Chapter 8
GRIFF climbed the steps to the Anastagios’ front door like a prisoner headed to the noose. The air was colder and the sparse trees on the block were shedding leaves.
In the week since “Ful Monte” had been posted on the HotHead site, Griff had watched it about fifteen, maybe twenty, times. He’d finaly broken down and bought another week of membership.
He wasn’t even trying not to watch it anymore. Now he was just trying not to think about it outside of his locked basement bedroom. He wasn’t avoiding Dante, but for his own sanity, he was trying to make sure they weren’t alone together too much.
Last thing he needed….
Griff rang the bel. It jangled somewhere inside the townhouse as he opened the door and went on inside. Tucked under his left arm, he held a bottle of sweet vermouth as a peace offering. He’d been absent the last couple of Sundays because of work, and he knew that he was going to catch grief about it.
Sunday dinner at the Anastagios’ didn’t require an invitation for Griff. If anything, it involved an apology if he skipped for some reason. They expected him there at 5 p.m. with the rest of the kids and were hurt when he wasn’t.
Mr. Anastagio loved having the “troops” around when he cooked, and Mrs. Anastagio never felt like she knew what was going on with her brood unless the gossip came from their own mouths. This woman had mothered him since he was in high school, washed his shorts and gone with him to the doctor and talked to his teachers.
Mrs. Anastagio took Sundays off and left her husband and kids to cook while she “visited” in the front parlor. That was a polite way of saying interrogation, and sure enough, the minute Griff let himself into the house, he heard her cal from there.
“Helo?”
Because of the weirdness with Dante, Griff had stayed away too long, and he knew it. And he knew she knew it, even if she didn’t know the reason.
In the front hal, Griff hung his scarf and jacket on a peg. First stop: parlor. There were voices from the kitchen, but he knew he needed to apologize to Mrs. A. first thing.
Sundays were the days she dressed for visitors, and today was no exception. She was sitting on the window seat in a light-green pantsuit that showed off her curviness, waiting for him with a soft smile and a stern brow.
“I thought we were gonna have to make Flip file a missing person at his precinct.” She puled him into a hug; she was a foot and a half shorter than Griff, and he had to lean down to her. As he straightened up, she scrutinized him and patted his brawny chest. “You’re too damn skinny, Griffin.”
“Skinny!” He made a face.
“What the hel’s the matter with you?”
Now there was a tough one. How to answer that? Griff fidgeted at the affectionate scolding and thrust the red-capped vermouth at her—Carpano Antica was her favorite and not cheap.
She sniffed her approval, but her unsmiling face held firm. “Thank you. But don’t think you can buy me off with a bottle of booze, mister.” She nodded at the beige label and set the bottle down on the coffee table.
Muffled shouts came from the kitchen. It sounded like Mr. A. had burned himself or some part of the dinner. Then they could hear Loretta trying to keep her patience as she calmed him down, folowed by footsteps in the hal.
“Cerelia!” Mrs. A’s husband was headed down the hal.
In some part of his grown-up mind, Griff knew her name was Cerelia, but he never caled her anything but Mrs. Anastagio or Mrs. A.
Mr. Anastagio tipped his balding head into the parlor, wiping his hands on a towel thrown over his shoulder. He was taler than his wife, but not by much, and built like a furry barrel. He raised one square hand in cursory greeting. “Hi, Griffin.”
“Mr. A.” Griff prayed that dinner was ready and he could avoid the third degree and score points by eating a couple extra servings. Mr. Anastagio hated having leftovers almost as much as Mrs. A loved them. Dinners were always a tug-of-war between the requirement that everyone eat more than possible and their duty to take home huge shopping bags filed with enough food for a week.
“We’re having veal for the main. And Loretta’s doing a panna cotta for dessert. Hazelnut!” He leaned forward like a double agent passing secrets. “ Which is gonna be runny if you ask me.”
“No it is not! Jeez, pop!” Loretta’s voice barked from the hal behind her father. Footsteps came toward the parlor.
Mr. Anastagio whispered at them and smoothed his bushy mustache. “Like soup. I’m stil putting out big spoons. And bibs, maybe.”
“Pop! Enough!” Loretta stomped up behind him wearing a smudged apron over a sexy Sunday dress. “Your asparagus is getting mushy.” Eyes wide, Mr. A. spun and took off down the hal, grumbling good-naturedly at his daughter and the stove.
