Chapter Eleven
Keston
Who the hell did he have up there?
On my way to the shop the following morning, I was still wondering about Bailey’s mystery visitor. True, it was late, and I should’ve let him know I was coming by, but we did talk about it and…well, dammit. Whatever. If he wanted to hook up with other people, it was a free country. I didn’t care.
My morning didn’t get much better when Ambrose came it, all hepped up about a house he and Carly had gone to see.
“It has a fucking pool in the backyard. Can you believe it?” He and Jodi chatted as they prepared their stations. I remained silent, and Ambrose glanced my way several times.
“How was the weekend, Keston? Busy?”
“Oh, Keston was busy all right,” Jodi chimed in with a giggle, and I glared at her.
Ambrose’s brows rose, and his gaze shifted from me to Jodi, then to me again. “What? Am I missing something?”
“Not something. Someone. As in a really cute guy.”
A smile broke across Ambrose’s face even as I scowled. “Yeah? You had a date?”
“It wasn’t a date. We just hooked up. No big deal.”
“Come on,” Jodi said, “the guy was so into you. I could tell.” Finished with setting out her instruments, Jodi was ready to gossip. And Ambrose was right there with her.
“Oh, yeah? You got a boyfriend? How come you never said nothin’?”
“Because like I just told you, it wasn’t anything.”
“Don’t let him kid you, Ambrose. This guy was totally into Keston. And he was freaking hot as hell, with the most gorgeous blue eyes…” She sighed.
“Enough,” I snapped.
The door opened, and my first client, a firefighter named Mike Flynn, walked in. He’d been coming since 9/11 and had tattoos covering his body.
“Hey, how’s it going, Mike?” I gave the two chattering fools a stone-faced grimace and went to take care of my client. “I’ve been working on what you told me when you made the appointment. Where do you want it? You’re running outta skin.”
Mike, a big, stocky guy with iron-gray hair and bright-blue eyes in his weathered, freckled face, looked like he’d been through hell and back.
I couldn’t imagine what he’d lived through, seeing so many people die.
I’d been a teenager dealing with my own shit when the towers were hit, and I didn’t remember much about it aside from feeling like the city was on fire.
Mike had told me that no one he worked with had ever fully recovered.
For him personally, life had gone south afterward.
His wife left him, and he’d told me about the buddies he’d lost as they slowly sickened and died.
His stories were a kind of therapy for me, and I didn’t say much as I worked on him, just listened—which was a hell of a lot more important anyway.
“It’s gotta be special. The cop who helped me and my buddies on the pile died of the same disease killing my buddies.” He scanned his biceps and forearm. “Find me a good spot on here somewhere.”
“That’s cool, man. Take a look at this.”
I showed him the sketch I’d made—an eagle holding the NYPD crest, and underneath, the name and shield number, the date he died, and Never Forget.
His eyes widened. “That’s pretty fucking awesome. Exactly like what I thought about. Not too much, is it?”
“No. I think it’ll be cool. Give me some time to work it up, and I’ll be right back.”
I’d done plenty of work on the FDNY, NYPD, and Corrections officers.
Through his work with city youth and art programs, Carlos had connections, and I’d kept them up.
Ambrose, on the other hand, because of his ridiculous bias against the cops, had no desire to work on them, so I took all the uniforms.
It took me about forty minutes to make the stencil, and when I showed it to Mike, his eyes lit up.
“Yeah, that’s perfect.”
“Awesome.” I prepped the area, put my gloves on, and began to work. Mike had a spot on his forearm that was perfect for this. “How’s it going?” I asked him. “Busy?” I knew that would segue into a conversation where I could listen and not say much. Just the way I liked it.
“Not too bad. Coupla e-bike fires—these dumbasses still don’t realize they’re dangerous.”
“Uh-huh.” I placed the stencil on his skin and peeled it off, then began the inking process. “I see that on the news all the time.”
“Anyway, I’ve been thinking about getting this for a while. Bruce was a good guy—had it rough.”
“Yeah? How so?” I carefully outlined the eagle feathers.
“He was a beat cop. Coulda made detective, I’m sure, but he wanted regular shift ’cause he had a kid.”
“Uh-huh. Makes sense.”
“Yeah. Especially since his wife walked out on him and the boy. He told me she just up and left the kid. He was like four. What kinda mother does that?”
My fingers tightened over the handle of my needle. “I dunno.” Mike didn’t know how I grew up. “At least he had his father.”
“Yeah. Everything he did was for his kid—even though he’d make money from overtime, he felt guilty ’cause it was less time with his boy.”
