Deuce of Hearts

by Lyssa Layne

  Sawyer leans back in her seat, her shoulders relaxing. “You think you’re pretty hot shit being a fighter pilot and all, don’t you?”

  I shrug, keeping my eyes on the road and trying not to be irritated at her comment. Most women swoon at my profession while this one just gives me shit about it. It makes me want to hate her but in reality, it actually makes me more attracted to her. Fuck me, I’m so screwed…

  “We’re going to my grandfather’s. Cuzzo may recognize some of the names and be able to help us out.”

  “Cuzzo? Is that some kind of Italian word for grandpa or what?” Sawyer inquires.

  I scoff. “It’s a shortened version of our last name. The man’s been called that his whole life.”

  “What about you? Why don’t you go by C.J.? You know. Cuzzo Junior.”

  The humor is evident in Sawyer’s voice as she tries to give me a nickname. I pull into Cuzzo’s driveway and park the Beast. No humor in my response, I look at her before exiting the vehicle.

  “Because my father, Gianni Cocuzzo, wouldn’t allow his son to go by anything other than his legal name, the most arrogant moniker he and my mother could come up with.”

  I grab the box and walk toward Cuzzo’s front door, Sawyer right behind me. As we approach the porch, her hand touches my back as she whispers my name. I stop and close my eyes, thankful that my hands are full as her perfume is teasing me as the wind blows lightly.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says in a breathy whisper.

  Opening my eyes, I look down to see her eyes full of warmth, backing the words she just said. We both have hardships just in two very different ways. It makes us so much alike and completely opposite at the same time. I shake my head. “It’s fine. Open the door, it’s unlocked.”

  Sawyer looks into my eyes a second longer then steps around me and pushes open Cuzzo’s front door. The old man’s minty freshness greets us as he’s standing in the doorway, waiting for us to enter. Sawyer looks from my grandfather to me, inspecting each of our faces carefully for resemblances which there are plenty. My father’s genes strongly overpower my mother’s as all three generations, my grandfather, my father, and myself, all look almost identical. However, there is one thing that sets Cuzzo apart from my father and me.

  “He’s blind,” I whisper to Sawyer.

  “Garrison, I’m blind, not deaf. Did you forget that?”

  “Sorry, Cuzzo,” I mutter, my cheeks heating up as he embarrasses me in front of Sawyer.

  “Yeah, Garrison, he’s blind, not deaf,” Sawyer copies him, elbowing me in the side playfully.

  Cuzzo lets out a loud, belly laugh. “I like her already.”

  Rolling my eyes, I walk past both of them to the dining room. Not waiting for either of them, I pull out the logs from 1992 and 1993, not knowing Sawyer’s birthday makes it difficult to know which month she was possibly conceived. I take a seat at the dining room table, flipping open the first book and skimming the pages for a Dean. Still irritated, I’m not focusing on any of the names in front of me when her hand rests on my shoulder. I glance up, eased at her gentle touch.

  “We’re just teasing you, Garrison, relax,” she says as she slides into a seat beside me, taking a notebook and starting her search.

  Cuzzo enters the room and takes his usual spot at the head of the dining room table. We all sit quietly as Sawyer and I search for the mysterious Dean to jump out from the page. The room is quiet, too quiet, and as I skim page after page, my mind wanders, imaging what Sawyer’s childhood must’ve been like without a father figure. I’m sure it was something quite different than my own. My father was present physically but emotionally, mentally, I don’t know who the hell he was. Cuzzo and his wife along with a plethora of nannies over the years are who raised me, not Gianni, or John as he started going by in his college days. The man abandoned his heritage and family in more ways than one.

  “Hey, Cuzzo…”

  I look over at Sawyer who is nervously chewing on her bottom lip as she stares at Cuzzo.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  My stomach quenches, unsure where this could be going.

  “Of course, kind lady, ask away.”

  I watch the two of them speaking like I’m watching a tennis match, my head bouncing from Sawyer to Cuzzo, still curious what will come next.

  “Why do blind people wear sunglasses?” she asks, her face completely serious.

