God, I'm exhausted.
That was the only thing going through Natalie Goldmill's mind as she wrapped herself up in a blanket from one of the paramedics, staring off into the distance with the sharp, intelligent blue eyes that she had gotten from her grandfather. She pulled her knees up to her chest as she stared blankly at the cluster of paramedics before her, swallowing the spit accumulating in her mouth.
Natalie glanced at her watch, squinting to see the time. 10:37 PM.
Man, it was earlier than she thought, way earlier. Natalie and her grandmother had been driving when her grandmother dozed off at the wheel, veering off the road and crashing into the sidewalk. Coincidentally, her grandmother woke up the moment before they crashed, and immediately began to yell at Natalie for Lord knows what. Even with a good chance of dying, she found the time and the energy to scream at the teenager, and Natalie couldn't help but let out a dry, humourless chuckle.
"Miz?"
Natalie looked up, her glasses slipping off the bridge of her aquiline nose. Apparently, she'd been re-named 'miz', which she didn't entirely mind.
"Yeah?" she replied, furrowing her brow at the ruddy-faced paramedic. "The ambulance is ready for you," he said, beckoning her forward, then holding out his hand.
Natalie blinked. "Oh- oh, okay," she stammered, slowly standing up. Her footing was tremulous and unsteady, and she started to tip over.
"Woah, woah, woah," a deep, slurred voice called, and before Natalie knew it, she had fallen into a pair of arms instead of collapsing onto the South Philly streets. "You alright?" the voice asked, and Natalie recognized it immediately.
She looked up at the man holding her, her eyes wide and surprised. "Mr-Mr. Balboa?" the teenager stammered, drawing in a sharp breath as she stared at the tall Italian. Rocky nodded, and gave Natalie a lopsided grin. "You got a good memory, kid," he replied, easing her back on the bench. Rocky turned around to look at the cluster of paramedics, firemen, and policemen surrounding the car. He looked back at Natalie for a moment, his lips slightly parted. "Natalie…"
Rocky stood up, walking over to the cluster, a certain confidence in his stride. "Yo, what's goin' on?" he shouted, immediately drawing everyone's attention to him. Considering he was arguably the most notorious person in the neighborhood, it was difficult to ignore him.
"Car accident," one of the paramedics nonchalantly called out. "We got a body, here."
"Well…" Rocky turned back to Natalie for a moment. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes were filled with concern. "Well, where's she gonna go? Tell me," he demanded, anger and fear bubbling up in his voice.
"That's up to social services, sir. If she ain't got no other family, off to foster care she goes," the paramedic replied, giving Rocky an apathetic shrug."Will you let her get in the ambulance, now?" he demanded, an aggravated edge to his voice.
"Come on, Miz, let's get going," another paramedic said, taking Natalie by the elbow. The ginger nodded silently, defeatedly, getting into the ambulance as an EMT shut the doors behind her.
The ambulance drove off into the night, flashing lights and all.
Rocky sank down on the bench that Natalie had sat on just a moment before. He buried his face in his hands and let out a deep, defeated sigh, shaking his head. God, the poor girl was going to be thrown away into foster care and completely forgotten about… shit, she was just a kid, and she had to deal with this! Her future wasn't going to go anywhere, was it? Not in foster care, it wasn't...
"Sir, you alright?" one of the paramedic called towards Rocky, a genuine concern apparent in his features. The tall Italian closed his eyes, letting out a tremulous breath before standing up from his seat on the bench.
Without giving a second glance to the chaos behind him, Rocky began to walk, thoughts of Natalie swirling through his mind. He felt absolutely powerless, not only that, but disgusted with himself. He had made a promise to Mick, all those years ago, to protect Natalie, and he had failed. 'When I die, you protect her, and you protect her good. Don't make me haunt you, now,' Mickey had said, jabbing his finger in Rocky's face. He had spoken those words countless times, and to this day, Rocky could remember them verbatim.
Well, he was in for a few wide open cupboards and upside down crosses, because he certainly hadn't done his goddamn job.
The tall Italian violently shook his head. He had to stop dwelling on the past for a moment, he had a family to get back to, he had a certain brother in law to fetch from the bar. He'd worry about Natalie later, as much as he hated to do so.
