Rebuilding year reconstr.., p.7
Rebuilding Year (Reconstruction Book 2), page 7
The bar noises were growing a bit more distant. He was well on his way to needing a ride home, so he made quick work of his third scotch and soda and then ordered a fourth. Sasha brought the frosty glass over but didn’t put it down right away. She leaned closer and asked, “You drivin’ home?”
“Doubtful.”
“You got a ride lined up?”
“There’s an app for that.”
She gave him the new drink. “Still using that catchphrase shows your age.”
“Don’t care. Forty is the new thirty.”
“To you, maybe.” Sasha moved on to take another order.
Angelo blew a raspberry at her departing back then picked up his pen. He doodled a bit more, careful not to let any condensation drip on his newest masterpiece. It kind of resembled a garden, which he’d been sketching more lately in his private sketchbooks. His remodels rarely included more than basic landscaping, because interiors were his specialty. He loved angles and colors and metallic finishes and blending spaces together. Outdoor spaces were too unpredictable, too susceptible to the elements and whims of nature.
The earthy, pungent scent of tomato vines in the rain tickled his nose, and Angelo almost sneezed. For a moment, he was back in Italy, in his grandmother’s garden, watching a sudden summer storm pound the wild, climbing vines of his favorite fruit. He’d loved that garden, loved exploring the hidden nooks and crannies and shadows, surrounded by growing things and sneaking the occasional green tomato as a tangy snack.
Loud voices snapped him back into the present. Two stools down, a girl in a tight yellow dress had spilled part of a Bloody Mary on the bar—the source of the tomato smell. Angelo briefly admired that particular shade of yellow, which might make a nice accent color for the kitchen in the Bayshore house, and then went back to napkin sketching. He couldn’t do much detail with a ballpoint pen, so he let his imagination fill things in.
Sasha announced last call, so Angelo paid up and finished off his drink. Tried to turn on his phone to call for a ride share but the screen stayed black.
“Fuck.” In all of today’s craziness, he’d forgotten to keep it charged. He couldn’t call Russell or anyone else at his house—mostly because the only phone number he had memorized (besides his own) was Aunt Rita’s landline, and that was only because she’d had the same number his entire life.
“Need to use the charger?” Nat asked from behind his left shoulder, his familiar voice as soothing as always.
“Nah, I can charge it in my car.”
“The car you are not driving home in that condition, right?”
“No, I won’t drive.” Angelo resisted the childish urge to blow a raspberry at Nat, but Nat was just being polite. And professional, even though he hadn’t personally served Angelo tonight. “I’m just going to start it and sit in it for five minutes while my phone wakes up long enough for me to call a Lyft or something.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to call Russell? You looked upset all night.”
“Russell had one family emergency already tonight, he doesn’t need more of my drama.”
“It’s hardly drama if it keeps you from driving drunk.”
“I’m not—” Angelo grunted and spun his stool around to face Nat. Even with Angelo seated, Nat still barely came up to his eye level. “Would you like to come out and sit with me while I charge my phone and don’t drive off?”
“No, I’d rather you just let me stick your phone on the bar’s charger for five minutes, or I’ll use my app and get you a ride. Either way, I don’t want you anywhere near your car. Give me your keys.”
“No?”
Nat crossed his arms. He was a stubborn little shit, which Angelo had always liked about him. When they were flirting and fucking. Right now, it was annoying as hell. “Fine.” He held his phone out to Nat. “Charge it.”
Nat plucked the phone from his hand and sauntered behind the bar. Angelo balled up his garden sketch and tossed into his empty glass right before Sasha grabbed it. Final drinks went out, tabs were closed, and the place began to empty. Angelo waited to be kicked out, but Nat whispered something to Sasha and neither bothered him. He was vaguely aware of them cleaning and moving stools around.
“Is it turning on yet?” Angelo asked at some point.
“I’m driving you home,” Nat said from across the room, his voice tinny in the now-empty space. “You’re still staying on Mulberry, right?”