For a second, Griff thought he could get away with folowing down the hal and hovering in the kitchen to escape Mrs. A.’s probing eye.
Loretta nixed that as she headed after her father.
“Hi, Griff. Bye, Griff.” Loretta pointed at him with a wooden spoon, sternly. “Stay put until we cal you.” Mrs. Anastagio tugged him back to the settee, sitting him down beside her. She raised a hand to her black hair, smoothing imaginary strands into place. Her eyes were scanning his face as if she could read something there. She looked so tiny and determined in her green pantsuit.
Griff felt like an ape next to a canary. “Is Paulie coming too?”
“Nah. The little one has a footbal game and Paulie’s coaching again.” She leaned forward and plucked a stuffed olive from a shalow bowl on the table at their knees. Popping it into her mouth, she tilted her head as if waiting for him to admit something. “Loretta says you’re pining over some girl.” Her hazel eyes searched his. “She nice?”
Griff swalowed, watching her chew.
“You coulda brought her, you know. I’d love to meet her.”
What was he supposed to say?
Uhhh. No. I think I might be gay, and I’m probably in love with your heterosexual son, who has porked half of Brooklyn, and, oh yeah, he’s doing online porn now and wants me to join him for the next world-wide-whackfest.
He felt the blush creeping above the colar of his shirt. His cheeks and ears roasted with embarrassment.
Mrs. Anastagio read plenty into that, naturaly. She popped another olive into her mouth and squinted at him knowingly. “What?! Is she married? Pregnant?
What did you do, Griffin?”
“I didn’t do anything. I swear. And I don’t want to if I can help it.”
Mrs. Anastagio shook her head at him and reached for the bowl again. “That’s too bad. After… everything, some trouble might do you good.” Pop. Another olive. She chewed, squinting, trying to will the confession out of him with fierce gypsy eyes like Dante’s.
Right then, the front door opened and more Anastagios piled into the house. Flip and his wife, Carol, were shouting back to their kids out on the street to hurry and be careful getting the pans out of the car.
Flip barely paused in the doorway as they carried trays back to the dining room. “Hey, Ma. Hi, Griff. I gotta….” Then his lanky frame was gone, trailed by his slender wife and their two little beanpoles. His muffled voice could be heard from the kitchen. “Pop, we brought grape leaves.” Flip’s given name was Filippo, but he’d punched enough kids on the playground that they let him pick his own nickname. A year younger than Loretta, he’d gotten married right out of school, and a couple skinny kids had folowed quickly.
“So… me, Loretta and her kid, and Flip and Carol and their two. Plus you and Mr. A.” Griff ticked off the names on his broad fingers. “Nine.”
“And the twins came home from school to visit.”
Through the window, Griff could see Mikey and Mona; younger by several years, the twins were the babies of the bunch and both in colege out in Jersey, at Rutgers. They were talking to someone down on the sidewalk. Griff stood and went to look through the front windows, knowing exactly what he’d find waiting for him.
Mrs. Anastagio spoke behind him. “Dante too. He was running late.”
“Oh. Twelve.”
Sure enough, there he was: black hair, black eyes, and that hard body coiled like knotted rope under his button-down clothes. Dante had one foot up on the stoop. He reached into the pocket of his cords and puled out cash, tucking it into Mona’s pocket, while Mikey shook his head.
Griff closed his eyes and shook what he was imagining out of his head.
Mrs. Anastagio stood as wel and moved toward the halway that led to the dining room. At the door she paused. “Griffin. Listen to me now. You’re alone too much. You got the habit from that father of yours. But I don’t want you hiding when you have crappy days. Promise?”
“Sure.” Griff nodded, and when she didn’t look like she believed him, he nodded again more decisively, holding up his hands like an insurance salesman.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s the rule. Any crappy days, you gotta spend ’em with someone. That girl or us or the firehouse or Dante. Whoever.” Her eyes driled into his as she crossed the carpet toward him. “Someone who gives a damn, mister. I know how you get if you start stewing on your own. Enough! Yeah?” Griff turned away from the window, feeling like a piece of shit. What would she say if she knew? Down in the street behind him, he could hear Dante being funny about something, teling a story to make Mikey laugh and make Mona feel less awkward about taking money Dante couldn’t afford to give.
“You’re a good man, Griffin Muir.” She patted his forearm. Her tiny hands were stronger than they looked. “No one deserves to be punished for loving with an open heart.”
Open heart. Yeah, right. Griff closed his eyes like his head hurt.
