by Ravenna Tate
“Kind of wasn’t the point I was trying to make, was it?”
“I could use some help today,” said her mother.
“What do you need help with?” asked Emmi, grateful for the change of subject.
“Putting away Christmas decorations. I promised Eddie I’d do it this year, and since you’re home, you can help me.”
“I’d love to.”
“And so would I,” said Digger.
Emmi glanced from him to her mother, and back again. “I’m sure you have work to do.”
“Not a thing.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m at your disposal for the duration of this storm. Longer, if you need me.”
“It’s settled then,” said her mother, giving Digger a conspiratorial glance. “You’ll both help me.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’ve just been set up?”
Her father made a sound of disgust. “Emilia, for heaven’s sake. It’s a big house. Your mother needs the help. Stop looking for trouble where there isn’t any.”
“I’m not looking for trouble.”
“What are you looking for, then?”
She swallowed hard. To be left alone to deal with this in my own way. “I’m fine, Papa. As soon as I’m done eating, Digger and I will help take down the decorations.”
“That’s better.”
It infuriated her that he believed it was better for her to agree to spend time with Digger when she wasn’t ready to, as opposed to being allowed to make that decision on her own. When would they ever stop treating her like a child? Or realize that although they hadn’t cared for Sam, she had? Very much, in fact. Digger couldn’t simply swoop in and take his place, as if Sam was nothing more than a pair of gloves she’d lost.
And more importantly, when would she stop being afraid to tell them exactly how she felt? She was torn between guilt and duty every moment of her life. This had been a mistake. She should have stayed in the apartment and dealt with the memories. And she should have stayed in school and dealt with that, too.
But then she wouldn’t have tasted those kisses last night, or heard words that healed her broken heart just a tiny bit for a moment or two. Digger would help her get over Sam, at least physically. But he wouldn’t be satisfied with a casual fling. He’d made that very clear. And neither would her parents.
Was it fair to give into him knowing that’s all it would ever be, when she knew he wanted more? Was it fair to her parents to do that? And was it fair to herself? She wasn’t a prize to be won. She was a human being with feelings and needs.
But so was Digger. He might kill people for a living, but that didn’t make him less deserving of love or affection. She couldn’t give that to him. Sex, yes. Her heart and soul, no. And that’s what he wanted. She’d known that even before he put it out there last night.
Her appetite was gone. Before Dani had a chance to take her plate, Emmi rose and put it in the sink. “Which room do you want to start with?”
“Well, I think upstairs. There are fewer things left up there than down here.”
Emmi stifled a laugh as memories from last night assaulted her once more. “I’ll head up there. Take your time.”
They weren’t too far behind her. She had intended to take down the mistletoe before Digger got upstairs, but he beat her to it. She watched him unhook it and place it in a plastic baggie, wondering how long he thought it would stay fresh. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her mother eyeing the scene, too, with a curious look on her face.
“Mom, are there any decorations left in the bedrooms, or just the hallways?” Emmi wanted to distract her mother’s thoughts from the damned mistletoe.
“Only the hallways.”
Once they finished, they made their way downstairs. Digger and her mother chatted away like old friends, but Emmi stayed out of the conversation unless asked a direct question. Taking down Christmas trees was always nostalgic because her mother decorated them with trinkets and ornaments that reminded Emmi of her childhood. She had saved every blessed thing each of them made in school that could reasonably fit on a Christmas tree, or be hung on a doorknob.
One thing in particular, on the tree in the music room, made her stop and sit for a moment. The snow was now blowing sideways outside, which was kind of pretty, but it also reminded Emmi she was stuck in this house with Digger until it was safe for him to drive home. Under different circumstances, that wouldn’t be quite so unsettling.
She held up the ornament, still able to recall when she’d made it. It had been in second grade, and their assignment was to list the people in their family, including extended family and close friends. They had been talking about how we should remember our family members all year long, not only during the holidays.
It had been a simple yet profound lesson that year, because one of her father’s close associates had been killed by a rival Mob boss. The entire family, plus Digger and other family friends, had gone to the funeral.
Their teacher bound the pages together right at the edges so the end result was a tiny book. Then she punched a hole in the top left corner, and each child threaded colored yarn through the hole so the book could be hung up as a Christmas ornament.
Did they do things like this in public school? She had no clue. Emmi was the product of twelve years of Catholic education. Christmas had been a big deal in school, especially during her younger years.
Carefully, she paged through the book and read the names. Her parents, of course, followed by Nicole, Anna, and Mia. Their cat at the time, Tiger, plus aunts, uncles, grandparents who had still been alive, and cousins. The last name in the book was Digger. Emmi had printed “close family friend” next to his name.
She got an “A+” on the project because of that entry. Her teacher had shown the booklet to the whole class, emphasizing that even people who were not blood relatives were part of our families. Who would he have written in his little book, if he had made one? There was no doubt he considered the LoPresti family his own by now.