“Yeah.” He’d have much rather crashed at Nat’s place, but Nat hadn’t offered, and Angelo was too drunk to charm his way over, even just to sleep on the floor in Nat’s room. He shared a house with three other guys and didn’t have a couch to freely offer to inebriated friends. House rules: guests stay in your room.
“Okay, give me another ten minutes to finish closing down, and we’ll leave.”
“M’kay.”
Glasses clanked, chairs scraped, and some kind of machine began whirring in the direction of the kitchen. Angelo had closed down a few bars in his heyday, but it had been a couple of years. Whenever he’d waited for Nat in the past, it had been outside in his car, usually with music blasting to keep his adrenaline up. Tonight, all he wanted to do was cling to his warm, drunken haze and sleep.
He just needed to get to a bed first. Or a backseat. At this point, he wasn’t picky.
So he was a little surprised when he found himself coughing on acrid air, his nose stinging from smoke, and someone yelling in his face. His ears were ringing, his left side hurt like a motherfucker, and he blinked up at white-ish embossed ceiling tiles. Then all he saw was Nat’s gray-streaked face.
“Whu?” Angelo slurred.
“Can you move?” Nat seemed to be asking but that damned ringing made it hard to tell.
Plus a roaring sound, too? Were his ears underwater? Had a train rushed by? “Not sure. Happened?”
“We need to get outside, now, Angelo. Something in the kitchen exploded and the bar is on fire!”
That startled Angelo out of his stupor and back into his sore, screaming body. He was on the floor near the bar, with tables and chairs and other debris strewn around. He could barely see the orange glow of flames near the kitchen door, but the narrow room was thick with smoke already. Sasha appeared on his other side, a red gash bisecting her cheek, and she grabbed Angelo by the bicep. Nat got the other. Angelo did his best to pilot his semi-uncontrollable body, and their trio stumbled outside.
The front windows were blown out and glass littered the sidewalk. So did gawking bystanders holding up cell phones, probably recording their next Insta Reel or what-the-fuck-ever. Angelo limped across the street to another sidewalk and eased down onto the ground, his left side screeching at him now. Alarms wailed in the distance. People were yelling, asking questions, and Angelo wanted all the noise to stop!
His lungs tightened, and he began coughing hard enough that his body shook and his already tearing eyes streamed harder. His chest heaved and he nearly retched. Nat helped him lay flat on his back, which was kind of freezing without his jacket, so he started shivering on top of the coughing. Was it possible for the human body to simply shake itself into little pieces? Seemed likely at this point.
Nat pressed down on his abdomen, which was not fucking cool! But Angelo didn’t have the strength to make him stop. Something warm landed on top of him. Darkness and quiet opened their arms, and Angelo leaned in for a hug.
Bryan didn’t say it out loud, but he was a little glad to have an insomnia partner tonight.
After Russell and Patrick got home with Robbie, Bryan had watched from the carriage house window as lights in the main house went on and off, and shadows moved around. The lights stayed on in Robbie’s room for a while before extinguishing, only to appear three windows down in the master bedroom. Everyone was safe and sound and getting tucked in.
Bryan still couldn’t sleep. Normally, he’d put his bright orange hoodie on and go running, but he didn’t want to stray from home tonight. For all the injuries he’d seen in bar brawls and prison battles, he was still haunted by the image of Robbie crouched on the floor, sobbing and bleeding. Even the picture Patrick texted from the E.R. of Robbie stitched and bandaged and smiling again, couldn’t unstick that awful image. It taunted Bryan, as if saying, “Bad things happen when you’re around.”
Instead of running, he decided to walk around the perimeter of the yard, and up and down the driveway, fast enough to leave him slightly short of breath after a few rounds. On his fourth circuit the rear porch light came on. Bryan paused by the hedge separating the driveway from the backyard, curious who else was still up.
Russell came outside with a beer bottle in one hand, winter coat on over what looked like flannel pajama bottoms. Bryan moved so Russell noticed him lurking; Russell waved him over. “You as restless as me?” Russell asked.
“Yeah. Didn’t want to run, so I figured I’d walk really fast.”