One of Flip’s kids trotted to the front door as soon as the bel rang. Ding dong. He opened the door for his uncle.
“I’m shhhhtarving!” Dante’s voice filed the first floor like a cartoon lion. Flip’s son tagged his stomach and sprinted, giggling, back toward the kitchen.
Chase! Dante saluted his mother and Griff through the parlor archway and then stalked after his nephew.
Mrs. Anastagio stood up and Griff did the same. As always, he felt like a giant escorting a fairy princess—a duchess in a pantsuit. He patted her hand and she squeezed his bicep.
She took his arm. “Let’s get in there before they burn down my kitchen.”
DINNER was nuts, as usual, but comfortable nuts, affectionate nuts. Classic Anastagio from antipasto to coffee after. And the hazelnut panna cotta was fine and firm despite Mr. A.’s dire predictions.
Griff had undone the button on his cords and tucked a comfortable hand into the waist. He had forgotten how much he loved being here with the whole family. Their food and warmth and craziness always restored him, plugged the chinks in his armor so he could go out and fight dragons.
This was what dinner was supposed to be. At the end, Dante always made a plate for him to take home for his dad, who often forgot to eat and lived out of vending machines when he remembered; secretly, Griff always hoped that a little spark of the Anastagios’ home would travel under the foil, and the warmth would worm its way into his father. He wasn’t holding his breath, but he’d stil take the plate.
Their dining room was almost the width of the brownstone, half-paneled under an original tin ceiling and painted a dul salmon pink; the family had been gathering in here for over three generations. The sideboard had come al the way from Sicily a century ago. The mismatched chairs and massive round table had been bought at a 1960s fire sale in the Bronx when Mrs. A’s parents were first married. Seats for everyone and guests besides. Every holiday and birthday, Mr.
Anastagio made noises about buying a new matching dining room set for his wife, but the kids had al grown up with the hodgepodge, so they invariably talked him out of it.
Now dessert was winding down. Everybody was starting to push back from their plates, napkins down, belies ful. The sun had finaly set, and Loretta and Flip would need to be getting their kids to bed soon. Mona was texting and Mrs. Anastagio was talking to Mikey about some band he’d seen at school.
Griff sat back, stuffed and happy; he’d needed this more than he’d realized. He shot a smile at his best friend and saw trouble stirring there, saw the gears of mischief turning. Dante loved to stir the pot when everyone got too comfortable… and now he was up to something.
Dante cocked his head. “Pop, tel Griff he needs to come work with me next week.”
What. The. Fuck?
Griff stared at Dante in horror. Was he actualy going to talk about his new porno career at Sunday dinner?
Loretta roled her eyes. “Griff doesn’t need another job. And he certainly doesn’t need to cover your lazy ass.”
“Language!” Flip had always been a stickler about that kind of stuff, even as a kid, and now with kids of his own he was a profanity Nazi. It didn’t matter that they were al adults and his kids had been in the parlor for ten minutes playing with their mom and Nicole. Flip and Loretta hadn’t gotten along from the day he came home from the hospital.
Halfway through taking a sip of wine, Mrs. A. shot them both a warning look. Sunday dinner was neutral ground.
Mr. Anastagio turned to Griff. “He doing something crooked?”
Dante pressed his luck. “Nah. It’s just a day thing, super easy and the money is great, but this mook feels guilty.”
“Guilty about what? Getting paid?” Mona was square in her colege cynic phase; frustration with the world creased her tan brow over her glasses.
Griff’s voice was low and controled; his face felt scorched. “I’m not guilty. Enough! Leave it.”
“Why are you blushing? Why is he blushing?” Flip looked baffled.
Mrs. Anastagio looked between them, her spoon of panna cotta in midair. “Whatsamatter, Griffin? Dante are you taking advantage—?”
“Just moving equipment out on Avenue X. Heavy equipment.” Dante shot Griff a twinkling glance and licked his lips like they were dry, which they were not.
Dante kept going. “G thinks I’m being a hothead.”
Loretta patted her brother’s arm with mock concern. “You are a hothead.”
“Jesus, Dante.” Griff dropped his fork with a clatter. He wanted to commit murder.
Instantly bored, Mona puled out her cel and stood up. “I gotta cal my roommate.” She was on the phone roling her eyes before she exited to the kitchen.
Dante wouldn’t let up. “Sweaty work, but it’s a tight space, so I need someone I can count on not to cramp my style. Customer is a Russian guy who likes to watch every step, but it’s easy money.”
