Page 48 of Breakdown
He could hear Jordan squirming on the other end of the line just the same. “Would you mind giving me a lift home from the hospital? They said I’m not really supposed to drive.”
Peter added it to his to-do list, right after dropping the Camaro back home, the smile on his face so wide it hurt. It was shaping up to be a busy day, and he didn’t mind one bit. “Hold tight, I’m on my way.”
—-
PETER WAS THIRTY-FIVEminutes late, another ten before he found a spot to park about three blocks from the restaurant. But he wasn’t about to let one of Frank’s dipshit nephews on valet duty scratch his Jag.
As such, he found himself at Buco’s right in the middle of the lunch rush, tables packed, waiters bustling, and Frank D’Abramo presiding over it all from his position behind the bar. He motioned impatiently at the hostess as soon as he saw Peter, and she scurried to lead him to one of the polished stools.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he apologized, even before he sat. It didn’t do to disrespect the south end Don like that, no matter their history. Especially when Peter had come to ask him for a favor.
Frank waved it off, setting a coaster down on the gleaming bar top in front of him. “Don’t mention it,” he said with gruff affection. To be fair, it might have been less that he didn’t mind Peter’s tardiness and more that he didn’t want anyone to think he was going soft in his old age. His secret was safe; Peter didn’t have any connections left to tell.
Frank wiped at an imperceptible smudge. “My condolences,patatino. That’s a rough way this all shook out,” he said, solemn and apologetic, working the rag in broad, easy circles. Frank was careful about his patronage, but you never knew when an undercover cop might slip in. Best to keep things vague.
“Thanks. I appreciate it, Frank.”
“And I appreciate what your sister did. We all do.”
Stu had worked hard convincing the DA’s office to offer Liv a reduced sentence in exchange for naming a few names around the city. Whether it was misplaced loyalty, a final need to ensure Peter’s safety while she was away, or just the desire not to take a shiv in the shower, Olivia opted to do the full time instead. It might have been for the best, honestly. In the aftermath of Volkov’s death, LA had calmed. A delicate truce had set in between Frank, Meilin Guo, and Adara Giannopoulos.
“Drinks are on me,” Frank offered generously. “You want some wine? I’ve got a beautiful bottle of 2005 Barolo in the cellar just begging to be uncorked.”
“Just some sparkling water for me, thanks.” Peter ran his fingers back through his hair, suddenly self-conscious. “I’ve been sober for a while now.”
Frank gave him a long, thorough once over. After a moment he nodded, satisfied, reaching across the bar to give Peter a hard clap on the shoulder. “Good for you,” he said. “Water it is.” He turned to retrieve the San Pellegrino from the immaculately shining stainless-steel fridge. Peter had once seen Frank threaten to cut off one of his own enforcer’s hands after the guy left fingerprints all over the door. He’d been fourteen at the time.
He glanced around the restaurant as Frank poured, focusing on the booth where the Don regularly conducted his business. Peter didn’t recognize any of the faces there, a first. So this is what it felt like to get out of the business. Still, he’d been hoping to find someone in particular.
“Have you talked to Cynthia lately?” Peter asked, as casually as he could. He hadn’t seen his mother since that night at the garage, but he suspected she’d been around. His and Nik’s flowerbeds had never looked better. He’d never been able to catch her in the act though, a consummate professional. To be honest, he was getting a little tired of it. He just wanted to talk to her.
“No,” Frank said, leaning in close. He continued, barely above a whisper, “At least officially. I’m sure you understand.”
Peter did, her rejection settling hot in his chest. Really, at this point, he shouldn’t have been surprised.
“But if there’s a message you want me to pass along if I did happen to run into her—"
“Just let her know I’m looking for her,” he said, feeling out of place and stupid. He downed the water, ice rattling in his glass, and took one last look at the place. He wasn’t ever coming back here, not even for the cannoli. “Thanks again for the drink, Frank.”
—-
THE CHURCH BASEMENTsmelled like mothballs. It seemed to be the common denominator of every Narcotics Anonymous meeting, that and the truly terrible coffee. Peter poured himself a cup and grabbed a seat in the back row. Here, he recognized almost every face, and he nodded to a few of the old-timers as they came in.
Peter was due for his six-month chip tonight, a useless piece of cheap plastic that meant everything to him. It was his second six-month chip, hard won back after he lost it last summer in a brief moment of weakness he swore never to repeat. And yeah, it was dumb, but he was proud of himself.
Nik was too, and he caught Peter as he was leaving the house, white shirt clinging to him with sweat, grease worked into his rough hands, already all-in on the Camaro. “Would you like me to come with you to see you get your chip?”
As boring as they were and as much as Peter insisted he didn’t have to, Nik accompanied him to the monthly open meetings—the ones anybody could attend—as often as he could. Peter wouldn’t say it, but he did appreciate the support. Tonight was a closed meeting though.
“Sorry, addicts only. Besides, it’s not like a graduation ceremony or something. Very little pomp and circumstance.”
Nik wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist, drawing him close. “But what if I miss you being named sobriety valedictorian?”
“That would require I actually speak at one of these things,” he said dryly. It was uncomfortable enough airing his dirty laundry one-on-one during his therapy sessions. He wasn’t about to do it in front of a whole room of strangers. “I strictly listen.”
Nik grinned. “Now that is a change for you.” Working on the car had made him a new man. Or rather, more like the old Nik again, a sliver of normalcy after the hard year they’d had.His doctors were trying to take the credit but Peter was pretty sure that it was definitely the car. It was good to have him back.
Peter pressed a chaste kiss against his lips. “Do you want me to wait until the next open meeting?”
