Oh Holy Knight

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Nico takes his seat at the other end of the table and everyone brings their attention to me. I start by going over the club’s finances. Pipe fills us in on what’s going on at the garage, while Riggs catches us all up to speed with Kate’s. He also tells us how he found Gunther by the dumpster one night. At first, he thought he was just throwing out the trash from the catering hall, then he saw him put a half-eaten burger in his pocket. When Riggs made his presence known, Gunther tried to flee, but Riggs convinced him to stay. He brought him into the bar and fixed him a sandwich. Then he packed him a bag of food to take back to his wife and kids and told him if he needed extra money, he could work at the bar.

  I turn to Blackie, gauging his reaction. If he is still suspicious of Gunther, he doesn’t show it.

  Once the subject of Gunther is laid to rest, I bring up the real reason I asked them all here on a Sunday, revealing Maria and I will be hosting Christmas Eve and they are all invited.

  “First you take my club, now you want to take my holiday?” Parrish sneers. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  “To be fair, it was my holiday first,” I point out. “You were kind enough to help me out after my son passed, but it’s time for Maria and I to take back Christmas. It’s the first year Anna will truly understand, and I want to make it special for her.” I pause and glance around the table. “For all the kids.” I bring my gaze back to Parrish. “That includes your granddaughters.”

  His dark eyes narrow into tiny slits.

  “Are you insinuating that I haven’t made my granddaughters happy the last couple of years because—”

  “Parrish,” Pipe interjects. “You’re missing the point.” He turns back to me. “Been a while since we sat at your table, brother,” he says, knocking his knuckles against the wood. “And I don’t mean this one.”

  “He’s right,” Blackie says, drawing my focus to him. “It’s nice to see you healing, brother.”

  “I don’t know if that’s the right word. Healing would mean I’m on the mend, that I’m on the road to becoming whole again…” My voice trails as my throat tightens.

  I force a swallow and lift my head, my eyes connecting with Nico’s. He and I will never be whole when a part of us is gone forever, but we need to press on. We get one life, one fucking shot to make a difference.

  Keeping my eyes pinned to my son, I continue, “Not sure if that will ever happen, but it’s time we push forward. Frankie loved Christmas and if he were here, I know he’d do everything in his power to pass the traditions he loved most down to his daughter.”

  Nico nods in agreement and I finally tear my eyes away from him. I glance around the table and exhale.

  “So, to take a page from my man, Clark Griswold, we’re going to have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny-fucking-Kaye, and when Santa squeezes his fat ass down the chimney on Christmas Eve, he’s going to find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of Hell.”

  “Aye, aye,” Pipe says, slamming his palms against the table. A grin spreads across his face and soon they’re all banging their hands against the table in unison. Well, everyone except Parrish—there’s always one.

  “Um, I have a question,” Bash announces, his thick southern drawl on display as he raises his hand.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Well, I don’t recall anyone by the name of Clark Griswold. Is he a relative of ya’ll or something?”

  I’d like to tell you he’s kidding, but the poor bastard still considers a cannoli a fried pancake. Luckily, Bishop saves me the trouble of reaching across the table and smacks him upside the head.

  “Hey! What in the Sam Hill was that for?” Bash protests, rubbing the back of his head.

  “Do yourself a favor and shut the fuck up,” Bishop growls.

  “What? It’s a valid question. I wouldn’t show up to Christmas dinner without a present for this Clark fella.”

  “Christ, make it stop,” Bishop wails, lifting his hands to cover his face. When he pulls them away, his gaze cuts to me. “Looks like we got our very own version of Cousin Eddie.”

  I laugh heartily. The former prospect does sound an awful like Dennis Quaid’s character. Let’s just hope Bash doesn’t blow up the bathroom on Christmas.

  Maria would fucking kill me if the shitter were to become full.

  Chapter Four

  Nico

  After my dad slams the mallet down and dismisses the club, I hang back and wait for the room to clear. Realizing I have no intention of leaving, he stands from his seat at the other end of the table and crosses the room to close the door. Turning back to me, his eyes narrow with concern as he crosses his arms against his chest.