Emmi had known him all her life, and not once did she recall him bringing a girlfriend to any family event. Had he even dated? He’d never been married and he had no kids, that she knew of, anyway. What the hell had he done all these years besides kill people, and hang out with her family?
His parents were long gone, he’d had no siblings, and she rarely heard him mention extended family members other than his uncle, Donny Messina. He was all alone in the world without them. She’d never really considered that before. Then again, for the past twelve years, all she’d really considered was Sam. His feelings, his needs, and his music. Sure, she was in law school, but even that had taken a backseat most times.
Even now, with Sam gone, she’d left school for a semester because of him. Because the memories of being with him had been too overwhelming for her to deal with. As she put the ornament in the box with the others, she found herself wondering what Digger thought of her taking a break from school.
Her mother laughed at something he said in the other room. The sound was pleasant, happy, familiar. There was a reason Digger knew so much about her family, and was so comfortable around them. He might as well be blood.
She tried not to picture Sam’s face as it popped into head again. It had floated through her consciousness during the most random times the past few weeks. How does one simply get over a person they have loved for over a decade? How in the hell was Sam able to forget her so easily? Had her parents been right all these years, and she’d been so fucking blind she’d never seen it?
When they parted, it hadn’t been with the understanding that they’d keep in touch, but she had assumed he’d at least text her, or message her on Facebook, or something to let her know he was alive. Let her know how the band was doing. Let her know he regretted his decision to leave her forever.
Other than him letting her know he’d arrived safely in Los Angeles, she hadn’t heard one word. That was the hardest part of all this. Realizing that she’d meant so little to him he’d merely walked away witho
ut any regrets. How could he do that? If the past twelve years had been so insignificant for him, why the hell was she sitting here, agonizing over it? Why was she pushing Digger away, when he’d been there most of his life for her entire family?
If only he didn’t do what he did for a living. How in the hell could she reconcile that, when all her life, she’d absolutely hated the business her family was in? How would she ever get past it? Unless she could find a way, there was no chance for her and Digger. At least, not for what he wanted. No chance at all.
For the first time she could recall, that certainty made Emmi sad.
Chapter Six
Emmi’s family called this the music room only because there was a baby grand it in. No one had played it in years. No one but him, that was. And even he hadn’t touched it in a while. He stood in the doorway, watching Emmi. She’d been crying again, which Teresa told him she almost always did when taking down decorations.
Sam had to be on her mind. More than anything, he wished he had the magic words, or the perfect gesture, to erase that idiot from her head forever. He’d made her choose and then left her behind. Without a word, if Teresa had been telling the truth. And yet Emmi still grieved for what might have been.
Why? When she had him right here, ready to give her everything she wanted? There wasn’t anything he’d deny her. And as for sex, she’d been with a boy. He would show her what it was like to fuck a man. He’d never make her choose between her dreams or his, and he’d never move across the country and leave her behind.
When she turned slightly, he walked into the room, forcing a smile to his face, so she’d never know he’d been watching her. “How’s it going?”
“Almost done with this one.”
“My God. Look at that snow.”
“I know.” Her voice sounded anxious. “It’s not supposed to let up until tomorrow afternoon.”
He sat down at the piano and ran through a few scales and easy pieces to warm up his fingers. She continued what she’d been doing, but kept sneaking glances toward him. When he felt warmed up enough, he launched into Chopin’s Ballade No. 4 in F Minor. It was one of the few pieces he knew by heart.
Sure, he was showing off a bit. But to be fair, he’d played the piano for her before so it’s not like this was anything new. It took about three minutes, but she finally came over and stood next to the instrument, about three feet from the bench.
He glanced up quickly and stopped when he spotted the forlorn expression on her face. “You want me to play something else?”
“No. I love this piece.”
Shit. Was it meaningful because of something to do with Sam? “You look sad.”
“It’s a sad piece.”
“It’s the key its written in. Makes it sound mournful.” One quick glance out the window gave him an idea. He banged out the first few bars of “Winter Wonderland”, singing along, until she started to laugh. “Better?”
“Yes. Much.”
Digger took his fingers off the keys. “You have a beautiful smile, Emmi. I’ve always thought so.”
“You should have played professionally.”
Christ. Every fucking teacher who’d ever heard him play since he first began taking lessons at the age of eight had told him that. “Not my cup of tea.”
“But killing people is?”
The regret on her face the second it was out of her mouth wasn’t enough to take the sting out of her words. “You’ve grown up with this. You know how it is.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Sometimes people do bad things and need to be punished.”
“Killing isn’t a punishment. It’s annihilation. It’s playing God. Deciding who lives and who dies.”
“That’s your Catholic school upbringing talking.” He recognized her need to work this out, but still wished he knew what to say. They’d been down this road before.
“No, it’s my conscience talking.”