  A smile slides across Cuzzo’s face and I know he likes her already because of her brutal honesty. I can’t count how many times I’ve taken Cuzzo into town and people just stare at him, afraid that the man can’t see and wondering how it impacts them. Then again, that is society today, always worried about themselves and not others. Then, there’s Sawyer who holds nothing back and speaks her mind, even when it may come back to bite her in the ass.

  “Well, darlin’, I supposed we wear them so we don’t creep people out. They don’t like looking at things that make them uncomfortable.”

  Sawyer purses her lips as though she may ask a follow-up question but instead, shrugs her shoulders and goes back to the notebook in front of her. “What do you care if they’re uncomfortable? You can’t see them,” she says to Cuzzo, running her finger down the list of names in the book in front of her.

  Cuzzo chuckles as I stare at Sawyer, still mesmerized and completely turned on by audacity.

  “I like her, Garrison, I like her a lot,” Cuzzo says through his laughter. “Now, my turn to ask a question.”

  “Shoot,” Sawyer says, still searching the names in front of her.

  “Garrison told me that you look like one of those fancy dancers on Dancing with the Stars. Is that true?”

  Fuck you, Cuzzo! The man practically raises me then throws me under the bus to a beautiful woman like Sawyer the first chance he gets. Not cool, Cuzzo, not cool.

  Sawyer looks over at me, a ridiculously huge smile on her face. “You don’t strike me as the type to watch Dancing with the Stars.”

  “Well, I didn’t know what the hell you did and you were pretty offended when I suggested you were on the pom pon squad. So… yeah, I’ve watched an episode or two to try and understand what you do,” I explain, trying to tell the truth and still sound as manly as possible.

  Sawyer’s grin shrinks into a closed mouth, her eyes softening as they meet mine and I shift uncomfortably. She thinks I did something thoughtful but what I said is the truth, I simply didn’t know what the hell she meant when she said she danced.

  “An episode or two?” Cuzzo scoffs. “He was up all night watching the entire first season. If I heard one more cha-cha-cha, I was about to send him over to your place.”

  Sawyer doesn’t take her eyes off me, even after Cuzzo’s comment. She reaches across the table, setting her hand on mine and all I can do it stare at it. I glance over at Cuzzo who is smirking happily because he did this on purpose. The old man thinks he’s some kind of match maker.

  “When’s your birthday again?”

  Sawyer stares at me for a second then pulls her hand back, obviously disgusted that I chose to ignore her hand on mine and Cuzzo’s implications.

  “October 1, 1993.”

  I set my book on table and push it over for her to see. “Here’s a D. Werner that signed in on December 27, 1992.”

  “Oh, yes, the VFW is hopping over the holidays when all the military men and women are home on leave,” Cuzzo explains.

  Sawyer frowns. “But we don’t know if the D is for Dean…”

  “No, but we should write him down.”

  Cuzzo clears his throat. “Is there a Samuel Ellington in there? I remember a young man that lived around here in the early nineties. He was in the Army and when he’d come home to visit, his father and him would stop by the Hall. I remember his father calling him Dean, so maybe that was his middle name?”

  “Here! He’s on here!!! December 31, 1992 he signed in! Oh my God, that could be him, Samuel Ellington could be my father!” Sawy
er exclaims and as much as I love to see her happy, I hate the idea of her being let down.

  “Easy there. Samuel Ellington is as long of a long shot as D. Werner. You’re trusting this old man’s memory which isn’t a very smart thing to do.”

  Sawyer is too busy scribbling this Ellington guy’s name down to even hear me. I look over at Cuzzo, wishing for a second that he wasn’t blind so I could give him a dirty look that he could see. We all go quiet again, searching for any more Deans or something resembling that but Sawyer’s excitement fills the air as she bounces her leg up and down, making a quiet tap that she doesn’t even notice.

  “So, how’d you go blind? Is it hereditary? Is Garrison going to go blind too?” Sawyer looks up, her eyes going wide. “Or bald? Is he going to go bald?”

  I shake my head. “You’re really something else, Sawyer Kingham.”

  She lifts an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk, Garrison Cocuzzo.”