  “Something wrong?” he asks.

  Looking away, I swipe a hand over my face. A heavy sigh escapes my lips and I can feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead as I obsess over how to say what’s on my mind.

  “Nico,” he calls.

  I bring my eyes back to him.

  “If this is about Christmas…”

  His voice trails and I shake my head. I think it’s great that he’s finally allowing himself to celebrate the holidays the way he did prior to Frankie’s death. Christmas used to be my dad’s favorite time of year and its shame that Anna hasn’t had a chance to experience her grandpa’s crazy antics. I’m sure she’ll get a kick out of seeing him play Santa and if I’m being honest, she’s probably going to love the whole elf thing too.

  “I think it’s great that you’ve decided to have the holidays again,” I say honestly, watching as he uncrosses his arms. He pulls out the chair to my left and folds himself into it.

  “But,” he probes.

  “Well, I was…” I pause and draw out another heavy sigh. Just rip the fucking band-aid off, man, and spit it out. “…I was thinking.”

  “Always worrisome,” he jokes.

  “I’ve been toying with the idea of proposing to Carrie on Christmas Eve,” I blurt.

  There.

  I said it.

  I finally fucking said it.

  His eyes widen slightly, but the rest of his face remains expressionless and the longer he remains silent, the more I wish I can take back the words. Another man wouldn’t give a fuck about anyone’s opinion. He wouldn’t seek permission of his own father to marry the woman he loves, but our situation is a little different. Carrie has no relationship with her douchebag father and after everything that went down when she got pregnant with Anna, my dad has become a father figure in her life.

  Still, that ain’t the reason I’m fucking sweating.

  Carrie was Frankie’s before she ever became mine and while I’ve made peace with that, asking her to be my wife on Christmas may be too much, too soon. I mean, it would be just my luck to want to pop the question on the day dad decides to revive Christmas in my brother’s honor.

  “Was? As in you’ve changed your mind?” he asks, his bushy eyebrows pinching together with confusion.

  I shake my head.

  “Well, no. I already put a deposit on the ring. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it but it came to me earlier. I want to propose after we put Anna to sleep and do the whole Santa thing.”

  Before he announced his plans, I imagined putting the gifts under the tree and then when we were about to turn in for the night, I’d get down on one knee and ask her to marry me. It seemed like a good idea in my head and tonight, after we trimmed the tree, it was confirmed. That flocked thing might make a mess, but it was going to act as the backdrop to my marriage proposal.

  My gaze focuses on my dad and I watch as he leans his back against the chair. Stroking his beard, he stares at me thoughtfully and the beads of sweat multiply.

  “This is something the two of you discussed?”

  I think about that for a moment. It hasn’t been a topic of much discussion, but we’ve addressed it. We both want to be married and Carrie has talked about eventually giving Anna a sibling—something I’ve secretly wanted since I held An
na in my arms after she was first born. My mind knew that little girl wasn’t mine, but my heart didn’t. It still doesn’t. She’ll never call me dad and I’m okay with that. My brother is her father and dead or alive, I’d never take that from him. In fact, I make sure Frankie is spoken of often and that there are pictures around the house for her to see and know who her dad was. But as secure as I am in my role in Anna’s life, I wouldn’t mind giving her a brother or a sister.

  Hell, I wouldn’t mind giving her five.

  “We’ve talked about it some,” I say, cocking my head as I gauge his reaction. He doesn’t give much away—he never does. “I think it will be a complete surprise, though, seeing as we haven’t discussed it recently.”

  He shrugs his shoulders and squints.

  “So, what’s the hold up? You need me to help you with the ring?” As soon as the words leave his lips, he inches up off the seat and reaches behind him to pull his wallet from his back pocket.

  “Pop, I don’t need your money,” I say, exasperatedly. “I’ve got the ring covered.”

