Page 21 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

THREE

Two weeks after beginning to look for a place of his own, and John finally had one. Well, he’d actually had it for a couple of days, but today was his move in day.

“All the money you have, and you rented a two-bedroom house in Queens,” Andino said.

“Listen, not every fucker is like you, Andi. We don’t all want to have the big mansion in Tuxedo Park.”

“I don’t have a mansion in Tuxedo Park.”

“Yet,” John shot back.

Andino chuckled. “Truth. You do have too much money to be living in a tiny house in Queens, though. Deny it.”

“Money?” John scoffed. “I had money. Now I have investments, and a money manager who doesn’t allow me very much control, man.”

Andino shot John and look, but said nothing. He could still tell his cousin—and best friend—wanted to ask more questions.

“Go ahead,” John muttered.

He unlocked the front door of the rental home while his cousin shoved his hands in his pockets. Andino shifted from foot to foot—maybe he was trying to figure out a way to phrase his question. John didn’t know.

“Was that by choice, or …?”

John shrugged, and pushed the door open. “I mean, mostly. Do you know how much money I blew through during my last manic episode?”

“No.”

“A little under three million.”

Andino coughed hard, and looked like he couldn’t breathe. “In a few months?”

“Yeah.”

“That poor money.”

John laughed loudly as they stepped into the house together. “It’s one of my behaviors, that’s all. Spending money. Hyper-sexuality. Bad decision after bad decision.”

“The second one might not be such a bad thing.”

“It is when you’ll fuck anything that moves just to feel something, Andi. It’s just another reckless behavior to add on top of the already reckless behaviors I seek out in an episode.”

Andino blew out a breath, and then tossed his jacket to a bare corner. “Yeah, I know. I was just … kidding with you.”

His cousin was just about the only person John allowed to kid with him about his bipolar disorder. Anyone else, and he was quick to point out he wasn’t the fucking butt of anybody’s jokes.

Andino meant no harm, though, and he was always down to help John. Or, keep him out of trouble, even. The two had been that way—ride or die—since they were kids.

“Anyway,” John said, waving the moving guys in from the doorway, “now the money manager keeps me on track with everything regarding my trust fund from my biological grandfather. He earns me money, and gives me some to spend. I’m still working with a ten-thousand-dollar stipend every month, plus whatever I make working. He doesn’t get that, you know.”

“Yeah, it’s not clean money, right? Wouldn’t want somebody looking too deep in to how you made it, never mind the government getting easy access to documents that showed no taxes paid on it.”

“Exactly.”

John turned his back to the guys bringing the furniture and boxes in. Some had been in storage while he was in prison, and other things were brand new. Shit he had purchased over the last couple of weeks while he looked for a place.

“You said mostly, though,” Andino pointed out.

“Huh?”