  Our eyes lock and dammit if this woman doesn’t drive me nuts. An ache in my pants grows as her tongue wets her lips. She’s doing it on purpose and she knows it. I shake my head slightly, letting her know that I’m on to her games when Cuzzo shouts loud enough to startle us both.

  “Look for a Dean Sawyer! I vaguely remember a man that was probably your mother’s age. I know his name was Dean and it suddenly struck me when I heard Garrison say your name just now that his last name was Sawyer.”

  Cuzzo is practically bouncing in his seat like a kid excited for recess. Sawyer turns her attention back to her book, running her finger down the list of names. Suddenly, she sinks in her chair, her face turning a pale white. Quickly, I stand up, moving behind her in case she faints and falls out of her chair. Looking over her shoulder, I sure as shit see the name Cuzzo told us to look for, signed in on January 1, 1993.

  I place my hand on Sawyer’s shoulder, applying a light pressure to let her know she’s okay. She touches my hand lightly then, like a robot, she stands up, walking over to my grandfather and kissing his cheek. Well, fuck me. Not only did Cuzzo throw me under the bus about the whole Dancing with the Stars thing but he cracked the first hint in finding Sawyer’s father… not to mention, he got the first kiss.

  CHAPTER 10

  Garrison

  “Where are you?” I growl, throwing the keys to the Beast on the table in the front hall.

  I don’t have to wait for an answer, I just follow the smell of his chewing tobacco until I find Cuzzo sitting on the back porch. The old man stares up at the sky, a small smile dancing on his lips. His demeanor irritates me even more. I spent the last thirty minutes listening to Sawyer drone on and on about how amazing Cuzzo is. I have to admit, he is an outstanding man but I don’t like her focusing on him and not me if I’m entirely honest.

  He lifts his arm, pointing toward the heavens as he begins to speak. “Did you ever figure out where the Little Dipper is?”

  “Why did you tell Sawyer that I’d been watching that stupid show?”

  His smile gets even bigger. “I’ll take that as a no. Geesh, I would’ve thought after all those years in the Navy, someone would’ve taught you how to find a constellation.”

  “I’m serious, Cuzzo. Why would you tell her that?”

  The old man looks in my direction. “Why wouldn’t you tell her yourself?”

  I shake my head and take a seat beside him. I hate when Cuzzo answers a question with a question because it usually means he’s right without directly saying “I told you so.”

  “You like her, Garrison, let her know that.”

  “I’m leaving, Cuzzo. She’s not sticking around here. There’s no point to get emotionally invested for either of us.”

  A boisterous chuckle jumps out of the old man as he turns to me. “Garrison Cocuzzo, emotionally invested in anything?” His laughing gets louder and I roll my eyes, waiting for him to calm down. Finally, he does and he goes on. “I’m not suggesting anything other than you be a friend for her while she needs one. She’s lost her mother and is grasping at straws to find one living relative. It doesn’t hurt either of you to let your guard down and be honest with one another. Like you said, you’re leaving so you have nothing to lose, right?”

  Muttering in Arabic, I stand up and walk back in the house. My grandfather, like always, is right. She’s leaving, I’m leaving so what do I have to lose? Not a damn thing.

  Cuzzo calls after me, “Language, Garrison.”

  Laughing, I apologize and shake my head. Sawyer reminds me of Cuzzo, neither one of them let me get away with anything and neither are afraid to call me out. Nothing to lose or not, I’m so screwed.

  Sawyer

  Dammit, I wish the screen of my phone were bigger! There’s only so much zooming in and zooming out that my eyes can handle. From what I’ve learned from the Internet, two of the three leads are promising. Of course, I’m going off the White Pages online which I thought was only updated if people had a landline so I’m not entirely sure how accurate my research is. Either way, there’s a Dante Werner and Sam Ellington that still live around Memphis. I don’t think Dante is my father but I won’t leave any rock unturned on this journey.

  Google has told me that Dean Sawyer lives in St. Louis and is a top attorney in the state. Every time I see the picture of the salt and pepper haired man, I can’t help but think he is my father. He has to be! With my name being Sawyer and that being his last name, maybe that was my mother’s way of paying homage to him. I’ve stared at his photo, searching from resemblances and I’m convinced that my mother just has very strong genes.