  “Then what it is?”

  “I just…well…I guess I was expecting it to be a quiet Christmas, you know—like every other holiday has been since Frankie passed.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? We’ll all be together to celebrate when she says yes.” His voice trails. “She is going to say yes, right?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Of course she’s going to say yes…”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  Fuck.

  Clenching my teeth, I grind out, “She will.”

  I mean I think she will.

  I really didn’t have any fucking doubts until he opened his mouth.

  Lifting my chin, I stare into his eyes. I don’t know what I’m looking for—if it’s assurance or maybe forgiveness—something that tells me I’m doing the right thing. That it’s okay for me to live my life the way I want to even though my brother ain’t here to live his.

  “Nico, son—”

  I cut him off and shake my head.

  “I want to marry her, Pop. I want to give Anna siblings, but I don’t want to dishonor my brother in any way and asking Carrie to marry me on Christmas—a holiday he loved—well, I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.”

  “I get it, I do,” he says as he leans forward and props his elbows on his knees. “I haven’t wanted to celebrate anything since Frankie died and I don’t know what’s changed this year. Maybe the guys are right—maybe I’m healing—I don’t know, but we’re gonna do it, Nico. We’re going to go back to basics and we’re going to celebrate the good. You and Carrie getting married, starting a family—it’s a good thing, son. A beautiful thing and you shouldn’t feel guilty.” He sighs, leaning back again. “I’ll tell you something else too—if Frankie were alive today, I don’t think he and Carrie would be together.”

  It’s a bold assumption, one that takes me by surprise.

  “I’m not saying there wasn’t love there,” he continues, shrugging his shoulders as he diverts his gaze to the table. “They were young and young love don’t always have the power to go the distance. Take me for example, a man with three ex-wives.” He shakes his head and laughs. “I loved them all and at the time I truly believed I could make it work with each of them, but it wasn’t until Maria came into my life that I knew for certain me and her were actually going to make it all the way to the end. I knew what I wanted in life and what I was capable of giving another person. There were no false pretenses and that’s rare. It isn’t something that can be taught but rather something that comes from experience. Frankie and Carrie didn’t have experience. They had forbidden love and a broken condom.”

  “Pop—”

  He drags his eyes back to mine and fixes me with a stern look.

  “Listen to me, Frankie wouldn’t be with Carrie today. They’d be co-parenting, doing their best to give Anna a good life, but that’s about it.”

  I shake my head.

  “You don’t know that,” I argue.

  As much as I may want to hear that, it doesn’t mean it’s the truth. Carrie and Frankie did love one another, and no one knows for certain what the cards held for them. We never will.

  “I’m a lot wiser than you, kid. Trust me.”

  I want to.

  I want to believe that I’m doing the right thing.

  That somewhere my brother is giving me his blessing.

  I look my dad in the eye.

  “So, you don’t think it’s disrespectful to propose to Carrie?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Nico, you love that girl and she loves you—everyone sees it and we also see the beautiful life you’re giving your brother’s daughter. You deserve to be happy too and it shouldn’t matter what day it is or what fucking season. If you want to ask Carrie to be your wife, then you do it and you don’t fucking feel guilty about it either. I told you once before and I’ll keep telling you so long as you need hear it—you paid your penance, son.”

  Diverting my gaze, I stare mindlessly at my worn boots, hoping one day his words will actually stick. That I won’t always doubt my place in their life or second guess my happiness.

  “Does your mother know your plans?” he asks.

  I lift my gaze and shake my head.

  “No, I haven’t told anyone.”

  Besides, my mother would be the last person I tell—that woman can’t keep a secret to save her life. His lips quirk and a flash of white peeks out from his beard as he grins.

  “Patty’s gonna be over the fucking moon,” he quips, talking more to himself than to me. He reaches behind him and pulls out his trusty little notepad. Fishing his pockets for a pen, he looks at me. “I gotta give her a call and tell her to come for Christmas.”

