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December 31st – Brooklyn, present
Of all the flaws Henry Husker recognized as having – gambler, alcoholic, incapable of dealing with certain feelings, and so on – being deaf had never occurred to him.
But it had to be that way, because the words that had just come out of Anthony Scavo’s mouth – his very blond, very sexy partner who made every fucking man turn toward them when they walked down the street together, and he still wondered how such a miracle had been possible – he simply couldn’t have actually heard them.
He must surely have misheard.
Like, maybe the sauce he was heating in the pot had made too much noise, or something.
Of course, Tony’s expression – that wrinkle of worry between his eyebrows, despite the smile, which he had now learned to associate with a certain feeling of pure terror – didn’t make things any easier.
He cleared his throat, putting down the spoon and wiping his hands on the absurd red apron that said ‘ I’m the cat ’ that he had worn over a black shirt and a pair of equally dark pants. Hurrah for the holiday spirit, right? No.
“What do you mean you lost her ?”
“I mean she and Caroline are no longer in your daughter’s room.”
Okay no, he really did hear that .
And more importantly: she and Caroline ?
“No no, hold on a sec—”
When Husk thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, here came those words.
“… You mean you lost Caroline too?”
Anthony crossed arms over his chest, tucked into an oversized black sweater with gold lettering that read ‘ The cat got my tongue ’, because of course the apron had come with a coordinated gift the blond gave himself implying a pun bordering on indecency.
One day he would investigate that unhealthy fixation that Henry resembled a large, slightly grumpy tomcat, but today wasn’t the day.
No, there was nothing amused about the hazel-green glare Tony was currently shooting his way.
“I haven’t lost shit, Henry,” he pointed out, clicking the pierced tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I was in the kitchen with you the whole time, as you know, and when I went to the bathroom I looked into the bedroom and it was empty. Now—”
As much as Anthony tried to rationalize, panic had begun to creep into Henry’s consciousness and make him lose all control. He turned pale.
“Considering that they couldn’t have disappeared into thin air and you live on the sixth floor, I assume they used the fire escape?”
Right. The ladder.
Henry said nothing more and marched towards what had now become Caroline’s room; only for a week or so, since he had spoken to Lidia before Christmas Eve and the case for sole custody had been shelved.
The best Christmas gift his ex-wife had ever given him.
Asking to spend the New Year’s Eve night together had been Tony’s idea.
I’ll take this opportunity to free my sister and babysit Anna, hmm? What do you say, whiskers, how about a crazy night dedicated to puzzles, tea with an army of frogs and to bed shortly after midnight?
To Henry it had seemed like the best idea in the world for a lot of reasons.
Now, leaning out of Caroline’s open bedroom window and staring down the four flights of fire escapes to the ground and the alley they led into, not far from the Brooklyn Bridge, he reconsidered that idea a lot.
Shit.
He felt Anthony’s presence appear beside him in a sigh that became smoke in the cold December night air, a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
“A full-blown getaway, though.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault!”
Henry propped his elbows on the windowsill to support his head and ran his hands through his salt’n’pepper locks, looking like he didn’t know what to do at the moment.
“Lidia’s going to kill me.”
“Yeah right, what about Molly?” Anthony snorted with sarcasm “You know what kind of family I’m part of, right?”
“Now she’s not going to let me see Caroline again—”
“The cement shoes are just around the corner, if—”
“What the hell were they thinking?!”
“And to think you wanted me to walk down these stairs, months ago, without even my clothes on.”
Henry gave Anthony a slightly murderous look, rewarded with a sneer.
They both sighed heavily as Tony stepped away from the windowsill to go back inside.
“I’m going to call the police, they can’t have gone too far.”
“And what are you going to tell them?!”
Henry’s blunt question – addressed to no one , considering that Anthony had already disappeared and was continuing his speech about how Molly and especially Nico would remind him that the Scavos are a mafia family for a reason – landed into a silence broken only by the tv’s background chatter in the living room.
‘ Tonight, don’t miss the traditional countdown in Times Square! Come see the Ball drop with your own eyes and greet the arrival of the new year with us! ’
Henry blinked again, closing the window and joining the blond in the living room, who in the meantime was standing still with his cell phone in his hand, staring at the television.
Judging by the way he searched for Husk’s gaze, the same, crazy idea had crossed both their minds.
“Times Square.”
December 31st – Greenwich Village, present
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on Al, we’re talking about my daughter!”
“As adorable as she is and a much more reasonable creature than her father, Husker, I’m not going to give up my evening and embrace this crazy research venture because you and your blond companion can’t handle a couple of little girls.”
“Why do you have to emphasize the fact that I’m blond ?”
Alastor accentuated that perpetual smile of his, hiding it behind the glass he was sipping; in response, came someone’s barely there, composed and polite laugh.
