Back to You: Bad Boys of Red Hook Page 4
He released her and held her gaze.
Bree looked as if she were deciding whether to allow him in. “Okay.” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’ll get used to it.”
He doubted he’d ever get used to seeing Pop looking weak and sick. He nodded and didn’t let go of her hand until she pushed open the door.
CHAPTER 3
Pete raised the head of the bed to sit as he listened to Nicki chatter on about whatever ten-year-old girls chattered about: her favorite show on Disney, the joke that led to her belly laugh, the meaning of which got lost in translation, though he followed it with a chuckle, if for nothing more than the pleasure of hearing her laughter.
He was tired—more tired than he could ever remember. His eyes felt heavy as the comforting warmth of Nicki’s body seeped into his side.
“And then Bree was like Wonder Woman and hit him on the head with her frying pan of truth. He was knocked out, lying on the floor. All that was missing were those cartoon birds flying around his head, tweeting.”
“What?” Pete came alert, wondering what was fact, and what was fiction. Nicki had one hell of an imagination, something she shared often.
He was relieved when the door to his room opened and Bree walked in, followed closely by someone. Not someone, Storm. All other thoughts evaporated.
“Hey, Pop. I came as soon as I heard.” Storm walked around the bed and enveloped him in a careful half hug that had him rattled.
Nicki slid away as Pete stared, unbelieving. “God, it’s good to see you, son.” Pete felt old and at a loss as tears clouded his eyes. He patted Storm’s back, careful not to snag the IV line, and looked over Storm’s shoulder at Bree. “You called Storm?”
Storm drew away and fortunately turned so he didn’t notice Pete’s loss of composure. “No, she called Logan and he couldn’t come, so he called me. You could have called me yourself, Pop. I had no idea….”
Storm looked good—strong, a little pale under his tan, but he was a welcome sight. “I didn’t want to bother you. You’ve got your own life to lead and a business to run.” When Storm faced him again, Pete saw anger and hurt. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. Turns out, I was wrong. I’m glad to see you. It’s been too long.”
Bree moved beside Pete and brushed his cheek with a kiss, running her hand over his balding head. “I love the new pj’s.” She straightened the collar. “You wear them well.”
He let out a laugh, which turned into a cough, and he grabbed his pillow, pulling it to his chest. Once he took a cough-free breath, he swallowed the pain and did his best to continue as if it never happened—not an easy thing to do while hugging an oversized, furry, heart-shaped monstrosity of a pillow. “I don’t know about that, but it beats the hell out of having my ass flopping around for all the world to see.”
Bree laughed. “Nicki and I are going to take a little walk and give you two some time to catch up, okay?”
Pete nodded and watched something pass between Storm and Bree, a warning look and something else that had been brewing since they were kids. He’d always hoped they’d figure it out eventually, but then Storm had taken off.
There were still so many unanswered questions, the least of which was why Storm had left so suddenly. In the long run, Storm had taken the right path. Pete just wished he hadn’t bolted. Leaving and running were two very different things. If Storm had left, it wouldn’t have taken him years to find his way home again. “Why’d you run?” Pete watched a wave of shock break over Storm’s face before an eerie calm replaced it.
“Why are you asking me this now, Pop? It’s not going to change the past.”
“You’d think after all this time you’d be able to tell me. I’m not getting any younger, and Lord knows, I might not get too much older either.”
Storm blanched.
“Don’t worry. I’m not bellying up to the big bar in the sky—at least not yet. But I gotta tell you, there have been times I would have killed to order a Guinness from St. Peter.”
“You think there’s Guinness in heaven?”
“Good God, I hope so.” Pete pulled his blanket up and cursed his inability to get warm. “If not, I’ll be spending a hell of a long time in purgatory.”
Storm smirked and leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his thighs, his fingers laced together. “You might not have much of a choice about that. Guinness or no.”
“Was there a woman involved?” It was amazing how fast a smirk could disappear.
“Yeah.”
