Darling, Dove Preview #4
Nico tracked the curious glint in his son’s eyes, recognizing it for what it probably meant.
He so easily recognized that look because a long time ago, Nico had been that kind of boy.
Troubled and troublesome at the same time.
Rule bending became his best friend when he’d long worn-out rule breaking altogether.
But he had a reason. Every damn reason to be that way.
Christopher? Not so much. He just was.
His father’s greatest test, right there, in flesh and blood. A twin for what he’d once looked and acted like at the same age. It was sickening to Nico, and it never failed to gut him when someone reminded him that he had an unpleasant reflection staring back at him from Christopher.
“Are you trying to find a loophole in the expectations that have been laid out for you?”
“I mean, if when I get my bikes back, I can go wherever and hang out with friends, and she happens to be there, how is that a loophole?”
Nico took a deep breath in, willing it to help with the patience he needed. “Christopher, stop while you’re ahead.”
“I’m just asking.”
“No, you’re being a smartass.”
“I can do two things at once.”
Nico’s limit? Entirely met.
He opted for silence so he didn’t say something he would regret and gave Christopher a look that promised they would get back to the conversation at another time. He then put his attention back on the field in time to see a soccer ball flying at his wife with a speed that made him stand.
He shouldn’t have worried, sure. She caught the oncoming missile with her bare hand and manicured nails digging into the black and white patchwork making up the ball. Her head swung in the way the ball had come, straight on the offender in question.
Dylan.
Someone else noticed the incident, too.
“Did you just kick a fucking ball at my mom?” Damiano snarled across the field.
“Dami!” Nico shouted as his son darted toward Dylan.
Frankie looked Nico’s way, concern sparking as she mouthed, “Oh, shit.”
She couldn’t get on the field in those shoes. Nico really shouldn’t step in because he wasn’t faculty.
“Hey, hey, back to the group!” Frankie yelled at their son from across the turf.
Damiano heard none of it. Dylan started heading his way, too. They met in a huddle of shoves and flying fists about thirty feet off the sidelines. Other players stepped in to try and help. The shouting turned into a straight dog pile of slamming punches and bloodied mouths.
Nico caught the flyby of SJ jumping over stadium seats to beat feet across the turf. When that kid jumped into the fray, everybody should move. Shit got serious fast with SJ.
He did catch Christopher around his waist to pull him back when his son saw a kick land into Damiano’s stomach as another kid pulled him back from a raging Dylan.
“Stupid, spoiled fuck,” Dylan bitched, mouth and nose bleeding.
A wicked laugh exploded from SJ when he arrived on the scene. “You’re gonna fucking see what spoiled can do, asshole.”
Nico glanced his wife’s way again. She started taking off those shoes. He shoved Christopher into a chair, uttering, “You better not move, kid.”
His son glared.
Nico headed after Frankie onto the field, thinking one thing: so much for breaking the curse.
···
Nico arrived home before Frankie, but that didn’t mean anything. She typically remained at the stadium until it entirely emptied, being one of only a handful of people with keys to lock the doors and leave the rest to security.
Parking his black Mercedes coupe between his favorite McLaren and a Maybach SUV, the noise inside the garage filtered through the music pumping through his own speakers.
In the passenger seat of the car, Christopher fiddled with the chain around his neck, hood still high, and avoided his father’s stare.
“So, where are you going right now?” Nico asked after turning the music down.
“Not next door.”
“That’s a start.”
“Can I get my bikes back?”
He considered it. “Gabe’s got the keys?”
Their head of security tended to be one of a few on the property that Christopher sometimes listened to when needed. It worked to their benefit when they laid down a punishment like taking away the kid’s dirt bikes.
“Yeah,” Chris muttered, “in his apartment. Mom gave them to him.”
“If you ask nicely, maybe he’ll give them back.”
“Doubt it.”
“I’ll sent a text.”
“Yeah?”
Nico shrugged. “Give me your word we’re not gonna find you alone with that girl again until we give the okay.”
“I really like her, you know?”
He sighed. “Obviously, Christopher, but you’re twelve. And you know what, if you like her now, you’ll like her in three months when you turn thirteen.”
His son’s eyes rolled. “Can’t wait to have babysitters watching my every move.”
“You already do.”
“Not all the time.”
“See...right there, son. That right there. If you’d just learn when to stop, you’d be so much further ahead.”
Christopher’s mouth snapped shut.
“Wise choice,” Nico uttered. “One bike. Choose which.”