“Helping?”
“A little. My legs are more tired. Isn’t doing much for my head.”
Russell pulled from the beer. “You could’ve come over to help us tuck Frog into bed.”
“Nah, he needed his parents tonight.” That fell out a bit more freely than Bryan expected. Biology aside, though, Patrick and Russell were more parents to Robbie than Bryan ever could be. Part of him was jealous, but mostly he was glad for Robbie.
“You’ll always be an important part of Frog’s life, you know,” Russell said softly.
“I know. But I also know my place in it, and it’s not as a third parent. I’ve gotta find my own way.”
“Any thoughts on that beyond construction?”
“Honestly? Not yet. But I’ve only been back in the world for a couple of months. All I really want is to complete the terms of my release and finally be free. Able to leave the state if I want.”
“Maybe head back to Nashville?” Russell’s tone was even, but Bryan wasn’t dumb enough not to hear the double-meaning in the words. Are you going to leave your family again?
“Dunno. After the band imploded, I burned a lotta bridges down there. But there might be a few folks who’d still talk to me. Lawrence was not well-liked by some, and they probably think I did the music world a favor by punching his porchlight out.” A way too subtle way of saying Bryan almost killed the guy, but Russell knew the whole story; no sense in hashing out the details at zero-dark-thirty.
“Definitely think you did the world a favor. I don’t get as mad about what Lawrence did to Patrick as I used to, but man, I still wanna twist his dick into a pretzel and dip it in hot sauce.”
Bryan burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the large, quiet space. “I like your brand of revenge.”
“I didn’t have much of a stable life growin’ up, so I heard a lotta pretty vivid insults and threats, from both adults and other foster kids.”
“Here I was gonna guess it was from being a high school teacher.”
“That, too.” Russell pulled from his beer then tilted his face up to the sky. “Cloudy. Wish there were more stars. Wouldn’t’ve minded wishin’ on one.”
“The stars are still up there, pal. Even in the daytime, they’re still there. Just can’t see them.”
“True.”
They sat quietly for a while, Russell absently sipping his beer, while Bryan studied the dark outlines of the clouds. His own thoughts raced in a circle between Robbie’s hand to Leah’s flirting to Angelo’s strange request. More than once, he almost asked Russell what was up with Angelo, but he always stopped himself. Not Bryan’s business, and Russell probably wouldn’t tell him anyway. He was that kind of loyal friend.
Russell’s hips jerked. “Forgot to take it off vibrate after the hospital.” He fished out his phone and frowned at the display. “That’s weird. The hospital.”
“Maybe they forgot to tell you something about wound care?” Bryan offered.
He shrugged one shoulder and swiped. “This is Russell Schar.” His auburn eyebrows dipped low. “Yeah, he’s a friend. What’s wrong?”
Bryan sat up straighter, positive this was about Angelo without Russell saying the man’s name.
Russell’s eyebrows shot up, dipped again, and his lips parted into an oval. “Yeah, I’ll be down there to pick him up in a bit. Thanks for calling.” He put down his phone, and then stared at some point past Bryan’s shoulder.
Bryan’s curiosity and impatience seized his mouth and he blurted out, “Is Angelo okay?”
“He’s in the E.R., banged up and still tipsy, and he needs a ride home. And clothes.”
“Was he in a car accident?” If the idiot drank and drove, Bryan would yell at him personally about his stupidity—both while Angelo was still drunk and later when sober.
“No, he wasn’t driving.” Russell shook his head, as if waking himself up from a momentary stupor. “Tim’s exploded. Angelo was still inside with two other people.”
“I’m sorry, what? Tim’s the bar? It exploded?”
“Yeah.” Russell stood and wobbled.
Bryan was on his feet, one hand on Russell’s elbow to steady him, before he’d even decided to help. “Hey, take a minute. Angelo’s okay if all he needs is a ride home.”
“I know, but…shit, two people I love in one night? I gotta go.”
“You shouldn’t go alone.”
Russell cast a forlorn look at the upstairs windows. “I can’t wake Patrick. He’s already so stressed out about Frog.”
