Just For Me: A Cerasino Family Novella Read online

  I watched as Kat’s soggy figure disappeared into the mass transit bus. I’d kind of been hoping the bus would have taken off before she got there, so I could have offered her a ride myself. Ah, hell, who was I kidding? She wouldn’t have accepted a ride with a stranger, and that’s exactly what I was to her: the weird guy who sat in the corner and made lame attempts at humor after inadvertently body slamming her.

  That was twice in as many minutes that the wind was taken out of my sails.

  “Well, damn,” I murmured.

  Surprisingly enough, my grandfather didn’t seem at all disappointed by the turn of events. In fact, his dark eyes sparkled rather mischievously. I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you up to, Nonno?”

  His sudden feigned look of innocence didn’t fool anyone. “Me? Why you think I’m-a up to anything?”

  “Because you usually are.”

  His answering grin confirmed it. And despite myself, I felt a spark of hope.

  Chapter 3: Kat

  The cranky looking driver didn’t openly acknowledge my murmured ‘have a good weekend’ as I exited the bus, but I could have sworn I saw her features soften a little. That was progress. I might be socially awkward, but I was raised to be polite. Little things, like saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘excuse me’, went a long way and required next to nothing in terms of personal investment. I couldn’t imagine having to drive that big vehicle around and deal with people all day. That would make me grouchy, too.

  I barely felt the cold as I schlepped the two blocks to my apartment, excited by the prospect of what I held in my hands. I had my night all planned out. I was going to pop some comfort food in the microwave (potatoes and cheese would definitely be involved), grab a hot shower, snuggle into my fleecy PJ’s, then curl up with my precious.

  “Gimme your purse.” The hoarse, raspy voice and sudden shove startled me. I’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of my evening that I’d broken the number one rule of walking alone: I’d neglected to remain alert and aware of my surroundings. As a result I now found myself being pushed roughly into a dark alley and shoved up against a brick building.

  Fingers curled painfully into my upper arm as he used his bigger body to bulldoze me away from the sidewalk. The combined scents of cigarettes, B.O., and desperation assaulted my nostrils and made me glad I hadn’t had dinner yet. I switched to shallow breaths and tried to keep my shaking legs beneath me as we moved further out of sight. Not a lot of people were out in this weather, and those that were, were moving too quickly to notice what was happening to me.

  We stopped, and he gave me another shove until I was flush up against the building. He kept me pinned long enough to flash a blade in front of my face. “Scream, and I’ll gut you.”

  His words sent paralyzing images into my mind, images of me bleeding out in an alley just a few hundred feet from my apartment. I shook my head and whispered, “I won’t.”

  Don’t panic, I told myself firmly as I tried to push down the fear. I could be scared later, but right now I needed to focus on trying to memorize everything I could about my attacker so I could identify him later. Height, a few inches taller than me. Weight, no idea, but he wasn’t fat. Build, I’d put at the meaner side of lean. Skin, it was too dark in the alley to tell. Hair, not visible beneath the dark beanie (or was it called a skull cap?) he wore. Eyes, something dark that glistened in the low light.

  Great. Some help I was.

  He took a half step back. “I said, gimme your purse, bitch.”

  My mind raced, desperately seeking whatever would get me through this alive and intact. What was I supposed to do? Give him what he wanted? Or fight and try to get away?

  Another rough shove and I made my decision. “T-t-take it,” I whispered, pulling it from my shoulder. He grabbed it, snagging my swollen wrist in the process. Ignoring my gasp of pain, he shoved it under his baggy coat, then narrowed his eyes. “Whatcha hidin’ there?”

  I clutched the package tighter to my chest. “Nothing.”

  “Give it.” When I shook my head, he wrenched the bag from my hold, snarling in disgust when he looked inside. “A book? A fucking book?”

  He tossed it to the side, right toward a puddle. “No!” I cried, lunging for it, but I was too late. The paper gift bag hit the water with a splash. My Nick Penn book, the one I’d been waiting for, was ruined. Irrational rage surged inside me. It was the last straw.