"Come on Paulie, let's go," Rocky said, opening the door to the bar and roughly shaking his brother in law by the shoulder. The drunken man sluggishly shook his head and moaned something unintelligible to Rocky. Rocky let out a loud sigh, grabbing Paulie again. "I said let's go, Paulie," he snapped. Having to drag the balding man away from the bar night after night was getting tiresome for Rocky; doing that nearly every day for years was truly starting to get to him.
Rocky was just about to give up, roll his eyes, and leave, making Paulie the bartender's problem, when Paulie slowly got off the chair, taking another swig of beer before setting it down on the bar. "Alright, Rocko," he mumbled drunkenly, tossing a ten dollar bill at the bartender before the duo walked out. Huh. Took a lot less effort than usual, Rocky silently mused.
"Yo, uh…" Rocky momentarily paused, moistening his bottom lip as he debated saying something to Paulie. He doubted the stout, short tempered man would have anything to say, but…
"You remember Natalie?" Rocky asked, lightly elbowing his counterpart in the side. "Natalie who?" Paulie asked nonchalantly, opening up his flask and taking a gulp. "Y'know, Natalie. Mick's granddaughter," Rocky replied, nudging Paulie again. "You gotta remember, now," Rocky insisted, taking off his fedora.
"Yeah, I remember. So?" Paulie sluggishly replied, screwing the cap back on his flask nonchalantly.
Rocky paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. Paulie glanced at his brother in law, arching an eyebrow inquisitively. "Rocko?"
"She… she was in a car accident," Rocky mumbled, shoving his hands deeper inside his pockets after placing his fedora back on his head. "She made it, but, her granny didn't," he continued, letting out another tremulous breath as he continued to walk with his brother-in-law.
"Old lady Goldmill? Ain't nobody's gonna miss her, Rocko," Paulie said with a laugh. "Remember them two? Mickey and Evelyn and their world class screaming fights? You could hear 'em in Jersey!"
"Paulie, relax," Rocky groaned. The last thing he wanted was to deal with another second of Paulie's nonsense.
Rocky opened the door to his home, ushering Paulie in. Adrian stood in the kitchen, drying off a dish before she placed it in the cupboard. "Yo, Adrian, we're back," Rocky said, taking off his fedora and coat and tossing them on a nearby chair. Paulie shuffled off back to the depths of hell, or wherever he came from, leaving the couple to themselves.
"Was bringing him home much trouble?" Adrian asked quietly, turning around to face Rocky. The tall Italian silently shook his head, leaning against the table. "Adrian, do you remember Natalie?" he asked after a moment.
Adrian turned around, clasping her hands in front of her waist. "Yes, yes, I do. I always wondered what happened to her," the brunette softly replied, beginning to wring her hands as her brow creased with worry. "Did something happen?"
Rocky grimaced. "She was in a car accident. She made it, her granny didn't. She's goin' into foster care, Adrian, I don't wanna think about what's gon' happen to her in there…"
The retired boxer's voice trailed off. He ran a hand through his curls, letting out a deep sigh.
Adrian walked over to her husband, sighing softly she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Rocky," the brunette muttered as she slowly pulled away. "Poor girl. Lost her mother, then her grandfather, and now…" Adrian let out a tremulous breath. "Is there anything we can do?" the petite woman asked, tilting her head to the side.
Rocky shrugged defeatedly, letting out another sigh as he leaned over, kissing Adrian on the forehead. "I don't know," he muttered. "I don't know."
Rocky made his way downstairs, calling out "Kid?" as he stepped into the basement. Sure enough, Robert sat cross legged on the bed, gnawing on a pencil as he stared at the piece of paper before him. "Hey, dad," the teenager deadpanned, setting the pencil and paper down on his nightstand. He was no longer the rail thin, naive, pale-faced thirteen year old that he had been when he first came to South Philly. He had become tougher in the past two years, yet he still hadn't taken much of an interest in fighting. Art was what he loved, and that wasn't going to change any time soon.
"How you doin', kid?" Rocky asked, plopping down next to his son and planting a soft kiss on the side of his head. Robert shrugged, giving his father a small smile. "I'm okay."
