We Have Till Monday

But we’ve got a long way to go.

Anthony Fender

“Why so glum, chum? Spring is fucking finally here. It deserves a good mood.”

I lifted a brow and side-eyed Nicky. God knew I loved the kid with all my heart, but I’d need some goddamn distance soon if he kept this up. It wasn’t spring that made him cheery; it was sweet, sickening love.

“I’m not glum. I’m hungry.” Actually, I was both. But whatever. I just wanted to get home and heat up some of the food Nonna had passed on to me after our last Sunday dinner.

“You’re glum,” Nicky stated.

I ignored him and locked up for the day. My hope that Nicky would take off with the other instructors as soon as the last classes were over had been in vain. Then I remembered that Nicky’s man was picking him up. They were going to a second showing of a condo…or a house, I wasn’t sure. Since this past winter, it felt like they’d ransacked all of Brooklyn for the perfect home.

In my brother’s defense, it was Gideon, his partner, who was the picky one.

Juggling a stack of books and countless folders of sheet music, I took the lead toward the staff parking lot behind the school and reluctantly agreed to go to dinner with Nicky and Gideon on Friday. Nicky had already noticed I’d become withdrawn recently, and there was no need to stoke that fire.

“Can you at least be happy about your upcoming vacation?” Nicky asked, frustrated.

I frowned at him and dug out the keys to my truck. “I am happy about it.”

“You’re hiding it well,” he muttered.

All the work shit I was bringing home with me ended up in the back seat.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was the reason I’d been down. I had no right to take a dump on his sunshine either. My little brother was one of the best guys I knew. Genuine, caring, funny, protective. He was also still in his twenties, and he’d recently found the love of his life, and it was all he could fucking talk about. Gideon this, Gideon that.

I didn’t begrudge them for a second. They deserved every ounce of joy. I just… Fuck it. It was evidently not in the cards for me to get something similar for myself.

Gideon had already reached out to me for advice on what to give Nicky for his twenty-eighth birthday.

When I turned forty-three a couple weeks ago, I’d had dinner with my family and topped the evening off with a breakup.

Cazzo, I’d turned into a bitter bastard.

I blew out a breath and got in my truck but didn’t close the door.

Nicky’s eyes flashed with concern and curiosity.

“You know I’m happy for you, bambino,” I stated quietly.

He nodded hesitantly. “You miss that fucking loser, don’t you?”

That one gave me a laugh. That Nicky detested my ex had always been clear as day. And no, I didn’t miss Shawn at all.

I shook my head and smiled faintly. “I don’t miss him. But I am lonely.” It stung to admit it out loud. “I just need some time to regroup, that’s all.”

“I get it.” Nicky nodded again. “But so you know, being down in the dumps has turned you blind. You don’t see the men eyeing you.”

I gave him a wry look. I didn’t need my kid brother to play matchmaker.

“I’m serious,” he claimed. “I think that’s why our parents were blessed with two gay sons, so that I can use my gaydar to find your next—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” I chuckled at his ridiculousness and started the engine.

Nicky backed away and smirked. “Made you laugh.”

“Mm.” I withheld a snort and buckled my seat belt. “I’mma head home. Good luck with the house hunting.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow, big brother.”

I inclined my head and shut the door, then backed out of my spot.

Of-fucking-course the elevator had to be broken today, too. On the other hand, the rickety old thing usually was. But dammit, maintenance had fixed it just last week. I’d hoped to have a few more weeks before something went wrong again.

I trudged up the stairs to the third and top floor, my mood getting so sour that not even I wanted to be near me.

My home was usually my bright spot. The one place where everything was the way it was supposed to be. More than that, the one place the bank didn’t own. Not many residents in Brooklyn could say the same.

I stepped inside my condo and threw the keys on the hall table. Shoes kicked off, jacket shrugged out of—carefully, so I didn’t drop everything I was carrying—and then I trailed across my living room and into the adjacent kitchen. I flicked on lights along the way and breathed in deeply. At least the foul scent of Shawn’s cologne was gone now. We’d never lived together, but he’d stayed over often enough to make people think so.