He sighed and turned on the bench, straddling it. “Emmi, this is who I am.” He cut his gaze toward the doorway, but Teresa was in a room down the hall. He could hear her singing softly. All the same, he spoke quietly. “Your father is no different.”
“I know that.”
So why won’t you give me one fucking chance? “Is that why I’m doomed to do no more than kiss you under the mistletoe? Because I’m the same as your father, his brothers, your grandfather, and basically every male ancestor you have on his side?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Really?”
“They’re family. I can’t change that. But you, you’re…” Her gaze cut to the box into which she’d put the decorations as he’d watched. “I don’t know what you are.” Her voice had changed on that last part. Defeated, confused.
Digger rose and walked around the piano, expecting her to move away as he approached, but she didn’t. “Yes, you do. You know exactly what I am.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, encouraged by her slight moan and the way her eyes went all soft. “I’m the person who’s always been there for you.”
“This can’t work, Digger.”
“Yes, it can. I know you don’t find me repulsive.” He brushed a finger along her face, nearly gritting his teeth at the pain. His dick was rock hard, and if her parents hadn’t been in the house, he’d be a lot more assertive right now. This was killing him, especially after last night.
“No. Of course I don’t.”
“Your kisses were real, Emmi. The way you touched me was real. It wasn’t forced.” He could still feel her body pressed against his, those full tits rubbing his chest, and the way she’d pushed against the bulge in his pants, slightly, just enough to let him know she was aware of it.
“I know,” she whispered. Her right hand drifted up, as if to touch him, but then it hung there, suspended.
“So what are you waiting for? Sam isn’t coming back.”
“Yeah. I know that, too.”
He had to have this woman. He’d waited long enough. It was time to stop sugarcoating everything.
“Why do you want to waste your emotion on someone who tossed you aside like a toy he got tired of playing with?”
If he’d slapped her, it wouldn’t have evoked less of a shocked reaction. But behind the anger that flashed in those beautiful dark eyes, he saw acknowledgement of the truth as well. She wasn’t stupid. She knew the magnitude of what Sam had done to her.
“I need time.”
“To do what, exactly? Decide he’s not coming back, or decide you deserve better than to pine away, waiting for him?”
“Digger, have you ever been in love?”
You mean with someone besides you? “No.”
“Then with all due respect, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Yes, I do. “I know what it feels like to want someone so badly you can taste it. To need them in your life like you need fucking oxygen to breathe. To know there will never, ever be anyone who can take their place.”
She shook her head slightly. “You don’t know me that well.”
“I’ve known you all your life. I know you’re the only woman who could ever satisfy me, in every way.”
“How?” she whispered. “How in the hell can you possibly know that?”
He moved his hands to her face, gently cupping it as he’d done last night. The warmth of her skin spread through him, chasing away the chill of this day. Dimming the coldness of Sam’s fucking memory. If only it would do the same for her.
“Because I saw you in my dreams, with me. Us. Together. Living out our lives. Growing old. Sharing everything. Because you’re beautiful. Always have been. Because last night…” He took a deep breath, desperately searching for the words to convey what he already knew to be true, right down to the depths of his soul.
“Last night, when I finally kissed you, it was like coming home after a long, dark, terrifying journey.”
“And what if I can’t get past what you do?”
&
nbsp; “You can.”
“How?”
“We’ll figure it out together.”
“This isn’t something you figure out, like a fucking math problem.”
“You’ll never know if you don’t try.” He loved the way she started swearing when she became passionate. It was sexy as hell. It proved there was real emotion inside.
“You say that like you expect I’ll change my mind one day,” she snapped her fingers, “just like that.”
He removed his hands from her face. “Do you know why my parents made me take piano lessons, when other boys my age were playing soccer or hockey?”
She shook her head.
“It was because I sat down to try to play it before I learned how, realized how goddamn hard it was, and said, ‘I can’t do it.’ They decided to prove me wrong, because they saw something inside me. They looked past the impatient brat who couldn’t stay away from the instrument, yet didn’t want to take the time to learn it from the ground up. They knew I had the talent. I simply needed to develop the discipline.”
“I’m not a piano.”
“I know. Stay with me. I have a point. So they made me take lessons. And I hated them at first. All you do is play endless fucking scales.”
“I know. I took them, too, once upon a time.”
He grinned. “I remember that.” She had hated them, too, and had only stuck with it about six months.
“After a few weeks, the scales were easier to get through. In fact, I began embellishing them, making up little tunes. I started to understand how the notes worked together, and why it was important to have that foundation.”
“So what’s your point? That all I need is practice to get used to what you do for a living?”
“No. All you need to do is stick with it long enough to see it from a different perspective. To view it in the global sense. How it works with everything else your family does. Why it’s important in our world to maintain order and preserve a way of life.”
“That makes it sound noble.”
“Is it noble to choose a crappy band over a woman who gave you twelve years of her life? I’ve heard him play. He’ll be back home before summer because he doesn’t have the talent or the balls to make it in that industry.”
