by L. A. Fiore
Be safe. I love you.
Love always,
Thea
“Thanks for joining me for lunch.” Uncle Tim and I were eating at a bistro in midtown. I loved that we were still close to him. He had really stepped up after Dad died, made himself more available to Mom, Cam and me, even knowing he had a crazy schedule. He wasn’t just a celebrated defense attorney with an acquittal rating that bordered on magical, he was also a State Assemblyman who had his sights set on the Senate. Due to his hectic schedule, we didn’t have lunch as often as either of us would have liked, but it was great that we were still able to occasionally fit it in.
“How’s work? You’re still working out of your apartment?”
“I am. I’ve quite a few regulars, mostly authors, and I’m nonstop busy.”
“And you are still thriving on the work?”
“It isn’t the direction I thought I would be taking when I started college, but I love it. What about you? That case in the news is pretty intense.” Cathy McKay was a mother of three that was found dead in the alley behind the diner where she worked. The police had an eyewitness, caught the perp and had evidence that put him at the scene. It was believed by all to be a slam dunk case for the prosecution, but Uncle Tim had successfully poked holes in their theories and their evidence. So much so that people were now tossing around the word acquittal.
“I hate cases like this, but I’m sworn to uphold the law and when civil liberties are being trampled all for the collar, that can’t happen. It doesn’t make me popular, but I’m doing right by my client.”
I remembered Dad often saying the same thing of Uncle Tim. I reached for his hand. “Dad, even being a cop, understood the importance of what you do. Your client is very lucky to have you.”
“So let’s talk about Cam. What’s he up to?”
“Good question. Ever since Dad died, he buries himself in work.”
“As a coping mechanism I get it, but it’s been over two years.”
“I know.”
“Do you know what he’s working on?”
“No. He keeps Mom and me in the dark, for our own sake, but I miss him. He doesn’t come around nearly as much as he should.”
“I’ll try to talk to him.”
“I would really appreciate that. I know he loves the job, I just hope he is not hiding behind the job.”
“He’s a smart guy, but I’ll have a word.”
“Thank you.”
We were pulled from our conversation when a man stepped up to our table. It took a minute to place the face, but it wasn’t hard because his daughter’s case was eating up the media. Chris McKay. Uncle Tim stood as soon as he saw him.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“How do you sleep at night?”
“Chris, don’t make me call the cops.”
“She’s dead. Your client did it and yet you spend day after day brainwashing the jury that he is innocent.”
His eyes raked over me, a chill forming because he looked slightly mad. “Your daughter?”
Uncle Tim stepped in front of him to hide me from view.
“What if it had been her? Would you be so eager to get the one off who had killed her? Left her children orphans?”
“Leave now.” I had never heard Uncle Tim sound so furious. He reached for his phone just as the manager of the restaurant walked over.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Gallagher?”
“No. Mr. McKay was just leaving.”
“I hope you never experience the devastation.” Those were his parting words before he was escorted out of the restaurant. Uncle Tim looked around at our fellow diners offering a nonverbal apology before he settled back in his chair.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Has he done that before?”
“A few times. He’s grieving. I understand. He needs someone to blame and right now that’s me. It happens all the time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“All part of the job.”
The waitress returned; she looked a bit flustered. You could tell the manager had sent her over. “Would you like dessert? It’s on the house.”
And in trying to shake off that ugly scene, Uncle Tim and I said at the same time, “Absolutely.”
I parted with Uncle Tim and walked home. On the way, I spotted a couple ahead of me on the street. They walked hand in hand and when they reached their destination, he held the door for her. She looked up at him and smiled as she preceded him into the store. The sight hit me right in the center of my chest, as a wicked case of déjà vu swept through me. It was the little reminders of Damian, the ones that snuck up on me out of nowhere that were the hardest. I missed him, every damn day.
I was in my old neighborhood, stopping by to say hi to Mom. I’d been thinking about that scene at the restaurant with Uncle Tim. He had handled it like a man who had been through it before, but to have to face the families of the victims had to be hard. And thinking about Uncle Tim had Dad drifting into my thoughts. When I felt melancholy over missing him, I liked coming back to the Bronx, to my childhood home, because there were lots of really great memories. I had just reached the front steps when I heard my mom scream. I flew up the steps and pushed through the door but the sight that greeted me took a second or two to sink in. My mom was in a pair of Juicy sweatpants, her ass in the air and a very sexy, young man stood over her.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Mom jerked upright and peered at me from over her shoulder. “Yoga lessons.”
“Yoga? You?”
Mom touched the younger man’s arm. To be accurate in the retelling she was stroking him like one would a cat. “I’ll be right back. Let’s take a little break.”
“Sure thing, Rosalie.”
She flashed him a smile before she walked past me, reached for my hand and pulled me to the kitchen.
“Yoga? Who are you and what have you done with my mother?”
She walked right to the plate of donuts on the counter and shoved half of one in her mouth.
