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It would blow over soon enough.
Finn wasn’t done. “Speaking of my pop who you couldn’t imagine spending a month with but who now lives with you, how’s he doing?”
I groaned through a laugh, ’cause the irony wasn’t lost on me. On the other hand, even if Shan had accompanied me on my vacation, he’d be lonely now too. One month wouldn’t have been enough.
“Well, just two hours ago, he said he wanted to buy me an Audi R8,” I revealed.
“Fuck, for real?” Finn looked torn between jealous and ready to laugh his ass off. “He’s gotta feel hella guilty, then. Remember when he bought Ma that custom Benz?”
“Oh yeah, he back-handed one of her friends,” I laughed.
Finn found it just as funny today too. To be fair, Grace’s girlfriend in question had been drunk off her ass and had charged at both Grace and Shan. In response, he’d grabbed her arm and slapped some sense into her. It’d worked. But despite having just defended himself and his wife, he’d felt guilty as fuck the day after, so he’d bought Grace a new car.
“Do you know why the woman lost her marbles in the first place?” I asked.
Finn squinted. “Ma was tight-lipped about it, but I…yeah, I think the bitch came on to Pop or something like that, and when he didn’t appreciate her advances, she became rabid.”
Oh shite.
“I don’t see the appeal, to be honest,” Finn chuckled. “But I guess I’m glad Emilia does, ’cause chances are I’ll look like the old man when I’m his age.”
“Emilia’s right,” I agreed.
Finn snorted and punched my arm. “I already know you’re into daddies, you sick fuck.”
I exhaled some smoke and grinned. Torturing Finn with my taste in men was always fun, though I didn’t take it too far. Because it would only take a single comment for things to hit too close to home, considering who I’d always carried a torch for. Even more so now when I was going back and forth on Shan’s not-so-little request. I kept stalling… He hadn’t brought it up again either.
“Let him buy you the R8, by the way,” Finn said. “Then you let me drive it.”
I smirked.
“How’s he doin’, otherwise?” he went on. “Emilia and I get the feeling he puts up a front whenever he’s with us.”
That sobered me up, and I couldn’t lie to him. “It’s pretty bad, mate.” I took a drag and flicked some ashes into the ashtray. “He’s got nothing to occupy his time with anymore either. He’s sold the last of his property, including his practice. He’s smoothed some shit over with Old Phil to make sure there’s no grudges, but other than that—he sleeps most of the day and drinks at night when I can’t limit his intake.”
Finn winced, and his stare fell to the table. “So what do you suggest? I’m genuinely asking, ’cause I don’t fucking know. Emilia suggested rehab, and we all know how Pop would react to that. Part of me wants to get him busy with work, but maybe that will make him suppress shit.”
Yeah, I couldn’t say I had any better solutions.
“Problem is he’s too strong-willed, and he’s a flight risk. If we push him too hard in either direction, he’ll just split.”
He nodded pensively, agreeing with that.
“Right now, honestly, I’m just trying to keep a low profile,” I admitted. “I have a couple green recruits who follow him around when he’s out. I water down the booze he’s got easy access to. I guilt him into eating when he says he ain’t hungry.”
Finn managed a slight grin at that, though the worry remained in his eyes. “You’re probably saving his life, mate. I’m not even exaggerating. But I hate feeling helpless. Every time I ask him to come stay with us more, he recoils. I’ve offered him one of the guest studios in case he wants more privacy, and I’ve offered him one of the guest rooms inside the house in case he needs more company—nothing works.”
“You’re not wrong—he does need something to do. Work might help. Something that at least gives him a break, distracts him for a few hours. There’s gotta be a middle ground between doing nothing and doing too much.”
“Aye.” He furrowed his brow in thought, then took a swig of his beer. “Wouldn’t fucking kill him to have some fun too. I know, I know—he’s not there yet, I get it—but still. We can’t have him rotting on your couch. He’ll never recover there.”
He was right.
And Shan’s desire to meet someone, albeit anonymously and without intimacy involved, came to mind. Again.
I couldn’t postpone that any longer. This was one of his own requests—his only request—and I was fucking it up for him because of personal issues.
Goddammit.
Chapter 6
I’d made up my mind.
I returned to my place later that evening, and the sight that greeted me only solidified what I needed to do. Shan sat on the couch with a cup of coffee and a bottle of whiskey, with only a tiny, crappy Christmas tree illuminating the room with greens, reds, and blues. Luna had brought it over and placed it on the coffee table, complaining about my lack of decorating for the holiday.