Well, shit. “Who?” When Marisa, Nicki’s mother, dropped her on his doorstep, she’d claimed Nicki was his granddaughter. As he looked back at his three sons eleven years ago, the first one who came to mind was Storm. Back then Storm had been antsy and impulsive. He’d run from something. Pete studied Storm and saw what looked an awful lot like pain, guilt, maybe even remorse.
Storm closed his eyes, shook his head, and looked away. “I’m sorry, Pop. I can’t…”
His son may have been gone a long time, but some things never changed. Storm was shutting down. It was time for a different subject. “Have you been by the Crow’s Nest yet?”
Storm shook his head and then rubbed the back of it as if he had a headache. “Not yet. I flew in late last night.”
“Bree’s done some fine work—classed it up a lot. You’re not going to recognize the old place.”
“How long has she been working for you?”
Pete knew an accusation when he heard it. “I never hid the fact that Bree worked for me, and you never once asked about her. She’s worked for me since she graduated college. I made her the manager and gave her the one-bedroom apartment above the bar that we always used for storage. She’s been with me ever since. Hiring Bree is the best business decision I’ve ever made. She’s worked hard and has become one hell of a businesswoman. I might own the place, but the Crow’s Nest is all Bree’s.”
“What’s the story with Nicki?”
“I knew her mother, and when she couldn’t take care of Nicki, she brought her to me. What can I say? Nicki’s a great kid. You’ll see when you get to know her.”
“Yeah, Pop, I’m sure she is. I’m just wondering why you never called to tell me about her. What are you hiding?”
Pete looked away and thanked God when Storm continued. He was tempted to cross himself when he realized Storm wasn’t waiting for an answer. “Taking in a kid is a big deal. Then again, so is heart disease.”
“All you boys have lives of your own. I didn’t want the lot of you feeling as if you had to run home to meet Nicki—besides, it hasn’t been easy for her to settle in.”
“She’s close to Bree.”
“Bree’s easy to love. They both are. They’ve been good for each other.”
The door swished open, and Bree peeked in. “How are you two doing?”
Storm stood and slid his hands into his pockets. “Good.”
Nicki bounded over and jumped back up on Pete’s bed as Bree filled the water glass from the pitcher on the table. “The doctor said they’re going to keep you around until tomorrow, and if all goes well, he’ll spring you after his rounds. You should be home in time for dinner.”
“Great.” Pete hoped to hell he sounded excited, because right now it was all he could do to stay awake.
Bree took Nicki’s hand, then bent over him and kissed his cheek. “We’ve got to get back,” she said, checking her watch. “I’m running late.”
Pete waved her away before giving Nicki a kiss. “You be good for Bree and Storm.”
Nicki rolled her eyes. “You know me. I’m always good.” She waited a beat and then smiled. “Except for when I’m not.” She slid off the bed.
Bree threw her arm around Nicki. “Which is usually. Come on, kiddo. I have to get to work.”
Storm came closer and smiled. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Pop. Take care.”
“Sounds good. And, Storm, the keys to the car are on my dresser if you need it.”
* * *
Storm followed Bree and Nicki out of Pete’s room as they headed toward the elevator. He still felt a little green around the gills seeing Pop like that. He had a bad feeling Pop was going to need more than two weeks before he was recovered enough to take care of himself, no less to take care of Nicki. Shit. He was stuck there for the duration. He didn’t have a choice.
Even as sick as Pop was, it hadn’t taken him long to start his interrogation—not that Storm blamed him. Pop deserved some kind of explanation. But with Bree working and practically living with him, Storm didn’t think it was right to kiss and tell.
Bree leaned against the wall as they waited for the elevator. “How’d it go with Pete?”
“Good, I guess. He spent most of the time talking about you.”
Bree shrugged. “We’ve worked together for years. I guess it’s not surprising.”
After taking the elevator down, they handed in their badges, and Storm stopped. “You two go on ahead; I’ll get back on my own.”
