“You’ve been busy.”
“You know it. I also managed to plant the seed that he was looking to make a deal.”
That was even better news. If anyone thought Caruso was ready to turn state’s evidence, there was no way they’d help him with anything, including fingering me for getting his wife away from him.
“Thanks, Raze.”
“No thanks necessary, Tackle. It’s what we do.”
I hung up, wishing I could celebrate by paying Sloane a visit. Instead, I went looking for Halo.
“Got time for a couple of Sammys after work?”
“Nothin’ but time, man.”
We went back to the grill and got there early enough that there weren’t many people in the place.
“How’s it goin’?” I asked after watching him pound his beer and throw back a shot of Irish.
“Okay, I guess.”
“Tara?”
“She kicked me out of her life, Tackle. Not that I didn’t deserve it. I fucked up pretty bad.”
I’d heard the story from both him and Tara, and I had to admit I wasn’t sure she’d ever come around. She might’ve forgiven him for lying about his identity, since she’d done the same thing, but his accusing her of being in the art-forgery business with her father, who had also turned out to be innocent, was something she couldn’t get over.
“What do you think I should do?”
“Give her time,” I responded, regretting it as soon as I did. What had I said to Sloane? I’d told her I couldn’t be that guy anymore. I couldn’t be passive, sitting around, waiting for something to happen that never would and then, after months had gone by, giving up completely. “Forget I said that.”
Halo turned to me. “Said what? That I should give her time?”
“Yep. She’ll never forgive you if she doesn’t know how truly sorry you are.”
“I apologized, Tackle. It wasn’t enough.”
“Make it enough.”
“I wish I knew how.”
When Halo ordered another round, I joined him, wondering why in the hell I wasn’t following my own advice. My reasons for staying away from Sloane were twofold. First for her protection. Second, though, was me waiting until I thought enough time had passed that she might give me another chance. Another chance at what? What did I want from her? Until I knew the answer, I had no business asking for anything.
When Halo ordered his third shot, I agreed to join him only if he promised not to call Sloane to give our drunken asses a ride home.
“Poor peanut,” he muttered. “She’s got enough of her own shit to deal with.”
“Is she okay?” All the weeks she’d been inexplicably sick raced through my mind. I hadn’t talked to her since the doctor’s appointment she’d told me she had scheduled. What if something was seriously wrong with her?
Halo threw the shot back. “Yeah. Sorry, Tackle. I shouldn’t have said anything. I can’t talk about it.”
I put my arm on his and waited until he turned to look at me. “If she’s ill, you have to tell me.”
He hung his head. “She’s not. Not in the way you’re thinking.” Halo took a swig of beer. “I’ve already said too much.”
I suddenly regretted every ounce of alcohol I’d consumed. I wanted to get in my car and race over to Sloane’s place and demand she tell me what was wrong. And I couldn’t. Not shit-faced.
“Want another?” Halo asked, pointing at my beer.
“I think we’ve both had enough.”
“What made you ask me to come out with you tonight?”
The bar had gotten significantly more crowded than it was when we arrived. “I’ll tell you on our way out.”
“Copy that.”
“Where should we drop you?” Halo asked once we were in the cab.
“Same place you’re going.”
He rested his head against the back of the seat. “Sure, I guess you can crash there.”
I laughed. “Thanks, man, but I meant next door. I’m going to be living there while I finish fixing it up.”
He raised his head. “Seriously? That’s awesome. We can hang out all the time. I can even help you with it.”
“That would be great,” I muttered, wishing I’d asked him to take me to my parents’ place instead. How was I going to find time to see Sloane when I was with Halo twenty-four seven, either at work or at the duplex?
19
Sloane
Three months later
“But I miss you, mija,” said my mother when I told her I didn’t plan to come for Sunday dinner.
“I miss you too, but I can’t come for dinner every week. I have my own place now.”
“What about your laundry?”
“I have a washer and a dryer too.” Thanks to Knox. In fact, my entire apartment was furnished thanks to my brother, who I had to admit had done a pretty good job of picking out things I liked.
He must’ve been paying attention when we toured all those apartments before we decided we shouldn’t live together. The fun we’d had either laughing at or admiring the decorating tastes of whoever outfitted the furnished places, resulted in him knowing I would never want a flower-print sofa and, as far as I was concerned, sectionals should’ve gone the way of waterbeds years ago.
I had to admit I liked the deep-purple leather sofa and love seat along with the two blue leather recliners he’d picked out far more than I thought I would on the day they arrived. In fact, I’d asked him if the delivery people got the wrong address and if they were supposed to be for his place. Now, I couldn’t imagine anything else in my living room.
He hadn’t stopped there. I’d fallen in love with the other furniture he chose for the house too. At first, I told him he was crazy to fill up every room in my half of the duplex except one.
“We’ll wait on the smaller bedroom,” he’d said. “You’ll want to pick stuff out based on the sex, right?”
“You know, bro, you’re going to make a damn good husband to someone one day,” I’d told him, only to realize that was the exact wrong thing to say when
