Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
Beta'd by HollettLA.
HUGE thank you goes out to Cara No. My storm guru, my Twifey, and someone who helped piece this chapter together for me when I needed guidance . . .
Special shout out and thank you to all my readers in Dublin, Ireland! Woot Woot! It's surreal that this story reaches people everywhere. Where are you from?
Here's some fluff before the heavy
Riders on the Storm
Chapter Twenty-Three: My Girl
Maggie POV
When the last bell rang, I had my books and everything ready, my butt on the edge of the seat. I practically ran out of French, making the mad dash to my locker. Today was the last day before the long weekend—the holiday.
Everything was still up in the air as far as my parents were concerned. I was sure I wasn't welcome at their house, but I was welcome to have dinner with the Cullens.
It'll be Santino and my first holiday together. That thought, plus knowing he was outside waiting for me, filled me with so much glee, made me giddy.
Last night, I'd fallen asleep with Kylie in her bed. It was late when Santino came back to get me. He gathered me into his arms, and then carried me out to the car. He tried to do the same once we got to his apartment, but I was awake—although that didn't stop my Prince Charming from carrying me anyway.
I was exhausted, too—mentally, and just plain tired. Yesterday was a long day.
He tucked me into bed, and I woke up to the alarm clock blaring.
Santino remembered to set it for 6:30, so we'd have enough time to make love—or, maybe he just didn't want me to be late for school. Either way, I appreciated it.
Being with him in the mornings makes me a morning person.
I giggled to myself as I slammed my locker closed.
The other thoughts I have . . . I'm trying not to think about them. What Damion said last night totally had my brain going crazy—wondering if Santino is as truthful as he portrays, wondering about Eclipse, that girl Layla, what Damion meant by me coveting him, and the gun.
I remember what happened very well. Santino was going to speak more about Eclipse, and I cut him off, figuring it was just idle chatter, something we could have spoken about another time. I knew he had an important meeting with his dad, and Santino never pays any attention to the clock. I didn't want him in trouble.
Layla is a manager, regardless of what she was before she was a manager. The gun? I knew it wasn't just for decoration, and I've been thinking about that a lot.
Has Santino used his nine, as he calls it, to harm or kill someone? I keep going back and forth in my mind with it, and I don't really want to ask him about it. Because it just really doesn't matter, not to me—although I hope I can get him to open up, have more faith.
He doesn't have to go to confession or even to church. I'd just like him to speak to God himself?
"Oomph." Someone bumped me, and I dropped my books.
"Watch it!" Anna Lisa shouted at me.
"Sorry," I whispered, bending to get my school bag. I was sure she purposely rammed into me. She's always doing that.
She kicked it away from me while her friends giggled beside her. "Check out Virgin Mary," she laughed. "That's a really expensive bag to be carrying a bible in—is that Louis Vuitton? What'd you do, rob someone?" She just kept going. "Of course…you wouldn't. You're the Virgin Mary."
I gritted my teeth, my bag forgotten. "That's the last time you or anyone else calls me that!" I pointed, trying not to lose my temper.
She pushed my shoulder. "What the fuck are you going to do?"
"I'm not a virgin." I grinned. "That's one. Two," I pushed her back, "you don't wanna know what I'll do!" My stomach rolled with nausea. I had no idea what I'd do—I didn't want to do anything. I just wanted them to leave me alone.
In Kylie's words, "Sometimes bitches just need to be put in their places". And I was never going to get them to back off unless I did.
"Who would fuck you?" She snorted.
"I have a boyfriend," I said. Anna Lisa was the one person I'd hoped would see me with Santino. She might have stopped, would have nothing to poke fun at. But who was I kidding? She'd find something.
"Yeah?" She laughed, looking back to her friends. "Is he imaginary? The one with the quivering loins you write about." They stole my book of stories last year—most everyone read them, and I wanted to die. But my parents made me come back to this place anyway.
I rolled my eyes, having about enough of this. "Have a nice holiday." I walked forward, grabbing my bag and taking off for the exit.
