Sinful Longing

Sadder still over the notes he’d sent.

He leaned back against the steel fridge and closed his eyes. What had he been thinking? But that was the problem—he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been feeling and letting all those stirred-up, messed-up, mixed-up emotions from meeting his long-lost brother rule over him.

He’d simply reacted. Matchstick fast, like he did in sports. When he went bungee jumping, he didn’t let himself think. You don’t give yourself any space to contemplate the decision. You just jump and free-fall. Same as snowboarding the black diamond back trails—just push off and attack the moguls with ruthless speed.

That kind of split-second fearlessness came in handy in his pursuit of adventure sports. But it could be the death knell for a budding relationship.

“Shit,” he said, cursing at himself as he drank more of the caffeinated brew, then set the nearly drained mug on the counter. He’d already logged some time on the lake this morning, on top of last night’s epic two-hour row club workout. The bookends to his midnight and dawn had worked—they’d kept him on the straight and narrow. He’d been tempted last night—the pull of the one sure way to wash away his woes had been potent. But he’d stayed strong, so at least he had that victory.

Now all he wanted was to see Elle and make sense of what had gone down. But it was too early, so he grabbed his keys and sunglasses, left his house, and headed to visit the two people he knew would be up at this hour on a weekend—his dad’s two best friends, Sanders and Donald. That was the cool thing about older dudes. They could be counted on to be wide-awake at dawn.

He drove over to the Golden Nugget and found them where they always were on a Saturday morning. Sanders usually joined Donald at his table for a few final rounds with his favorite dealer before Donald’s overnight shift ended. They’d cap that off with eggs and bacon, then meet their wives for coffee.

Donald dealt cards at the Golden Nugget and had for years, and Sanders was a mechanic at the limo company where Colin’s dad had worked. Colin had known them growing up, before and after his dad’s death. Sanders was a salt-and-pepper haired fellow with a bad back from working on cars his whole life, while Donald was a balding, skinny guy with an ever-present glint in his eyes that seemed to draw crowds to his tables whenever he worked.

At this hour on a Saturday, Sanders was the only one at Donald’s table, so Colin caught them up on the latest news from the detective about the drug dealing, as well as yesterday’s shocker.

“Is that not the craziest thing you’ve heard?” Colin said, as he finished the story and perused his cards.

Donald blew out a long stream of air, capping it with a low whistle. “If it’s not the craziest, it’s damn close. She was a real piece of work, that woman.”

Colin huffed. “Yeah, that’s for sure. Did my dad even know about the stuff she was up to?”

Sanders shook his head. “Hell no,” he said emphatically. “He knew she was getting into some bad shit and running into trouble with money. But being pregnant? No way. He’d have told us for sure.”

“He would?”

Sanders nodded as he studied his cards, exchanging one for a new card. “We were all pretty up front with each other. He told us some of what was going on at work. Like when there was some trouble at the company for a spell and he was trying to make heads and tails of it. Told us, too, what was happening at home with Dora and the fights they had about money, then stuff about you guys. Teaching Mike to drive and Shan to play pool. Hell, we all heard the story of that hickey you got,” he said with a wink, darting out his index finger to tap Colin’s neck as if he were twelve again.

Colin lifted his palm as if he were in a court taking an oath. “I solemnly swear it was an accidental scratch.”

Donald nodded and adopted a too-serious look. “Yeah, that sixth-grader at your school dance had some sharp nails.”

Colin chuckled, remembering when he’d made up that elaborate tale to avoid saying a girl had given him a hickey at a middle school dance. He’d been twelve and wildly embarrassed by the black and blue amoeba-shaped mark on his neck, so he’d concocted a crazy fable when his father had picked him up. His dad saw straight through it and teased him about it. Evidently his dad had told his best buddies, too. That warmed his heart.

He returned to less amusing topics. “What about the cheating, though? Did my dad know about Luke?”

“He was suspicious,” Donald said as he doled out two more cards to Colin.