23. Arsen
23
ARSEN
Nina wails.
I cringe.
Because I know the other parents at this park smell my weakness.
You may have a seven-thousand-dollar stroller, but that doesn’t make you a father , their stares say.
She kicks her legs as her face goes red. I park her under a sycamore and fight my way through the maze of straps and buckles to pull her out of the stroller. But she still doesn’t stop crying.
Polina offered to come with us, but I told her I could handle my own daughter.
Ha . Joke’s on me.
“What’s wrong, little one?” I murmur as she swats at me with balled fists.
I run through the emergency checklist: diaper, bottle, the bouncing walk that makes me feel like a fool but usually does the trick.
None of it works.
Two mothers across the park are sitting on a bench while their kids play happily in the sandbox, and I feel their pitying looks.
Poor girl, stuck with a father like that. God help her.
I’m juggling a squirming Nina when a woman with dreadlocks parks her stroller next to me. She points to the bench. “You mind?”
She probably wants a front row seat to this trainwreck. I can’t even blame her. It must be appointment TV.
“Go ahead.” Then I turn my attention back to my furious daughter. “We do so well at home, malyshka. What’s the issue now?”
Nina just squints her eyes at me as if to say, I don’t trust you.
Her mother has rubbed off on her, I see.
“How old is she?” the woman asks. Her son is sitting up in his stroller, looking curiously at Nina and me.
“Six months.”
“Callum is seven.” She smiles at her baby and then turns back to me. “I’m Marion.”
“Arsen.” I point to myself and then to the screeching thing in my arms. “This is Nina.”
Marion beams at Nina like she isn’t a banshee right now. “Look at all that drool! Are you teething, little one?”
I frown. “Would that make her cry?”
To her credit, Marion doesn’t laugh. “Is she your first?”
“Is it that obvious?”
Instead of answering, Marion points to the soft, plastic ring hanging from the side pocket of Nina’s diaper bag. “Try giving her that.”
“What will it do?”
“Pop it in her mouth and find out.”
I can’t imagine Laila would pack anything poisonous in Nina’s diaper bag, and since the bouncing walk didn’t work, I’m all out of tricks. So I pop the pink ring into Nina’s mouth.
The moment she latches on…
Sweet, blissful silence.
Nina blinks innocently at me as she gnaws on the ring, chewing and exploring.
“What are you?” I ask in awe, turning to Marion. “The baby whisperer?”
“Just a seasoned veteran.” She lifts Callum out of his stroller and settles him on her lap. “Cal here is my fourth.” She must see the horror on my face because she laughs. “Yeah, I know. He was a surprise. We thought we were done after our third. Abigail was supposed to be our youngest. But she’s eight years old and the proudest big sister in the world.”
“Life had other ideas.”
“Exactly.” Her deep brown eyes brighten. “When I got pregnant with him, I didn’t know how I was gonna manage three kids, a full-time job, and a house. But you just figure it out.”
“I keep waiting for that to happen.”
Marion tickles Nina’s stomach, and the adorable little bundle who was screaming not thirty seconds ago has the audacity to giggle. “You’re doing just fine from where I’m sitting.”
“Not sure my wife would agree.” I wince as soon as the words are out of my mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
She gives me a sad smile. “They say the first year of marriage is the hardest, but it’s not—it’s the first year after you have a baby. If the sleep deprivation didn’t kill us first, Derek and I were going to tear each other’s throats out.”
“And yet you have four kids.”
“We found a rhythm,” she says with a shrug. “I’m sure you and your wife will, too. Some days, all I could focus on was loving my husband a little more than I hated him.”
“Laila has got the hate part of the equation down,” I mutter, only half-joking. “We’re working on the love.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you,” Marion assures me. “She’s just a new mother. No matter how much you try to help, women end up doing the lion’s share. It’s a biological inevitability, but that doesn’t make it easier.”
“Also not making it easier is the fact I wasn’t around much the last few months.” I don’t know why I’m sharing so much with a stranger. Maybe because she is a stranger. And probably because she isn’t giving me the judgmental glare I definitely deserve.
“Is that what you’re doing here? Making up for lost time?”
“Trying to. My wife is also busy this morning, working on her yoga certification. She wants to be a teacher.”
Marion whistles. “Good for her. I didn’t get back to my own hobbies until well after kid number two. Laila’s ahead of the curve. That’s good. She’ll feel like herself in no time.”
I want that to be a good thing, but what if Laila’s normal self hates my guts, too?
“I’m still not sure she’ll forgive me.”
Marion bounces her son on her knee. “Just keep showing up. She’ll get there eventually.”
“Easy to say when you don’t know how badly I screwed up.”
She raises her eyebrows and considers me for a moment. “In my experience, there’s no screw-up so bad that you can’t come back from.”
If only I could believe that she’s right.
Pobeda is front and center, lining the glass shelves of the bar like glittering trophies on display. Rurik, the bartender I poached from one of the biggest clubs in Manhattan, is standing behind the counter, pouring drinks for Dom and me to sample.
“Well?” Dominik asks, wagging his eyebrows at me over the bar. “Everything looks pretty good, am I right?”
I can’t bite back my smile. “It looks pretty fucking great.”
No one would ever accuse me of counting my chickens before they hatch. There’s always time for shit to go sideways—but at this moment, it looks like Pobeda is going to be a success.