“No such thing.” Loretta squinted her suspicions at her brother, smoothing the tablecloth under her hands.
Mrs. A. squinted at the air between Griff and Dante. She knew that something else was going on, but she kept her peace.
Mikey looked peeved. “Maybe I could help you out, man. Huh? I need cash for school. I’m not a kid—” Ack! Griff choked and coughed, turning scarlet. He reached for his water to clear his throat. Flip pounded his back, looking confused.
Dante was quick. “Nah, squirt. I need a giant on this gig. And Griff’s the only giant in the family. I need him there or there’s no deal. C’mon, Pop. Tel him it’s okay.”
Mr. Anastagio leaned back in his chair, hands over his square bely. “That’s for you two to work out. Griff has more sense than you, so if he’s objecting, I bet there’s a good reason.” He turned to Griff and asked point blank, “You don’t like this Russian?” Griff couldn’t make a scene, but he knew that the longer the family spiraled around the bogus moving job, the more risks Dante would take talking about it.
At times, Dante seemed to flirt with getting caught. Maybe he loved operatic hysteria like Loretta, except he liked to watch it.
“Avenue X is a long way to go to haul boxes for a couple bucks.” Loretta was determined to side with Griff.
“It is. And I don’t like to work for strangers.” Griff’s copper eyebrows came down over the bridge of his nose.
Mikey chimed in again, “I could realy use a couple bucks, bro.”
“Are these equipment people crooked?” Mrs. A. folded her napkin, trying to read Griff’s expression.
Dante raised one impish eyebrow. “Wel no, Ma. I mean… I guess he’s not exactly what I’d cal straight. ”
“Excuse us!” Griff stood up at the table, almost knocking over his chair. He didn’t care if he was making a scene. He took Dante by the arm, yanking him toward the back door. “We’l be right back.”
GRIFF didn’t let go of his best friend’s arm til they were out the back door and it was closed safely behind them. Last thing he needed was any of the Anastagios overhearing what was going down in their backyard.
Dante didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish.
“Goddamnit, Anastagio! Do you always have to be such a cock?!”
Dante shrugged, unfazed. “I’m not. Fuck you. I’ve found some kinda solution for a bad situation. And you said you’d help.” He seemed almost confused by Griff’s reaction as he paced the little brick porch above the enclosed yard. Al round them, the neighbors’ trees were visible over the fence.
Who knew how many people were listening to them have this conversation? They needed to talk about this somewhere else, like a different state, at night, in a sealed subterranean vault.
“In front of your family!” Griff’s hands itched to hit something. He had to remind himself over and over where he was so he didn’t punch Dante or throw him through the back fence. This wasn’t his house, even if he forgot that sometimes; this wasn’t his family. Jesus H. Christ. “Some solution! Your kid brother wants to fucking pitch in.”
“Right. Yeah. Like that would happen. He’s a kid.” Dante roled his eyes. “I had to find some way to get you to talk about it.”
“So that was your briliant plan? The dinner table!” Griff knew he was being too loud this close to the family. He took a couple breaths, stifling his rage and disbelief.
“You would’ve avoided it forever if I hadn’t trapped you. I just wanted an answer.” Dante was holding his arm, making Griff look at him. “Look, G, you can help me if you want, or you can walk away and let me deal with it. You don’t have to do anything. I’m not holding a gun to your fucking head.”
“Back off. Al right? Back the fuck off!” Griff stomped down the steps that led into Mrs. Anastagio’s little herb garden and the backyard, then circled back to glare up at his best friend.
“Shhh. Keep it down, wil ya? Loretta’s probably got her ear to the fucking door.”
“Now you want to keep it down.” Griff planted his ass on the steps, Dante at his back. “Asshole.” He hated himself for wanting to help Dante and also for wanting to walk away. What a soup sandwich.
“You been dodging me al week.”
Griff couldn’t argue with that; it was true. He knew that Dante had been trying to reach him.
Dante sat down beside him, bumped their shoulders together. “It was a joke, man. C’mon. It was pretty funny.” That made Griff turn to glare at him, but Dante didn’t look guilty in the slightest. His black eyes twinkled, fucking twinkled in response. Instead of facing them and what they made him feel, Griff leaned over his knees and looked down at his pale fingers where they twisted together.
“Did you go to the site?” Dante was serious. Like he wanted advice.
