by DJ Hunnam
Whatever Ida saw must have scared her, because she grabbed at Dante and started to beg. "Please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit her. I've had too much to drink. I love you. Please, don't do this."
He pushed out of her clinging arms. "I will not let you ruin this for me. Erica is one of the only good people in my life."
"How can you say that? I'm the one who carried you for nine months and put food on the table. I was always there for you when you needed me."
"You were always there for me? What about when your boyfriends were beating the shit out of me while my little brothers watched? Where were you then? Oh, that's right, in the other room so hammered out of your mind you couldn't see straight."
Ida staggered closer. Tears streamed down her face, carrying her black mascara with it. "I'm sorry, baby. Please, don't do this."
Dante shook his head and pushed her hands away when she tried to hug him. "Don't worry, Ma. I'll still send you money. I know that's what you're really worried about."
He spun on his heels, leaving his mother to gape after him.
"She'll never love you the way I do," Ida yelled down the wide hallway. "One day she's gonna wake up and realize you ain't good enough for her. Don't come crawling back when she does."
Dante's steps faltered, but he didn't turn around. He gripped my elbow and kept walking.
"Dante, slow down," Erica pleaded. With her stilettos, she could barely keep up with my angry strides. My mother's parting words were lead in my stomach, weighing me down from the inside out.
I stopped to face Erica. "You should go."
"Wait, what? Why are you sending me home? What did I do wrong?"
Blood pounded in my ears and my heart raced like I'd just run a forty-yard dash. I was being an asshole because it was easier to be angry than deal with my disappointment. I was used to being hurt by my mother, but Erica didn't deserve her wrath.
Erica crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not leaving." The trickle of blood on her chin had almost dried, but she winced with each of her words.
What the fuck was wrong with me? Instead of comforting Erica, I was trying to get rid of her, so I didn't have to face the evidence of my mom's misconduct.
"Come on, let's go get you cleaned up."
I threaded my fingers through hers and pulled her to the nearest bathroom. Doing my best not to hurt her any more than she already was, I dabbed at her mouth with a damp paper towel.
"Dante, talk to me."
I couldn't handle the sympathy laced in the depths of her eyes. Choking back the emotions that were threatening to erupt, I apologized again. The clash of my past with my present felt worse than the hit that had almost paralyzed me.
"It's not a big deal," Erica said. "Please, don't look at me like that."
I caught my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were darkened slits and my body was coiled tight like I was ready to tackle someone. I did my best to soften my expression and shook my arms out before responding.
"Not a big deal? My mother just socked you in the face."
"She's drunk."
"That's not a fucking excuse," I bellowed.
Erica flinched and I immediately regretted my outburst. A single tear slipped out of one eye and trailed down her cheek.
"Babe, I'm sorry," I said. I lifted her onto the counter and wedged myself between her legs. With soft shushes she rubbed my back and consoled me, when I should have been the one consoling her.
"It's okay. I'm fine," she lied.
I pulled back and looked down at her. The swelling in her lip was getting worse. She tried to give me an encouraging smile, but it fell flat. I couldn't handle the sight of her beautiful face marred by my mother's hand. I stalked out of the bathroom and towards the lobby. I needed fresh air or I was going to put my fist through the mirror.
Erica trailed after me, keeping a safe distance. As we rounded the corner to the ballroom, we ran into a flustered Allister.
"What happened?" Allister asked as she smoothed down her tousled hair, eyes growing wide when she saw Erica's split lip.
"My mother. She's in the hallway, down there on the left."
Recognition dawned on Allie's face and she cursed under her breath. "I'll get rid of her," she said, marching towards a hotel staff member who was sitting at the front desk. In spite of everything, having my mother thrown out turned my stomach.
I pushed through the sliding glass doors and headed across the street to the Bell Harbor Marina. Erica took off her heels and walked barefoot beside me. She linked her hand with mine, but didn't speak, sensing my need for silence.
The briny scent of the bay whispered across my senses. Several people were boarding a boat, lit up with twinkling lights from stem to stern. I longed to catch a ride out to sea and forget about this awful night.
"Dante, I am so sorry."
"Why are you sorry?" I asked, not breaking stride. I had no idea where I was going, but I needed to keep walking. The night was chilly and Erica shivered, so I slipped my jacket around her shoulders before continuing my death march down Cruise Pier.
"Because your mom ruined your big night."
"I'm used to it." Or at least I'd thought I was, but I sounded like a petulant child.
"That doesn't make it okay. Dante, would you please stop walking and talk to me?" Erica pulled me to a stop. The kick of a boat turning on drowned out her next words. She stepped closer and placed her hands on my chest. "It's okay to be upset."
"I know that." But I hated that I was mad. I hated that my mom could still get under my skin and control my emotions, even though I was a grown man.
"Do you?" Erica asked, centering me with a palm on my cheek. She forced me to look at her. "What happened is not your fault. Your mom is sick. She needs help."
"I am so sick of hearing that shit. Just because she chooses to drink herself into oblivion every night does not mean that she has the right to act like that."
