Tom’s the one who reaches into Eliot’s blazer and pulls out the flask. “What are we to deny a thirsty patron?” He hands it over to me.
I untwist the top and take a small sip. It’s only wine. “Thanks for the vino. Tom’s right; I was thirsty.” I stand up and take the flask with me. In and out quick.
I just became a certified firefighter tonight. Extinguishing flames every which way. I laugh at my thought as I tip the flask to my lips and continue through the packed brewery.
Fuck no.
I eagle-eye Tony Ramella. He saunters away from the loud pack of cousins at the bar. He’s laughing at a conversation he pulls away from, but he’s aimed for Thatcher.
Swift as a motherfucker, I cut off his path.
His laughter slowly fades on me, but his shit-eating grin lingers, which makes me want to shove his face in literal shit. He’s shorter but tries to pull himself higher. “What’s up, nephew?”
A brittle laugh sticks to my chest. “The day I call you uncle will be the day I’m dead and buried and you resurrect me as a fucking ghost. And then, I’m only gonna say it right before I murder your ass.” I swig from the flask.
Tony grimaces. “Jesus, Banks.” He shifts his weight, his eyes tightening in emotions that I don’t recognize. “You’re still pissed at me?”
I’m unblinking. “My brother almost died in a fire trying to save you when you should’ve never gone back in there at all, so pissed is putting it mildly.”
Tony’s nose flares, staring at the ground. “I’m sorry for what happened, and if I could take back that night, I wouldn’t run into the fire.” His eyes meet mine. “Can’t we put this in the past?” He’s about to touch my shoulder, but I smack his hand away. He lets out a short, frustrated laugh. “I expected this from Thatcher, but aren’t you supposed to be the shy one?”
I glower.
Fuck him, man.
Fuck him.
I was a shy kid, but that attribute should not be attached to me at twenty-nine when I’ve never been a shy adult. “Aren’t you the dickish one?”
Tony snorts. “That’s right, you’re the funny one.” He swigs his beer. “Before you came stomping over here, I was just going to ask Thatcher if he wants a whiskey flight. On me and the Ramellas.” He gestures to our family at the bar.
I make eye contact and the guys nod to me.
“Hey, paesan’!”
“Youse heard about them Eagles, Thatcher?” a cousin calls out.
“That’s Banks, you scustumad’.” Another cousin called him stupid.
“Fuck me, sorry, Banks!”
Tony laughs and tells our cousins at the bar, “It’s the same thing. They’re basically the same person—one is just getting married first.”
They all holler and cheer for Thatcher.
Every word out of Tony’s mouth rakes across me. Grating my brain like shredded meat. It shouldn’t eat at me that much considering I’ve heard all that horseshit growing up, and I thought I moved past it. The off-handed “they’re like the same person” comments.
How I’m one half of one person instead of a whole fucking individual. While I silently fume, I know not to cold-cock Tony and tear apart our families. I manage to corral Tony back with the others at the bar. Leading him away from Thatcher.
“Gloria’s really officiating the wedding?” a cousin asks me.
“Yeah,” I answer, “with Rose.” Both my mom and Jane’s mom will be marrying off the happy couple. I make a quick exit after I diss the Eagles, knowing they’ll boo me away.
“Get outta here!”
“Ah fuck youse, Banks!”
I leave, just as Akara approaches.
He eyes my cousins and the curses that trail after me. “You need backup?”
I shake my head. “They’re harmless.” Though, I think of Tony. I dig in my pocket for a cigarette. “Christ, I can’t believe Tony is Connor Cobalt’s bodyguard.” I stick a cigarette between my lips. “Why doesn’t he just can his ass already?”
“Because Tony’s related to his future son-in-law,” Akara says like the answer is clear as day. “If he tells Price that Tony isn’t working out, what is your family going to think of the Cobalts?”
They’ll think that the Cobalts only care about the Cobalts, and not the whole family. Which includes the Ramellas.
They’ll never forgive the Cobalts.
“Fuck,” I mutter, cigarette in my mouth while I fumble for a lighter.
Akara shakes his head. “I wish you would quit.”
“I already did,” I remind him.
He tries not to smile and digs in his pocket for his buzzing