“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 and watched 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.”