“How’s the cocktail list coming along, Rurik?”
“I’ve been experimenting with the gin and the bourbon.” He slides a handwritten menu across the bar to me. “I’ve got three new cocktails for you to try. Let me make you a Pobeda Signature.”
He pours a dark red liquid into a martini glass and tops it with rock salt and mint before pushing it towards us. “Let me know what you think.”
I take a sip and… “Damn.” There are notes of citrus, mint, honey, and, the star of the show: dulcet tones of Adamov gin.
“It’s strong, but I don’t skimp on the alcohol,” Rurik explains. “Especially when it’s this good.”
“I’m glad my label has you inspired.”
Rurik dips his head to me and turns to Dom. “By the way, the new guy? He’s doing okay. He has an attitude, but he’s thorough.”
I turn to Dominik, and he answers my question before I can even ask. “Jasper. I put him to work.”
“As a barback?” I grimace.
“We’ve all worked our way up from the bottom,” says Dom coldly. “He may be your favorite, but he’s not mine.”
“So this is you righting the scales?” I ask. “You’re gonna treat him like shit because you think I’m too easy on him?”
“No, this is me testing your theory that Jasper has turned over a new leaf,” he fires back. “If he has, then grunt work isn’t going to scare him.”
Gritting my teeth, I turn back to the bar. “Fine. Let me know how he?—”
“I heard you the first time, damn, man!” Jasper calls over his shoulder as he rushes around the corner, lugging a huge crate of bottles. “I’ve only got two hands!”
In his anger, he doesn’t see Rurik, so he’s as shocked as anyone when he slams into Rurik’s back, dropping the crate in the process. Glass shatters, liquid shoots up in a geyser, and Rurik roars out a curse.
“Fucking hell, man, that was The Liquid Gold! It’s our most expensive whiskey!” Rurik eyes the damage. “How many bottles is that?”
The man Jas was calling to, Anton, comes around the corner and clicks his tongue at the destroyed crate. “‘Only two hands’? More like two left feet.”
Jasper’s upper lip puckers. The two hands in question fist at his sides. I’ve known him long enough to know that Anton better get the fuck out of the way before he’s bleeding on the ground.
Before reckless fists can fly, Dom clears his throat. “I guess this assignment isn’t going to work out either, is it, Jazzy boy?”
Jasper’s eyes slide from Anton to Dominik. Then to me. His brow twitches as he comes over. “You had to pick today of all days to show up.”
“Decided to put on a show for me?” I try to tease, but the mood is tense.
“That’s all this is: a show. I should be doing a legitimate job!” he snarls. “But your little bitch of a lapdog here keeps insisting on giving me these fucking bullshit roles?—”
“Because you haven’t yet proved that you’re responsible or capable enough to handle anything important,” Dom interrupts.
“I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me!”
“I don’t remember asking you to break a dozen bottles of Liquid Gold. That crate alone is worth over ten grand. Once you’ve paid off your debts, you can repay Arsen for the?—”
“That’s enough, Dominik.” I step in between the two men and push them apart. “Go to the back and check inventory. We should have plenty more Liquid Gold.”
Dominik throws me an aggravated glare before stalking off towards the staff area.
I turn to Jasper. “You won’t get on Dom’s good side talking to him like that.”
Jas’s chin is high and proud. “I was defending myself.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself against your brother.”
His eyes drop. He wrings his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “You’re right. It’s just… fucking Dominik. The man gets to me.”
“Anton and Rurik must have the same talent then.”
He flushes. “They’ve been riding me all day.”
“And you can’t handle it?”
“No! That’s not— I can handle it fine.” Jasper takes a deep breath, running a hand over his crew cut. “I’m being a fuckin’ baby. I was a bartender before I even went to prison. This feels like a step backward. Plus, this time, I can’t even enjoy the drinks. I guess… I’m just…” It takes him several seconds to get the words out. “Sobriety hasn’t been easy.”
“I get that.”
“I doubt you would,” he sighs. “You’re good at everything.”
“You trying to flatter me?”
He gives me a shit-eating grin that takes me right back to our days in max. Then he passes a hand over his nape. “I get why you’re keeping me on the outskirts. But I’m willing to put in the time it takes to get to the inner circle. I want to prove to you that I’m worthy of it.”
“Good. Because I’ve gone to bat for you, Jas. Don’t let me down.”
He nods emphatically. “I won’t.”
I meet up with Dominik outside. I know the second he shoves his hands in his pockets and rolls back on his heels what he’s going to say, but I let him say it anyway. “You should’ve turned him away the day he showed up, Arsen.”
“Don’t start this again, Dom,” I snap. “I don’t have the fucking energy.”
“Yeah? Well, that makes two of us. You’ve repaid your debt to him ten times over. So why the hell do you still feel you need to take care of that screw-up? He’s dead weight.”
“Maybe he was once, but he’s trying to be more. He’s sober. He wants to make something of himself. As long as he wants it, I have to give him a chance.”
“It’s a mistake,” Dominik snaps.
“How can I expect Laila to give me a second chance if I don’t extend the same courtesy to Jasper?”
“I—” He works his jaw back and forth. “That’s not the same thing.”
“At the end of the day, it’s all the same. Forgiveness is forgiveness. I’m trying to learn it from both sides.”