Both Anthony and Henry turned to Rosie, the author of that contained hilarity hidden behind a lace-gloved hand.
Even though they were in a place in the center of Manhattan, in the heart of the Village, the Coffrè retained this timeless aura, crystallized in the roaring twenties of prohibitionism, jazz and the black market hold by gangsters in double-breasted suits, whispers in luxurious rooms filled with smoke.
“Oh, you know what they say dear,” Rosie explained, in a nod to Anthony’s blond hair – a little disheveled by the cold, the taxi ride, the worry. “It was a joke related to the blond people’s lack of perspicacity. You should learn some manners, Alastor.” Rosie scolded him at the end, shooting him a look and raising her left eyebrow with an air half amused and half reproachful.
The doctor shrugged, nonchalantly, making Tony frown.
Husk watched him and sighed, trying to contain the rising anger and turning to Alastor again.
“So it’s a no.”
“It's ‘ call the police ’, as absurd as it seems that I’m the one suggesting it here.”
“The police means Lidia and Molly would find out,” Henry explained once more, with a hint of urgency and a snarl. “I’d rather not be called the worst father of the year after only a week of seeing my daughter whenever I want—”
“And I don’t want to end up at the bottom of the Hudson.”
Alastor swirled his smooth whiskey in the glass, without losing his composure but returning his gaze to Anthony and his words.
“ Really. ”
Tony straightened and glared at the doctor, sending him a look that – even with all the anxiety of losing two little girls in New York City – threatened to give Husk a hard-on right where he stood.
The smile that curved Anthony’s lips had nothing friendly about it, no matter how soft it was.
“If I tell my family you were an obstacle in our search, maybe they’ll kill me first but then they come after you. Scavo, does that ring a bell?”
Rosie’s lashes fluttered in an interested smirk, while Alastor’s smile cracked a bit. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple twitching above the silk handkerchief neatly tied around the neck.
Yes, apparently he knew them.
Husker made a mental note never to cross his sister-in-law, before Alastor’s black eyes found him again.
“Even if I wanted to help you, I wouldn’t know how.”
“I need you to ask Zestiel to send his folks around to find them, they’re probably somewhere around Times Square.”
Alastor laughed, delighted and incredulous, in that way that sometimes gave Husk goosebumps. Now, it only pissed him off even more.
“I already got you your job back, Husker, and I even got you this night off. My clemency and collaboration only go up to a certain point.”
Alastor wasn’t about to raise the stakes.
Tony took a sharp breath and cursed in Italian, before reaching for Henry’s elbow.
“Let’s go Husk, we’re looking for them—”
He didn’t move, stuck in that privè. Or rather, he did move something.
He slammed both hands on the table, startling everyone present: Anthony and Rosie, actually. Alastor remained impassive, like his smile, focused on looking Henry straight in the eyes.
Right on the aforementioned table, Husk leaned forward until he was a few inches from the other’s smug face.
“Let’s make a deal.”
A dark flicker of interest crept into the depths of those black eyes.
I see.
Henry couldn’t help but think back to all their college poker games and that memorable, first loss in Texas Hold Em. The one that had cost him his soul, practically, considering that Alastor had never left his life since.
“You help us look for Caroline and Anna, talking to Zestiel, and I’ll find you the new financier for the speakeasy.”
“Oh Husker, you already do what I told you to without further debt.”
“Samael Magne.”
Anthony blinked, realizing what the other was doing and taking in Henry’s profile; Rosie, very interested, also glanced back and forth between the two players.
“I can introduce him to you.”
All in.
Alastor tilted his head slightly towards his right shoulder, as if he were observing Husk from another angle.
Samael Magne was one of the richest entrepreneurs in the state of New York and showing him off was the proverbial ace up the sleeve.
Henry flickered an amber glance – quick, attentive – towards Anthony, silently thanking him again for that promise he had made him on Christmas Eve and which had turned out to be the trump card of that hand.
Maybe.
Alastor was an unpredictable player.
“Hmm.” the doctor muttered, pretending to think about it for a moment. “That could be interesting, yes. When?”
“You are officially invited to his daughter’s wedding in March.”
Alastor ran the tip of his index finger lazily over the rim of the whiskey glass, while Tony eyed Henry and made silent signs as if to say ‘ what the fuck are you doin’, I haven’t asked Charlie yet, you’ve gone insane ’ that the other didn’t see or perhaps purposely ignored.
Rosie smiled again in knowing silence behind her lace-gloved hand.
“Oh well, I suppose it’s better than nothing. Deal.”
Royal Flush.
December 31st – Times Square, present
In the end, Alastor had actually spoken to Zestiel.