Bree looked at him the same way she had earlier, when she was deciding if she should let him in Pete’s room.
“See you later, Nicki. Bree.” It wasn’t as if he needed her permission. He turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, that hallway took him to the last place he’d wanted to go—the emergency room.
“Storm, Storm Decker? Is that you, man?”
All the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He turned, expecting a punch, but instead found himself staring into the eyes of a man covered with blood. He knew he shouldn’t have come back home.
“Hey, I thought that was you. I haven’t seen you since—”
“That fight by the old sugar factory.” Frankie was two years older than Storm, and all through school, Frankie had used him as his own personal punching bag.
At least Frankie had the decency to look embarrassed, which just added to the weirdness of the situation. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”
Storm shook his head, wondering if he had stepped into some strange alternate reality: Pop was in the hospital, and Frankie “the Bruiser” DeBruscio hadn’t threatened Storm’s life yet. “Don’t you need to go get some help?”
“Me?” Frankie looked down at himself. “Oh, right. I was just going to the locker room to grab a quick shower and a pair of scrubs when I saw you.”
“So all that’s not yours?”
He tugged on what Storm realized was a uniform shirt. “The blood? Hell no. An occupational hazard.”
“Vampire?”
Frankie laughed. “Paramedic. Look, I know your old man is here—”
“How do you know that?”
“Bree and I are close.”
Storm fought the urge to put Frankie through a wall to find out just what he meant by that.
“Give me five minutes to get cleaned up; then maybe we can grab a cup of coffee. Catch up, you know?”
Storm must have nodded, but he wasn’t sure. He was in a state of shock. Frankie DeBruscio was a paramedic? Storm had always figured he’d be in the state pen, serving multiple life sentences by now. He took a seat as close to the door as possible and rubbed the lump on the back of his head. Maybe Breezy hit him harder than he thought. He wondered if concussions caused hallucinations.
A few minutes later, Frankie met him by the door. He was built like an oversized fireplug—Storm had a few inches on him, but Frankie still outweighed him by a good fifty pounds. Frankie reached out to shake hands, and Storm didn’t know how to avoid it. They shook, and Frankie shocked him again when he pulled him into a guy hug. “Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee. I’m off duty and about a quart low.”
Storm really wasn’t up to socializing with the terror of Red Hook, but he found himself walking out with him. “So, Frankie—”
Frankie laughed. “I go by Francis now.”
Storm stopped. “You’re kidding me. You used to beat the shit out of anyone who called you Francis.”
Francis shrugged and continued on. “Yeah, well, people change.”
“Funny, I said the same thing last night…or was it this morning? I can’t remember.”
“Jet lag will do that to a guy. You’re supposed to drink a lot of water. It will help. When did you get in?”
“Last night…or this morning—”
“You don’t remember, right?”
“Maybe I’m trying to forget.”
“That bad, huh?”
They went into a Starbucks and ordered. Francis grabbed a large water and tossed it on the counter. “Do you want anything else?”
“No, coffee’s fine.” Storm pulled out his billfold. “I’ll get it.”
Francis shook his head. “Nope, this one’s on me. You can buy me a beer the next time I’m in the Crow’s Nest.”
Maybe the bar hadn’t changed that much after all. “You hang out there?”
Francis laughed and grabbed their drinks. “Pete pulled me off Logan one time and made me pay for the fifteen stitches Logan needed after the tussle. He said it was either that, or he’d call the cops. He let me work it off at the bar. Your old man’s the one who set me straight—I owe him. I still help out at the Crow’s Nest when I’m not on the job. With four days on and three off, I go in as often as I can. I’ve been helping Bree out a lot since Pete got sick.”
Storm sat at a round table and shook his head. He never thought he’d be shown up by his archenemy.
Francis sat across from him and stirred his coffee. “Over the years, Pete showed me all the articles in those sailing magazines about you and the boats you design. He’s so damn proud of you. He has a whole wall at the Crow’s Nest filled with framed pictures and articles following the careers of you and your brothers.” He stopped and looked embarrassed. “Ah hell, why am I telling you that? I’m sure you’ve seen it.”
