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I whirl around to stare at him. “Uh, who the hell are you and what have you done with Van?”
“I’m serious. I know this is rich coming from me, but I really do think you should hear him out. I don’t like him, but I can tell he cares about you.” Van looks like he’s sucking on a sour gummy worm as the words come out. “At least give him a chance to explain his side.”
“Explain what? How he lied to me? Used me? Hung my dad out to dry?” I drag my hands through my hair. “Youhatedhim, Van. Now you’re taking his side?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side.” Van joins me at the window, staring out at the quiet backyard. At the hot tub where I first put my lips on Max Pedretti’s. “And the thing is, Cap, your dad’s in the big house becausehedecided to rob a bank, not because Pedretti made him. So do the Castellani the courtesy of hearing him out, at least. Maybe there’s more to the story than you know.”
I scoff, angry that Van is taking the wrong side. “What more is there to know? Pedretti betrayedmeby not telling me about it sooner. And he betrayed my father, too.”
“Did he? Or did you just hang on to that because it’s easier to make assumptions than hear a truth you don’t like?”
I want to argue, but I can’t. Because Van’s right. I never gave Max a chance to explain. I just assumed the worst. I’ve always believed my father’s story that he was in Chino thanks to his ex-partner. Not only believed it, but just yesterday I went to ask my father’sadvice.
My angry, paranoid father, who is apparently not atallcool with me being gay, and who—I realize now—turned his back on me for ten years after he found out.
Van raises an eyebrow as he sees me starting to process. “Look, I get why you’re pissed at Pedretti. But if there’s a chance you’ve got shit wrong, and if you still care about him—which, frankly, Cap, I think you fucking do, even though I don’t get it—don’t you owe it to yourself to find out the story for sure?”
I stare out the window, watching the rain smack down on the hot tub cover. Think about being in there with Max, about the way he looked at me.DoI owe him anything after what he’s done? But if Van’s right, and Max isn’t the bad guy my father so desperately wants him to be…
“I’ll think about it.”
Van gives me a playful shove. “There’s the Bricker Soldano I know. Open-minded andsowilling to admit when he’s wrong.”
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you.”
Van laughs. I’m glad to have my best friend back, but now I have a new problem. Do I reach out to Max and demand answers? Or do I keep my distance like I have been?
But Van raises a more immediate problem. “Pedretti was asking about whose idea the bank job was in the first place,” he says, heading back to his meal. “I couldn’t remember. Was it yours?”
“No. I was just following orders from Anna-Vittoria. Her original plan was for me to lead a crew of disruptors, and I suggested a targeted strike on the docks at the Port. She actually liked that idea, but when the official plan came down, it was a bank job, along with a list of suggestions for the crew.”
I come and sit back at the table with Van and we keep eating while I let things turn over in my head. What trail does Max think he’s following?
“Van, can I ask you something? Right before we left the Lair for the bank job, Pony said he saw you making a text. Said you got all squirrelly about it when he asked who it was.”
Van’s attitude is about the definition of “squirrelly” right now, and for a moment a sense of dread swirls in my stomach along with the not-so-great pasta.
“Yeah,” he drawls out at last. “Shit, man…the thing is…I went home with this guy one night a while back, just to…” He clears his throat.
“Yousleptwith a guy?” I wish I hadn’t sounded so shocked, but Van just gives a slightly embarrassed chuckle.
“I wanted to make sure, you know? Anyway. This guy, Rob, he could tell I was stuck on someone else, and he…God, he became a friend, maybe? Time to time he’ll text and check up on me, ask whether I’ve finally had the guts to…” He shakes his head. “Well, I’ll have an answer for him next time he texts. Anyway, he texted that morning. Bad timing. Pony was all up in my shit, trying to see who I was talking to, so I probably did get a little weird about it.”
“Oh.” The thing is, I actually believe Van’s story. He’s gone bright red, but he’s still smiling like he’s just glad it’s out in the open.
“Bricker,” Van says then, sounding serious, and I’m not sure I want to know what’s coming. Another love declaration? Or worse?
But when it comes, it’s an apology.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a fucking dick since the Castellani showed up. To you—and to him, too.”
I want to tell Van that he can be as much of a fucking dick to the Castellani as he likes, but I keep my mouth shut about that. All I say is: “Thanks. And forget it.”
“So, this chef thing,” Van says after a minute, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “You thinking of opening an Italian bistro?”
I snort. “With my cooking, I’d be out of business in a week.”
“No kidding. Stick to the Family business, chef.”
