From the Ruins

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Over grief.

  Over anger.

  Over peace.

  “I’ve heard stories,” she says softly, reclaiming my attention.

  “Yeah, I bet you have,” I reply, rubbing my hands down my thighs. Cupping my knees, I lean forward and shake my head. “Whatever you think you know, I can assure it’s not the truth. The papers like to paint us as animals. They call us criminals and say we worship the devil. Hoodlums, they say we are.”

  I shake my head.

  Fuck them.

  “We’re family,” I mutter, turning my gaze to her. “Not like the family you made here with those kids but still a family.”

  “I get that,” she whispers. “Blood isn’t always thicker than water.”

  “No, it’s not,” I agree, reaching for her hand. Lacing her fingers with mine, I turn our hands over and bend my head to press my lips to her knuckles.

  “Can I ask you another question?”

  “You’re getting spoiled,” I mutter, lifting my eyes to hers. “Go ahead.”

  “Do you think you’ll go back?”

  “To the city?”

  “To the city, to the club…to your life,” she clarifies, squeezing my hand.

  Two days ago I would have said no, but now I’m not so sure. I don’t know for certain I can live my life pretending I’m something I’m not.

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  “Fair enough,” she says, forcing a smile.

  It’s the fake one.

  The one she gives the world when she wants them to believe she’s fine.

  “The kids come home tomorrow night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” I say, standing and pulling her with me. “Let’s throw this shit out,” I suggest, nodding toward the takeout containers. “Tomorrow we’ll go into the city for real Chinese food or Pizza, whatever you want.”

  “Just us?” she asks, surprised.

  “Just us,” I confirm as she wraps her arms around my neck.

  “Aww,” she teases, cocking her head to the side. “You’re choosing me,” she says with a wink.

  Is that what’s happening?

  Am I choosing her?

  “Come on,” she urges, pulling me toward her house. “I choose you too. At least for tonight,” she adds with a wink.

  Then she smiles.

  The real kind.

  And I fucking choose that smile.

  Tonight, I choose her too.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Whoever said sex is better in your thirties should be applauded for their wisdom. Toward the end of my marriage sex was a chore at times and I couldn’t really appreciate it. There was no time to figure out what I liked and what got me off. No, in the end sex consisted of stolen moments and quickies in the laundry room. For some, that might be exciting, but for us it was meaningless.

  Sex with Lee was everything I forgot the act could be. Everything I missed in a partner. The comfort, the spontaneity and the respect for one another. I also never had a very generous lover before, someone who cared about my needs and pleasure just as much as he cared for his own.

  I may not have been prepared to take the leap with him, after all I answered the door looking like a clown, and still it was one of the best nights of my adult life. It wasn’t just the sex that was great but the conversation too. Lee opened up more to me than he had before. He gave me insight into his life before tragedy broke him. It wasn’t much, but for him it was more than he probably ever gave another and that meant more than I imagined it could.

  I fell asleep in his arms and this morning when I woke I was taken aback once again. I forgot how nice it felt waking up with a man next to me. A very naked man who seemed ready to go at any given time. If I make my way to church this week, I will thank Jesus for Lee’s stamina and also for the fact I was too lazy to go to the gynecologist to take myself off birth control.

  The first time neither of us thought about protection. In fact, it didn’t dawn on me until he was in my bed between my legs ready to fuck me again and asked if I was on the pill. I was too stunned by my own negligence to answer at first. Being with one man for so long, I didn’t think about protecting myself from anything other than pregnancy. I must have tensed or something because Lee seemed to read my mind and assured me through all his indiscretions with women since his wife’s passing he’s been careful. I eased his own worries and told him I was on the pill, but it made me wonder why he didn’t have children of his own. Did he not want children? Maybe his wife didn’t or maybe they couldn’t.

  Even now, as we sit across from one another in Denino’s Pizzeria, I’m curious. However, asking doesn’t seem right. He’s not very forthcoming with his life and except for when he told me she died, he’s avoided any and all talk of his wife.

  “You’re so transparent,” he remarks, putting another slice of pizza on my plate.

  “What?”

  “I used to think all women were a jigsaw puzzle I’d never figure out, but you, you’re easy to peg.”

  “Am I?”

  “You’re a great woman, Layla. You’ve got all the things a man wishes he’d find but you’re nosey as all hell.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” I argue.

  “You don’t have to,” he says, taking a bite of his pizza. “You’re real. There isn’t a phony bone in your body. You ain’t afraid to call people on their shit and you’re sure as fuck not a pushover. But there are times when you get inside your head. You struggle not to say or ask what’s on your mind and when that happens, your whole persona changes.”

  It’s true.

  I’ve never been one to bite my tongue. I usually ask what I want and say what I feel, but this is different. This is a hard subject and not something I can relate to. Losing your parents and losing your spouse are two very different things.

  “I ask a lot of questions,” I reply finally.

  “Yeah, you do and I thought we established I’d answer what I could and sail over what I couldn’t.”

  “We did?”