  “You bastard!” I cried out, bringing my foot up with the intent of introducing his privates to my sensible, low-heeled ankle boots. Unfortunately, I don’t think this was his first snatch and grab. He anticipated the move and turned to the side, so I ended up just glancing his thigh. My standing knee, the one I’d twisted earlier, protested with a sharp pain, but I was too far gone in my rage to care. I just wanted to hurt him.

  My foot was already coming up for a second strike when he decided he’d had enough.

  “Fucking crazy bitch,” he growled. Pain exploded against the front of my face a second or two before I felt the back of my head hit the bricks. Then I was falling. I was only vaguely aware of his footsteps pounding the wet pavement as he ran away with my purse.

  For the second time that day, cold water was seeping into my pants. The upside of that was that it took some of my focus away from the pain, which was on the heavy side of “ow”. I leaned forward and grabbed the soggy bag. It fell apart with the first tug, revealing the awful truth. The jacket was ruined, the pages already swelling.

  I snatched it up out of the water and held it to my chest. Then the tears started to fall.

  “Miss? Are you all right?”

  I don’t know how long I‘d been sitting there before I heard the voice, but it couldn’t have been too long. I looked up into the face of another stranger kneeling before me, this one wearing dark blue rain gear etched with the local police department logo. I got the impression it wasn’t the first time he’d asked me.

  “Yes,” I said numbly. “I’m okay.” My whole body was kind of numb, actually.

  If the concern on his face was anything to go by, he didn’t believe me.

  “Can you tell me your name, miss?”

  “Katherine.” I was starting to pull myself together, tiny bit by bit.

  “I was mugged.” The words came out slurred; I lifted one hand to my face, which felt bigger than usual. A fist to the face will do that to you. “He ruined my book,” I added in a whisper, the tears starting to flow freely again.

  I tried to get my body to stand, but it was harder than I thought. A gentle but firm hand on my shoulder discouraged another attempt. “Easy there,” he said, giving me a vague sense of déjà vu. Where else had I heard those words recently? Oh, right. The quiet guy from the bookstore. The one who’d called me a wrecking ball. I felt the heat in my skin, embarrassed all over again.

  “Just sit tight, all right? Help is on the way. I’m going to call for an ambulance.”

  His words brought me out of the bookstore and back to the alley. “I don’t need an ambulance,” I countered weakly. “I just want to go home.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Katherine, but your face tells me otherwise.”

  “I’ve got ice for that,” I tried.

  I swear amusement flickered briefly in those concerned brown eyes. Eyes that seemed vaguely familiar. But before my fuzzy mind could place them, he said, “Just let them check you out, okay? It would make me feel better. Please?”

  I couldn’t imagine why he would care one way or the other, but he had a kind face and I guess it was part of his sworn oath to protect and serve or something.

  “Okay,” I sighed heavily. The last thing I wanted to do was spend the rest of my night in the ER, but it was probably the smart thing to do. If nothing else, maybe they could give me some prescription strength ibuprofen or something. “But can we ride in your car instead? I really don’t like ambulances.”

  That was the truth. The last time I’d been in an ambulance, it had been aft
er the car accident that had left me with just a few cuts and bruises but claimed the life of my sister. Even the telltale wail of the sirens brought the images from that day back into sharp focus, and to be completely honest, I just didn’t feel strong enough to deal with any of that at that point.

  For a few moments, I thought he was going to refuse. Maybe it was against the rules or something, I don’t know; I’d never really considered it before. But then I saw compassion in those kind eyes and he nodded.

  He took off his rain slicker and wrapped it around me, then helped me to my feet. His arm kept me from falling right back down when my head swam dizzily. He was big and strong and warm, and I’ll admit, I put my pride on the shelf temporarily and let him help me.

  “What’s your full name?”

  “Katherine O’Shea,” I replied automatically. “Nice to meet you.”

  He chuckled softly and kept me upright as we shuffle-stepped toward his waiting car. “But it would be better under different circumstances, right, Katherine?”

  I tried to smile, but it hurt, so I simply nodded and clutched the ruined book to my chest. “Yes.”

  He held me steady with one arm while he opened the rear door with the other.

