By the time I got home, our neighbor, Mrs. Pellano, had already started greeting the mourners who’d arrived ahead of us. I’d been reluctant to give her the key to the house so she could start preparing all the food she’d spent most of the morning dropping off in various crockery dishes, but I hadn’t really had much of a choice since she’d insisted on handling the entire affair. In truth, I hadn’t wanted any of it – period - but I’d learned from an early age not to question my elders, and as my mother’s best friend, Mrs. Pellano was high on that list.
“Cole, your mother would have loved that service,” Mrs. Pellano announced as soon as I got my father through the kitchen door so the guests wouldn’t see him. Bringing up my mother in every conversation was something else Mrs. Pellano did a lot…and something I fucking hated.
At the mention of my mother, I felt my father flinch. “My Scotch,” my father grumbled.
“Thank you, Mrs. Pellano,” I murmured as I hurried past her, my father in tow. I didn’t miss her look of disapproval when I snagged a half empty bottle of Scotch from a cabinet on the way to the den.
As soon as my father was settled in his worn out leather recliner, I handed him the bottle and sat back on the coffee table andwatched as he took a long drag on it. It may as well have been water for all the concern he showed about the quantity he was taking in. Under normal circumstances, I would have tried to limit his intake but today I needed him to be out so I wouldn’t have to try run interference with him and our guests. I didn’t have much left to give my father, but I could give him the dignity of keeping his need to drown himself in alcohol private.
It took just a couple of minutes for my father to start to nod off and I reached out and took the bottle from him before it slipped from his lax fingers. I took my time going back to the kitchen and managed to stow the bottle before anyone else saw it. I could only hope that Mrs. Pellano would have enough respect for my father, as well as the memory of my mother, to not share my father’s condition with everyone. It would likely make it around the neighborhood at some point but today maybe I could still pretend that that one part of my life was still normal.
I hadn’t even made it to the living room where the half dozen guests lingered when Mrs. Pellano appeared in front of me in the hallway and said, “He insisted,” and then motioned towards the doorway. Up until that point I figured I’d been holding it together pretty well but the sight of the man standing by the front door had something breaking apart inside of me, and I was on him before he could even get a word out. I slammed him hard into the door at his back and then yanked him forward, pulled the door open and pushed him backwards so that his ass hit the concrete walkway leading up to the front door.
“What the hell, Cole?” the man muttered, his hand coming up to push the strands of hair that had fallen in his face.
Jimmy Cortez was someone I’d considered a friend once, but just the sight of him had me wanting to go back into the house to get the gun I kept locked in a safe in my closet.
Jimmy climbed to his feet and brushed his hands over his slacks. “I have a right to be here,” he shouted. “I cared about her too!”
“Get the fuck off my property,” I snarled at him and then turned to go back into the house.
“She knew the score, Cole!”
“The score?” I asked. “The score?” I repeated in disbelief. “She went to Chicago looking for you, you fuck!”
“I told her to go home! When she called to say she was in town, I told her it wasn’t going to happen because I’d met someone else.”
My entire body went cold as Jimmy’s words filtered through me and then I was moving down the porch steps. “You broke up with a seventeen-year-old girl over the phone while she was alone and waiting for you in a bus station in downtown Chicago? You fucking left her there?”
I had the pleasure of watching Jimmy pale at my approach. “I-”
That was all Jimmy got out before I slammed my fist into his jaw. It felt so fucking good that I did it again. The warm spray of blood across my knuckles was like a balm to my soul, but before I could close my hands around Jimmy’s throat like I wanted to, big hands were wrapping around both my arms, dragging me back.
“Enough,” I heard a deep voice say and then Mace planted his big body between me and Jimmy. When I tried to shove past him, he grabbed me again, his fingers biting painfully into my upper arms. But I welcomed the pain and a feeling of elation went through me at the prospect of being able to do battle with a man who would fight back.
Mace must have sensed something in my gaze because he suddenly dragged me forward and whispered against my ear, “Not the time or place, Frogman.” The SEAL nickname shook me free of my rage and I stilled enough to notice how his warm breath fanned across my skin as he said, “Something tells me we’ll have our chance soon enough.”
With that, Mace pulled back a little and I felt something shimmer in my belly when his eyes fell to my mouth for the briefest of moments. And then he released me and stepped back. Jonas instantly took his place and grabbed my bruised hand. I let Jonas lead me back towards the house but when I gave Mace one final look, I saw him lean down, grab Jimmy by the collar and drag him to his feet. And just before I went into the house, I saw Mace murmur something to Jimmy that had him going even whiter than he already was, and then Mace escorted him from the property.
“Doyou have anything to wrap this with?” Jonas asked me as he finished wiping the blood from my hand.
The first thing Jonas had done when he pulled me into the house was ask me where the kitchen was. After I’d told him, he snagged an ice pack out of the freezer and led me towards the kitchen sink. But one look at a few guests who were hovering near the entryway to the kitchen had him asking where my bathroom was. I’d followed him passively, my nerves still rattled from the fight with Jimmy and the strange encounter with Mace afterwards. Once he locked us away from prying eyes, he’d sat me down on the closed toilet and had placed the ice on my hand while he’d gotten a washcloth ready. Then he’d sat down on the rim of the tub and began the task of cleaning up the spattered blood.
“It’ll be fine,” I murmured. “Sorry you had to see that.”
Jonas withdrew the washcloth and gently placed the ice on my knuckles again as he supported my hand with his. I barely felt the cold from the ice but I sure as hell felt the heat from his skin touching mine. What the hell was going on with me?
“Did she tell you about him?” I asked. “About Jimmy?”
“Not specifically,” Jonas answered. “She mentioned she’d been in love with someone but it hadn’t ended well.”
“Love,” I huffed.
“Was he a friend of yours?” Jonas asked.
“Jimmy?”
Jonas nodded.