  “Ask your questions, killer,” he grunts. “If I don’t want to answer, I won’t.”

  “Fine,” I mutter, pushing my plate away as I lean over the table. “This morning when we were…”

  “Fucking,” he supplies.

  “Yes, fucking,” I grind out, shaking my head as I glance around to see if any of the surrounding tables are listening to our conversation.

  “You didn’t seem to care who was listening when you were screaming this morning,” he teases, leaning closer. “You scared the shit out of the birds.”

  Turning my attention back to him, I watch his lips quirk as he picks a piece of pepperoni off the pizza and pops it into his mouth.

  “You weren’t so quiet either.”

  “A helluva lot quieter than you,” he points out.

  “You’re avoiding my questions,” I accuse, narrowing my eyes.

  “Alright,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Have at it, beautiful.”

  “You asked me if I was on the pill,” I start, pausing when the slight smile falls from his lips. Pinching his brows together, he studies me.

  “Yeah, and you said you were.”

  “I am.”

  The tension eases from his shoulders and he lifts his beer to his lips.

  “There it is,” I say, pointing a finger. “That overwhelming sense of relief that washes over your face.”

  “Yeah, well, you seem to be Fertile Myrtle and I’m not in the market for a baby, Layla,” he retorts, bringing the beer away from his mouth. “Wait a minute, what’s happening here? Is this a test to see if I want kids or something?”

  “No,” I respond immediately. “I’m done having kids, Lee,” I assure him.

  I mean it too.

  I love my children and I thank God every day I’m the lucky woman they call Mom but this shop is closed, boarded up and foreclosed.

  “I was just wondering why you never had children is all,” I clarify.

/>   He relaxes a little but something I said resonates with him and though he starts to answer, I can tell something else is bothering him.

  “I never wanted them,” he admits. “It’s not that I don’t like them or anything. They just didn’t fit into my life or God’s plan.”

  “What about your wife? Did she want kids?”

  “What if you met someone who wanted to have another kid?” he asks over me.

  I didn’t think about having a man in my life again until I met Lee much less think about having any more children. Krystle made jokes about me getting remarried one day and I immediately told her no. I was never going to subject myself to that again, but if the right person came along maybe I would.

  I’m not so quick to say no anymore.

  Believe it or not, I loved being a wife.

  But remarrying and having another baby is a lot to digest with a belly full of pizza.

  “We never talked about kids,” he answers. “We weren’t that couple,” he adds, jutting his chin toward me. “Your turn.”

  “I never had a reason to think about having more kids, and honestly, this single parent thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “If you weren’t single was the question. If you had a man who wanted to take care of you and the kids you already have but maybe decided he wanted to add another one to the tribe, would you give that to him?”

  “Taking care of us and loving us—”

  “They go hand in hand, killer.”

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  “I think you would,” he says after a moment. “You’re a giver,” he resolves, scratching his jaw.

  “Was your wife a giver too?”

  “I don’t think I had her long enough to figure that out.”

  “We haven’t known one another that long either so how can you be so sure I am?”

  “Truth?”

  “Yes,” I say automatically.

  Laying truth after truth has become our thing.

  “I told you I was a shit husband and that’s no lie. I didn’t pay nearly as much attention to her as I’ve paid to you.”

  His face twists with disgust as he says the words, making it clear it’s not a line or something he’s proud to admit.

  “This,” he continues, pointing between us. “This getting to know someone, the good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful…I’ve never done that before. I’ve never wanted to. At my age it’s kind of a mindfuck to want things you never did before, to even contemplate them,” he says, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if I’m having a midlife crisis or if I’m waking up late. What I do know is that it took losing my wife to make me finally look myself in the mirror.”

  More truth.

  Reaching across the table, I pull his hands back to me and lace our fingers together.

  I don’t know why God put us on the same path, and I might never find out, but here we are. Two people who gave up on the future suddenly realizing they want one. Two people who don’t want to go through life existing but instead want to live. Two people who when they’re old and gray want to look back and say they took chances, made mistakes but gave it their best.

  “Well, you didn’t buy a Ferrari or dye your hair yet,” I murmur softly. “Maybe you are waking up. Is that such a bad thing?”

  “It is when every choice you ever made has had deadly consequences,” he replies. His lips graze my knuckles before he releases my hands and glances down at the table. “You ready to get out of here?” he says rather abruptly.

  Too much truth.

  “Sure,” I reply with a nod. He glances at the check, throws some money on the table and then takes my hand. Stepping out of the restaurant, I turn to where he parked the bike but he tugs me against his side. His lips graze my temple as he leads me to the corner.

  “Can’t come all this way and not have Ralph’s ices,” he explains as we cross the street. The Staten Island landmark has a line that stretches to the end of the block every day of the week and tonight is no different. Quietly, we make our way to the back of the line and Lee wraps his arms around my waist. There is no more talk of spouses, kids or a possible midlife crisis until we reach the front of the line and he asks me what flavor we should get the kids. I try to tell him they’ll melt before we get back home but he’s persistent, insisting they’ll be fine in his saddlebags. With a bag full of ices, we start back to his bike.

