year or so ago.”
“Frank was the other guy, I take it?”
“Yeah.”
Marta crossed her arms over her chest. “So, how’d he look?”
Junior laughed. “He looked good. He has all his hair.”
“I never liked him for you. He always seemed . . . insincere. You need someone real, Junior. Someone of substance.”
“Yeah. I suppose so.”
“Since we’re up and really talking, how is Atlanta, really?”
Junior grinned. “It’s good, Sis. I keep busy. I work. I go out. It’s good.”
Marta leaned back in her chair and looked hard at her younger brother.
Junior’s grin turned into a laugh. “I promise, I’m good. I’m happy.”
“You’re lonely.”
“Marta, I’m fine. I date. I’ve even gone out with the same person several times in a row. It’s just . . . never mind. I’m happy.”
“Who is he?
“Who is who?”
“Who is this man that you’re stewing about?”
Junior grinned again. Nothing got by his eldest sister. “He’s just someone from the fight club. A vet. Saw a lot of action, got a medical discharge.”
“So you’ve got a lot in common, then. He Army?”
“No, Navy corpsman. I know, I know. Pop would be appalled that I snagged a sailor.”
Marta cackled. “You’re not going to tell me anything more about him, are you?”
“There’s nothing to tell. Nothing to tell.” He patted Marta’s arm. “I’m headed to bed.”
“Nanda’s getting out tomorrow, Junior.”
“I know. Got to be rested up to deal with that.” Junior leaned down and kissed Marta’s cheek. “Night, Martita. Love you.”
After Junior got to his nephew’s room and started pulling out his wallet and keys from his pockets, he noticed the message light on his phone. He thumbed the screen to wake the phone up and listened to an awkward voice mail from Ryan, apologizing for taking off in the middle of the night and wishing his sister well.
Junior snorted. Months without any real romantic interests, just random hookups, and then he has two encounters in one day. Not that he had any intention or expectation of seeing Derek again, but it was nice to talk with a man his own age, someone that was familiar.
And then there was Ryan.
Ryan was ten years younger, but with his injuries and wartime experiences, he was more similar to Junior than Derek or any other man was.
Junior glanced at the time, tempted to call Ryan back. He resisted, promising himself that he would call the cutman back the next day.
As Junior lay in the dark, he couldn’t help but compare the two men who had piqued his romantic interest. Now that he thought about it, Ryan and Derek were very similar in build and coloring: thick-chested, with sandy hair and hazel eyes, though Ryan’s veered toward the amber side of hazel and Derek’s toward the green.
And that was where their similarities ended, because while Derek still had his Ivy League haircut and a jawline that looked like he had just gotten a fresh, hot shave, Ryan’s hair probably had not been cut since he returned to the States, and his unruly beard verged on Grizzly Adams’s length.
But damn, Ryan’s voice. Junior grabbed his phone off the nightstand and replayed Ryan’s message, closing his eyes as he listened to Ryan’s deep, gravelly voice rumble, rambling on about nothing that Junior particularly needed to know right then.
He thought about the night that Ryan had stayed. Junior had held him on the couch, tight, until he had stopped shaking and started sobbing, and then he held him longer, tighter, until he finally relaxed. Junior had pulled him into the bedroom, and Ryan had lain with his entire weight on Junior’s chest, his head nestled into the crook of his shoulder, growling about what he wanted to do with Junior.
They hadn’t done any of those wonderful things, and then Ryan was gone when Junior’s alarm had gone off. Junior definitely wanted to talk about that night, about Ryan’s reactions, if he was getting help, but when he didn’t hear from Ryan, he backed off, hoping that the sensitive vet would reach out if he needed something.
Junior was hard, and he stroked the length of his firm cock but didn’t continue out of respect for his nephew. Junior chuckled to himself. He’d just jack off in the shower like any self-respecting guy would do.
“Jesus, it’s just like high school. One step back in this house and I’m sixteen again.”