Despite myself, I became interested in the story. “He never remarried?”
Mike shook his head. “Nah. Crazy thing is, he never got divorced. Of course the bitch shows up as he’s dyin’.”
“Damn, that’s cold.”
“Right? But Bruce was already too weak to do nothin’ about it.”
I began to carefully draw in a script font for the dates he’d given me. “At least his kid gets his mother back.”
“Pfft,” Mike scoffed. “Kid’s no fool. He knows what she is. Can you believe she’s even living in Bruce’s house ’cause she got no place else to go?”
“No shit. Sounds like one of those soap operas on television.”
“You know it. She’d been running around all that time with different guys and even had another kid. And of course, Bruce, being a good guy, sick as he was, took them both in and treated them good.”
“Nice you kept in touch.”
“We’d send Christmas cards and stuff like that and ran into each other at the yearly memorial. But I saw how sick he looked the last time, so I kinda knew which way the wind was blowin’… He didn’t wanna talk about it, so I left it alone. Eventually the cards stopped comin’.”
But I could see the guilt and sadness in his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, Mike. There wasn’t anything you could do.”
With his free hand, he wiped his eyes. “ ’Cept be a better friend. I shoulda pushed harder to see him. He gave his all for us.”
Finished with outlining the design, I set the instrument down. “Listen. You did all you could. Maybe he didn’t want you to see him like that. And he had his son. They were close?”
Mike cleared his throat. “Yeah, very. I only met him once, the last time Bruce was able to make it to the memorial. Seemed like a nice kid—he’d just started college.”
“You wanna finish it all today, or take a break and come back to color the eagle in?”
Mike checked out my work, which I had to admit was pretty damn good. “I like it. Let’s finish it up today. I got time.”
“Okay.” I had the colors all set up, and a little more than two hours later, his arm was done and wrapped for protection.
“Looks great, Keston. Thanks again.”
“I agree. Came out nice. Cool tribute to your friend.” Even though he’d been to the shop numerous times, I handed him the aftercare instruction sheet. He paid me and left.
Ambrose had finished with his client and strolled over to me. I folded my arms. “So when are you moving to Florida?”
He made a face. “I told you, man. I’m not leaving. Yeah, the house was awesome, but we can’t afford it, number one, and number two, it’s too damn hot there. Plus, fucking alligators. Did you know they have a highway named Alligator Alley?” He grinned, and despite myself, I returned his smile.
“No shit.”
“I’d never fuck you like that, dude.”
Relieved that we’d cleared the air, I checked my watch. “Wanna order lunch? My treat.”
“Yeah, sure, thanks.”
“Tacos?” At his nod, I called out to Jodi. “Hey, Jo, want some lunch? We’re ordering tacos.”
“You bet. I’ll never turn down a taco.”
The food came and we dug in, but my appetite had waned.
I couldn’t get the conversation with Mike out of my head.
Everyone had a story in this city, and these walls had heard plenty.
I remembered when Carlos was killed. Shellshocked, I’d walked around the shop for hours, unseeing, hearing but not listening to all the people who came in to pay their respects.
At the nudge to my side, I jerked to awareness and saw Jodi’s sparkling eyes.
“Thinking about someone special?” she teased.
I knew whom she was referring to, but she needed to cut that shit out.
“Yeah. Carlos.” Maybe my answer was harsh, but I didn’t want to talk and figured that would shut it down. I crumpled my wrappings and tossed them into the garbage.
Her face fell and her lips trembled. “I-I’m sorry, Keston.”
“Not your problem.” I checked the schedule. “Gonna take a walk. Be back in a few.”
The shop and its ghosts were haunting me today, and I had to break out of there before I lost it. My steps took me to Tompkins Square Park, where I found a bench away from people.
During our years together, Carlos and I would come here on many mornings—him with a sketch pad in hand, and me watching him, forever amazed that a guy like me somehow found a man like him in this crazy city. A man who, knowing the mess I was, loved me despite everything.
With the heel of my hand, I wiped at the wetness in my eyes and held my head. Fuck, I missed him. I missed our life together.
I missed being happy.
Someone sat next to me, and I shifted to put more space between us, resisting the urge to curse at them. Twenty damn benches in the park, and they had to plant their ass on mine. I glanced over with a ferocious scowl, only to see Grady by my side.
Shit. The last thing I needed was for my brother to see me emotional. I pasted a smile on my face.
“Hey, what’re you doing here in the middle of the day?”
“What’s wrong?” The problem with having a brother who was a psychologist as well as a lawyer was that your every word and mood was analyzed. I had to watch myself.