"You're right. But you can't blame her for wanting to be here on your big night. She is your mother, after all."
"That's where you're wrong. I can blame her. The only time she shows up to support me is if I'm winning. After I was injured, you know how many times she came to see me?"
"How many?"
I put my index finger up. "Once. She came to visit me in the hospital one fucking time." Erica shook her head, but didn't respond. "When the doctor told us that my football career was over, she bailed the next day. I wasn't even sure I was going to regain my mobility. What kind of mother does that?"
When my career ended after a heinous hit that could have paralyzed me, my mom had been devastated. For all the wrong reasons. Our relationship had never been the same.
"Oh, Dante," Erica murmured, wrapping her arms around my waist and settling her head against my chest. "I'm so sorry."
I listened to the water slap against the pillars below us and pulled her tight. Having her in my arms was the only thing keeping me from jumping off the pier.
"When I was a little girl, my mom used to stand me in front of the mirror, naked, and point out all of my flabby parts. She told me I was disgusting and that no one would ever love me if I didn't lose weight."
"Jesus Christ," I said, grabbing her upper arms and forcing her back. "You were just a little kid."
"For the longest time, I believed her. The way I looked on the outside was so intertwined with my self-worth that I was convinced I had to look perfect in order for people to like me. I think that was why I signed on with Hot Shot Cosmetics when I dropped out of school. To prove that I was worthy. To my mother. To myself."
I shook my head, but stayed quiet, rubbing her upper arms.
"There are still days I catch myself looking in the mirror and critiquing flaws that don't even exist. But then I remind myself of that night, ten years ago, when this cocky guy came home with my brother." I chuckled and her lips lifted into a smile. "That night at dinner, my mom tried to give me shit about eating a roll. Do you remember what you did?"
"I reached over the table and gave you a second one."
"And you said I looked amazing and that a few extra carbs wouldn't do me any harm. I thought my mom was going to have a stroke."
I threw my head back and laughed. "Well, you did look beautiful."
"I'm not fishing for compliments. In spite of all that shit my mom put me through, I came to the realization that parents are people too. They make mistakes, they have flaws, and sometimes they disappoint us."
"So, you think I should give her another chance? Even though she's let me down time and time again."
"Only you know the answer to that question. But isn't that what love is all about? Forgiveness? The adage that you have to forgive and forget is bullshit. You never forget. People we love will disappoint us. Hopefully it's unintentional, but it will happen. Forgiveness is the only way forward. Otherwise resentment will drag you down until your heart is so heavy with it, there's no space for the good stuff."
I was stunned silent. We had both grown up with mothers who would never win mother-of-the-year awards, yet Erica was able to move past the horrors of her childhood. Why couldn't I?
"How did you get so well-adjusted?"
"Time," she murmured. "And a shit-ton of therapy."
My chuckle mingled with hers, floating into the humid air and lifting my mood. "Therapy, huh?"
"Yep. It's very chic in the Big Apple."
"You're the only therapy I need," I said, pulling her tight against me.
"The unit has an enclosed sun room, one of the many advantages of being on the main level."
"I don't like the idea of you being on the ground level," I whispered into Erica's ear so that the agent wouldn't overhear me. "It's not safe."
With one eyebrow arched, Erica followed the agent into the compact but well-equipped kitchen.
"This is nice," Erica said, running her fingertips across the granite counter tops in the galley kitchen.
It was nice. But not nice enough. I wanted Erica with me. Every single night. I didn't want her halfway across town, living by herself.
"Yeah, but my kitchen is nicer," I murmured under my breath.
The pantsuit-clad agent spun around to face us, a smile tugging at her lips. The woman wasn't stupid. She knew I had been sabotaging her efforts to find Erica an apartment all week. At first, she had been silently annoyed, but our banter had seemed to grow on her.
"Why don't I give two a chance to look at the unit on your own?" She tiptoed out of the room.
"Let's go look at the bedroom again," Erica said.
The bedroom was large, with powder-blue walls, big windows and rich hardwood floors. She walked to the window overlooking the little courtyard. Rain bounced off a round, glass table, but the sun smiled in the distance.
"It's not safe to be on the ground level as a single female," I said.
"You're being ridiculous. I like it. It's in my budget, in a trendy neighborhood with great restaurants, and within walking distance to my brother's condo."
I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, settling my hands on her narrow hips. "But it's so far from my place," I whined.
She giggled and gave me a sidelong glance. "You're fifteen minutes away. You act like I'll be living in another country."
"You don't like my place?"
"Of course, I like your place. It's beautiful and I love staying there."
"Then move in with me," I said. The solution seemed clear to me. She wanted out of Damian's and I wanted her with me.
"You want me to move in with you?"
I went to the door and locked it so we wouldn't be interrupted by the agent. "Yeah. I've been thinking about it all week," I said.
She searched my face, allowing my words to percolate. It wasn't the first time I had mentioned it, but all the others had been in passing and she had somehow managed to laugh it off.
"Wow. I don't know what to say. Do you think we're really ready for that?"
"I am."
She seemed taken aback, but recovered quickly. "I can't move in with you."