"Don't you walk away from me. Did I dismiss you?"
My steps were hurried as I rushed to make it outside.
And there he was…
His gaze caught mine fast, and when it did…
His Benz sat between two school buses, and he always parks there at the risk of getting towed. He just doesn't care.
My Santino was leaning back against his car. He was wearing one of his suits and his long black pea coat. He wore shades and had his ankles crossed, his dark hair pushed back.
My hunk-a-man. My muscular, tall, hunk-a-man.
When I was a kid, I remembered my aunt calling Robert Pattinson a tall drink of water. I never understood that phrase until I met Santino.
I'd drink him.
Staring at him makes me thirsty…
I sighed, and then I was nudged—nearly stumbled from the step. "Leave me alone!"
Anna Lisa snatched my scarf from me, and then tossed it to her friend Hilary. "What are you going to do?"
I groaned, yanking it back from Hilary. She just gave it to me—having always been nicer than Anna Lisa. "Thank you."
"Everything okay?" I heard Santino, feeling my face get hot. This was so embarrassing. I'm a loser, and I'm eighteen, and even just being with me is hard for him. He shouldn't have to witness me getting bullied, too.
"Um…" I stared up at him, wanting to cry but trying not to. I'm used to this. I just never wanted Santino to see this.
The way he sees me . . . it's nothing like this.
"Everything's fine," Anna Lisa answered. "How can I help you?" She stood in front of me, practically against him, pushing her boobs out, and I don't know what came over me.
I grabbed her arm, pulling her back—shoving her away from him.
"Bitch—" She started, but then Santino had tossed me behind him.
"Back off," he told her. "You better keep your hands to yourself, or we'll have problems. Don't make me have to seek you out."
She grinned, swallowing and stepping back. "Are you a new teacher?"
Santino wasn't finished, continuing to speak over her. "I have a sister with a mean right hook—I taught her that myself. Maybe Maggie has too much class, but I don't, and my sister sure as fuck doesn't. You don't touch her . . ." He shook his head, reaching back for my hand. "I'm no teacher. I'm her man."
"No!" Anna Lisa exclaimed, like the concept was ridiculous.
I balled my hands into fists—sick of people behaving that way when it comes to us. "Yes!" I yelled, fisting his shirt and practically crawling up his body. He turned and kissed me deeply, making the butterflies appear and everything else disappear. His hands spanned my butt, and he lifted me to him.
My fingers wove into his hair, always loving how soft it is, as my legs wrapped around his waist, and I found myself wishing he'd take me. Just slam me against the concrete wall of the school and claim me.
Fuck me.
Dear Lord . . .
"Excuse me."
Santino pulled away, and I kept my eyes closed—savoring that moment.
"Margaret Anne Sullivan, please explain."
"Huh?" I turned to Sister Mary Catherine, which was like getting splashed with cold water. "Um…"
"We're sorry, Sister." Santino let me down, and I made sure my skirt wasn't bunched.
"Santino Cullen? Is that you?" Sister Mary Catherine was trying to peer into his sunglasses.
"Uh, yeah. You're Sister…?" He had no idea who she was.
I giggled but tried not to, as I noticed Anna Lisa and Hilary were already at the bus stop. We still had their attention, and I waved to them. Their response was to scowl and finally look away.
"You were in my class for three years." She wore a smile now. "How can you not remember me?"
"Italian! You were my Italian teacher!" he exclaimed.
She giggled, much like I just did—almost like she had the hots for him. "Sì. Suor Maria Caterina, Santino."
"Sister Mary Catherine . . . Suor Maria Caterina. Mi dispiace molto. Come potrei dimenticare questa faccia?" He touched her cheek, which made her blush.
And it made me . . . Let's just say those butterflies were going crazy in my belly, and I wanted to jump on him again.
"Non ha dimenticato come si parla. Molto buono." She nodded, almost looking proud, staring up in admiration. Then she frowned, looking to me. "Sei un po 'troppo vecchio per Margaret?"