  And even though I haven’t found my father, I’m already at peace. Peace that he wasn’t a piece of trash or a scumbag that ran off when he found out my mother was pregnant. All three of these men served in the military, they weren’t absent because they were scared, they were serving our country. This gives me serenity that my mother wasn’t left alone because of me. If the only number she had for Dean was to the VFW Hall and he got deployed, well, how was she supposed to find him?

  A loud knock on the door interrupts my thoughts, followed by the sexy voice of Garrison Cocuzzo. Not a bad way to start my morning…

  “Sawyer?” he calls out, still outside.

  I unfold my legs from underneath me and walk to the front door, surprised that he didn’t just let himself in like the last two times he was here. I take a minute to soak in the rugged, sensual vibe he puts off as he stands there in a pair of jeans, a tattered old class of ‘08 t-shirt, and a pair of work boots. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had sex in awhile but I’m mentally doing everything I can to not rip that shirt off him.

  “Why didn’t you just walk in like you usually do?” I ask, trying to use sarcasm as my defense mechanism in the moment.

  He holds out a folder in my direction and rolls his eyes.

  “What’s this?” I ask, glancing down at the papers inside the manila folder.

  “Information on the names we found last night,” he says in a cocky way that makes me want to throw it all in the trash. He leans against the doorframe in a way that makes me want to punch him in the throat and make out with him at the same time.

  “I’ve already found addresses for all of them, thank you very much,” I snip back at him, holding the folder out for him to take back.

  Garrison lifts an eyebrow, standing up and nodding. “Fair enough. If you don’t want the info that my buddy from the Pentagon sent, you don’t have to use it.”

  I physically feel my jaw drop and it feels like slow motion. “The… the Pentagon?” I squeak out.

  A smirk comes to his lips as he shrugs. “Yeah, I know a guy.”

  Not wasting another second, I run back to the couch, jumping on it at the same time I pull out the papers, eagerly skimming them to find information about the man who gave me life. Garrison follows behind me and I hear the door close. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him sit in the formal chair that is the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever sat on. It seems perfect for his uptight attitude. Unfor
tunately, I’m too excited to actually focus on any of the information in front of me and I find myself just flipping papers.

  “Dante Werner, born 1972 in Hannibal, Missouri. Joined the U.S. Army in 1990, served in the Gulf War, was honorably discharged after Operation Desert Storm. Currently married to Veronica with three sons, ages 22, 20, and 18.”

  I look up at him in awe. “How… how did you memorize all that?”

  He doesn’t answer my question. “Get dressed, we’re going to see him today.”

  “Wh-what?!” I exclaim, glancing down and realizing I’m still in my pajamas. I jump up, only to be reminded that I’m not wearing a bra and I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t even think he’s actually my father, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “We have to start somewhere, Sawyer. Even if he isn’t your dad, it’ll give us practice for when we go to visit the other two.”

  “One of them lives in St. Louis and his last name is Sawyer, like my name. I think we should visit him first,” I blurt out, trying to put off the visit to Dante. I want to find my father, I desperately do, but actually starting the search physically means the end is near and just like my mother’s death, I’m scared of the end.

  “Dean Sawyer is on vacation until Monday so we’ll check out the first two then drive down Sunday. I already made an appointment to see him first thing Monday morning.”

  “Garrison…” I whisper, tears welling in my eyes, overwhelmed at all that he’s done for me, a total stranger that I’ve been nothing but an ass to. Even after he held my hand in the VFW last night and touched my shoulder when I found Dean Sawyer’s name, I still have been nothing but bitchy to him.

  He stands up, shoving his hands in his back pockets. “Yeah… go get ready. I’ll be in the Beast waiting for you.” He turns and walks back out the door he came in. Immediately, my tears wash away as I bite my bottom lip, enjoying the view of the tight denim stretched across his backside. Ugh, Garrison Cocuzzo, why did you walk into my life? Oh yeah… I ran over his only mode of transportation.