by Kali Brixton
“I’ll be free after Mass. Everything okay?”
I hope so. “Yeah, just weaving through this detour.”
“Ah. Then you be safe and call me tomorrow. Ti voglio bene.”
“Love you too, Papi Dean,” I reply as my finger finds the black and red button.
After passing a few cars, Ev’s Durango is barely visible on the horizon now. Shit. She’s gonna get a ticket if she doesn’t slow it down. Then a thought occurs. What if something’s wrong with one of the girls—or even Aliana? Full-blown panic settles in as I pick up the speed in my car, hoping I don’t lose sight of her.
The Durango burns rubber down the highway toward a part of town I’m familiar with, nowhere close to her apartment building or the closest hospital.
Where are you going, Evergreen?
She continues to weave in and out of traffic, finally jutting off onto an exit ramp. Flooring it, I cross several lanes, grateful that traffic isn’t as bad right now as it usually is. I barely catch what street she heads down and takes off like a bat out of Hell after her.
We continue like this for another half-mile until I see her pull into the parking lot of an old boxing gym. She wastes no time getting out and grabbing a duffle bag from the backseat. Her hips sway as walks away from her vehicle, the headlights flicking twice behind her.
I grab the nearest empty space and park before jumping out and jogging after her. Closing the distance, I shout her name just as she reaches the door. “Ev!”
Her hand stills on the door handle. A mumbled Of fucking course crawls from under her breath before she spits out, “Go home, Luca.”
I grab her bicep, which makes her turn and face me.
Green eyes are ablaze with fury. “I said, go home.”
She tries to shrug off my arm, but I don’t budge. “Not until you tell me why you were driving so crazy back there.”
Narrowed slits fire daggers at me, anger rolling off her in waves now. “What, are you following me now?”
“I got behind you in the detour.”
A shaky breath leaves her. “Then I guess you saw.”
“Saw what?”
Her jaw tightens. “Go. I’m not going to tell you again.” A slight breeze blows back on me as she goes through the door and leaves a ten-dollar bill for the burly guy at the front desk, striding toward the gym locker rooms.
I trail after her, only to be intercepted by the burly dude who stands at least four or five inches taller than me, a broad chest blocking my clear view of her. “Going somewhere?” His menacing stare doesn’t intimidate me, nor does his bald head or prison tats. Not when my gut is burning with the need to fix whatever is bothering Everleigh.
A little voice inside reminds me that she’s not mine to worry about.
Well, that inner voice can go fuck itself to kingdom come right now.
Taking out my wallet, I grab the first bill I come to and hand it to the guy who has Duke embroidered on his shirt. “I need to talk to that girl.”
Still standing in my way, he holds the fifty-dollar bill up to the light. “What for?” he asks as he continues to examine the bill, awaiting my answer.
“She’s my—she’s an old friend.”
His dark stare drops to me. “This ain’t a social club, money bags.”
Everleigh emerges from the locker room and sets her duffle against the wall, closest to the nearest punching bag. Her tight workout clothes leave little to the imagination, and her high ponytail lashes back and forth as her taped hands start wailing on the bag.
Duke, if that’s his name, looks at her for a moment, contemplation written all over that huge head of his. “You the reason she’s trying to tear that bag in two?”
Maybe on a different day. “Look… She’s my little sister’s best friend and I’m worried about her.”
That dark gaze turns to me and he crosses his arms, sizing me up and trying to figure out if I’m truly a friend or a foe. “You see that wooden chair sitting over in the corner?”
I peek around him and spot it. “Yeah.”
He moves to the side to let me by but holds me back with his arm across my chest before I can take another step. “You go and sit in that spot until she’s worked out what she needs to work out on her own. Then you can talk to her.”
Even though he’s pissing me off by hassling me this way, I respect that he didn’t let me barge through when I handed over the money. It shows he’s aware and seems to know the patrons here, including Ev.
I nod as I sidestep him and make my way to the chair he pointed out.
She’s going balls to the wall now on the bag, so I look for her to wear herself down quickly. Then we’re gonna have a talk.
More than an hour passes as I sit and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I sit until my ass is sore from the hard wooden chair, watching her beat the shit out of the old bag she’s pummeled until she can barely lift her arms.
Until she rests her head and fists against the bag, trying to catch her breath.
But when her shoulders begin to shake, I know the fight’s gone out of her, leaving something else in its wake. She’s not going to be happy, but I’m not going anywhere until I find out what’s bothering her.
I give Duke, who kept flicking his gaze back and forth between me and her the whole time, a nod to acknowledge I held up my end of the bargain. He returns it and starts filtering his stare to the other gym-goers.
Cautiously, I approach. Everleigh’s chest heaves, trying to take in more air than she can seem to find at the moment. A sheen of sweat covers her body. Her hair is wild from all her swinging, and there’s a couple of places where drops of water have collected on the mat between her and the bag.
Inhaling deeply, I take in more than a breath of fresh gym stank in my nostrils. A mistake that’s long forgotten when I see defeat on the side of her face. “Ev?”
