Hurt

by Rachel Van Dyken

  And he was right. I was starving for three simple words and for actions behind them.

  But, I’d been so bitter, so upset that I pushed all chance of that away.

  “I’m so… sorry.” I heaved as my tears fell to the wood floor. “So sorry.”

  “Me too, Joyce.” Luca fell to his knees and pulled me into his lap, wiping the tears from under my eyes. “Me too.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I miss him still. Luca had brought me back to life all over again. I hadn’t even known I was slowly dying inside until he made me face it, made me face the simple truth that I was no longer someone I recognized or liked. How could I expect anyone to love me? When I was so utterly disgusted with myself. —Grandma Alfero

  Casper, Wyoming

  July 28, 1997

  “JOYCE?” LUCA CALLED FOR ME. He must have noticed my door was open that morning. I wasn’t waiting for him in bed. I was tired of waiting for people to come to me, apologize to me, fall all over themselves for me. It was spoiled, selfish, stupid, and I was done.

  “Kitchen,” I called back as I pulled out a tray of fresh hot biscuits. I checked the gravy on the stove, turning it down to a simmer just as strong muscled arms wrapped around me.

  Luca hadn’t shaved in two days; his overgrowth tickled my neck as he kissed his way up my ear and whispered, “Did you make biscuits?”

  “And gravy,” I announced.

  He let out a groan; it tickled my ear. “You know how I feel about gravy.”

  “The same way you feel about wine and anything else you put in that mouth of yours.” I laughed.

  Luca stilled. “Hmm, imagine when you’re in my mouth.”

  My reaction was to slump into his arms, body trembling. I could imagine it all right. Vividly.

  “Let’s have some of that gravy first.”

  “R-right.” I smoothed my apron down and piled his breakfast onto a plate.

  “So, what’s the occasion?” he asked, sitting across from me.

  “You’ve been doing nothing but taking care of me.” I shrugged. “And I realized I really want to take care of you.”

  Luca’s grin widened, making my knees weak and stomach flutter. “Have I told you how beautiful you look this morning?”

  I tucked my hair behind my ear, ducking my head. “Eat your food. I’ll still feed you without the compliments.”

  He laughed loudly then dug in.

  Our afternoon was interrupted by one of his cows giving birth. I panicked. What did I know about cows?

  But Luca had workers and a vet that lived onsite. I was able to watch the little calf come forth into the world. It was beautiful and messy.

  Just like life.

  I’d remember that birth forever.

  “I’m going to kiss you now,” Luca announced once we’d showered and returned to the kitchen.

  “Are you warning me or preparing me?” I teased and then ran around the kitchen, screaming as he chased after me.

  Finally, he grabbed me then tossed me onto the couch and pinned my arms above my head. “A little bit of both, doll. A little bit of both.”

  His mouth descended.

  My body arched to meet his.

  Our lips met in a hungry, searing kiss. His lips were soft and tasted of rich red wine.

  “Joyce,” Luca pulled back, his eyes wild. “I can’t keep my promise.”

  “Okay.” I eyed his mouth. “What does that mean?”

  Luca’s eyes darkened as he slowly lifted my shirt, his hands coming into contact with first my stomach and then my bra. “This, this is what I mean.”

  With his arousal pressed against me, his hands cupping me, and his mouth making love to me, I knew I was going to be that desperate woman. The one who selfishly grasped at love… even knowing that it would be fleeting. I grabbed with both hands and swore never to let go.

  “Joyce,” Luca gasped, voice gruff, “I need you.”

  I kissed him hard on the mouth, my body craving him like it wasn’t sure it could actually exist without him pressed against me.

  He tugged my simple sweater from my head.

  With a moan, I reached for his tailored pants and kicked them down as his hands tugged my bra from my body with one simple fluid movement.

  We fell in a heap to the floor, Luca towering over me, his breathing heavy as his eyes wildly scanned my body. “Damn it, you’re perfection.” He cupped my breasts and lowered his mouth to mine.

  My fingers dug into his back and then fumbled with his silk boxers.

  We really were a pair. He in his boxers with his socks. Me with my pearls and boring plain white underwear.

  But I felt like a queen in his arms; it was like I was draped in pearls.

  Luca’s hands methodically trailed down my stomach. I knew I wasn’t as tight as I had been, age and having had a child had done that to me, but he seemed reverent as he trailed kisses down my hips and then tugged off my cotton underwear.

  “Perfection,” he hissed, his head dipping down.

  “Luca.” I bucked. He was the only man I’d ever allowed to kiss me there. The only man I swore who would. And, as if he knew, as if he was making up for lost time, he sucked and licked like he was making love to me with his tongue.

  And my body exploded in response.

  With a quiet sob, I wrapped my arms around his neck, dipped my head against his chest and trailed kisses across his jaw. He pushed me back toward the floor then tugged off his boxers.

  I was enamored by the size of his body, by the sheer majesty of the way he held himself protectively over me, that this man, this giant of a man, wanted me with such desperation he was unable to stop himself anymore.

  It wasn’t power I felt though.

  It was love.

  Frantic, I reached for him.

