Chapter 48 #2
“New bottle of scotch. Almost empty. Gun on the table. He looked…perturbed. Confused. Thinking so fucking hard staring at that fire. Then he just got up, said something about needing to go back to the coffee shop. Went to the bedroom and shut the door. The next night he had a to-go cup next to the scotch and gun. Every night that week, I checked on him and slept on the couch. Every night, with the small window he had of being left alone, that coffee table had liquor and a gun on it. Until a couple of days before you showed up again, I caught him spinning the revolver.” His hands go to his hair, rubbing harshly.
“I didn’t know what the fuck to do. Should’ve called his therapist. Told Chesty who’s dealt with this shit before.
Or Owen or Enigma. Anyone. But I fucking couldn’t.
It felt too personal to tell them…even if it meant losing him.
His privacy was all he fucking had at the time. ”
Tears slip down his face. Gently, I reach forward and take his hand. He grips it, shoulders shuddering.
“I didn’t know what to do, Autumn. My best friend…brother wanted to kill himself. I hated that I couldn’t blame him.”
Finally, I realize why Jameson was the way he was.
The questions he had for me. How angry he was when I left and broke my promise.
The coldness at that diner, willing to do anything to help his friend.
Why he kept Leo busy. Those times he came in unannounced, checking in.
Jameson responded how Leo had when I started cutting again, that fear pushing him.
He was waiting to find Leo like that again or being too late.
“When did he stop? Bringing the gun out?”
“Three days after you reappeared,” he answers.
“Making every excuse to go to that shop every day. Can’t tell you how many meetings he skipped or was late for.
” He wipes away the fallen tears. “I don’t know why it was you who saved him, but I’m sure fucking glad you were. Even if I was an ass half the time.”
“I didn’t save him.”
“Yeah, you did,” he murmurs, looking over at me with glistening eyes. “You gave him a reason to keep living when the rest of us couldn’t.”
I squeeze his hand. “Jameson, it’s not your fault. You were and are enough. A true, good friend that stuck by him.”
He clenches my hand, tears rolling down his face.
“You still stopped him. You helped save him, too. Not just when you were two punk kids working at a rundown hotel. I wish I could do half the shit you do for him.”
He snorts, sniffling hard as he wipes his eyes again. “We both remember but aren’t saying anything. He likely feels guilty cause if he had, well…” he shakes his head, “…if you didn’t wake up, Autumn, he would’ve killed himself within the hour you died.”
My throat tightens. I try to breathe in, but it’s like my lungs want to burn. “Deep down…I think I knew that, too,” I whisper, and he meets my eyes. “And probably why I made sure to wake up.”
I clear my throat, trying to push away the sobs that want to come as I smile faintly. “Thank you for telling me, I won’t say anything. And thank you for always being there for him when I wasn’t. He’d have never trusted me unless you had taught him that.”
Suddenly, Jameson hugs me. I’m slightly taken aback with surprise, not sure if we ever have in the past. I move my arms around him, hugging him tightly as he shudders a breath.
“If you need an early day, that’s okay,” I whisper. “That’s a lot to hold onto.”
“Feel better telling someone.” Jameson pulls back and then places a brief kiss on my cheek. Another wave of shock ripples over me. “Gracias, hermana.”
“De nada, hermano.” I gently pat his shoulder.
Jameson then gets up, shaking off the emotions as he adjusts his suit. He’s mostly put together, but his eyes are a bit red. He starts to say something when there’s commotion outside and the doors open. The last possible person myself or Jameson needed right now strides in as I bemoan inside.
Carrie walks in like it’s her damn office with Chiari behind her, looking ready to throttle her.
“I told Mr. Luciano we’d meet—”
“In ten minutes,” Chiari interrupts, exasperated. “You can wait that long.”
“Except, he’s avoided all my phone calls. We’re less than a month away from the Golden Laurel opening, and we’re behind schedule. Not to mention the gala—”
“Carrie, get the fuck out,” Jameson mutters, expression going numb. Chiari and I both blink at him in shock. Yup, they argue, but he never swears in front of business associates or clients.
“Excuse me?” She asks. “You don’t—"
Jameson glares at her, and the woman actually stops. Her all-business attitude slips as a flash of hesitation moves over her face.
“Leo will meet you downstairs, in ten-fucking minutes. In thirty. Or an hour. Doesn’t matter,” Jameson continues, and Chiari looks at me with worry.
“It’s been a busy few months given his wife was in a month long coma and now rehabilitating, along with himself after being abducted.
You’re good enough at your job to not need your hand held.
He told you what he wanted, so fucking do your job. ”
Chiari blinks rapidly, seeming torn of stopping Jameson from tearing Carrie apart or letting it happen. Even Carrie tilts her head at him briefly, looking him over with disdain and curiosity.
Suddenly, she kind of dismisses him, by looking over at me. If she thinks I’m saving her from barging into Leo’s office, I am the wrong person to ask.
Her professional manner comes back.
“My apologies, Mrs. Luciano. I hope you’re doing well, and that you received the flowers my assistant sent. I do hope your recovery is quick and smooth.”
Maybe I’m being petty, after almost being used like a prop with her or because she upset Jameson more, but I respond, “I’ll likely never walk normally again or without a mobility device, so we’ll see. And I already told Laila thank you for the flowers.”
She stands straighter, inhaling deep. Composing herself with only a sliver of embarrassment, she says, “Mr. Luciano made it clear that he will not be attending the gala or the centers’ opening that Patricia has spear-headed.
I want to make it clear for public relations, it’s within his best interests that he does attend these events after being gone for so long.
Perhaps, you can tell him the importance of that, Mrs. Luciano. ”
“I’ll be attending the center openings with Trix, so you’ll have one Luciano there,” I retort, giving a sweet customer smile.