“What?!” Yes, every damn day. “No! Fuck.” The lie tasted like soot in his mouth, but Griff didn’t have to fake the shock.
“It came out realy great. Even I thought so. Course I’m biased. I just thought you might’ve….” Griff shook his head and looked at the yard. “Yeah, I don’t need to see you. Like that.” Well, not more than three or four times a day.
“He’s offering a real bump for me to come back. A lot more if I bring a friend.” Dante turned to him. “Look, you don’t have to do this for me. I can go over there again on my own, but it’s a heluva lot more money if you’re in the mix. Cash money.” He put an arm over Griff’s shoulders and squeezed, like he was only asking to borrow a hammer. “This Alek guy wil pay the two of us a lot more as a package deal. If we”—he lowered his voice—“uh, work together, ya know?”
“Fucking perv.” Griff grimaced.
“He’s actualy realy decent, considering.” Dante defending him only made it worse.
“How much wil this dicklick cough up?” Griff couldn’t believe he was even asking. He swalowed around the lump in his throat. “Like two for the price of one?”
“More like two for the price of ten, G.” Dante looked back over his shoulder to see if they had an audience. His voice dropped to a near murmur. “If and only if it’s the two of us. He said that you and me together would be real special ’cause we’re, ya know, so close.” Griff chewed on that thought. Close. He wondered what mental gymnastics Dante had done to wrap his head around this batshit plan. Obviously he had, and he couldn’t understand why Griff wasn’t on board. “I’d feel weird.” Understatement of the year. His brain was hot tapioca.
Dante shook his head. “We’re buddies. Inside out. For better for worse. You seen me every way I ever been. And vice versa. We been naked together. We fucked girls in the same room. No big. It’l just be like jerking off with buddies in junior high.” The fuck? How did everything get so stupid?
“I didn’t jerk off with my friends in junior high.”
“Bulshit. Everybody did. Hormones? I jerked off every ninety minutes like a damn clock.”
“Uh. No. You must’ve been at St. Porno’s, ’cause I pretty much fought with my dad and did homework.” Griff’s face felt tight. He ran his hands through the red thatch on his head, and he could feel it sticking up in a mad-scientist tangle: alive, ALIVE!
The Anastagios’ back door loomed behind them, but the curtains on the windows didn’t twitch. Everyone must stil be at the table or up front watching the game.
Dante’s eyes were bright on his, like he was teling a dirty joke in church. “C’mon. We al did it. You must’ve jerked off with Paulie a few times. He jerked off in that sock like six times a day, and you guys hung out ala time. Athletic shit and al.”
“What sock? Wait….” Griff gasped and covered his eyes. “Never mind. I get it.”
Had Dante jerked off with his teammates in the showers? On the bus? Another visual I don’t fucking need. Griff swalowed. He could hear himself swalowing. The wet sounds of his throat working sounded like Dolby THX stereo inside his own head.
“We al ragged him about that sock. Nasty, crusty thing. We caled her Darna.” Dante winked, sidling up like Griff was a scary mastiff.
“Okay. Okay. I don’t need to know. But I swear, Paulie and I never—”
“Oh.” Dante’s face closed like a safe.
Suddenly Griff felt like apologizing, but he couldn’t figure out what he was apologizing for: Jerking off alone? Not having a cum sock? Not living with the Anastagios in what had apparently been hot Italian jerk-o-rama?
Don’t think about that one too long.
“Paulie’s sock….” Dante shrugged one shoulder, his mouth hooked in confusion. “Hel, I just ate mine.” I know, I’ve seen you.
Flashback to HotHead: Griff suddenly had a crystal clear picture of Dante squirting into his own open mouth. He’d watched it dozens of times. He knew every second of it.
Dante acted like it was the most normal conversation to have on his parents’ porch. “Eating it’s way easier. Good for you.” Man down! Man down!
If Griff had been standing, his knees would have buckled; he hoped he hadn’t made a weird sound, but he couldn’t be sure. As it was, a shiver chased down his length like he was a horse trying to lose a fly, and his traitorous cock chubbed up against his thigh.
Dante made everything seem so reasonable. Whacking off together; what’s the big deal? But this offer wasn’t “just” anything, and they both knew it. It crossed al kinds of lines. There was a reason that Alek was wiling to offer so much more for a scene involving both of them. And Dante didn’t even know how many lines they were talking about, because he didn’t feel the crazy things Griff did.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. A late October breeze shifted brown leaves on the tiles Mr. A. had put down beside the little garden back when they were in high school. Al of the boys had helped, including Griff; Mrs. Anastagio had cried when she saw it.