  Our bodies joined, smoothly, fitting perfectly, as if no time had passed between us, the rhythm of his lovemaking aggressive, beautiful, passionate. Luca made love like he attacked life — with his everything. I was caught in a frenzied wave of heat as he pumped faster, only to stop and kiss me on the mouth or neck.

  Each time his body pulled away from mine, cold washed over me. Desperate for the heat again, I’d reach for him, only to find myself having trouble catching my next breath as I felt his thrust build the tension between us. It was either searing to the touch… or dying with need for the next.

  “I need you,” I gasped as he drove deeper.

  I blocked out everything and focused only on him, on the feeling building between us.

  “I’ve always needed you,” he whispered. Our eyes locked. With one last slow thrust, I found myself falling, weightless, body shuddering as his lips met mine in one last frantic kiss. And then another thrust, his hands grabbing my shoulders then running up to my neck, touching my pearls.

  “Joyce!” He yelled my name as he jerked the string of pearls from my neck with one last frantic thrust. They came apart in his hand, cascading in slow motion, falling to the floor with a loud clang..

  Our eyes met.

  And we both knew.

  It wasn’t just the necklace that had broken.

  But promises.

  So many promises that neither of us could keep.

  It felt like we were in slow motion as he slowly lifted himself from me and pulled me into his arms, both of us wordless as we watched the pearls bounce and roll around on the wood floor.

  Broken, just like us.

  “I love you,” Luca whispered against my neck. “I will always. Always. Love you.”

  “I love you too.” My voice was hollow, empty, just like my spent body. I wanted to sit with him like that forever. But we didn’t have forever.

  The clock chimed in the living room.

  And reality set in.

  We had less than a week left in each other’s arms.

  And I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Some secrets, I would like to keep. This last page is our final day togethe
r. The ones in between are… private, something only shared between me and Luca. I would like to take some secrets to my grave. I imagine he would as well.—Grandma Alfero

  Casper, Wyoming

  August 3, 1997

  I WAS SILENT AS LUCA BROUGHT my bag to the waiting black Mercedes. The first thing I wanted to do when I returned to the house was purchase a cherry-red domestic car, a Ford, maybe even a minivan, something so opposite of what I was used to.

  Foreign cars with their dark colors that carried the stench of blood money; I wanted no part of it.

  I had no choice but to accept it, however.

  We rode to the airport in silence.

  Luca clenched my hand tightly. My free hand immediately went to my throat. Just that morning, Luca had given me back my pearls, fixed, as though they’d never broken.

  On the outside, everything was at it should be.

  I was returning to be the dutiful wife; he was returning to Sicily to be the dutiful boss.

  On the inside, I was breaking, broken, like the pearls had been, and I knew it would take more than the memories of our two weeks together to fix me.

  Luca must have sensed my feelings; he squeezed my hand tighter as rain pelted against the umbrella that was held out for us once the car door opened.

  It was a typical day. It felt like a funeral.

  Mine, his, the death of our love.

  I knew that once I stepped foot on that plane, I would never be able to be in his arms again. Frank wouldn’t allow it, and, because he loved me too much, neither would Luca.

  He tried leading me onto the stairs.

  I jerked my hand back.

  Luca swore and stepped out from the umbrella. Rain slid down his perfect cheeks and across his plump lips, the same lips that had brought me pleasure for our last seven straight days together.

  I wanted to turn around and run.

  I wanted to run until I puked.

  “Luca…” I shook my head. “… I can’t.”

  “You will.” He nodded slowly. “And you know why?”

  His eyes were penetrating, as if he saw the bleeding taking place on the inside and knew just what to say to stop the hemorrhaging.

  “Because you are stronger than this. Because our love has to mean something. If we run, we destroy our family. And family… Joyce… family is all we have right now.”

  “We have each other.”

  “And when our love brings down those we care about? When it affects everyone, including your son who you would never get to see again? Or when someone sends a hit on me? What then?”

  I gasped.

  “Don’t put it past him.” Luca shook his head. “And don’t put it past me to do the same thing if he ever lays a hand to you. Joyce, this is our reality. This is what we do. The very same hands that make love to you choke the life out of another. There will never be a day when I won’t miss you, when I won’t think of you, dream of you, but this is the card we have been dealt, and we must handle it accordingly.”

  Chin trembling, I nodded and offered him my hand.

  Slowly, I ascended the stairs; each step caused my heart to beat a little faster. My breaths came out in short gasps as I climbed, and finally, when I was near the airplane door, I turned and looked one last time.

  The mountains.

  The car.

  The fresh air.

  The rain as it pelted against everything, almost like the sky was mourning right along with me.

  “Tell me it was worth it,” Luca whispered.

  I turned and nodded through my tears. “It was worth it.”

  Luca held me the entire flight.

  He held me during the car ride when I couldn’t stop sobbing.

  And when we pulled up to the massive compound I lived in, the place I should have called home, he held me while I cursed his brother to hell.

  “Joyce,” Luca whispered. “Be happy. Please be happy.”

  “Will I ever see you again?” I asked, voice hoarse from all the tears that had dripped down my throat, swelling it.

