Page 98 of Give Me What You Will

Sam’s gaze swung up to him. “Why…?”

“Why didn’t I tell ya?” Papi shook his head, “I don’t know. Maybe I liked the idea of you being mine, and Millie never said differently. Jack had been a bit of a player before we met, and he didn’t know one of his bedmates had gotten pregnant. Then we got drafted. We got back from the war and had a baby to take care of. And those were the best years of my life.” Papi’s voice trembled, emotion lining the wrinkles of his face. “I loved being a father, and so did Jack. We made a go of it. But then Jack died in a car accident when Millie was ten, and her mother came back…” His lips furrowed disapprovingly. “I tried my damnedest to do right by Millie, but her mom made it impossible. Threatened plenty of times to out me, ruined my reputation, my life. They eventually moved, vanished for a long time.”

“So, when Millie showed up on my doorstep with you, you were only three, all I saw was another chance at the opportunity I thought I had lost—to have a family, to be a grandpa.” His voice wavered and cracked heavily with emotion. “The more you aged, the more I realized you were just like my Jack. And when Millie took you away from me, I thought I would never recover—that I was fated to love the ghosts of the Russo boys. By the time she came back, you were a man, and all I saw was this…”

He pointed to the picture of Jack Russo and blinked back tears. It was a picture of them in the jungle, grainy and tattered. Papi wore a combat vest and green helmet, a cigarette dangling from his lips, grinning, his muscular arm draped over Jack’s shoulders. Jack wore thick, black-rimmed glasses, curly brown hair frayed beneath the helmet, his dimpled chin whiskered with stubble, and a medic's badge attached to his vest.

Sam traced his fingers over the image.

Papi wasn’t his biological grandfather.

Jack Russo was.

“But I also saw you, and a little me,” he smirked. “You were so angry—angry at her, at the world, and you needed a friend. The way I had needed Jack. So, I talked you up to Frankie. It wasn’t hard.”

Sam softened at the sound of Frankie’s name. “It never is with him.”

Papi’s eyes sparkled with tears. “I knew you were like me. I always knew. And I just wanted you to have a friend, Sam. I didn’t mean for you to fall in love—”

Sam’s whole body braced at the word "love". Hearing it felt as if his soul were suddenly stripped bare, and his jaw clenched in quick denial. “I’m not—”

In love with my best friend.

Papi’s gentle eyes seemed to understand, to know something he did not. “I would give anything to have one more day with Jack. One more day to kiss him, to feel his hand hold mine. You deserve that, Sam. You deserve that, and the world. Someone who can love you for exactly who you are. You have to stop hiding. It’s killing you.”

Sam’s grip tightened on his, unable to speak as sudden emotion gripped his throat. “He’s just—we’re just—”

“I know.” Papi smiled, “It’ll come. And when it does, it’ll hit you like a fuckin’ bomb, my sweet boy. I hope in that moment you can give him and yourself the dignity of the truth.”

He swallowed a lump, the building well of grief mixing with denial.

Papi’s tears broke over his cheeks. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about Jack. I should’ve told you—”

“All you told me was that I had two grandpas, Papi,” he replied firmly.

Papi's chest broke with a relieved sob.

“You’re my family because he was yours. You’re still my grandpa. Nothing's changed.”

Sam reached for him, embracing him. After several long moments, Papi released him and pointed to the drawer once more. “I want you to have those.”

He saw a velvet box in the back of the drawer and opened it, revealing two golden rings.

“Whoever wears those rings are Russo-Samuels. Men who were lucky enough to find their soulmates.”

His mind, or maybe it was his heart, flashed an image of a man with a broad smile, dark yet warm brown eyes, black hair, and an infectious laugh. Something in his chest warmed and settled. It felt deep and sure. So sure, it scared him.

One Month Later

Sam barely felt his legs beneath him as he sat numbly on the edge of his grandpa’s bed. It had been neatly made, probably by a hospice nurse, he thought numbly.

The sheets had been washed, the comforter cleaned.

There was no trace that his body had died here. That he had taken his last breath here, with his grandson holding his hand, wishing that love could somehow keep his heart beating just a little while longer.

Grief edged his throat as Sam shakily grasped the neck of the whiskey bottle, dragging it to his lips and taking several gulps. His nostrils flared with the burn and his eyes watered. He needed desperately to get fucked up, and fast.

The celebration of life had been incredible.