“I told you...to go home,” she sniffles, never lifting her head from the bag.
Lowering my voice, I take another step forward. “Not until I know everything’s okay.”
She continues breathing hard, her voice slightly more nasally than usual. “Well, it’s not.”
One more step. “Did something happen with Rory?”
She shakes her head. “It’s all a lie, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“Love. Honor. All the other fairytale bullshit.” A sardonic laugh escapes her. “It’s all a big fucking lie.” She releases a shaky breath like she’s trying to release the hurt that’s radiating from her body. “This is going to kill her.”
“Who?”
A dark head of hair turns toward me, green irises floating in a sea of red. “My mom,” she says, her voice trembling as she stares at me as if her world’s just ended.
Maybe it has. Because there’s no man in the world Everleigh idolizes more than her father. No one has the power to tear down her option of men in general except the mighty Rian Greene—and judging by that look on her face, he just took a sledgehammer to that trust.
Wordlessly, she moves off of the bag and grabs her phone from her bag. Her fingers tap quickly across the smooth screen, unlocking its devastating secret. “See for yourself.” The end of her nose is rosy, as are her cheeks. Her bee-stung lips are plumper, making the quiver in them more prominent.
Even though the quality’s a bit grainy where it was zoomed in slightly, I recognize a familiar truck as clear as day, cast in a supporting role. With a sharp inhale, I press play as she moves back to the bag, and starts beating on it again.
Frame by frame, Kieran’s words of warning come to fruition as I watch a man I’ve known forever undo every good opinion I’ve ever held of him. Ev must have recognized his truck as she sat at the traffic light, waiting for it to change because the video picks up with Rian walking from his truck with the thin, jean-covered legs of a woman who isn’t his curvy wife wrapped around his back. Holding onto her by her thighs, he carries her quickly toward a roo
m on the bottom floor of the motel as she peers over his shoulder. It appears he’s whispering in her ear because she wraps her arms around his neck and holds tight, leaning her head toward him as he walks her to the motel room door.
Oh God, Rian. Don’t do it. Stop and think.
The door swings in and the two locked in a lover’s embrace cross the threshold, shutting the door behind them—dashing my hope.
Fuck.
Her fists pound the bag again. Even with her rage, there’s no energy left to hold them up.
I tuck her phone into my back pocket before coming up behind her. I gently and quickly wrap my arms around her upper torso, pinning her arms down so she won’t wear herself out anymore.
“That’s enough.” My words leave my mouth on a whisper in her ear. She stills in my hold, trembling as a fresh crop of silent tears streak my arms. “I’m so sorry, Ev.”
I brace myself for her to fight me, curse me. To break loose and shut me out.
But the greatest surprise of all happens when she lets me stand there behind her and hold her like this—letting me in.
Into her hurt when she hates pity.
Into her pain when she never wants to seem weak.
I know she can’t face me right now because that might send her over the edge she’s slipping from at the moment. So I hold her. I let her tears fall. And even though I know I shouldn’t, my lips kiss the crown of her head where her invisible broken tiara sits.
I want to tell her that everything will be okay, but I know the truth and more than anything, I know her heart.
No matter how much I want to be her knight-in-shining-armor right now, I can’t.
Because the king had just set fire to his own castle, leaving the princess—his most loyal subject—to burn in the flames of his mistakes.
A soft knock on Ev’s door sends me scrambling to answer it so she won’t wake up.
Opening the door wide, my sister’s panicked stare peers into Ev’s living room, where she’s curled up in a ball on her couch under a blanket, fast asleep. Her worried blue eyes search mine as she drops her voice to a whisper. “What happened?”
I scrub my hand down my face. “Rian’s having an affair.” Lia’s gasp is sharp, prompting me to continue. “Ev saw him at a motel with his...whatever she is.”
“My God…” She clutches her heart with both hands. “Ev must be so devastated.”
“I’m going to take an Uber back to get her vehicle.” Her brows furrow at me as I check the driver’s ETA status. “She was so out of it when I told her I would drive her home, she didn’t even put up a fight.” I swallow the lump in my throat, infuriated with Rian for how much hurt he’s caused her—caused his entire family. “She cried herself to sleep on the way here.” Which earned me an odd look from the doorman of her apartment building when I walked past him with Ev in my arms.
“Oh, shit,” Lia mumbles, her rare curse proof of how bad this is.
Yelp. Big steaming piles of it everywhere. “Can you stay with her?”
“Of course.” I turn to grab her keys off the island, but Lia’s hand on my shoulder stops me from moving from my spot. “Was she sure? I mean, we are talking about Rian Greene here. Decorated cop, loving father, devoted husband...”
Nodding to her phone, I flick my eyes back to my sister. “She’s sure.”
“I can’t believe this.” She says, shaking her head in disbelief. “Of all the people in the world…”
“Yeah… Call me if she needs anything.”
I barely make it out into the hallway before Lia stops me. “Luca? Have you been able to find out anything on Gia yet?”
“No, but Papi Dean’s coming in next week and staying for a while.”