“The Yamaha.”
“The four-fifty?”
Christopher had already shoved open the door of the car, tossing over his shoulder, “Yeah.”
“That’s not a play bike, bud.”
He hated that bike. A fucking deathtrap. Christopher barely touched the ground. It was also a twin to the bike he’d badly wrecked. His son didn’t answer him. Just slammed the door.
Fuck.
By the time Nico got out of the car, Christopher had already disappeared beyond the open door of the thirty-car garage.
They didn’t have nearly enough vehicles to fill the space between his handful, Frankie’s, and the ones Damiano had been collecting since his sixteenth birthday, plus the clutch of ATVs, dirt bikes, and the twin side-by-sides, but it did take up a good portion.
At the far end, with the doors also open, the drum noise continued.
Nico took in the sight of his oldest at the far end, further proving his point with Frankie about their conversation earlier, given who sat behind the drum set with Damiano.
Parker grinned at whatever Damiano said to her, allowing him to take control of her hands to tap out a beat with the drumsticks against the drum set.
Was she sitting on his knee? Jesus Christ.
No one else in the little group over in the kid’s side of the garage seemed bothered by the sight.
They barely noticed him as he opened the trunk of the car to grab his duffle bag out.
In fact, SJ and Fiume passed a joint back and forth where they stood under the opened garage door as Nico headed that way.
The older ones wouldn’t hide much from him. Doing so didn’t work to their favor.
Nicole clapped her hands along with the tune being played on the drums, a microphone sitting between her and Tessa on the couch.
“Get rid of that,” Nico told SJ when Fiume passed the joint back. “Frankie’s almost home.”
“Got it,” SJ returned.
He took one last hit before he headed out of the garage entirely. Fiume tossed a look at the two behind the drums, not quite able to hide the way her dark eyes dimmed before she followed the same path SJ had taken. Before she could disappear out of sight entirely, Nico called her back.
“I hear Dove’s coming home for Christmas,” he said.
Her painted lips tightened, and she shifted from foot to foot in her Converse heels. “Yeah, apparently so.”
“Did you get an invite to the show in two weeks?”
She nodded. “Never been to Fashion Week. How do I dress?”
“Any way you want, kiddo.”
“Huh.”
“You don’t look excited.”
“Haven’t really seen her in two and a half years, so...”
He doubted they would see much of Dove at the spring-slash-summer fashion show closing Fashion Week in New York until the winter collection in February. Except when she walked the runway. Nonetheless, that wasn’t why he asked.
“Don’t you two still talk?” he asked, confused.
Fiume arched an eyebrow higher than the other. “Not particularly.”
Nico thought that strange. SJ spoke to his sister regularly, and even Damiano kept a constant stream of communication with Dove ongoing about their comings and goings, despite her...very busy life. But her best friend didn’t?
“What’s for dinner, Daddy?” Nickie asked from the couch.
The distraction allowed Fiume to leave.
“Order whatever. A spread, okay? Everybody gets a choice.”
Nicole grinned wide. “Okay.”
Damiano, with a bruised cheek and split lip, finally seemed to take note that his father stood just feet away, arms crossed. After the girl in his lap moved away from the drums to return to the couch where Nicole offered her the microphone, Nico decided how to handle the situation.
“I need a word with you,” he told Damiano.
“Now?” his son asked.
“Later.”
The roll of tires on the driveway said Frankie arrived. His conversation with Dami could wait.
“Make sure everybody gets home safe, Damiano.”
“Got it, Dad.”
Just as the door opened for the section of the garage dedicated to his wife’s parking, Nico headed out. He passed SJ and Fiume on the way, now sharing a cigarette as they re-entered the garage. Frankie wouldn’t say much about that.
Behind him, Damiano asked SJ, “So, are you gonna do vocals or what?”
“Not high enough yet.”
“Fuck off, take the mic.”
Their conversation drifted away while Nico headed for the house. He just stepped beyond the threshold of the side entrance when a popular metal song Damiano and SJ enjoyed filtered from the speakers in the garage. SJ tested his vocals on the mic and the drums started shortly after.
Nicole, undoubtedly, would get on the electric mixer to add in whatever other background runs the two wanted to play with for their rendition of the song.
Nico didn’t mind the noise as it would hide what came next. It wasn’t very often he came home to have just his wife in the house, and the younger kids somewhere else, after all. He planned to take advantage while he had the opportunity.
Plus, he owed her.