He cleared his throat, composing his smile. "Ha diciotto anni. Ci amiamo. Intendiamo di sposarsi presto . . . E 'sono affari tuoi."
Sister Mary Catherine nodded. "I see." She stared between the both of us.
Santino draped his arm around me, ushering us away. "Take care, Sister." We walked down the steps. "Great to see you."He waved.
I waved, too, wondering if she was going to call my parents. That'd be the icing on the cake, or maybe they just wouldn't care anymore.
Santino opened the passenger side door, and I plopped into the seat. When he entered the car, I wanted to ask him all that was said. I've taken French since freshman year.
"I didn't know you could speak Italian." Was the first thing out of my mouth.
"Well, I am Italian, and that's something I'm proud of." He put his seat belt on. "We never spoke it while I was growing up—except for like the bad words." He touched my chin. "Get over here."
I smiled brightly and leaned over to kiss him some more. That's something I never complain about—all the kissing. When he pulled away, we just stared at each other—the both of us grinning. A horn honked behind us, and I whipped my head around to see it was another bus.
Santino sighed, starting the car. "Should get outta hea before they block me in."
I fastened my seat belt as he drove away. "What were you guys talking about?"
"If those bitches touch you—fucking tease you, you tell me. Understand?" He placed his hand high on my thigh, giving it a squeeze.
"Okay . . . You'll send Kylie to beat them up?" I laughed, knowing she'd totally do it.
He raised a brow, smirking at me as we came to a stop sign. That look, his handsome face, I couldn't help it and giggled, but he never answered me.
"What were you talking to Sister about?" I asked again.
"Oh…um, she said you were too young for me. I told her we were in love and to mind her own business." He took his nine from his waist and placed it in his inside coat pocket, and I had no idea why he did that.
I nodded. "Sounds about right."
He squeezed my thigh again. "I love you, baby." He blew me a kiss.
"I love you, too." I leaned over to kiss his cheek.
He turned, catching my lips for a quick second. "I plan on hittin' it as soon as we walk through the door—of our place. Think you can handle that?"
"Oh, yeah," I sighed, sitting back, and I bet I had a goofy grin on my face.
The spell was temporarily broken as he drove. "I, uh, I met up with your pops today."
"You did?" My stomach filled with dread. "Please tell me he was nice to you." That night, when my dad hit me, I kind of freaked out—was scared. He had never been that angry with me. It was a big deal when it happened, but two days later . . . I was just sad, knew Dad lost it, and I forgave him. It was the right thing to do—to forgive, but I know I'll never forget.
Santino still brings it up. He's still angry about it.
He nodded. "Cordial…polite to an extent. . . . The man fucking hates me." He grumbled, shoulders slumping and turning down the avenue. "He knows you're living with me…we shared a lot of words…He'd like for you to check in with your mom."
I rubbed my stomach. "She's not talking to me."
"He wants you to try. I don't know. I did the respectable thing—took him to lunch, told him you were living with me, and I didn't do anything to him—I didn't knock him one, as much as I wanted to. I was good, and I tried my best to get him to accept it—us as a couple."
I grasped his hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles. "I'm sure you did. Thank you." I feel like I'm being torn in half, all while I'm also amazingly happy. In my heart, I feel no regret, glad with my decision. "I love you . . . I just wanted you to know again."
He pulled into the garage, reaching to hold my jaw. "You don't ever have to explain—you can tell me that however much you want."
"Cool," I said.
"I was able to make some chicken cutlets and macaroni . . ." He trailed off, contemplative. "I'm not hungry—ate too much at lunch, but it's there—for whenever. I made it so you could have dinner."
"Do you have to work early?"
He nodded. "I have to be at Eclipse by six…We're all getting together…we need to talk to Dame. I'm sure that'll be ugly, too." He briefly looked to me. "You never told me what he said. You went out like a light last night. I love watching you sleep. You just—you curl up into a ball and stay that way, then I have to straighten you out to snuggle, and you don't move or wake up." He chuckled.
I grinned down to my lap, suddenly nervous. I didn't want to upset him, wanted to talk about this later tonight, but I knew he was going to ask. "He, he insinuated that, um, you and Layla were, you know."
