Page 57 of Bad Medicine
I didn’t know, but Ididknow I was still thinking about her, even hours after we’d finished, and that was something that had never happened before.
Then there was the kid.
I mean,fuck me, what a trip that was.
What the hell was I gonna do with a woman who was also a mom?
I wasn’t stepdaddy material, that was for fuckin’ sure. Kids, they need shit. They needed looking after and teaching and shit like that.
I wasn’t the guy who would throw a ball in the yard and call a kid “sport” and high five him when he learned to ride without his training wheels.
I was the guy who would teach him to swear and how to throw a punch without breaking his hand.
What woman wanted that for her kid?
Certainly none that I could think of.
By the time I dragged my ass back to Enzo’s place, the sun was high, and I was tired as fuck.
I pulled up in front of the house just as Francesca was coming out, dragging a large suitcase behind her.
“Frankie, babe, I told you not to take it,” came Enzo’s cranky voice from inside the house. “Just leave it right fuckin’ there, babe. Seriously.”
“Enzo, I’m pregnant, but that doesn’t mean I’m delicate. I can drag a suitcase behind me just fine.” Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she cried, “It’s on wheels, for crying out loud.”
“I got it, boss lady,” I said, reaching for the suitcase and dragging it down to the curb. “This is pretty heavy, Francesca. You aren’t moving back to New York on us, are you?”
“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head. “I just don’t know how long I’ll be there, so I wanted to be prepared for anything.” Following me to the street, we stood while the cab pulled up. “Besides, any clothes I have back at my father’s place would be the kind of thing I used to wear. I am not really looking to be that woman anymore, you know?” she asked, gesturing to her outfit. I mean, I didn’t know much about women’s clothes—besides how to get them outta them—but I knew that Francesca had seriously improved her wardrobe after she arrived in Las Vegas.
“Yeah, I don’t blame you for not wanting to go backwards.”
“Speaking of clothes,” she hedged, and I groaned inwardly. “You appear to be wearing the same thing you left here in last night, albeit a much more wrinkled version.” Francesca smiled at me like a villain. “You have something to tell me?”
I swallowed, not sure how much I wanted to tell her.
I guessed it couldn’t hurt to talk about it; I had sure as fuck done enough thinking to last me a lifetime.
“She’s got a kid, boss lady.”
“Mia? Yes, I know.”
“You knew?” I barked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Does it make a difference?”
“I...don’t know.”
“Well, when you figure it out, you let me know.”
“Let’s hit the road,” Enzo said, his tone gruff as he hauled his own, much smaller suitcase out of the house. “The sooner we get to New York, the sooner we can get home.”
“Tell us how you really feel, boss.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Enzo asked, pulling up short at the sight of me standing next to his wife.
“Rocco appears to be having an existential crisis,” Francesca said with a laugh.
“The doctor?” Enzo asked her.