“It would be best—”
“Chiari, has there been a hotel opening gala thing for every one?” I interrupt, now definitely being petty.
“Yes.”
“How many has Leo attended?”
“Only the Italian Lily,” Jameson answers. I look over at him. “The reopening after he bought the building. He’s usually too busy.”
“Or just simply avoiding social events,” Carrie retorts.
“That’s why he hired you,” Chiari chimes in, smiling ruefully as Carrie slides her gaze to her. “So, he doesn’t have to attend them. If you’re so good.”
Carrie scowls, lips pursing as she tries to maintain a professional attitude.
“What if I make you a deal?” I ask, and all three snap their attention to me. “Since I’m planning on already being at one event, I can attend the Golden Laurel gala, too. You’ll have one of the Luciano faces there, take it or leave it.”
Carrie briefly looks me over, her mouth quirking. “Will you still be in the wheelchair?”
“Perhaps, but if you’re thinking of where I think you’re going…don’t,” I warn, voice becoming steely. “My predicament is not yours to twist and use like a fucking farce, are we clear?”
Jameson crosses his arms, pride coming over his face as her little smirk leaves.
“Yes, Mrs. Luciano.”
“Great, want the deal or not?”
“Your attendance may not—”
“How about an announcement that I donated large amounts to five homeless centers in Boston?” I interrupt and her eyes slightly widen.
“Since I was already planning it, you can even announce a donation of $100,000 worth of scholarships to the Universities that Trix’s centers are being opened at.
” That almost makes her face crack. “Would that work?”
Not to mention an extra fuck you to Giovanna. And it’s something I think Leo’s grandmother would’ve wanted to see the money go towards.
“You’ve certainly adapted the role of his wife, haven’t you?” She asks.
“You have no idea,” I say.
She purses her lips, then says, “Very well.”
“Given your worries have been quelled, I’ll tell Leo you don’t need to see him,” Jameson adds, and she glowers at him. “Unless you have other concerns, which I think Autumn can take care of from here on out.”
“Apparently. We’ll be in touch, Mrs. Luciano.” She starts to leave as Chiari steps aside.
“Carrie,” I call out, and she stops. “Never enter my husband’s office unannounced again. He won’t fire you. But I will.”
Suddenly, she smiles, which almost unnerves me. “I’m going to like working with you.”
Carrie leaves with Jameson close behind as she murmurs something to him, and he grumbles before they disappear.
“That wasn’t too territorial wife, was it?” I ask Chiari.
“Nope, absolute perfection. I thought Jameson was going to kill her.”
“Me, too, except now I’m gonna have to the be one dealing with her.”
“For everyone’s safety, that actually may be for the best.” Chiari exhales sharply, giving me a soft smile. “He’ll be back soon. Finstrum just left.”
“Thanks,” I say, starting to turn towards his desk. “Maybe I’ll ask Trix how to handle her, since they get along.”
“Perhaps, and that reminds me before I go.” I look over my shoulder. “You wouldn’t happen to know if Trix is seeing anyone do you?”
My face almost goes slack, and I shake my head a little. She smiles coyly, leaving. The door shutting behind her. Son of a nutcracker, did what I think just happened…happened?
I shake my head, rolling over to Leo’s desk and I notice the oncoming storm clouds. I stop, rubbing my hand over my face for just the last thirty minutes alone. Whiplash was one minor way of describing it.
As the sky darkens, I wait for Leo. The once bright afternoon now filled with grey skies. The door opens, and Leo enters as he shuts the door behind him. I give him a reassuring smile as he walks over, taking his suit jacket off.
“I was going to see if you wanted to have lunch together, but maybe you’d like to play hooky instead?” I ask.
He snorts, placing the jacket over a chair. “Heard you took care of Carrie.”
I shrug.
Leo places his hands on my shoulders and kisses my forehead. “Thank you.”
Quickly, he averts his gaze, pulling away to sit in his chair. “I have several more meetings to attend this afternoon, including one in…” he glances at the clock, “…twenty minutes.”
I watch him as he runs his hand over his jaw. Weariness tears at him, and there’s still the rest of the day to go. Once more, he’s shoving himself into work.
“Yellow.” Remembering Rome, that word echoes in my head.
I roll forward, bumping my knee into his.
He looks up, dropping his hand as I gesture for him to hold his arms out.
He does, helping me get up from the chair and sit upon his lap.
Leo helps me adjust, leaning back as he presses his face into my hair.
He breathes deep as some of his rigidity disappears.
“Hey, it’s going to be a year of us meeting tomorrow,” I say gently. “We should celebrate. Patch Adams style.”
“Meaning?”
“Instead of a pool filled with macaroni, let’s do lattes and Americanos.”
Leo chuckles softly against my ear. He then clutches the side of my head, nuzzling his face into my hair.
“How would your doctors feel about that?” he asks.
“Well, they want me to have a physical hobby. Swimming in coffee could be one.”
“Perhaps something else.”
“How about dancing?” I ask, pulling back enough to look him in the eye.
His hand moves down, stroking my back gently as the tiredness on his face eases.
“Isaac suggested it, by the way, can’t steal his idea.
We could…take lessons together. Maybe fool a teacher or two that we know nothing.
” He smirks, lounging further back. “Make it a weekly date.”
Leo’s eyes soften, running his hand now over my legs. He has a bit of a more serious look, brows furrowed in thought. “How about a couple times a week?”
“Like your thinking, mister.”
Leo moves in to brush his lips against mine. It’s tender and sweet, but brief. I give him a faint smile.
“I love you, my dear Watson, and thankful you caught my coffee without a net.”
“I love you, Leo, and so am I.”
Reaching up, I wind my arm around his neck, holding him close as the rain starts to fall.