  “Pipe?”

  Lee freezes, causing me to lift my eyes to the couple standing in front of us. I recognize the man with the long shaggy hair from the night I saw him on Lee’s porch. Dressed similar as he was that night, he wears all black and that leather vest. The woman holding his hand appears much younger than him and they stare at us like we’re some sort of enigma.

  “Lacey, how you doin’, girl?” Lee mutters beside me.

  “I’m fine, everything is good. How are you?”

  “Blackie,” the man with the unruly hair interrupts. Lee doesn’t answer the girl as Blackie pulls my attention toward him. “I’m a friend of Pipe’s and this here is my Lace.”

  I glance at his outstretched hand then back to Lee’s clenched jaw.

  “Layla,” I say, taking his hand and offering him and Lace a smile. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

  “We’re leaving,” Lee announces, keeping his eyes on Blackie.

  “It was good to see you, Pipe,” Lacey says with a frown. “Everyone misses you,” she adds. Dropping her boyfriend’s hand she envelopes Lee in a hug which he awkwardly returns. He pulls back quickly and Lacey turns to me and smiles. “Nice to meet you, Layla.”

  “Same here,” I offer as Lee takes a hold of my hand and starts to pull me away.

  “Pipe,” Blackie calls.

  “Not doing this, Black,” he growls, turning to me. “Let’s go.”

  No one gets a chance to utter another word as Lee pulls me away from Blackie and Lacey. It isn’t until we cross the street that he loosens the death grip on my hand. Shoving the bag of ices into his saddlebags, he hands me the helmet.

  “Lee—”

  “Not talking about it, Layla,” he says, throwing his leg over his bike.

  My gaze drifts across the street, to the couple standing in line watching us and I learn yet another truth.

  Lee isn’t as alone as I thought.

  There are people in his life who care about him.

  People who miss him.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Staring up at the ceiling, I thread my fingers through Layla’s hair and fight the urge to wake her. I’m surprised at myself because I’m not looking to wake her for the usual reasons.

  I don’t want to leave. I’m not looking to run. I want to wake her because I can’t get enough of her. It’s not a sexual thing either. Sure, I wouldn’t mind going another round in her bed, but I also enjoy her when she’s not lying on her back with her legs spread begging to come. As annoying as she can be with her questions, I like the attention. I like knowing she can pull the things I bury to the surface. It makes me believe I’m human and not as fucked as I thought I was.

  There’s hope for a bastard like me.

  Either that or I’ve completely lost my mind. That’s more than likely what’s happening here. Something I realized when we ran into Blackie and Lacey. For all the truths we’ve been telling one another, I’ve allowed myself to believe the biggest lie of all. With Layla at my side and them in front of me, my two worlds collided. The words I told Cobra rang in my ear, reminding me a man can’t have both his heart and his club.

  Knowing she doesn’t belong in Pipe’s world, in Satan’s kingdom, I pulled Layla away. I fled the city like the devil was on my tail and took us back home where there is only one choice—her. Home; where I can keep pretending a little while longer.

  She threw me for a loop when she let our run in with Lacey and Blackie go. She didn’t press me with questions. Instead, we did all our communicating with our bodies and fucked until the sun came up.


  I chalked it up to her not wanting the ugly truth, but now I’m thinking it’s not so much avoidance that changed the game. Layla gets me. She knows my limits on things. In the short while we’ve known one another, she’s learned when to push and when to back off. She knows when a man is coiled with tension he needs to lose himself in a woman. It all goes back to her being a giver. Another time and place, Layla would have made the perfect old lady.

  There’s no use thinking about what might have been though.

  “I’ve got a question,” she murmurs, pulling me away from my head.

  “Of course you do,” I tease, kissing the top of her head. “How did you know I was up?”

  “Your breathing changes when you sleep,” she replies, turning in my arms. Her sleepy eyes lift to mine as her warm body curls into me. “Stop avoiding my questions.”

  “What do you want to know now?”

  “They call you Pipe.”

  “That’s not a question.”

  “Okay, well, why do they call you that?” she questions, bending an elbow and propping up her head. Giving me her undivided attention, she stares at me expectantly.

  “It’s my road name,” I tell her.

  “Yeah, you told me that already. I know it’s like your nickname and all that but what is the significance? I mean of all things, why Pipe?” She rambles on, letting her hand glide down my stomach. Her fingertips tease me, grazing the trimmed hair leading to my cock. “Not that it doesn’t suit you,” she continues, wrapping her hand around my shaft. “You definitely pack a smokin’ pipe,” she adds with a sly smile.

  “I assure you I didn’t get my road name based on my cock.”

  “Is it because you’re handy?” she goes on, stroking me from root to tip. My cock starts to swell, jerking with every salacious touch. “You did fix my pipes,” she teases.

  “You’re spunky this morning,” I observe, folding my hands behind my head. Lifting herself onto her knees, she pulls the sheet away and throws one leg over me. Straddling my thighs, she begins to massage my balls.