“You are having Yoga lessons but on breaks you’re shoving your face with a donut. Have you lost your mind? It’s happened hasn’t it? Oh my God, nothing like seeing what I’ll become in thirty years.”
“Oh stop being so dramatic. I’m eating this donut because I love donuts, and yoga—downward dog—can suck it.”
That sounded more like my mom. I got my exercise habits from her, but considering she was still the same size as she had been when she married my father over forty years ago…whatever pact she made with Satan I hope extended to me as well.
“So who is Mr. Hot and Sweaty?”
“He’s adorable, isn’t he? I don’t even need to do the yoga. He can just sit on the sofa so I can stare. I ran into him at the market; like literally, he wasn’t watching and our cars almost collided in the parking lot. We got to talking and he mentioned he was a yoga instructor.”
“I’m sorry, you brought home the man who almost ran into you?”
“Yeah, he’s charming. I checked his references first.”
“I don’t even know what to say. Talk about throwing caution to the wind.”
“Cam cleared him.”
“Cam looked into him?”
“Yeah, I’m not crazy.”
“You picked up a man who is more than half your age at the grocery store, after he nearly crashed into your car, and had your cop son run a background check on him before agreeing to have him tutor you in the art of yoga in the privacy of your own home. Yeah, I think the jury is still out on your sanity.”
She gave me the mom look, the one that used to bring fear and now only had me stifling a laugh.
“So, he gave you his card and you called him because when your instructor looks like him, yoga can’t be all that bad.”
“Exactly.”
“And he makes house calls?”
“Apparently.”
That was unusual but effective. If I could get a hottie like that to come
to my place, I might take up yoga too. Probably not.
Mom pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “The truth is I loved your father but he’s gone and though I miss him every day, he would be really angry if he knew I wasn’t sucking up all I could out of life.”
“He would, I’ve been saying that.”
“You have. So I’m finding fun. Yoga isn’t fun, but hot pants in there is helping me keep in shape.”
“I really hope that’s not code for something else.”
She slapped my arm. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“You do realize you’re objectifying your yoga instructor.”
“Yeah. So what?”
“I came for a visit, but I don’t want to interrupt your lesson.”
Mom gave me a look I knew I gave often to my friends. It was unnerving when you realized you were more like your mom than you ever thought or even wanted.
“We should do dinner out, something fun and frivolous. Invite the girls.”
Mom loved Kimber and Ryder like daughters. “I’ll arrange something.” I reached for a donut and started from the kitchen.
“He’s waiting for you.”
Mom eyed the plate of donuts.
“You aren’t getting another one down your throat in the time it takes to walk back into the living room. And you have powder…” I pointed to my chin “…here.”
She looked seriously upset at the idea that she couldn’t have another donut and I could relate because I would be feeling the same way. There was comfort in the knowledge that if I did get diabetes, it was my mom’s fault.
“I’ll call you about dinner.”
“Have you heard from Cam?” She wasn’t teasing now. Uncle Tim was right, Cam’s way of coping with Dad’s death was to bury himself in work—case after case going after the bad guys. It scared the hell out of me because he went after some really bad guys, but it was helping him heal. Downside there was a part of his life that Mom and I were kept from. That was hard because we couldn’t just pop in to see him and he didn’t drop over as often as he used to. We were adapting, but I secretly hoped he got it out of his system and chilled.
“No. Why don’t you call him?”
“I hate bothering him. I know how busy he is.”
“He’s never too busy for a phone call.”
“Yeah. It would be nice if he called me once in a while though.”
And there was the heart of it. It wasn’t intentional, but I would call Cam and remind him to call home.
“I had lunch with Uncle Tim the other day.”
“Oh, how was that?”
“Great until Chris McKay walked up to our table.”
“Who’s that?”
“The father of the woman his client allegedly killed.”
Her face went white. “He actually confronted Tim?”
“Yeah. Uncle Tim said it happens all the time with victim’s families.”
“That’s horrible, for both of them. I understand it is Tim’s job, but the man lost his daughter.”
“He handled it, but it got me thinking about Dad.”
Mom always had the sweetest smile when thinking of Dad. “He would have made a terrible defense attorney. He cared too much about the victim. He always teased Tim, claimed it was black magic that had him winning cases like he did.”
I remembered their countless good humored fights on the subject.
“They were best friends, but they were often on opposite sides of cases and your father had a point. Tim wins cases ninety-nine percent of the time other lawyers would lose. He really is that good, but that means more than the innocent are being set free. That always bothered your father.”
“It bothers me too.” I leaned in and kissed Mom on the cheek. “I’ll let you get back to your exercise. I’ll call about dinner.”
“Thanks for stopping by.”
“I could be tempted to stop over more often if he is going to be here. Not doing yoga, mind you, but I could lie on the sofa and watch you two.”
“Out. Out of my house, child.”
“Bye Mom.” I reached the front door and called to Mr. Hot and Sexy. “She just ate a donut.”
I closed the door on my mom’s rather vocal reply.