"Why not?"
"We just started dating. I'm not going to ruin things by moving too fast."
Everything she said made sense. I had to remind myself that she was only twenty-three. And even if I was ready to take the next step, maybe she wasn't.
Am I ready to take the next step?
I knew without a doubt that I was. And not just the moving-in-together next step. But marriage, kids, the whole thing. It was fucking crazy. For somebody who had sworn them off indefinitely, I was having no problem jumping headfirst into the deep end of the relationship pool.
What was holding her back from diving in with me? I shouldn't have read more into it, but my mother's words still echoed in my head.
"You still don't trust me," I said. It was a statement, not a question. The guilty look on Erica's face was confirmation enough. The knowledge that I was responsible for her distrust was a punch to the gut.
"It's not that..." she said, wringing her hands. I arched one eyebrow. "You know what, you're right. I'm sorry, but after everything that's happened, I'm not sure you won't decide tomorrow that I'm stifling you."
"That's not going to happen."
"It's not outside the realm of possibility. And I don't want to wake up one morning and realize I'm intruding on your life, but you're too nice to ask me to leave."
"Erica, that's not going to happen. I want you to live with me because I like having you around. Scratch that... I love having you around."
"And I love being there, but I'm not ready for that kind of commitment."
"You have doubts about us?"
The color in her cheeks rose. She glanced over my shoulder, unable to maintain eye contact. "No. I just need more time."
"Or is it that you have doubts about me?"
"That's ridiculous. Not everything is about you, Dante. There's some stuff that I'm working through."
"What stuff?" Shuffling under my glare, she stared at the floor. I grabbed her arms, and she looked up for half a second, before peering over my shoulder again.
"Stuff that has nothing to do with you," she murmured. I hated that she wouldn't look me in the eyes.
"Was my mom right? Do you think I'm not good enough for you?" I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. Not because they weren't true, but because I sounded needy and pathetic.
"Don't you dare put that shit on me," she said, jabbing me in the chest, eyes flashing. Pushing out of my arms, she took two steps back. "This is not about you. This is about me."
"What does that mean? What is going on? Babe, please don't leave me in the dark."
She shook her head and licked her bottom lip, nervousness flaring to life underneath the anger. "I can't. Not yet."
I stepped closer, determined to change her mind, but she pushed past me, rushing to the door. I caught her by the elbow before she could slip into the hallway.
"Where are you going?"
"I need to clear my head. I'll see you later."
***
"Hey, man, where's Erica?" Damian asked, looking over my shoulder.
"I was hoping she was here," I said. Damian swung the door open and gestured me in.
"She's not. What's going on?"
"She took off after we saw the last apartment." I'd considered chasing after her, but being overbearing wasn't the way to get what I wanted.
"Trouble in paradise?"
I followed him into the kitchen, where he pulled down a bottle of whiskey from his liquor cabinet. He poured us both two fingers and handed me a glass.
"I asked her to move in with me. She said no."
Damian sipped his whiskey and then took a seat on the stool beside me. "Isn't that moving a little fast? You two just started dating."
"Jesus, you sound just like her."
He shrugged and gave me a sardonic grin. "Well, we are siblings. I wouldn't sweat it. She probably doesn't want to make a mistake."
"You think us movin
g in together is a mistake?"
"That's not what I said. I think that Erica is young. After everything you put her through, I think she's terrified that this thing between you two is temporary."
With shoulders slumped, I gulped back the rest of my whiskey. "How do I convince her that it's not?"
Damian rubbed his fingers along the rim of his glass as he considered my question. "Time. As much as it sucks, you have to give her time to trust you again, to come to the same certainty that you have."
"What's that?"
"You love her, man. As much as it pains me to admit it, I see it in your eyes and on your face every time you two are together."
It was some sappy shit, but he was right. I loved her. Why haven't I told her?
"God, you sound like a fucking pussy," I joked. Deflection was an art form I had mastered a long time ago.
"Maybe, but the same thing happened with me and Janice. I knew I loved her before she even had the balls to admit she liked me."
After moving past the whole moral-ethical dilemma of banging his employee, Damian had pursued Janice unapologetically. The same way Erica had been chasing me since she was a kid. Why had it taken me this long to realize that I wanted to be caught?
"How do you do it? Take the plunge after everything that happened with you and Amelia?"
A smile tugged at Damian's lips and he shrugged. "I don't know. I realized that I didn't want the horrors of my past dictating my future." He finished his drink and gave me a crooked grin. "I'm going to ask Janice to marry me."
"That is fucking fantastic," I said, slapping him on the back. "Congratulations, man. Are you sure you're ready for that?"
"I don't have much choice. She's pregnant," Damian replied, rubbing his hand across his temple. He poured us both another shot, downing his in one big gulp.
"Yeah, I know."
"You do?" he asked, glancing my direction.
"Erica found out. You don't have to marry Janice just because you're going to have a kid together. In fact, I think that's the new hip thing to do."
"I want to marry her. It's just been a lot. Fast."
"No kidding. If it makes you feel any better, I've never seen you happier."