So, while Husk was pacing outside the gangster’s office, Anthony was trying to eavesdrop on the conversation that was going on inside; he had even risked falling face first, when the door opened again and Zestiel – already on the phone, to unleash his men – and Alastor came out.
Henry, completely ignored by the gangster, had met the doctor’s gaze and had swallowed his thanks, extinguished by a threatening black look that had silently told him: this is the last time .
And so, after a ride on the subway – crowded with revelers all or almost all headed towards Times Square – they had emerged where they were now waiting for the two escaped little ladies to be brought back to them. Luckily, Zestiel’s network was widespread enough that finding them had been a breeze: they had been stopped by the police, who had become suspicious when they saw two little girls out and about alone on New Year’s Eve.
Husker, leaning against a street lamp with his arms folded, considered with a hint of panic how deep his employer’s ‘friendships’ went, given that a couple of words – and maybe a few bribes – had been enough to be able to take the two little girls back without too much fuss like ‘ but you’re not even related to them ’ and let the matter drop.
Lidia would not have known anything and Anthony would not have ended up at the bottom of the Hudson.
All sorted.
Speaking of Hudson.
He cleared his throat, eyeing Tony next to him who was scrolling through Instagram as usual, handing out hearts to various identical posts about New Year’s Eve.
“So your family…?”
“Yep.”
Oh.
“And you too?”
“Nah.” Anthony didn’t even look at him, gaze lazily focused on the screen. “When I was younger, my dad tried to get me into the business. But Nico was always the chosen one to carry on the family legacy.”
“Mh.”
“And to be fair, ever since my dad found out I like dicks, I was basically disinherited.”
Henry frowned, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and trying to read Tony’s emotions at that moment, looking at his profile.
“’m sorry.”
“For what? That I like dicks? I thought you liked it when I suck yours.”
Aaaaand it’s gone. That romantic and understanding moment, gone.
“… You’re an idiot.”
“And you love me for that.”
The blond’s cheeky smile, accompanied by a flicker in his eyes as he looked back at Henry, putting the phone back in his pocket, was brighter than the Times Square Ball that had begun its descent and countdown.
Husk smiled back.
“Course I love you.”
It’s you that taught me what it means to love someone again.
“Dad!”
Henry stepped away from the street lamp he was leaning against, instantly called by Caroline’s voice as she pushed her way through the crowd to reach him; just behind her, Anna was peacefully in the arms of one of Zestiel’s henchmen, being carried like a princess to avoid being swallowed up by the crowd.
Husk caught his daughter, lifting her into his arms and holding her in a relieved hug.
“Oh honey, you scared the hell out of me.” he murmured, one hand tucked into the curls at the nape of her neck and the other pressing her against himself, before pulling her away enough to look at her in a rebuke that couldn’t quite be angry. Not entirely. “What on earth were you thinking?”
“We wanted to see the Ball!” Anna replied for her, having been handed over from the arms of the goon – who had taken his leave with a respectful nod and disappeared back into the crowd – to those of Anthony, who was now hugging her. “You and Uncle could have had some alone time, so Caro, Fizzie and I thought we’d go!”
Of course, ’cause she always carried that sort-of frog with her. Even now, Fizzarollie was crushed in Tony’s embrace.
“Sweetie, we would have gladly accompanied you both!” Anthony chimed in, also in a more relieved than angry rebuke. “It’s our night, remember?”
“Can I tell Mom about the adventure to get here?”
“… No.”
Anna pouted a bit, before slipping into old family customs.
“So what do you give me in return for keeping the secret?”
Anthony opened his mouth, indignant, and Henry laughed – he left them to their negotiation, leaning his forehead against Caroline’s, who put her arms around his neck for a knowing whisper.
“I’m keeping the secret, Dad,” she murmured. “If mom gets angry, then we can't see each other again.”
Husk chuckled softly, in a low and slightly emotional sound.
It’s the cold, just the cold.
“That’s my girl.”
December 31st – Mountainside Treatment Center, one year ago
Anthony had his back to the television in the common room, stubbornly turned towards the window and with the infinite desire to get high with whatever was available.
He had spent the entire afternoon, more or less, planning how to break into the supply room that the nurses had access to, discarding one strategy after another when he had realized the harsh truth – the one that Charlie had been telling him for a couple of months now: it’s all up to you, Anthony, I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped.
The only thing he could think of at that moment was how Valentino was spending his New Year’s Eve; how many times he had already fucked his Wall Street Daddy, how many drugs he had taken, how much time he had thought about him.
Not even for a fucking moment, Tony, get that out of your head.
He dug his fingers into crossed arms, holding back a feeling that by now – no longer clouded by the amount of drugs he regularly took – had become sharp; something that hurt constantly. Lucidity had shown him, with cold clarity, how wrong his relationship was. Poisonous. Toxic.
And yet.
