Epilogue
JOHNNY
Six Weeks Later
I pull at the shirt at my neck, deftly unbuttoning the one currently choking the fuck out of me. I’m already late coming home this evening because of an issue at Night Moves last night. Can’t say we haven’t had our fair share of issues. Which is why when Winnie wants a night out, I’m very selective on what we can do. It works well with us because voyeurism is more her speed, not that I’d let her be in an open crowd. And I’d be behind bars if someone so much as touched her.
Last night was different. The call I got at one o’clock this morning had me springing out of bed, waking up Winnie, and telling her I’d be back when I could. All I’d wanted was more time with Seb and my wife. With Winnie working Monday through Friday from eight o’clock in the morning till two in the afternoon and Sebastian being in daycare around the same times, unless I break him out of jail, there doesn’t seem to be enough time in the day to get my fill. Sure, on weekends they’re off, but I’m not.
I’ve taken to allowing my managers pick up more nights here and there, especially last night. Winnie came home dead on her feet, exhausted from work, and even though I offered to pick up Sebastian from daycare, she told me that would be dumb since it’s on her way home. I’ve seen the way she snags her keys out of the small dish where mine rest beside hers. Winnie got annoyed when I came home with a new set of wheels for her, a small sporty SUV with all the bells and whistles. She’d been taking my Range Rover here and there, commenting about loving this feature or that, mainly the heated and air-conditioned seats, the lack of needing to hit a gas station. Which she hasn’t had to do since she’s been back. And then there’s also the fact that she sits up higher and the lights from other drivers at night don’t blind her. So, I did what I had to do, gave her my keys for the day, took her car, and traded it in.
I met her in the parking garage when she came home, tossed her the keys after helping her and Seb out of the Range Rover. She lit up. She’s finally getting used to the fact we’ve got enough money for me spoil her with. Before shit went down, I’d do things here or there, she’d get uncomfortable, and I’d drop the conversation, not wanting to add to her already full plate. This time around, I did things differently. The gloves came off, and while she still balks at some items I give her, she takes it. My wife has a hard time with the more expensive items, like jewelry. Needless to say, she loves her new wheels, and I love that she’s in something safer.
“Tío!” Sebastian greets me when the elevator door opens. All the shit from Night Moves disappears—the fucker who didn’t listen when he got kicked out, membership taken away, and banned for life from my club. When something of this magnitude happens, the type of situation that when a partner signals she’s done, you stop; you don’t keep going until security gets involved. He also doesn’t lurk in the shadows, waiting for his victim to come out. He was escorted out by security instead of attempting to do God fucking knows what.
“Mi chico.” My boy , I reply, walking out of the elevator. Seeing his arms are wide open, I drop to my knees. He’s looking for a hug, and I’ve got plenty to give my family after finishing beefing up security, sending out a company-wide email, and speaking to the police to trespass the offender. His victim is pressing charges, which makes for a sticky situation, allowing the club to be scrutinized. And while it sucks for business, needing to close Night Moves and Undercover Lovers for the next couples of days, I’d want to do similar in her situation and would suggest the same for anyone else.
“Mira.” He’s picking up more and more Spanish. He still can’t build complete sentences, but sometimes neither can I. My mom and dad talk to him in both languages when he’s over there, and the daycare we picked out does similar but with sight words, numbers, and letters.
Sebastian pulls out of my arms, holding out a piece of paper, long and skinny, black and white in color.
“What’s this?” I ask, reaching for it.
“I be big brother!” I’m only making out the name and the oddly-shaped picture when Sebastian clues me in.
“Where’s Aunt Winn, Seb?” I’d known something was up when she’d collapse on the couch the minute she came home with Sebastian. I also haven’t lost access to my wife’s pussy since she’s been back. That could have been because of her weight loss and stress she’d been through. Except, since she’s been back, the lack of eating hasn’t happened, she sleeps a solid eight hours if not more a night, and stress barely touches her life. What she has been dealing with is healing and moving on from the loss of her sister. Even in that aspect of life, she’s taken care of herself. There are times she’ll meet up with Lennie and Kenny, and they’ll talk and hash it out. Then lately, there’ve been more self-help books stacked on her nightstand. I finally told her the cold hard truth, that it’s time to talk to someone, a professional, especially on days when she struggles the most with feeling guilty. Guilt that we’re raising Sebastian instead of Melanie, how she could let a disease overtake her so badly, she chose the only way out. We talked about it, too, and while I’m sympathetic, my own anger for her made it impossible for me to feel anything for Mel, as fucked up as that sounds.
“She’s cooking.” He waves at his face and continues, “Eww, that smell.” He waits a beat, gets his foot tapping. “Can’t you smell?” Another pause. “That smell.” Sebastian’s music choice favors my side versus his aunt’s, a good thing, too, because as much as I love my wife, her taste in music is terrible. Thankfully, she’s not subjecting Seb to her affinity for honky-tonk music. I’ll give her this: some of it is good, but some of it, well, godawful is the term that comes to mind.
“What’s she making?” I stop him at the next round of lyrics of a song that talks about death. Yeah, my music probably isn’t much better when it comes to what they’re about, but at least the instruments are fucking phenomenal.
“Popcorn, but it stinky.” Now that he mentions it, I can smell the burnt aroma in the air.
“Alright, let’s go get Auntie. Were you supposed to hand me this?” I ask, wondering if Winn put him up to this as a surprise.
“Nope, but it good.” I stand up from my squatted position, and Seb wraps his arm around my neck and locks his legs around my waist.
“Then it’s time to celebrate.” The way our apartment is laid out, the foyer is closed off on three sides. Once you round the corner, the living room and kitchen are an open floor plan concept.
“I’d say so.” Winn is sitting on top of the island, legs swinging, hands on either side of her hips, and looking as happy as can be. She’s not mad that Sebastian found the ultrasound pictures and announced it to me. Maybe she knew what she was doing all along, some kind of reverse psychology trick she used on Sebastian.
“Mi esposa, la madre de mis hijos.” My wife, the mother of my children . I cup her cheek and drop a kiss to her lips, and Sebastian wraps one of his arms around Winnie, bringing us closer.
“Mi esposo,” she says on a sigh.
“Mi tío y mi tía,” Sebastian rounds out our conversation.
“I’ve got everything a man could ever want right here in my arms.” I’ve got money, I’ve got power, I’ve got friends, I’ve got family, but if I didn’t have Winnie and Sebastian, there’d be an empty hole in my heart, one that only they can fill.
“Me too!” Sebastian’s little boy voice causes us all to laugh.
“Alright, think this is cause for a celebration. Dinner with friends and family work for you?” I ask Winnie.
“Yes, but maybe we should cater dinner here?” Winn wrinkles her nose, reminding us of the burnt popcorn smell.
“I’ll call the Italian place you’ve been eating non-stop from the past couple of weeks.” I wink, she rolls her eyes, and while I should be pulling my phone out and getting the ball rolling, holding on to my family feels too good to let go.
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