She gives me a small smile, hampered by the shock of what I just told her. “He thinks he can use that sweet old man charm on her to get her to talk?”
“Who knows?” I smirk. “It wouldn’t shock me if he could.”
A sobering look passes over Lia’s pretty face. “Maybe the DA’s wrong on this. Maybe…” she trails off.
“What?”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Back when I was with Giacomo, I felt so alone and powerless. All the time. Dancing was the only thing that really brought me any joy in a hopeless situation. And, of course, the girls.”
I bow my head, knowing that I left her to deal with so much on her own.
“Skyla makes it sound like Gia needs her arm twisted, but maybe she just needs a friend to help her see things more clearly.”
“So, an ally?”
She bobs her head in agreement. “If she’s willingly engaging in something that could send her to prison, I’d imagine whatever Antonio’s got on her, it’s gotta be something that could damn her or something she holds dear—something she’ll fight to the death to protect. She might feel cornered if she’s facing more trouble, but if someone shows her they want to help get her out of a dangerous situation, that compassion might be the key to gaining her trust and figuring out a win-win situation for everyone.”
I mull over Lia’s words. “Maybe you’re right.”
Duke was in the parking lot when I arrived to get Ev’s vehicle. His piercing stare had compassion written all over it as I gave him the general gist. He clapped me on the shoulder and thanked me for looking out for her. His sister Maci had just found out that her douchebag ex-husband had knocked up the girl he cheated on her with—someone she used to call her best friend.
“Why do some people have to be such selfish fucks, man?” He asked me, but I didn’t have an answer to give him. Because some things in life would remain a mystery to me for all eternity.
On my way back to her apartment, I thought about his question—a fair one, for certain.
Why do people have to be such selfish assholes?
My dad.
Antonio.
Giacomo.
And now, Rian Greene.
The list of assholery keeps growing by the day, with no end in sight. My grip tightens around Ev’s steering wheel, making me see red.
No more, dammit.
No. More.
When I arrive at Ev’s, I drop off her keys after parking the Durango in her usual spot and say goodnight to Lia. Texting Gia before hitting the road again, I lay the groundwork for dinner on Tuesday.
Me: My grandfather is traveling from Italy earlier than expected and he’ll be here Tuesday.
Me: Would you like to join us for dinner?
She didn’t respond for a while, but it was Saturday night. Considering we’d never even gone on an actual date outside of family functions and things with her dad, it didn’t dawn on me that she might have a real life beyond the craziness that is our family. After all, we were a “we” in name only.
Gia: Sorry I missed this. I was watching a movie with Roman. Dinner sounds wonderful. :)
Me: He’s looking forward to meeting you.
Gia: Awwww :) Same here.
Gia: I have your birthday present here. I’ll bring it Tuesday with me.
Gia: I hope you like it!
Gia has really made a valiant effort the past few weeks to get to know me, but I’ve tried to keep a respectable distance because I don’t want to mislead her. She’s the glue that holds this whole thing together, and I want her to look forward to her freedom as much as I do. I want her to find a good guy who can truly appreciate her the way she deserves to be treated. But neither one of us can do that with Antonio in the way. So, we’ll schmooze her the Papi Dean way and hopefully win her next week.
Me: You didn’t have to get me anything, but that was nice of you.
Gia: Of course, soon-to-be husband ;)
Okay, that’s weird. She usually never calls me that in our text conversations.
Me: I’m going to head to bed early. Have a good night.
I put my phone on charge and sack out on the couch, winding down from the day. What a day it’s been. But I have hope. Real hope. Tuesday can’t come soon enough because that’s when the ball wi
ll really get rolling. And with Gia in our corner, I have a feeling we’ll be unstoppable.
Now to find that one loose string we can’t see yet and set a trap for the biggest asshole of all.
30
Luca
As promised, Papi Dean rolled into town early Tuesday morning after catching a redeye in Italy. After picking him up from the airport, I took him back to my apartment so he could catch some z’s before dinner. I should’ve known when I returned home from work late in the afternoon that my white-haired, Energizer bunny of a grandfather would be up to something.
The intoxicating scent of the Italian holy trinity wafts through the air as I step inside, tickling my taste buds.
Memories of being in his and my grandmother’s kitchen in America and in his Italian one flood back to me. “Damn, Papi Dean. I was just going to order Chinese.”
My grandfather turns and grimaces, his apron displaying the red, white, and green of the Italian flag, along with the slogan I don’t need a recipe, I’m Italian written proudly above his chest. Only my grandfather would come thousands of miles and pack his own apron. Making the sign of the cross, he chastises me. “Your grandmother, God rest in her soul, would roll over in her grave if she knew you said that.”
I hold up my hands. “Don’t get me wrong…I’ll take soffrito whenever and however I can get it if it’s prepared by a master.”
He pulls the bottom of his eyelid down, a gesture many Italians love to use when they want someone to know they’re watching them, then grins.
Rolling up my sleeves, I search for my own apron to help. “Why do they call it the Italian holy trinity when it’s the color of the Irish flag?” I ask as I try to sneak a taste, only to get my hand smacked away.