“I’ll go with you.” It was the only logical course of action. “I’d offer to drive but I don’t technically have a license, and you look like you need a friend.”
“I do.”
“Then let’s go. I’ll text Patrick where we’re going. If he sleeps through it, fine, I’m sure he needs the rest. Hopefully, we’ll be home with Angelo before he wakes up.”
Russell considered it, head bobbing a few times, before meeting Bryan’s eyes. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do that. I’ll get my keys, some sweats for Angelo, and meet you at my car.”
“Okay.”
Bryan waited until Russell had properly steadied himself and was lumbering toward the patio door. Then he pulled out his own phone and started texting.
CHAPTER SIX
Russell white-knuckled the steering wheel most of the drive to the college-adjacent hospital. Thankfully, it was late and the streets were fairly empty, so Bryan wasn’t too worried about an accident. A large parking garage stood across a big intersection from the E.R. entrance. Since Bryan had never been here, he followed Russell’s lead. He half-expected to find Angelo in the waiting room, impatient to go home, but when Russell spoke to a lady behind a glass window, she gave them a room number.
Bryan’s gut curled tight as Russell navigated the corridors until they found the right room. The door was half-open. Bryan might have stayed outside if not for the slight tremor in Russell’s shoulders, betraying his friend’s anxiety. Angelo was sitting upright on a bed that seemed too small for his tall frame, dressed in a drab hospital gown that didn’t cover a bandage on his left forearm. Another bandage covered his left temple, and he was glaring at his lap where both hands rested, palms up as if not quite sure what to do with them.
“Hey, friend,” Russell said. “You’ve had a hell of a day, huh?”
Angelo looked up, wide eyes blinking several times before focusing. “Hey, Big Bear. Sorry, but they wouldn’t let me drive myself home. Plus, my clothes were all bloody, I guess.”
He’d been blown up in a bar after having a horrible day, so he’d likely been drinking. Bryan didn’t see a banana bag on the IV stand; he’d been hooked up to more than one during the worst of his drinking binges. If the hospital had given Angelo anything for the pain from his injuries, he was definitely in no shape to drive, even if he had his own car here.
Bryan held up the bag with the change of clothes. “We brought you something to help with that.”
Angelo zeroed in over Russell’s shoulder and frowned at Bryan. “Why’re you here?”
“Volunteered. Russell has already had one big scare tonight, so I didn’t want him picking you up by himself.”
“Oh. Well, thanks, I guess.”
“You’re welcome, I guess.”
Angelo grunted.
“So what happened?” Russell asked. He perched on the room’s only extra chair, so Bryan hovered by the door. “The woman who called said there was an explosion at Tim’s and you were hurt.”
“Yeah, something to do with the boiler, I think they said.” Angelo’s normally posh, almost accent-free voice was definitely slurred. “We were ready to go and then bam! I’m on the floor breathing smoke and my left side hurts like a motherfucker. Blast hit me on that side. Threw me a few feet, they said. Nat and Sasha got me out.”
“Are they okay?”
“Yeah, cuts and burns, too. Nat might’ve broken his wrist. Haven’t heard anything new in a while. No one’s really saying much, I guess because the cops need to rule out arson or whatever.”
“Why would anyone want to blow up this bar?” Bryan asked.
“Like dumbasses need an excuse anymore,” Russell replied with a snarl. “But Tim’s is known to be queer-inclusive, and even though Reynolds is a pretty liberal town, there’s bad apples in every barrel. Must be rulin’ out a hate crime, makin’ sure it was an accident.”
Angelo shrugged then grimaced. “I just want to get out of here and sleep this off.”
“You will, as soon as the doctor releases you.”
“Should be dumping my release papers any second. They were just waiting on my ride to get here so I don’t escape on my own.”
“The staff must know you well. You hurt anything besides your face, arm and pride?”
“Gash in my side got a few stitches.” Angelo pointed at his left midsection. “Doc pulled out a piece of wood the length of a sewing needle. Talk about a monster splinter.”
