Hugh snickered.
Luca looked the kid over. “He did, did he?” The kid wasn’t big, maybe five-eight, one-fifty. And he was too damn pretty for the ring. But he was standing there shirtless, in grey sweatpants, and he looked like he was put together okay, knew how to work his body right. “You ever fought?”
“We had a Fight Club at school.” He smirked proudly. “It was underground.”
Now Hugh muttered, “Fuck. I’m out. I’ll see ya, Luc.”
“Yeah, Hugh.” Hugh stalked off, and Luca turned his attention back to the kid. “That’s not boxing or MMA, kid. That’s not really fighting at all. That’s just brawling. Nothing wrong with it. It’s a wicked good time. But it don’t get you ready for this.”
“But you could?”
He laughed. “Uh, no. Sorry. Training’s a full time job, and I got one of them.” The kid looked crestfallen, and Luca relented a little. “Look. I could see what you got, maybe recommend somebody.”
“That’d be awesome. Now?”
“Whoa, Beav. No. I got Mass in half an hour.” He cocked his eyebrow at him. If he was Fred’s nephew and in town, he should have the same appointment Luca had. “Don’t you?”
“Nah. Church gives me hives.”
Luca wasn’t much of a fan, either. He found it pompous and political and not much at all about faith. But for all the boundaries he pushed with his father, for all the fights and rebellions, bailing on Sunday Mass was a bridge even he wouldn’t cross.
“Okay. Well, I got a date. Meet me here tomorrow at four. We’ll see what you got.”
Young Anthony held his hand out again, grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Wicked! Thanks, man!”
Chuckling to himself, Luca shook with Anthony and then headed to the locker room.
oOo
As usual, he was late and barely made it into the pew before Father Michael and his entourage made their processional. The whole family filled the crowded pew—his father, with Mrs. D.; his eldest brother, Carlo Jr.; his little nephew, Trey; his sister-in-law, Sabina; his baby sister, Rosa, and his elder sister, Carmen; his younger brothers, Joey and John. Since the addition of Sabina and Mrs. D., they’d filled the pew. If anybody else hooked up, they’d have to start taking over the pew behind.
Carlo Sr., as usual, turned and glowered as Luca sat down with his helmet at his side. He made a show of the helmet, bringing it in.
Everybody thought he was a rebel. He fucking thought of himself as a rebel. But here he was, sitting on the family pew, wearing his helmet, staving off fights with his old man. He’d learned to pick his battles, and the Mass and helmet battles weren’t worth fighting. But he loved the sour look the old man gave him when that big thing thumped down on the pew.
He’d had to readjust the strap, because Manny had been the last person to wear it.
Manny. Fuck.
As the Mass progressed, Luca did the Catholic calisthenics—sit, kneel, stand, kneel, sit, stand—and responses by rote and let his mind go where it lately always wanted. To the problem of little Manny.
Something about that little bit of a girl really had him twisted up. He couldn’t figure it. He’d even bailed on fucking Lynne the morning before, after their surf, and after he had her out of her suit. He’d tried, but his heart had not been in it, and neither had his body—as if he was still spent from the night before with Manny. And they’d only fucked once. And she’d sent him on his way before he’d gone fully soft.
Lynne had been pissy about it, too. Fuck. Rhiannon was pissed at him, now Lynne was pissed. He hadn’t seen Heather in almost a month. Maybe his life with women was more complicated than he’d realized. Maybe women were just fucking complicated, period.
He liked his life the way it was. Clean. Uncomplicated. Watching Carlo and Sabina struggle through all their shit over the last year was evidence enough that he was not built for serious relationships. It had been hard enough to be Carlo’s wingman and Sabina’s strong shoulder through all that bullshit—her abusive husband, his insane ex-wife, getting entangled with the Uncles, Joey getting hurt, almost losing Trey, detectives becoming regular visitors at the house on Caravel Road. What a fucking mess.
And Manny? She was the very definition of ‘fucking mess.’ He had a protective thing going on for her which could not be healthy. Her story was a horror, and she was mentally fucked and younger than her years because of it. Too young to know what she was getting into with a guy like him.