2. Chapter 2 #2
Laughter spilled easily out of Sammy’s chest as he settled deeper into the booth, tossing an arm over the top. “Well, if Frankie Casavani disapproves, it must be bad.”
Frankie mimicked his pose on the booth, sucking in his lower lip, biting back a smile. “I am more stylish than you.”
“Fuck off.”
“It’s true, ask Tina or Joey…”
“Your cousins don’t count.”
“Don’t knock Tina, she got in with Gucci. Just a temp, but that girl’s fuckin’ smart and goin’ places.”
Sammy took another long drink, fingers idly stroking the pint glass. “What about you, Frankie? You going places yet?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he retorted. “I hopped on a plane to come see your ass.”
Sammy hummed, his dark green eyes scrutinizing him, waiting.
Frankie knew what he was waiting for, and it bothered the fuck out of him that he didn’t have a better answer.
How many years had he spouted off grand plans of opening an MMA gym, selling his dad’s bar, and doing something bigger with his miserable little life?
But he was stuck, and he had been for a while now.
The only excitement he got was the occasional training session he’d jump in on at his buddy's gym, and now he was dabbling in coaching. His days of fighting were long over, and he had never felt more fuckin’ old.
“Same ole, same ole,” Frankie finally said casually, gulping down a long drag of his beer. “You know how it is.”
Sammy nodded, “Yeah, I do.”
Frankie waited for the judgment, and yet he should’ve known better.
Sammy never judged him for his situation. In fact, he seemed increasingly compassionate these days. And he wasn’t sure he liked that much, either. It rubbed too close together with pity, in his opinion.
“How’s your mom?” Sammy asked.
“Won a thousand bucks at bingo last Friday, couldn’t stop tellin’ everyone,” he rolled his eyes. “That shit is an addiction, I don’t care what anyone says. She wins big and then loses for months. Drives me crazy.”
"At least she’s not actually crazy,” Sammy drawled darkly, with a slight smirk.
Sammy’s mom was bat-shit bonkers. She reminded Frankie of a firework in the middle of a damned library, shooting off for no fucking reason other than to cause absolute chaos and pandemonium.
“I checked in on your mom last month,” Frankie admitted.
Sammy stilled, but looked indifferent to it.
He knew better. Sammy cared about that woman, even though she was barely ever a mom to him.
Frankie had gone back and forth over the years about his own feelings toward her and decided his opinion didn’t matter in the end—it was Sammy’s mom, and if Sammy wanted her in his life, she was in Frankie’s, too.
And he’d do his best to keep his mouth shut and help out whenever he could.
The only good Samuels was the late and great Papi, Sammy’s grandfather.
“She looked good, considering. Sold Papi’s house somehow, I dunno. She said she sold some of his military stuff, but the rest is in storage.”
“Yeah, she called me a few months ago to tell me about it.”
“Okay—I see how it is. You’ll answer her calls, but not mine?”
Sammy sighed, tilting his head to the side. “You done with that yet?”
“Nah, probably not. Eight months, asshole.”
Sammy glanced away, the tip of his thumbnail digging into the edge of the wooden table. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“No, I’m sorry for…” he trailed off, and Frankie’s heart fluttered for some stupid fucking reason.
He let out an impatient sigh, “I’ve already forgiven you, Sammy. Let’s just move on, all right?”
Sammy's jaw clenched, eyes still firmly looking away. “I don’t think I can.”
“Well, you are,” Frankie said flatly, refusing to dig that moment up. “I’m here. We’re burying the fuckin’ hatchet because that’s what friends do.”
Something shifted in his expression, something dark and… angry.
He knew that look. Sammy’s crazy fuckin’ mother had it right before she went berserk on someone.
Sammy had that anger of hers without the madness, except Sammy rarely lost his shit on anyone, and when he did—it was marvelous.
Something Frankie had been determined never to be on the receiving end of.
The Samuels clan was an angry bunch that could ruin a person's day or life, depending on their mood, and there was no in-between.
He wasn’t sure how he had managed to upset Sammy, only that he did.
He took a steady drink and waved to the bartender for another round. Maybe getting him drunk—or himself drunk—would help soothe some of their tension.
Or maybe they needed a distraction. Frankie was always good at that.
“I wanted to give you something,” he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out Nona’s old dog tag, and slid it across the table to him. “15 years.”
Sammy’s eyes widened as he took the delicate, worn steel tag into his fingers, emotion brimming in his eyes. “What happened?”
Frankie felt Sammy’s emotion as if it were his own. Because it was. They loved her, their pittie, and cared for her together. Even though Frankie had adopted her, she belonged to them both.