Cam had been on my mind since my visit with Mom from the other day, so I called him. No matter how busy he was, he always made sure Mom and I had the most accurate numbers for him in case we needed to reach him.
“Hey, Thea. What’s up?”
“You owe Mom a call.”
I heard his exhale over the line. “Damn. I do. I’ve just been crazy busy.”
“Yeah, doing what?”
“Juggling a few cases.”
“Just like Dad.”
I heard the love in his reply. “Yeah, just like Dad.”
“You’re good?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Right as rain”
He chuckled at the memory too.
“Call Mom.”
“I will. Later.”
“Later.”
I hung up and decided to take the rest of the day off because having talked to Cam had me thinking about Anton and it was close to lunch so he could feed me.
Opal was one of the more posh clubs in the city, offering not just entertainment at night, but a five-star restaurant that was open for lunch and dinner. The place was always packed, but I never had to wait in line—benefits of knowing the owner. Inside it was a place to see and be seen with some of the most beautiful people you’ll ever see in real life. I always felt a little uncomfortable, like a daisy in a hothouse of roses.
Locating the man in question wasn’t difficult; all you had to do was watch the reaction of the women in the crowd. His presence always caused a stir. As was the case when I saw women’s necks twisting…the man was on the move. In recent years, I never saw him in anything but a suit—something Italian and ridiculously expensive. His brown hair was never out of place, his smile was always just a little bit wicked and he walked like he had nothing to fear. And he didn’t. Anton Scalene was a dangerous man. He strolled through the club and heads turned, drawn in by the sexy curve of his lips, the swagger in his gait, and the muscular build hidden under tailored clothes. He was a predator, but a damn good one, luring women in with his easy smile and affable nature.
He spotted me by the smile that touched his lips and as was his way, he reached for my hands and brought them to his lips. “Thea, what a lovely surprise.”
“Hi, Anton.”
He tucked my hand through his arm. “So what brings you here?”
“Mom has taken up yoga.”
That earned me not just his face, but also a bewildered look. “Rosalie is exercising.”
“I know. Hard to believe, but she’s just in it for the eye candy.”
He chuckled, “That makes more sense.”
“Anyway, I just had a chat with Cam and realized I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. So here I am.”
“And just at lunch time too.”
He knew me really well.
“Now that you mention it, I am hungry. This place is amazing by the way.”
Anton looked around, but unlike me he was studying it with a critical eye. “It’s getting there.” His dark eyes returned to me. “I dined at Clover last night.”
“Oh my God, was it delicious? I heard the new pastry chef is amazing.”
“Amazing isn’t the word. I’ll have to take you.”
“The waiting list is insane.”
“I know the owner.”
“Really? You know Trace Montgomery?” I only knew of Trace Montgomery because Kimber dragged me to a cooking lesson at his school. She wasn’t interested in cooking, she wanted to stare at Trace and after seeing him, I understood why.
“Anyway, while I indulged in a truly spectacular meal, I had an almost overwhelming desire for your mom’s cheeseburger casserole.”
“I forgot about that casserole. I’ll have to get her to make it for our next dinner.”
“Maybe she’ll make enough for me to take home a doggie bag.”
I couldn’t help the smile. The man was wearing tens of thousands of dollars in clothes and jewelry and yet he wanted Mom’s frugal, but tasty, casserole.
He looked thoughtful for a moment before he added, “Damian resigned his commission. He’s home.”
That news came as a complete shock, but right after shock was excitement and anticipation. Damian was finally home. “What? When?”
A strange look swept his expression before he added, “He resigned about two years ago. He’s working in the private sector now.”
I realized we had both moved on, but he didn’t reach out to me in two years? My enthusiasm took a hit but still I asked, “Doing?”
“He leads a team, a kind of security team that runs ops when it is impossible to send the military—retrieving hostages or politically based kidnappings. That kind of thing.”
So he was no longer with the military, but he was still doing the same type of work. That explained why he continued to keep his distance.
“You said he was home, so he’s based in the States.”
“His team is all over and up until recently he was based overseas, but Damian moved HQ here. He’s temporarily setup in a gym he owns in the Bronx.”
So not just the States, he was back in the neighborhood. That hurt. “How long has he been home?”
There was that look again before he said, “A month.”
A month, four weeks he’d been home and he never reached out to me. There was a time I would have been devastated to be out of the loop when it came to Damian. Who the hell was I kidding? It hurt like hell that he was home and never called me…that only I still carried the torch, but a lot had happened in the years that separated us. We weren’t the same people anymore. And even reasoning that to myself it did little to ease the ache in my chest.
“Why am I just hearing about this now?”
“Damian didn’t tell you he was home?”
“No.”
“What the...”
At least I wasn’t the only one confused by Damian’s behavior. I didn’t dwell, there was no point, and moved the conversation along. “A gym doesn’t sound like Damian’s speed.”
“It’s on the MMA circuit, so it hosts fights every night.”