  “Can I sit up front with you?”

  “Sorry,” he said apologetically. “It’s against regulations.”

  “I understand.” And I did.

  He eased me into the back seat, then helped me with the seat belt. The car was warm and dry, and I felt kind of bad that I was dripping all over it. “You’re very kind, Officer...”

  “Cerasino,” he finished. “Vincent Cerasino.”

  The name immediately rang a bell. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. I had to wait until he slid in to ask, “Are you related to Mr. C? The guy who owns the bookstore?”

  His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror a moment before he pulled away from the curb. “Yes. He’s my grandfather.”

  “He’s a nice man. He calls me Bella.”

  I think he responded, but my eyes were already closing.

  Chapter 4: Nick

  I sat at the table, surrounded by those closest to me as I paid silent homage to my mother’s incredible skill in the kitchen. I know most people brag about their mom’s cooking, but saying just how good my mother’s was wasn’t bias, it was fact.

  “Are you nervous, Nicky?” my sister Gina asked around a mouthful of parmigiana. Younger than me at twenty-three, she was working on her Master’s in Graphic Design and the only one still living with our parents. The rest of us had our own places, but more often than not, we ended up here for dinner. “Here” was the private section of my parents’ restaurant reserved for famiglia and very close friends. This was home.

  “’Course he’s not nervous,” my younger brother Dom said immediately, rising to my defense. “What’s he got to be nervous about? It’s a fucking book signing, for Christ’s sake. Ow! Ma!”

  I smirked down at my plate. I didn’t have to look up to know what happened. My mother had a gift for appearing out of nowhere and cuffing us at the base of our skulls whenever we did something she didn’t approve of. It didn’t matter that she was about five feet tall and my brother was close to six-four and almost thirty years old. Her table, her rules, and as a devout Roman Catholic, Rosa Cerasino did not tolerate anyone taking the Lord’s name in vain.

  “Sorry, Ma.”

  She ruffled his hair. “You need to go see your cousin Valentina and get a haircut.”

  “I will.”

  I withheld my smile as Gina and I exchanged a knowing look at his bald-faced lie. The last time he went to Val for a trim, she buzzed him right down the middle because he’d hooked-up with her best friend and never called afterward. He’d had to wear a baseball cap for weeks until it grew out.

  “So how about it, Nicky?” Gina continued. “Me and Sofia, we decided we’d come by and offer moral support.” Sofia was my other sister, currently doing her residency in the local hospital’s ER. She worked all kinds of crazy long shifts, and I was touched that she’d take time out to do that for me.

  “He doesn’t need moral support,” Dom chimed in with a wicked grin. “But he might need some bodyguards from all those horny chicks who read his books.”

  I finished chewing and reached for the glass of wine. “Jealous, Dom?”

  He grinned wider. “Fuck yes, I am.”

  “Liar,” I said, but I was grinning, too. Like all of my brothers, Dominic had no problem when it came to finding willing females to keep him company.

  I looked back at Gina. “You serious? You’d come?”

  “Yeah, of course. Someone’s got to have your back.” She winked. “Besides, I want to meet Bella.”

  I nearly choked on my wine. “What?”

  “Bella,” she said, her eyes glittering with mischief and so much like my grandfather’s. “Nonno says she’s your biggest fan, and your perfect match.”

  Everyone at the table was sitting up and paying attention now. I tried not to squirm under their scrutiny. I was over thirty, financially comfortable, and unattached, which put a target on my back the size of Uncle Al’s 1974 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. Every female relative I had was trying to fix me up with a ‘nice girl’. Call me crazy, but I preferred to find my own woman, thank you very much. And I knew exactly which woman I wanted.

  “Nonno doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I muttered, but the damage was done. My grandfather had some legendary skills. When he played Cupido, marriages happened.

  “Right,” winked Gina.

  Eager to avoid any further discussion on my love life (or lack thereof), I downed the rest of my wine and got up, stacking my plates and silverware automatically. Wait staff and bus service were reserved for paying customers; the rest of us cleaned up after ourselves. Besides, since we’d all grown up working in the restaurant, it was second nature.