You are pathetic, Anthony.
No, I am an addict. Because of him .
He angrily wiped away a tear, rubbing the sleeve of that hideous gray sweatshirt against his cheek, while behind him the other clinic’s patients and the nurses welcomed the arrival of the Times Square Ball at its destination and a concert of “ Happy New Year! ” resounded joyfully throughout the facility.
Illuminated by the light of the fireworks outside the window – red blue green red again – Anthony Scavo promised himself that this year would be different. This year, everything would have changed. This year, he would have taken charge of his life again and not let Valentino drag him down again. Who knows, maybe he would have even met someone else, someone who would not have sold him to his friends as a sex toy, someone who would not have intoxicated him with drugs. With his love.
Someone who, maybe, would have appreciated him for what he really was.
He blinked and scratched a skeptical half-laugh from his vocal cords, calling himself an idiot as he stared at himself in the window’s reflection.
Since when do you start making stupid and unattainable New Year’s resolutions?
“Happy fucking New Year.”
December 31st – Manhattan, one year ago
Lidia had thrown him out of the house.
Or maybe not, it hadn’t happened that way; maybe he had left, after yet another argument, slamming the door with more force than was really necessary. All because he didn’t want to see Caroline’s eyes peering at him from behind the couch, where she had heard their whole argument and had pretended nothing had happened.
How many fights had his daughter had to suffer because of his dickhead.
He didn’t remember exactly how he had gotten there, or how many glasses he had downed. To tell the truth, he wasn’t even sure he had the money to pay for those glasses – whiskey, neat, leave the bottle – but it was a little late to worry about that now.
Outside the fogged windows of the packed bar where he had found himself, not far from Times Square, there was a sea of people counting down to welcome the new year. He had been bumped into God knows how many times, as people crowded against the windows to watch from the warmth of the place the Ball slowly descend, with each toll, towards its final destination.
Henry Husker’s amber eyes, however, were resolutely fixed on his reflection – glimpsed between the row of bottles lined up behind the bar – and on the mess that his life had become lately.
As the numbers ticked by, inexorably, he found himself mentally reeling off everything he had managed to ruin in the last few years.
You lost your wife – he was pretty sure she was seeing someone else, someone who was surely treating her better than he was lately.
You lost your job – the fourth, or maybe the fifth. He had also lost count, and although Alastor was always ready to lengthen the list of his debts to find him other tasks that were not exactly legal, he couldn’t pay everything he owed with them.
Surely, he was unable to repay all the gambling debts he had accumulated and continued to, when he wasn’t drowning himself in alcohol.
You lost your daughter.
A roar of joy and “ Happy New Year! ” resounded behind him as Henry realized that he was only the husk of the man he had been and, above all, that it was himself who had ruined his own life. With his own hands.
What does the bottom of the barrel taste like?
That little voice made him lower his teary eyes – it’s only the alcohol that’s all – on the now empty glass of whiskey, as if he were silently answering that question that he had asked himself. Maybe. He didn’t even know that anymore.
He knew one thing, though; he knew that he had two options, at the moment: start digging or try to climb back up, somehow. Change his life, get a grip. With difficulty, without much hope, but with that image burned into his memory.
I don’t want to see that expression in Caroline’s eyes anymore.
It would have been hard. Impossible, maybe, because when was he ever one for New Year’s resolutions? They never work.
Husker shook his head in a hollow, humorless laugh, pouring himself another drink amid the general cheer, his salt-and-pepper hair full of gold confetti.
“Happy fucking New Year.”
December 31st – Times Square, present
Times Square was a sea of people – a mass of folks crowded together, strangers stealing good-luck kisses, laughter, confetti, and streamers.
The ever-bright Manhattan sky was ablaze with fireworks, tinting Anthony and Henry’s noses as they turned up to watch the spectacle, while Anna and Caroline – satisfied with their great escape to see the Times Square Ball drop in person – danced and laughed to some questionable song that was playing all over the square.
Henry, without saying a word, reached for Tony’s hand and found it there, at his side; he also found his hazel-green eyes – he told him that all the time now, because he deserved to hear it for all the times no one had noticed, no one had actually looked at him – and the usual cheeky smile, golden canine included.
Husk smiled back, softly. With that feeling in the pit of his stomach that just a year ago he never thought he’d feel again.
“Happy New Year, Tony.”
Anthony chuckled, lifting his free hand to grab the collar of Husker’s coat and tug him closer, leaning down enough to find his lips and place a kiss there.
Henry, who truly appreciated him for who he was. Him, who had made him pick up photography again, who supported him in his work as a performer, who had never once made him feel like he was worthless. Him, who had taught him that love was breathing.
“Happy New Year, Henry.”
Well, maybe not all New Year’s resolutions are impossible to achieve.