Acrobat (13 page)

“English lit,” I replied. “Beowulf to Milton, Renaissance literature, mainly.”

He nodded. “Where at?”

“University of Chicago.”

Second nod. “Do you know Alla Strada?”

I smiled. “I do know Alla; she’s an excellent professor. Is she your daughter?”

“She’s my niece, my brother’s daughter.” He wiped his hand on the bar towel before leaning forward to offer me his hand. “I’m her uncle, Tony Strada.”

I moved forward to take the hand, leaning into the polished wood to shake it. “Nate Qells.”

“So,” he said, releasing my hand, “you’re not by chance one of the professors who sat on the board that hired her, are you?”

“I did have that privilege.”

His dark whiskey-colored eyes heated. “She told us that it was between her and another guy who was older and had a lot more experience.”

“Yes, but she had fire,” I told him. “Still does. She isn’t doing it for a paycheck. She wants to teach. Did she tell you about her dream?”

He made a noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t get me started. Goin’ to Iraq. Teaching there because she can speak Arabic and Kurdish—do you have kids, Professor?”

“One, a son, so your brother has my sympathy.”

He nodded. “She just needs to get knocked up.”

I laughed.

“No?”

I shrugged.

“Because you know she has a girlfriend.”

“I do.” I patted his arm. “And her girlfriend wants to save the world too.”

“Aww, fuck,” he grumbled, pointing at a barstool. “Siddown, Professor, I’ll get you some food. What’re you drinkin’?”

“I actually have a date,” I said. “But I appre—”

“Sit, Professor.” He smiled and nodded.

I didn’t want to drink or eat, but every glance, even Dreo’s, carried the same look of wide-eyed, thundering panic, like
hurry up and freakin’ give the man an answer
!

I gave up. “Sam Adams, if you have it.”

“It’s comin’ now.”

“
Ma guarda chi c’è
!”

I looked up, and there was Sal walking into the room, and he was really trying to smile and put it on, his happy face, but I saw it in his eyes, the sorrow.

When he crossed to me, I turned on the barstool and put my hand on his cheek. Normally, I was not a big touchy-feely guy, but it seemed like it would be okay. When he leaned in, his face into my shoulder, I felt the tremble just for a second. How both he and Dreo were not sedated in a dark room I had no idea.

I rubbed the nape of his neck, asked how he was, and was greeted with silence before he took a breath and stepped away, smile back, plastered there.

“We’re both gonna be fine, aren’t we, D?”

Dreo grunted in agreement.

I turned back to him and found Dreo’s deep eyes locked on me. They were really something, those eyes of his, so dark that you couldn’t ever see his pupils. The brown was so close to black, only the way the light caught them sometimes, making them glint and fire, let you know you were looking at a color and not the absence of it. Being fringed in long, thick black lashes only added to their allure.

“So what are you doing here?” Dreo finally got to ask me.

“I came to tell you that the police were at my apartment this morning after you left.”

He leaned close, lowering his voice, though with Sal behind him being loud and entertaining, no one was listening to us anyway. “Tell me from the beginning.”

So I went over it: the hit man, Alfred Mangino, who had died after he slipped and fell into the dumpster, how interested the police had been in Dreo, and the fact that Detective O’Meara as well as my ex were worried about him and me.

“I told everyone that you’re a good guy, but they’re all worried about—”

“What did you say?” he asked, cutting me off, leaning even closer, only inches separating us.

“About what?” My voice lowered as it did whenever my pulse sped up. No longer did my fluster ever show outwardly; I had mastered that with age.

“About me being a good guy.”

“Just that you are and you’re trying to take care of Michael and that he’s the most important thing to you.”

He nodded, still crowding me. “Your ex is a cop?”

“That needs to stay between us, all right? It was a secret at the time, and it’s still a secret now.”

“How long did you date him?”

“Couple of years.”

“When?”

“We ended it a little over a year and a half ago now.”

He squinted at me. “I never saw anyone; Michael didn’t mention anything to me.”

“That’s because my ex never came to my place, so Michael never met him.”

“Why didn’t he come to your apartment?”

“Because it was a secret, like I said,” I explained. “He was in the closet—still is. It’s because of his job.”

The way he was looking at me was almost sad. “So he never stepped up and said you guys were together?”

“He couldn’t.”

“Or wouldn’t.”

“Don’t pass judgment; it doesn’t become you.”

He tipped his head like maybe not and then leaned back, letting me breathe, giving me space.

“How are you today?”

“Who cares?”

“I care.”

He shrugged. “
Non importa
.”

“Dreo?”

“You came to find me because you thought that hit man was after me and you wanted to warn me, yes?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “And now I have, so… I should go.”

“You need to sit and drink your beer and eat whatever he makes,” he told me. “Tony is cooking for you, and he don’t cook for nobody.”

“Okay,” I agreed, lifting the strap of my messenger bag, which had been slung across my chest, over my head and gently putting it down beside me on the empty stool on my left.

He gave his attention to the others, looking away from me, and as he did, as he stood there between me and Sal and the other guys, I had a nearly overwhelming urge to touch him, to soothe the hurt that was right there on the surface.

“Did you sleep at all?” I asked instead.

No answer.

“Dreo.”

He turned his head slowly back to me, eyes narrowed, so I noticed again how long and thick his lashes were, the shiny black striking against his pale cheek as he closed them for just a second.

“You’re exhausted.”

“It’s been a long day—we all just got back from going to the funeral home.”

“Will there be separate funerals?”

“Yes.”

“Is Mr. Romelli’s still on Saturday?”

He nodded. “I need you and Michael there with me. There will be a lot of out of town people, and they need to see my family.”