  I entered the busy kitchen, grinning when I saw the next generation of Cerasinos doing their part under the watchful eye of my mother and my father, Frank. I kissed my mother and told her I was leaving. She pulled me in for a hug and said, “In bocca al lupo, Nicky.” Good luck. “I hope she comes.”

  “Molte grazie, Mamma,” I answered. “Me, too.”

  I went back to my place, a quiet two bedroom condo in the nicer section of town. I wasn’t surprised that my mother knew about Kat; she and my grandfather were partners in crime when it came to matchmaking, and I would have been more surprised if he hadn’t filled her in. What I was slightly unnerved by was the hint of tears in my mother’s eyes when she wished me luck.

  I knew she worried for me, and wanted to see me happy. I’d been the quietest of her four sons, and after leaving the military, even more so. Not everyone understood my desire to become a full-time author. Most of my family had chosen more active careers. My brother Vinnie was a cop. Dom was a fireman. Paulie was a lawyer. Hell, if it wasn’t for the IED that took half my leg, I’d probably still be in the Marines and loving every minute of it.

  But things changed, life went on, and I’d since embraced something else I loved: writing.

  In that regard, I was happy. I’d always had a knack for it. I was my own boss, made my own hours, and got to spend my days locked in worlds of my own creation. My sister had been the one to first suggest I try my hand at writing romance. I balked at first, but Sofie said women would respond to my natural white knight tendencies, whatever that means. As it turned out, she was right.

  Getting those big royalty checks was just icing on the cake. Most of the money, I invested, but I kept enough to be comfortable and take care of those around me. It was nice to be able to do that.

  Speaking of, I had some stuff to do. I grabbed my laptop and another glass of wine and set both beside my bed, then removed my prosthetic and changed into comfortable shorts. I dutifully went through my inbox, made some brief appearances on social media, and responded to some posts on my website. As I mentioned before, I’m not an overly social guy,
but I do think it’s important to acknowledge and connect with those who support me, and they seemed to appreciate it.

  That done, I sighed and closed up my laptop. Usually this was the time when I allowed myself to relax, pull up my notes and let my imagination carry the pictures in my mind onto the page. That wasn’t going to happen tonight, though. Tonight all I could see were images of Kat looking adorably damp and disheveled, that pretty pink blush painting her cheeks when her body pressed against mine. Images of her clutching my book in her hands as if it was the most precious thing on earth as she turned tail and ran away.

  I didn’t like the fact that she’d been limping, but thankfully, it hadn’t looked serious. With any luck, she’d gotten home, taken a nice, soothing bath, and was relaxing after what probably had been a crappy day. I’d had enough of those myself to recognize the signs. Someday, hopefully soon, she’d let me help her deal with those kinds of days.

  Maybe, I thought as I turned out the light and closed my eyes, in a way I already was. I smiled into the dark as I pictured her curled up in bed, reading the book I’d written just for her.

  And hoping against hope that she came to see me tomorrow.

  Chapter 5: Kat

  I shivered, pulling the blanket tighter over my shoulders. The small exam alcove where they’d stashed me was white and chilly, barely big enough for the single-sized bed and utilitarian visitor’s chair. It felt as though I’d been waiting for hours, but I think it was more a case of time dragging slowly because I really, really didn’t want to be there. I was more than ready for this day to be over; I just wanted to curl up in my bed with a heating pad and an ice pack and try to forget it ever happened.

  I silently willed them to hurry up so I could be on my way, experiencing a slight pang of guilt as I did so. I knew they were busy. I understood that they had to deal with cases far more serious than mine. But I was also tired, hurting, and more than a little cranky.

  I tried not to take it out on Officer Cerasino, who had stubbornly refused to drop me off and be on his way. He’d stayed with me while firmly refusing my repeated pleas to take me home. I supposed I should count my blessings, one of them being that I at least had some privacy. If it wasn’t for Officer “just call me Vinnie” talking to some of the staff, I was pretty sure I’d still be in the outer waiting area, feeling self-conscious under the scrutiny of everyone else vying for a few minutes of medical attention.