  Luca tilted his head. “I can’t predict the future, but know I will stay away. He is your husband, and he deserves a chance. If you ever need me…” He pulled out a black card and slid it into my hand. “… I’m only a phone call away. Never forget… I love you.”

  “I love you.” I hiccupped.

  “We’ll never be free of this.” He shook his head sadly. “Not if I stay in Chicago.”

  “I know.”

  “Try, Joyce,” Luca instructed. “Try to let him in. Hell, let anyone in. You deserve joy.”

  His mouth was on mine before I could respond. I tasted both our tears and promised myself they would be the last I shed over our situation, over our love.

  Love should never evoke sadness, but joy.

  I needed to be joyful I’d had it—had him-- in the first place, rather than bitter that it was gone, falling through my fingertips like pieces of sand.

  Our mouths brushed one last time before my door opened, and I was led into the house.

  It smelled like Frank.

  Somehow, I knew he was already home. My body trembled with nervous anticipation, fear. What if he could tell? What if he beat me? Killed me? He’d never laid a hand on me, and he’d said he would forgive me anything, but I’d done the unthinkable.

  I’d slept with his brother, while married.

  Not only had I cheated, but I’d done it with another boss.

  Frank was sitting at the kitchen table, his fingers drumming along the wood while he looked out the window. It overlooked a large fountain of David.

  Two goblets sat in the middle of the table with a bottle of wine.

  When the door shut behind me, Frank stood and turned to face me.

  I don’t know what I expected — anger? Sadness? Hurt? Instead, Frank approached me, arms open, and tugged me into them.

  I broke down.

  I broke down and cried so hard I thought I was going to get sick all over him.

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered into my hair. “I know it hurts.”

  He was apologizing.

  To me.

  Yet I was in the wrong.

  “I couldn’t…” I gasped. “I — I’m sorry, I couldn’t, I—“

  “Shh...” Frank pressed a finger to my lips then wiped my tears. He was still a staggeringly handsome man with bits of gray at his temples, just as beautiful as his brother, only more harshly so. He took a step back and grabbed my hand, leading me to the table.

  My wine glass was filled with a generous amount of liquid; he scooted it toward me and started talking. “I would let you go if I could. You know that, right?”

  My eyes widened.

  “I love you too much to keep you, Joyce. But to let you go would cause unrest between the families. Already, we are on shaky ground with the Abandonatos after what has taken place. The Alferos would not survive it… if you were to leave for Luca. Even if I gave my blessing.”

  I nodded, more tears streaming down my face. “Why would you do that?”

  He smiled sadly. “Because I made a mistake… because I only saw the big picture… making Luca a boss, making him hard, following my own father’s instructions. I never thought… I could never comprehend the type of love that you two had, perhaps because I’d never experienced it myself.”

  I reached for Frank’s hand and covered it with my own. “I’ve been so selfish.”

  Frank frowned. “Joyce, you were so young when we married. When you went through cancer treatments, you were desperate, never selfish.”

  “I’ve been a fool,” I admitted. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

  “Ha.” Frank let out a hollow laugh. “I’ve been a lot of things, but kind? Don’t patronize me, Joyce, I’ve been a miserable bastard to you.” He stood and took a deep breath. “And that changes now. I want something.”

  I felt my body pale.

  “Not that.” He chuckled. “May I… do you think…” He g
lanced away as if nervous. “… that we could be friends?”

  I burst into tears again, for an entirely different reason, hating myself for hurting him, hating myself for loving another.

  “Yes.” I smiled. “I would like that.”

  “Good.” Frank knocked his hand onto the table and then reached into his pocket. He opened the tiny box and held it out to me. “When you’re ready.”

  My wedding band was fused to a three-carat vintage-cut diamond ring. It sparkled in the moonlight.

  Shaking, I reached for the box and slid the ring on my finger. “As if it had never left.”

  Frank’s gaze met mine. “As if it’s been there the whole time.”

  I told myself I wouldn’t cry anymore. Not when Frank hugged me again, or apologized, or even asked how the ranch was.

  We stayed up until three in the morning talking.

  About Luca, about the cows, about me trying to ride a horse. And, like a friend, Frank listened.

  Never would I suggest cheating on a spouse in order to bring you closer to him, but for us, somehow, it created a bond from that day forward, and was as solid as any love I felt for Luca.

  Your grandfather and I, we were best friends, Trace. Not lovers, though I adored him with my everything, but we became so close that it was enough. Oh, Trace, it was enough.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Trace

  The room was silent.

  I didn’t even realize I was crying until Nixon handed me a tissue, and when I stared dumbly at it, grabbed it from my hand and started dabbing at my cheeks.

  For a killer, he could be really sweet, not that I was going to say that out loud and leave the floor open for Chase or Tex to pounce.

  “Are you okay?” Nixon asked.

  I nodded, staring down at the pages of the diary. “Is that it?”

  “From what I can tell.” Chase lifted it into the air. “There were only around fifteen missing pages in Frank’s folder. And his folder is thick as hell. It would take days to go through everything, but I can’t imagine him hiding more pages in the back, especially if this is what he labeled for you to read.” His eyebrows furrowed and then he turned over the page. “Wait, there’s one more. Do you want me to read it?”