Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bundled up in thick, furry blankets, they cuddled together on the outdoor bed, watching the snow fall. In the shelter of his arms, Gina reclined against his chest, while Matt let his fingers slip through her hair, and fondly remembered all the Thanksgivings that came before this one.
The childhood years at his grandmother’s table, when he’d run up to Kit’s after turkey for a slice of his mom’s pumpkin pie.
She’d hand them the can of whipped cream, because they insisted they could do it themselves.
They covered the pie, the plate, their hair, and their faces in it, but she never got mad.
She’d just laugh, clean them up, and send them outside to play street hockey or dodgeball with Bo and Brendan, Jesse and Dillon, and Sloan.
Kyan would watch from his porch, pouting, because, four years younger than they were, he was still too little to join them.
Those years on the road, cramped inside that old, beat-up Chevy van. Back then, Thanksgiving was a turkey sandwich at a gas station, and sometimes Denny’s, if they were fortunate enough to be near one. Good times. Sure, they missed the comforts of home; even so, they had each other.
Matt kissed the top of Gina’s head, and, rubbing his nose in her fragrant hair, he smiled.
She glanced up and kissed his chin. “You all take turns hosting Thanksgiving. How’d that come about?”
“I’m not sure. Brendan and Katie did the first one.
Wait.” That’s not right. He closed his eyes, pulling the memory from his head.
“No, I take that back. It was Linnea’s old place on Oak Street.
She and Kyan weren’t married yet. That was the day Dillon got us the deal on Park Place.
Brendan had Thanksgiving the following year, and Chloe the one after that. ”
“Then Kit?” Gina giggled.
“You got it,” Matt said, twirling her hair around his finger. “Around the block in a circle.”
He watched her count on her fingers. “What are you doing?”
“That means in three years it’s our turn.”
That’s right, bunny.
Matt had the ring in his pocket. After stuffing tubes of pasta with ricotta to take to her mother’s and Sloan’s—yes, they’d be eating twice this year—he was waiting for just the right moment to give it to her.
Okay, and thinking of the right words, too.
I should’ve had Sloan help me write them.
He was the wordsmith, not him.
“I love you, Gina Rossi.”
“And I love you, Matthew McCready.” She turned in his arms, straddled his lap, and kissed him.
He held her cheeks, and with his fingers threading into her hair, he brought her lips back to his. “I knew you were my forever when you brought that pizza to my door.”
“The first time or the second?”
“The first time, pizza girl.” He could still see her ponytail swishing, the way she looked at him from over her shoulder. “All I want is to spend every day of my life with you… so, will you marry me?”
Her breath caught, then, filling with tears, her hazel-green eyes locked with his. “I want to say yes.”
Then, say it.
He had a feeling there was a “but” coming next. It never occurred to him there’d be one.
“But I have to say, not yet.” Gina held onto his face so he couldn’t look away. “You and Kit… well, ever since you cut the demos, I’ve seen you both… I’m not sure how to put it… struggling?”
“Nonsense.”
“I think the two of you need to work out your feelings, even if it means you have sex with him.”
Have you lost your fucking mind?
“Maybe you need to.” She shrugged. “Look, I know Kit loves you and you love him… you love me, too. But I can’t be the Yoko Ono who drives a wedge between you. You’d only end up resenting me for it. So, I need you to be sure that I’m what you want.”
“I am sure.” Her hair danced in the wind. Taming it with his fingers, Matt kissed her. “You and Kit are the two people I love most in this world.”
“I know, baby.” Why is she crying? “Truly, I do.”
No, she didn’t. Because he’d been too ashamed to tell her.
“I was the only kid at school who didn’t have a mom.
She, uh, died a few hours after I was born.
And I never knew who the fuck my father was.
Still don’t.” He took a breath and wet his lips.
“Well, anyway, kids can be cruel about shit like that, but Kit was always the first one to defend me. He was there for me when my uncle got killed, when my grandma got sick… and when Kit needed me, when he fell the fuck apart, I was there for him.”
“Courtney?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding.
“What happened?”
“That’s his story to tell, not mine.” Matt let go of a heavy sigh and gazed at the falling snow. “I gotta ask you, Gina. If you don’t want to get married, what do you want? To break up?”