Right then, Griff felt older than thirty-one. How had so much time slipped by? It would be cold soon, and he was stil living in his father’s basement. The leaves skittered around the legs of the little iron café table.
But for now, the two of them sat in this little quiet bubble together—the family inside, the neighbors just over the fences, Brooklyn beyond, and this weird, impossible offer hovering huge in the air between them: Dante begging him to live out his secret fantasy.
Close. Because we’re so close.
Griff realized Dante was breathing quietly beside him, waiting for some kind of decision from his best friend that was going to change their lives, either way.
Dante was probably as scared as he was but for very different reasons.
Griff tried to imagine what it was like for a straight guy to ask a good friend to do something this ful-on, no-bones-about-it queer. He knew how much Dante loved that house. He knew how much Dante trusted him. He knew how bad things had to be to force Dante to ask for help. He knew what asking must have cost.
He knew what he’d give to share that kind of intimacy. And then, he just knew; he knew exactly what his answer had to be.
Griff checked the windows and the wals again for any obvious eavesdroppers before he broke the silence. “Do you have some kind of a plan?”
“I know how to jerk off, G.” Dante roled his eyes and made a dumb face. “If you don’t, I can give you pointers.”
“Idiot!” Griff smacked his head.
Dante yelped and held up his hands, laughing.
“No.” Griff glared at him. “I meant, do you know how much you need to get the bank off your back and get caught up?” Dante nodded and faced the low shrubs along the fence. “Four grand is the emergency number, but if I could put away, like, nine or ten grand, I’d have some breathing room through the holidays. Then there’l be construction stuff in the spring.” Griff felt his resistance slip for a moment. “And that wil get you out of the hole?” Dante looked like a little boy praying for a bicycle. “I hope so.”
“Hope is not a strategy.” Griff felt himself frown.
“Wel. Then I think….” Dante shrugged.
Griff wrinkled his forehead, shaking his head, trying to stop this runaway train. “What are you gonna tel your dad when he asks about the money?” They both knew the Anastagios would question money appearing out of thin air and bils getting paid on a house that everyone knew Dante couldn’t afford.
“Oh. Shit.” Dante heard that with no problem. Gears turned in his head. “Construction maybe? I can say you found a gig in Bayridge doing demolition. Like they’re paying cash under the table. And maybe, like, Alek can pay you for both of us, and you can loan it to me.” Dante looked back at his parent’s back door.
“Hel, they al know you’re the responsible one.”
Griff searched his friend’s, trying to resist that charm and the real desperation swimming in their inky depths. “Dante, you gotta know exactly what you need.
Not want, but seriously capital-N need.”
“I do.” Dante nodded and bumped their shoulders together. “No one has to know. He even said he can hide your face if you want. But we get more if you’l let him show it.”
“What does he pay?” Griff was literaly whispering now as he looked at the bricks between his old sneakers. His size fifteens seemed enormous down there.
“Two grand for us both… maybe a little more if we push some boundaries.”
Griff closed his eyes and tried to find the wil to stop himself. He thought of his dad’s empty house, and nights on the web like a horny spider spying on
“Monte,” and Dante needing him, and al these crazy feelings. His impossible hope. He knew what he was doing, knew it was madness, but truth be told, he couldn’t stop himself from saying yes, from helping Dante. And he couldn’t resist the temptation, the chance to see his best friend like that in the flesh. Knowing him in that way. Of being with him, just once, even under false pretenses. A completely selfish sacrifice hidden in plain sight.
No one has to know.
“Griff?” Dante was stil looking at him when he opened his eyes.
Because we’re so close.
The screen door creaked behind them. Griff stiffened and twisted on the steps.
“Uncle Dante?” One of Flip’s boys stood there looking annoyed and uptight in his striped shirt: a miniature version of his dad. He held a big spoon as a kind of scepter. “Grandpa says there’s more dessert if you both get your asses back inside.” Slam. And then he was gone.
Dante chuckled but stayed on the brick steps, waiting for Griff to say something.
Clank. Like a rerouted subway, Griff felt his whole life angle slightly in a dangerous direction without any idea of the destination, wiling to gamble for once because Dante needed him back. He got to his feet, brushed the seat of his tan cords, and looked down at Dante smiling up at him.
So close.
“Yeah, D. Okay.”