Junior shook his head, turned out the nightstand lamp, and tucked his hands into his armpits and tried to get some sleep.
Chapter Eight
“Junior, I do not need a babysitter,” Nanda protested as soon as she figured out that her siblings weren’t going to leave her alone in her apartment. “They wouldn’t have let me out otherwise.”
Marta shot her youngest sister a deadly glance. “You know that’s a big fat lie, Nanda. They’re going to run you out as soon as they can. We had to beg them to let you stay another night.”
Nanda grumbled under her breath.
“What was that, Little Sister?” Junior pulled Nanda to him.
“Nothing.”
“Well, there’s food in the refrigerator for you to warm up if you get hungry, but I want you to go lie down.”
Nanda pulled out of Junior’s hug and staggered a bit before Junior caught her by her upper arms. Nanda flinched at his touch, and Junior’s fury returned.
Marta shot Junior a look of warning and turned to Nanda. “We just want you safe, Nanda. No one’s heard from Gene, but you know when he hears that you’re home, he’ll come to see you.”
Nanda’s face paled. “You think so?” she whispered, her voice still raspy and sensitive.
“Please reconsider going to Marta’s or Ines’s, Fernanda. Please?” Junior pled. “I’m going wherever you are, though. Period. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Nanda sighed. “I want to stay here. I don’t think he’ll be back. Gene’s not that dumb.”
Junior snorted but gave Nanda’s shoulder a squeeze. “All right, here we’ll stay.”
“I’m really tired, you guys. I just want to go to bed.” Nanda looked between her brother and her sister and smiled weakly. “Thank you so much, both of you.”
“Go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Marta kissed her cheek and then did the same with Junior. “You need to rest, too, Junior.”
Marta slipped out the front door, and Nanda sank back against the arm of her couch and exhaled a loud breath.
“You’re not really going to stay, are you, Junior?”
“You bet I am. I’m not leaving you, Nanda. Not on your life.”
“Fuck me,” Nanda groused. “Ugh.” She eased herself down on the couch and gingerly crossed her arms over her chest.
“You do need to rest.”
“All I’ve been doing is resting.”
“Well, you hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll warm something up.”
As Junior ladled soup and rice into two bowls, she surprised him by saying, “I think I need a complete change of scenery, Junior.”
Junior smiled to himself, relieved that he had an introduction to an idea that he had been considering for a few days.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just something. Though maybe now that I’m out of that damned hospital room and don’t have the only choice of looking at either Mrs. Harris’s skinny butt or the parking lot, I’ll be fine.”
“Like, let’s say, moving? You know, the DS Fight Club needs a manager.”
Nanda froze, spoon halfway to her mouth. “Me? In Atlanta?” She cackled. “Right. Yeah, I don’t think so. I think all those peaches have gotten to you.”
Junior snorted. “I haven’t had any peaches.”
“Not one?” Nanda quirked an eyebrow at him and grinned.
“Okay, maybe a few but not any really good ones.”
Nanda giggled but then grew contemplative. “You’re serious, Junior?”
Junior sat down and took Nanda’s hand in his. “Completely. There’s a job waiting for you if you want it.”
“Everyone I know is here, Junior. Everyone . . .”
“That may not be a good thing, Nanda.”
“I’m full, and I’m tired. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning, Hermano.”
“Night, Sis.”
Junior cleaned up the kitchen and then stretched out on the couch and flipped on the television, thinking all the while about Nanda’s situation.
Of course, she would not want to leave. Nanda was loyal to a fault, sticking with jobs and men much longer than she needed to. And the more Junior thought about it, the more he was convinced that a move to Atlanta would be the best thing for his baby sister. She would be away from the negative girlfriends—girlfriends who also stayed with the wrong men for the wrong reasons. Most importantly, though, a move would get her away from Gene and the umbrella of potential disaster that waited for her if she stayed with him.