  It’s not a holiday if all dad’s ex-wives aren’t sitting at the table trading war stories. I watch as he scribbles himself a reminder and my mind drifts back to Enzo’s impromptu visit. Clearing my throat, I say, “Uh, speaking of calling people to invite them for Christmas, you might want to call Enzo and tell him about your plans.”

  Standing, he shoves the notepad back into his pocket and narrows his eyes.

  “Why does he plan on proposing to someone too?” he asks and tips his chin toward the door. We exit the chapel and as we meander down the hallway I reveal the bomb Enzo dropped once he and Anna were done getting chocolate wasted.

  “He plans on skipping Christmas this year,” I say as we reach the bar. Dad’s feet come to a halt behind me as I lift my finger and signal for the new bartender to grab us two beers.

  “The fuck you just say?” Dad barks, pulling out the stool beside me. He parks his ass on it and fixes me with a glare.

  “Hey, don’t kill the messenger,” I argue. “The only reason I’m telling you is because as far as I know he hasn’t purchased a plane ticket yet.”

  Gunther sets our drinks down in front of us and I slide a twenty across the bar. I may be dealing with my own shit, but I paid attention during church when Riggs revealed Gunther’s situation.

  He stares at the twenty for a moment and hesitates before pushing it back to me and narrowing his gaze.

  “Is this a test?” he asks, looking from me to my dad who is still dwelling on the whole Enzo thing.

  “A test?”

  He drags his fingers through his greasy hair and pins me with a hard stare.

  “Lydia and Riggs told me no one with a kutte pays.”

  “That’s right,” I say with a nod. “But I’m not paying you for the beer, I’m tipping you for the service,” I explain and push the bill back to him. “Take it.”

  He swipes the bill and quickly shoves it into his pocket.

  “Thanks,” he mumbles, and I nod in response.

  I’m so enthralled by the exchange that I forget all about my brooding father until I hear him yell.

  “No one’s fucking skipping Christmas!”

  I tear my head, watching as his knuckle
s whiten around the cell phone he’s got pressed to his ear. “That includes you, Vincenzo Alfonse Scotto.”

  Yikes.

  You know shit is serious when he uses the whole name.

  He disconnects the call and tosses his phone onto the bar.

  “You fucking kids are going to be the death of me,” he growls, shaking his head as he reaches for his beer. “Skipping Christmas…of all the fucking cockamamie things…”

  One of these days I’ll learn to keep my big mouth shut.

  Chapter Five

  Enzo

  I hate Christmas—correction, I loathe it.

  Go ahead, gasp and call me Scrooge—I can take it.

  But I got good reason.

  To some his name is Al, to others he’s Wolf, but to me he’s dad and he’s batshit crazy when he’s in Christmas mode. I was already feeling the holiday blues before he announced his grand scheme to bring back the spirit of Christmas or whatever the fuck he wants to call this circus. I mean have you looked around, I’m the last man standing here. Everyone is either married, engaged or coupled up one way or another. I love Patty and all, but I’m getting sick and tired of having my dad’s first wife and Nico’s mom, be my plus one.

  Don’t mistake what I’m saying—I’m perfectly content being single. I have a solid rotation of women who don’t expect much of me besides the occasional dinner and a couple of mind-blowing orgasms. I come and go as I please and make no apologies for it. But things get a little tricky around the holidays. It’s like all those women forget our arrangement and suddenly want more. It starts with them asking me to take them to see the tree at Rockefeller Center, then they start dropping hints on things they wish I’d buy them for Christmas. Before I know it, they’re asking me to meet the family.

  No, thank you.

  I’ve got my own crazy family to deal with, not looking to expand on that shit.

  Anyway, that’s why I make it a strict rule not to answer the phone throughout the month of December. It’s also why I decided to go to Costa Rica for the holidays this year. I should be laying on a fucking beach right now, but instead I’m overseeing the renovations on Maria’s house—ensuring her and my father have enough room to seat the fifty fucking people they invited to Christmas Eve.