Page 16 of Love Bound

Just as I turn around, a Lexus pulls up, the paint a deep navy blue, the sunroof down, and music—the faint call of Eric Clapton—welling from inside.

I dig my hands into my pockets and trudge up the little embankment back to the driveway.

A man climbs out from behind all that tinted glass and starts passing judgment on The Inn. "Shit. You're in thick, my friend."

"You mean deep. Thanks, I think," I say.

Nic Silvano slides off his Ray-Bans and really looks at the building. "Jesus, it needs a ton of work."

I dig my hands in my pockets even deeper. "Yep."

He sighs. For a tall, lanky Italian, he carries himself very reservedly. He does not emote. "Listen. I'm—we're all worried about you."

"Don't."

"You leave and you move up here and you won’t answer phone calls."

"Yours," I say.

"I’m not the bad guy."

"Look. If you're here to yell at me let's get it over with. I bought the place. I left you the business. I've been telling you for a year I was going to do this." I move to the front door and he follows me up the granite stone steps. I can feel him behind me and he catches the screen door. I make a mental note to look for the storm door in the cellar and swap it out.

"Leaving me the business means letting me buy you out. You can’t just hand it over," he says.

"I did."

"I won’t accept it."

"You don’t have a choice," I tell him.

"It’s got your name on it for Christ’s sake. Colton Security Systems."

"So change it. I can see it now." I smear an imaginary marquee. "Silvano Security." I pause and then, "See? Easy."

"Where are you going?"

"Upstairs. There's a leak in one of the bathrooms."

"I bet there's more than one leak," he says.

I'm halfway up the stairs before I hear him add, "She's not coming back, Finn. Let her go."

My whole body stiffens. I know this. She's never coming back. The dead only tear holes in your heart. Its amazing mine can still beat, tattered edges of muscle trying to pump life. "I'm not talking about this."

***

Nic sits on the toilet seat, handing me tools.

I'm on the floor, shirt wet, the trap having cracked and broken off at the same time the shut off valve came off in my hand. There's a mound of old sodden towels tossed in the clawfoot tub and I'm wiping water out of my left eye while lying on my back.

Nic, of course, has managed to not only stay dry, but clean, and not one straight black hair is out of place. He doesn’t even use hair product. "I didn’t just come up here to berate you."

"I know. Plumber's tape," I say. As he hands me the small, white roll, I can almost feel his worry. "Just about done here. And you can head on back to Boston proper."

"Shit. That hurts. Look, I'm not taking half the biz. I hashed it out with the attorneys— "

"Phil and Vin? Good God." I stick my head out from under the sink. "Why did you involve them?"