I smile morosely. “I know I do, and I love and respect them too much to drag them into my problems. I have to take care of this myself.”
Gerard analyzes me with his sharp, electric-blue eyes. The weight of them crush me like a rolling boulder.
“This doesn’t sit well with me, kid.”
“It doesn’t have to. I didn’t come here to get your permission. Just to let you know. To let someone know, in case . . .” I swallow hard, fighting to keep up the bravado. “In case I don’t come back.”
“That’s horseshit, Damon.” Gambit kicks over the steel frame that was just minding its own business next to us. His physical outburst doesn’t rattle me. His use of my first name does. The situation is dire, and we both know it. Pulling a 100k out of my ass in less than two weeks is a life-threatening gamble. But it’s also one I have to take.
“Thanks for being someone I could always look up to.” I extend my hand. Gambit crosses his arms and turns away, fervidly shaking his head. He’s unwilling to accept it. Any of it. All of it.
But this is the hand I’ve been dealt, and I’m going to play it.
“I better hit the road. Clock’s tickin’.” I don’t know what else to say or how else to leave it.
“Hey.” Gambit turns and snatches my bicep. He’s still quick, even for an ol’ timer. “You need anything, you call me.” He squeezes harder. Much harder, digging his fingertips into my tender tissue. “I’m serious.”
I nod, hearing him loud and clear. Then he does something that seems to come from left field. He pulls me into a hug. It takes me a second to register what’s happening, but I welcome the embrace. It’s been a long time since I had a paternal figure to look up to. Gerard met Kristen only a few months after my dad died, so in a sense, I was grieving two fathers at the same time.
“Stay safe, boy.” Gerard slaps me on the back before he pulls away.
“That’s the plan,” I promise him.
I walk away on that note. Why muck up the situation more than it already is?
I see myself out, appreciating the beautiful surroundings as I climb onto my bike and pull away under the midday sun.
I have a laundry list of things to do, and no time to do them.
8
Liv
Nine o’clock could not come fast enough.
This day has kicked my ass on all spectrums. I’m ready for a hot shower, a glass of wine, and some much-needed mindless TV. The beautiful thing about this building? My apartment is right upstairs. My father helped me scout LA for the perfect location.
And then we stumbled onto this place. A studio on the street level, and two decent apartments upstairs. It was a total win. If the Bowman was known for one thing, it was his business sense. He may not have been the richest man in the world, or the most professional, but he knew how to work a dollar.
And with all his colorful attributes, he helped set me up. Supported me financially at first, gave me advice, and made sure I was going in the right direction. I owe any and all of my success to him. He may have been a shitty husband, but he was a phenomenal father. Even in their darkest hour, Shyla and Sable couldn’t dispute that.
His heart was huge, and unfortunately, so was his appetite for women.
I finally shut everything down. The gallery is dark, but the busy sidewalk is alive with pedestrians. The foot traffic in this area is fantastic. I’m surrounded by lots of cool little shops and eclectic restaurants. Mr. Po’s a block down is my favorite noodle joint.
Walking back toward my makeshift office after checking the front door one last time, I round the corner and get a fright. Two massive, bald-headed men are waiting for me.
“Jesus Christ.” I jump when we come eye to eye. “What the hell do you two want?”
“Your presence is requested.” They both take a step forward, and I take one back.
“Why?”
“Questions later.” The man I know as Lev reaches for me, but I jerk away.
“I have no business left with you. My father is dead. Ties have been severed.”
They both shake their heads. “You have a new acquaintance in common with Pony, and he’s very eager to talk with you about him,” Lev explains in his thick, Russian accent.