“One day she just couldn’t get up…” he murmured, throat aching, and he cleared it roughly. “She—yeah—she wasn’t in any pain in the end. I stayed with her, wrapped her in that old sweater we had, the one we used to fight over who bought at the Audioslave concert. You remember?”
Sammy scrubbed a hand over his face, tears welling, and nodded. “Yeah, I bought it, and you stole it.”
“You kept leaving it at my place. What was I supposed to do?”
“Give it back like a normal person.”
“Hey, you left it, don’t give me that shit.”
Just like you fuckin’ left me.
He shook his head, pushing down the thought. “We shared custody of that sweater, just like we did with her. She was yours just as much as she was mine. I wanted her to have something of yours when I took her…” he cleared his throat again. “Still had your scent on it. Better than a blanket.”
Sammy wiped the tears from beneath his cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried. I wasn’t gonna send that shit through a text, Sammy. I wanted to tell you on the phone or in person.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry, man. I should’ve been there.”
Yeah, you should’ve.
Frankie bit his tongue and finished his beer right as the bartender appeared with another round.
“Hey Jamie, do you mind bringing us a shot of Jameson?” Sammy asked the bartender, who glanced worriedly at him as he casually wiped away his tears on his shoulder sleeve. The bartender nodded, then came back a minute later, clasped Sammy’s shoulder affectionately, and left without a word.
“Drink,” Frankie ordered and held out his shooter. “To the best damn pittie in Boston. May she rest in peace and chase every fuckin’ squirrel in heaven.”
Sammy straightened, eyes red and wet, but held out his shot glass. “Nona. I love you, girl.”
They tapped their glasses and took their shot.
The whiskey burned Frankie’s chest, and he wished it would burn away his grief, too, but he knew it would be there for a while longer. He smirked, setting the shooter down, eyes flickering over Sammy. “You remember that time she got skunked? Fuckin’ poor girl didn’t know what to do.”
Sammy’s body relaxed visibly, grinning back. “Oh, the hell she didn’t. She swung that thing around by its tail in the backyard! She knew exactly what she was doing. You were the one who didn’t know what the fuck to do!”
Frankie burst out laughing. “Fuck, of course not! That skunk was spraying fuckin’ everywhere!
It smelled like skunk for months in the fuckin’ backyard.
I yelled at her to stop, but she never listened.
Dear Christ, I was bent over vomiting by the time you showed up, and then you couldn’t stop laughin’ at me. ”
Sammy laughed, his handsome face lighting up in a way that Frankie couldn’t look away from. “It was a pretty terrible sight. You were covered in vomit, and she, still wagging her tail, was soaked in skunk oil. My nostrils were burning for weeks after that.”
“She got her punishment for it, though. The kids at the park wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”
Sammy nodded, “She loved kids, and they loved her.”
“I ain’t never to this day seen a dog melt lookin’ at a baby.”
“The way she sat next to the twins,” Sammy murmured, still smiling. “Tony brought them by your garage, and she just sat right next to the stroller, and yeah… melted.”
“She should’ve been a mom,” he replied.
“She would’ve been a great mom.”
Frankie’s throat once more closed up.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to her,” Sammy whispered, tears once more forming beneath his bright green eyes.
“Yeah, I know,” Frankie said. “But she knew she was loved. And she had a good life, that’s all that matters.”
Silence descended on them as Sammy collected himself, slipping her tag into his pocket and taking another sip of his fresh beer.
“How come you didn’t say goodbye to me?” Frankie asked quietly. “Like I get it, you were upset about Papi and…” he hesitated, waving his hand, “all that shit. But c’mon, man, you didn’t tell me you were leavin’ to LA the day after Papi’s service.”
Sammy sucked in a long breath. “I got called in early, didn’t have time…”
“Bullshit,” Frankie snapped in a low tone. “Bull-fucking-shit, and you know it.”
Anger twitched around Sam’s pursed lips.
“My mom kept askin’ about you,” Frankie said, deciding to turn the screw of guilt on his best friend. “Took it personally that you didn’t stop by to pay your respects. She fed you, sheltered you, paid for a semester of your college when you couldn’t get your financial aid shit figured out in time…”
Sammy’s eyes turned to daggers.
“You know better than—”
“Stop, just fucking stop,” Sammy hissed through gritted teeth. “I know I fucked up. I know, and I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. I’ve spent the last eight months beating myself up for how everything went down. I’m not interested in hearing it from you, too.”
Frankie stared at him and gave a short nod.