“Nooo.” She clung to his neck, her hot tears branding his skin. “God, no, I love you no matter what.”
“I want to marry you, Gina.” He tasted the salt on her lips. “And I want to put my babies in your belly.”
“I want that, too.” She hiccupped. “So much.”
One word, bunny. Say it.
“It’s going to happen, Matt. Just not yet.”
He couldn’t even be mad about it. Disappointed, yes.
But not angry. If Gina needed more time, he’d give it to her.
She loved him, she wanted to stay with him, and for now, that was enough.
Matt didn’t want to admit it, but her observations were correct.
He and Kit were struggling, but not for the reasons she thought.
It was just awkward being around each other now.
“Do you want me to?”
Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. So, why the fuck did he even ask? The mess he was in was his own damn fault.
Matt stared out the cold glass and sighed. The Japanese cherry he and Gina planted, a symbol of sweet love and new beginnings, looked so fragile in the snow. He hoped she got to see it blossom in the spring.
The scent of her struck him from behind, and her arms came around him. “You good?”
“Yeah.” Turning away from the window, he kissed her forehead.
“I know they can be a lot.”
“They were fine.” Mostly. “Dinner with your folks went surprisingly well, I thought.”
Kevin did not exaggerate. They were loud. And boisterous.
“Yeah, I thought so, too,” she said over her shoulder, heading into the kitchen where a large tray of manicotti was heating in the oven. “Mom said you didn’t eat enough.”
“Seriously?”
Mangia, mangia, mangia.
Any time Matt cleaned off his plate, there was Rosemary, piling more onto it. The tryptophan coma was already calling his name, but it wasn’t over yet.
On to Thanksgiving, part two.
Everything about the house across the street was dramatic, dark, and moody—just like Sloan.
Black walls. Avant-garde paintings and kitschy artwork.
A tiger-striped sofa. Expressive, explicit, eclectic, and a bit morbid, Sloan’s living room looked like a cross between a punk bar and an urban subculture museum.
Nothing matched, but somehow it all went together.
Gina looked up at his odd assortment of objets d’art. A signed Motorhead album cover in a frame. A vintage embellished leather jacket that once belonged to someone notable—no idea who. “Sloan’s style is, uh… interesting.”
“Yeah, it’s different, for sure.”
“I think it’s called maximalism,” she said, taking it all in.
Matt couldn’t help it. He snorted. “Is that what they call cramming shit everywhere?”
“Fuck off, guitar boy.” Sloan elbowed him, the manicotti he precariously held nearly tumbling to the floor. “I embrace abundance, bold colors, textures, and an excess of accessories. It makes a statement, you know.”
“And what’s that?” Gina asked.
“More is more,” he said, unapologetically pretentious. “C’mere now, Trouble. I need a hug.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like people all that much, but I can tolerate you, so…” Sloan opened his arms and Gina went into them. “I lied. I really wanted to feel your tits smooshed against my chest.”
“Dick.” She giggled, smacking him.
“You know it.” Then, he dipped down to Matt’s ear. “Where’s the ring? I thought you were gonna ask her—”
And with a subtle shake of his head, he carried the tray into the kitchen while Gina went to say hello to the girls.
“You two all right?” Sloan asked once they were alone.
“Yeah, we’re good. I just have some shit I need to sort out first.”
And his eyebrow lifted. “If you say so.”
Matt took a seat at the impeccably set table, and holding Gina’s hand on his lap, he surveyed the room. Everyone he loved was gathered here. His band of brothers. His chosen family—and hadn’t they grown? Hell, they might have to pitch a tent in the yard next year to hold them all.
As noisy as the Rossi household, if not more so, food was passed, and glasses were filled amid a bounty of smiles, laughter, and animated chatter. Then, signaling the room to be quiet, Brendan stood. They weren’t the kind to make speeches or say grace, so his curiosity was piqued.
With his fingers running through Katie’s blonde hair and a hand resting on his son’s ginger head, Brendan gazed tenderly at his wife. “Declan wanted me to let you all know he’s getting a baby sister in May.”
“You’re pregnant?” Kelly asked, her mouth hanging open.
Rubbing her still-flat tummy, Katie beamed. “I am.”
The news wasn’t altogether unexpected. It was common knowledge among them that they were ready for baby number two.
