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TWENTY-EIGHT

Olivia

When I was a kid, my grandfather was the best thing about coming to visit my father. Normally, he was the one to pick me up from the airport, a cardboard sign in his hands reading my name. He'd have on a black driver’s hat and he'd greet me, asking in an astute voice if I was, in fact, Miss Olivia Marchese. I'd giggle as the flight attendant would hand me off to him.

There were always gifts waiting for me at the bar, and he'd make me root beer floats and let me sit at the counter and watch him work. He'd listen to everything I had to say and would spend the summer watching girly movies with me. Once, he even let me teach him how to make friendship bracelets from embroidery thread. We traded the bracelets, and he wore his for the rest of the summer.

With my grandfather, things were easy. He loved me for me. There was no aching past, reminding him of a lost flame like there was with my mother and father. No games or court battles. He was just happy to spend time with me.

"Where is he?" the present version of my grandfather shouts with venom. He doesn't even recognize me, and once again, pain stabs at my chest. It's not his fault, I know that. But still, I can't stop the way it hurts to have been forgotten by him.

"Dad's not here, Grandpa," I say in the most calming voice I can muster. Roman and Joey are still gripping his bare arms, trying to hold him back.

Kelly's on the couch, an ice pack pressed to her head. She tried to stop him from coming downstairs in this state, but he backhanded her, sending her flying backwards until her head smacked the side of the table.

Grandpa looks at me like he has no idea who I am. And to be fair, in whichever decade he's living through his mind, I'm either not born or much younger.

"Sal, your son," I say, moving on from the fact that he doesn't know who I am. "He's not here. He'll be back later."

Just as the words leave my lips, the apartment door swings open. Sam walks in, wearing another suit that probably cost a fortune. Jet black with a white shirt underneath. His dark eyes sweep the place, assessing the situation before landing back on me.

My body heats under his gaze, all of my confusing feelings bubbling under the surface. I can't help the way I respond when he gives me his attention. But I need to focus on the situation at hand, not on how he makes me feel.

"Sal!" Grandpa's gaze is fixed on Sam. He still seems to think that he's my dad. Sam nods at Roman and Joey to let him go, and as soon as his arms are free, Grandpa marches up to him. "You did it again, didn't you?" He's angry, and the emotion seems wrong on him compared to the man I remember from my childhood.

"I'm sorry," Sam says simply, even though he probably doesn't have a clue what he's apologizing for.

"The money." Grandpa's voice lowers as he looks at his mock son. Grief shadows his eyes. "Did you lose it all?"

This is one of the many times my grandfather has mentioned my father losing money and an ache strikes my chest. I knew my father had chosen gambling over my family, something my mother mentioned on many occasions, any time she was feeling spiteful or if my father came up in any way. She was always quick to remind me — and everyone else — that he was a lying bastard who gambled away every penny. But my grandfather has never once mentioned my dad's gambling habits. Or maybe I'm just remembering my summers with him through the lens of rose-tinted frames.

"Nope." Sam shakes his head, and Grandpa looks at him skeptically. "I won." He gives my grandfather a cheesy grin, and it does something to me, sparks an unfamiliar feeling. Sam tugs his wallet from his pocket, flipping open the leather and pulling a wad of hundreds free. "Does this cover what I took?"

With surprised eyes, Grandpa takes the cash, flipping through the hundreds. I can't count fast enough, but I know there's thousands of dollars there. My chest does that thing again, my heart beating powerfully.

"You won." Grandpa is shocked as he looks at Sam, thinking it's his son who never brought back the cash he stole, now standing in front of him with a stack of winnings.

"I won," Sam echoes. "Now, let's get you settled, hmm? Want me to order some dinner?"

Grandpa smiles at Sam, as if that money suddenly made everything right in the world. "Meatball sub?" he questions.

"Of course." Sam's hand is on his back as he guides him to the recliner. "I'll get it."

Once my grandfather is settled, Sam returns to the kitchen, his eyes on Roman first. "Get him a sub."

"On it, boss." And then Roman is gone, off to fetch the meatball sub Grandpa requested.

"Can you handle the bar?" Sam asks, looking at Joey.

"Of course." The old man looks my way before he leaves. He doesn't speak a word, but the look is all I need to see the pity he has for me.

"Kelly." Sam looks to the nurse, who's still holding an icepack to her head. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Nodding, she pulls the pack away. "Just shaken up."

"I'll call and ask the agency to send someone else to give you a break, okay?" He pulls his wallet back out, handing a slimmer stack of hundreds to Kelly. She takes the money without question and thanks Sam.

"You." His attention turns to me, his dark gaze raking over every inch of my skin. It's like he needed to handle everything else first so he could give me his full attention. "Are you okay?"