I didn’t get the chance to ask him what he meant before a bowl that smelled heavenly was put down in front of me.

“Here you are, Professor.”

I looked up as Tony Strada put a tall bar glass down in front of me beside the bowl of linguini and clams. It smelled amazing.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile. “I can’t tell you the last time I had this.”

He nodded, clearly pleased, and passed me a spoon, fork, and a napkin.

“Nate, let me introduce you to the others.”

So I met guys I could tell Dreo didn’t know well. He wasn’t warm with them, not like he had been with the men that both he and Sal, from what he said, had grown up with. I asked Sal, when he was done with the introductions, if he and Dreo would be taking some time off.

“What for?” he asked me.

It wasn’t my place to tell him that he and Dreo and Tony all needed some group therapy and a vacation to Fiji.

I scarfed down my food, leaving nothing, and drained my beer. I gushed over my meal, and how fast I had eaten it gave honest testament to how great it was. When Tony wanted to give me more, I told him I had a date later and would be expected to eat something. He agreed, smiled, and told me to get the hell out. I liked him a lot.

“I’ll see you all Saturday at the funeral,” I said as I got up, thanking Tony again.

“
A presto
,” Tony said softly.

I gave Dreo’s arm a gentle squeeze and headed for the door.

“Wait.”

Turning, I watched Dreo jog over to me and stop close.

“Thank you for coming here to talk to me. I’m going to tell them all once you leave so they’ll know.”

“Why does it matter that they know?”

“It matters.”

“Okay.” I smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay; I was worried.”

He nodded before he turned and left me.

Outside, I realized how full I was and told myself that it was okay. Wherever I was going with Sean, there had to be salad on the menu.

Chapter 7

S
USHI
was even better than salad. You could order big or small and whatever you ate would be enough. I ordered small, and Sean was worried that it wouldn’t fill me up.

“I had a big lunch.” I smiled across the table at him.

He took a breath. “You look great. Did I tell you that already?”

“Yes.” I chuckled. “But you can keep saying it.”

When I had opened the door, the man had caught his breath, and I had been completely charmed. And Dockers and a dress shirt and sweater vest didn’t seem like much to me, but he thought I looked good, and that was what was important.

“I—”

His phone buzzed, cutting him off, and he apologized as he pulled it from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, not even looking at it.

“You should check, huh, Doctor?”

He shook his head. “I’m not on call tonight.” His eyes zeroed in on my mouth. “You’re all mine.”

“What?”

“I mean,” he said with a flash of smile, “I’m all yours.”

I pointed at the phone. “Better check.”

Heavy sigh before he looked down at the phone to check the display. The way his face contorted, I was
so
glad I had done the right thing.

“Jesus,” he gasped, head snapping up to me. “Shit, Nate, I’m so sorry, but one of my patients, he…. I have to go.”

“Go, go. I’ll take care of this.”

He didn’t argue because he didn’t have time; he just got up, turned, and left. When the server returned, she was surprised but understanding.

On my way home in the cab, my phone rang, and it was Sean on the other end.

“Hey.” I smiled because it was him.

“God, don’t be nice to me. I screwed up for the second time in the same week.”

“You’re a doctor. I get it.”

“But it’s not—I want you to get that you’re important.”

“I appreciate the fact that you’re calling just to tell me.”

“You do?”

“Very much.”

“Okay, so tomorrow for sure, let’s—”

“Just call me and we can meet somewhere and take it from there, all right? Or tonight when you’re done, call me and maybe we could go get dessert, or I could make you some.”

Silence.

“Sean?”

“Are you serious? Is that all you think this is?”

So. Lost.

“You think all I’m looking for is some hookup after work?”

“You did say that you wanted us to go to bed,” I reminded him. “But no, I—”

“I also said I wanted to be the one who got to take you out. How did ‘I want to date’ turn into ‘I just want to fuck’?”

“That’s not what I—”

“I don’t take one-night stands out to dinner, Nate.” The condescending tone was annoying.

“This is more than just a hookup for me. I’d like to—”

“Listen.” I was suddenly irritable. “I thought maybe you could come over after work, and if you were hungry, I would make you some dinner, and if you just wanted dessert, then I could make that too. It was honestly a nice offer with no sex attached that you turned into something else. So, yes, call me tomorrow and we’ll talk.”

“I—fuck! I didn’t mean to, but I’m walking into the hospital, and—”

“It’s fine. Tomorrow,” I repeated. “I’ll talk to you later.”

When I hung up, I took a sharp breath, and when my phone rang again, I could hear it in my voice when I answered that I was annoyed.

“Nate?”

It was a different voice, older, drunker, and confused as to why I was mad.

“Sorry.” I softened my tone. “What’s going on?”

“I need you.”

“Why, what’d you do?” I teased Ben.

“I think—” He took a breath. “—that Mel’s cheating on me.”

There was no way. I knew my ex-wife, my dearest friend, the mother of my son, and she did not have a cheating bone in her body. The woman was made loyal and no other way. “Not possible,” I assured him.

“Then get your ass to the Water Lily right now and I’ll prove it to you.”

What I had thought was funny was not. The man was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “Yes, dear, coming,” I said to keep things light. I needed to show him that he was being an idiot, and make sure nothing escalated.

I changed my destination with the cabbie and arrived downtown ten minutes later. After getting out, I looked around for him and finally saw the waving hand across the street in front of what looked like a charming little pub packed with people.

Bolting over to him, I saw how flushed he looked, and understood instantly that my on-the-phone analysis was correct and that I was looking at a very drunk man. My hypothesis was further confirmed when he breathed on me.

“Jesus,” I groaned, waving my hand in front of my face. “Don’t stand near an open flame, Ben, shit.”