“No, I haven’t. I haven’t gotten down to the bar yet. I flew in and went straight home. Bree, Nicki, and I came here first thing.”
“How’s Pete holding up?”
Storm shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. I didn’t even know he was in the hospital until Logan called me a few days ago. I grabbed the first flight out, and I had no idea what I was walking into. It’s surreal.”
Francis looked at his watch. “How are you getting home?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I just needed some time to wrap my head around this whole thing with Pop and being back.”
“I called my wife and told her we were stopping for coffee, but she’s got a hair appointment in an hour, so I have the kids. Let me give you a lift home; it’s on the way.”
“You’re married?”
“Do you remember Patrice Taylor?”
“Everyone remembers Patrice—she was the hottest girl in school.”
“Yeah, well, I married her.”
“No shit! And you still live in Red Hook?”
Francis smiled. “Where else would I live?”
“I don’t know. I just thought with kids you’d want to live somewhere safer.”
Francis downed the rest of his coffee. “You’ve been gone a long time, my friend. Red Hook isn’t the same place we used to terrorize when we were kids.”
Storm finished his coffee, and Francis pushed the bottle of water toward him. “This is for you. Drink up; it’ll make you feel better.” He stood. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home. If Patrice can find a sitter, maybe we’ll see you tonight at the bar. If you’re lucky, I’ll even let you dance with her.”
Storm tossed his coffee cup and took a swig of the water. “Don’t you think you should see how Patrice feels about that?”
“I’m pretty sure she won’t have a problem with it. Hell, I always thought she had a thing for you. Why do you think I beat on you so regularly back in school?”
“And all this time I thought it was just my personality—I had one,
unlike someone else I knew. But you’re wrong about Patrice. She never knew I existed.”
“Oh, she knew. She was just shy. It took me a lot of years to figure it out.”
The music for The Twilight Zone repeated in Storm’s head as he followed Francis to a black Jeep Liberty.
Francis unlocked the car and climbed in as Storm followed suit. “How’s Nicki handling Pete’s being sick?”
“I can’t really say. I just met her.”
“Nicki’s a tough kid; she’ll be fine. She’s great with my two rug rats. She has a way with them. She’s incredibly empathetic for a kid so young, but then she’s been through a lot.”
“She’s also a real smart aleck, but she seems like a good kid.”
“Any kid lucky enough to be taken in by Pete is a good kid. Just look how well you and your brothers turned out.”
“And you. It seems like Pete’s got a magic touch when it comes to juvenile delinquents.”
Storm was glad Francis laughed. “That he does.”
He pulled up in front of the Crow’s Nest and waved away Storm’s thanks. “Bree has my number. Give me a call if the jet lag gets to you and you want to meet up with me and Patrice another night.”
“I should be fine.”
“Good. I’ll probably see you later, then. Tell Bree I said hi.”
Storm shut the door, and while Francis pulled away, he looked at the bottle of water in his hand. Maybe he’d be better off replacing it with a beer and a shot. Maybe then things would start making more sense.
* * *
Storm walked into the Crow’s Nest and was tempted to step back outside to make sure Francis hadn’t pulled a fast one on him. The only thing he recognized other than Bree was the bar itself.
The antique carved-mahogany bar had always looked out of place beside the cheap vinyl-covered, metal-runged barstools Pete had favored. The ones that fronted the bar now were the high-backed swivel kind, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the deep hunter green seats were leather, or at the very least pleather. The stained, drop-tile ceiling had been replaced by what looked like antique tin, trimmed with matching carved crown molding. Cracked plaster walls had been ripped down to show off beautiful exposed brick, and the other walls were painted a deep, rich gold. Small round tables were positioned between the bar and high-backed booths with deep maroon cushions. Tasteful art and Tiffany glass lighting gave it warmth and richness.