Rocky paused for a moment, unsure of how he should phrase his question. "Um.." Rocky moistened his bottom lip, looking away briefly. "You remember Natalie? Mick's granddaughter?" he asked, running a hand through his curls.
"Yeah, I go to school with her," Robert casually replied, shifting his weight on his bed. "We talk every once in a while. Why?"
Rocky suddenly pulled away from his son. "You do? Why didn't you tell me?" the Italian said angrily, moving away from his son.
Robert moistened his bottom lip, turning away from his father's gaze. "I did, last year, but you were… busy." Rocky immediately felt the tension in the air get thicker. Tommy Gunn was still a sore subject for the family, he had nearly torn Rocky and Robert's relationship to shreds. Of course, it had been nearly a year since he went out of their lives, but
the mere mention of him made Robert upset.
"Yo, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring nothin' up," Rocky said gently, putting a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. Robert slowly shook his head, letting out a humourless chuckle. "That's okay. Why'd you ask?"
Once again, Rocky was unsure of what to say. It had been a habit for him lately, well, for the past couple years. Still, he had to find a way to muster up the words…
"Natalie was in a car accident." God, that must have been the third time he uttered those words in the past twenty minutes. Rocky could hardly understand it himself, he still thought of Natalie as a little girl, not a teenager, not someone who had just evaded death by the skin of her goddamn teeth.
"She made it, don't worry," Rocky said reassuringly. "Mrs. Goldmill, on the other hand… not so lucky," he said with a grimace, shaking his head and letting out a sigh.
"Listen, kid, if you see her at school tomorrow, tell her 'hello,' give her our number, tell her if she needs somethin', we're here. Okay? Can you do that?" Rocky asked, clapping his son on the shoulder.
Robert moistened his bottom lip, nodding as he briefly looked away from his father. "Yeah, I'll do that, no problem."
"Yo, kid." Rocky could practically sense what his son was thinking. Lightly hitting his son on the shoulder, he said, "Hey, come on, it ain't like she's gonna be living with us," the tall Italian said with an uneasy laugh. "Just…tell her everything's gonna be okay. Please? For me?"
Robert nodded again, raking a hand through his hair with a small smile. "Okay."
Rocky gave his son another smile before planting a kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight," he said softly, patting his son on the shoulder once more before walking upstairs to the room he shared with Adrian.
The lights were already turned off, and Adrian had long since crawled into bed. Rocky laid next to the petite brunette, lazily removing his gray sweater and tossing it off to the side. He casually wrapped an arm around her, just as he had done so nearly every night for fifteen years.
His mind would not let him rest. If there was an afterlife, Rocky was sure Mickey had put some sort of hex on him by now. No matter how illogical it was, Rocky couldn't help but blame himself for Natalie being involved in a car accident, and he desperately wished that there was something he could do.
Natalie's grandmother had cut off all contact with the Balboas after Mick's death. The woman had become a hermit, nobody had seen her in years. Natalie came and went, of course, according to people in the neighborhood, but her grandmother was practically off the grid. Rocky had heard countless rumors, including that Mrs. Goldmill had died and Natalie was somehow running a household herself. He found the idea completely egregious, of course, and couldn't help but scoff at the mere thought of it.
"You alright?"
Rocky nearly jumped in surprise before he realized that it was Adrian who had spoken. "Yeah, I'm okay, just thinkin'," he muttered, moistening his bottom lip.
"About Natalie?" the petite brunette said knowingly.
"Yes," Rocky muttered, turning around to face his wife. "I don't know what's gonna happen to her," he said softly, letting out a tremulous breath before resting his cheek against his wife's.
"Oh, sweetheart, neither do I. All we can do is hope. You told Robert to tell her hello when he sees her again, right?" Adrian asked, giving her husband a gentle, comforting pat on the shoulder.
"Yeah, you're right, all we can do is hope. I told the kid to say 'hi', we'll see what happens," Rocky mumbled, planting a kiss on Adrian before he rolled over in bed, resting his head against his pillow before closing his eyes.
The tall Italian drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep after nearly another hour of meaningless pondering.