“Well, Declan, guess what?” Kelly exchanged a glance with Kodiak, and he nodded, while the two-year-old finger-painted with his sweet potatoes. “You’ll be getting a new baby cousin, too! I can’t tell you if it’s a boy or a girl, though. It’s going to be a surprise.”
Two more seats at the table. For sure, they were going to need that tent.
“Ohmigod, when are you due?”
“May fifteenth.”
“No way! So am I!” Katie embraced her aunt, giggling. “I’m convinced we made her at the Red Door party in August.”
And Kelly shot Brendan a side-eye. “Of course, you did.”
“Since we’re making announcements…” Clearing his throat, Dillon wrapped his arms around his little family. “Linn and I are taking Charlotte on a trip to Cabo San Lucas. We’re getting married on New Year’s Day.”
Out of sorrow, joy can grow, my friend. They both deserved all the happiness in the world.
Gina squeezed his hand.
Matt pressed a kiss to her cheek.
Yesterday, he thought they’d be sharing joyful news of their own. Soon, right? He glanced across the table at Kit. Knowing what he’d been through, the pain he still endured, Matt wanted him to feel worthy and loved. Because he was. And by him more than anyone.
“I drove past Mickey’s yesterday. Linn sent me to pick up the ham,” Sloan casually mentioned as he poured whiskey into a glass. “The building’s for sale.”
“If a developer gets their hands on it, they’ll just tear it down to build more overpriced condos.” Dillon would know. That’s what the Byrne cousins did. They bought stuff, made it beautiful again, and then sold it.
Glancing at all of them, Bo shook his head. “That would be a fucking shame.”
It would. Art déco in style, the old, rundown building held more than just sentimental value.
“They can’t do that to Mickey’s.” Kit stared blankly, and tipping back his bottle of beer, it looked as if a light bulb suddenly went off in his head. A smirk appeared. “We should buy it.”
“And do what with it, pray tell?” Glancing up at the ceiling, Taylor rolled his eyes. “Turn it into a shrine?”
“Yeah, why not?” Matt said with a half-shrug. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“Have you gone mad?”
“Nope.” Quite the contrary, in fact. “And before you get your knickers in a twist, hear me out. We gut the inside and get rid of the apartments upstairs. Nobody lives there anymore, anyway. The entire building becomes a club… a bar… whatever you want to call it. Picture an intimate venue where folks can have food, some drinks, and listen to live music from up-and-coming bands.”
“I can see it,” Sloan said, glancing at the Gothic stained-glass window, and grinned.
Gina leaned into his ear and giggled. “I think he’s already decorating in his head.”
Uh-oh.
“Mickey’s on steroids.” Bo high-fived Kit. “Yeah, man, I dig it.”
“Hold up. Before you get too excited, let me check the listing.” And Dillon held out his phone. “It’s still available. The asking price is reasonable, but I bet we can get it for less. If you’re serious, that is.”
“Are you sure you want to take on something like this right now?” Brendan’s bright blue eyes flicked between Taylor and Matt.
Always looking out for them, he was wise to question his sanity.
Perhaps he was mad. “You’ve got a record releasing in six months, and you’ll be touring all summer, at least.”
True, but by the time they completed the sale, gutted the building, and renovated it, the tour would be over and done with.
And then what? The way Matt figured, it would be a year to eighteen months before they’d be ready to open.
This could be the perfect side-venture to keep themselves occupied with between album cycles.
It sure beats putting model cars together.
“So?” Leaning back in his chair, Matt shrugged and laced his fingers behind his head. “It’s not like we have to do it all ourselves.”
“You don’t. C’mon, Brendan, look at all the people right here in this room. I mean, you have done this before, yeah?” Chloe sounded giddy. “I think it’s brilliant.”
“It is quite a project,” Brendan agreed. “And with Venery’s name behind it, success is all but guaranteed. Bands will flock to you for a chance to play there. UMG will love that.”
“Why would they care?” Sloan asked.
Matt wondered, too.
Swallowing his whiskey, Brendan winked. “Positive publicity for you, and a chance to discover new talent for them.”
Win-win.
“Shall I make the call, then?” Dillon asked, picking up his phone.
Everyone looked at Taylor.
He looked at Chloe while Ireland clambered from Jesse’s lap into his, and he nodded.
“Do it.”