"And what do you think?" he asked.
I shook my head. "If you did in the past, you did so in the past…I trust you."
"I never slept with Layla, and I don't plan to." He kissed my palm. "I have you and I love you, and…if you're curious about Eclipse—" He paused, stopped talking as he continued to drive. "This weekend—" Santino lifted my hand to kiss it again, "Saturday night. You can come down—see what it's all about. You can even meet Layla." He smirked back to me.
The butterflies were in my belly again, and I was nervous.
"We'll get you a dress, some heels . . . You don't need makeup, but you can have Kylie do it for you. I don't know. It'd be easier if you looked older—the less fuckers staring at you, the better—the less I'll be going googootz." He twirled a finger by his head.
"Okay," I whispered. "Thank you for wanting to show me."
"It's better I show you, rather than I try to explain. And I want you to know everything. I'm nosy as hell when it comes to all things you." He poked my side. "It's only fair . . . Plus, I want you to see—not every part of me, uh—I don't know." He looked sad, keeping his gaze down.
"Oh—" I lifted his chin, because a man like Santino should never look down. "We can talk later. . ."
"Later?" He grinned. "What about now? Spill it."
I grabbed my bag when he pulled into his spot. "You can't be late again."
"We have some time to chill, and I shouldn't be home late." He shut down the car to exit it. "We can talk about whatever you want now."
"Not now…can we talk more about that stuff when you get home? I mean, I'd just like to, to talk about some things in-length." I shrugged, thinking of everything Damion said last night.
Having a lot of faith in Santino, I hope and pray Damion was lying. Santino has no reason to lie to me. Sure, we've said our I love yous, and I know he cares about me . . . but Santino is Santino, and he doesn't owe me anything.
I know the man I'm with, but I don't recognize him as the man from Damion's words.
Having plenty of reasons to trust Santino, I only have one or two reasons not to—all the women who seem to be around him.
But he loves me.
He wants to be with me, and I love him like crazy.
"You plannin' on dumpin' me later or what?" He stared at me.
"No! God, no!" I shouted. "I want you to be able to explain, have the time with no interruptions. It's already after three, and you have to be there by six. You've said it takes thirty minutes to get there, and we never actually…talk when we say we're going to," I rambled, anxious again.
"Okay." He nipped my lips. "Good . . . 'Cause you're not allowed to break my heart. You promised my mother that night." I wasn't sure if he was teasing, even if his tone suggested it.
"I never break my promises."
"Never say never." He cocked a brow.
I left the car after him, and he held me tightly to his side as we walked. He said I could go hang out at the salon while he was gone. I could spend time with Kylie. She's leaving early to help their mom in the kitchen, and I could lend a hand as well. And now I couldn't wait to tell her about him taking me to Eclipse.
Plus, Sonny's not even sure if many people will be coming to Thanksgiving dinner. He says there's more conflict. Amazingly, that problem doesn't include us at all. His uncle, aunt, and all their kids weren't coming. Neither were Damion and Amelia, although he's not 100% sure. They'll likely visit her parents or something.
"You can cook, too?" I asked as we walked up the steps to his apartment.
"I manage my time well because I hate being bored. Boredom gets me into trouble. But yeah, I can do a lot of things." He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder to run upstairs. "You make me run late. I lose the whole concept of time with you." He chuckled.
I squealed, excited since I knew he wouldn't drop me, and I was able to get a free shot at his butt, slap it.
"Watch it, you!" He pinched mine.
"Eeee!" I giggled madly, still upside down as he unlocked the door.
Santino set me down when we got inside. We were still smiling and laughing until he turned to me, looking at me the way he does . . .
It's like he can see me, see my soul, and . . . it's intense, makes my tummy ache in the best way, a fire burning deep down inside and spreading.
"I missed you," he whispered, coming toward me. He backed me against the wall, kissing each of my cheeks, my eyelids, my forehead, my chin, running his hands down along my forearms to claim my own.
"I missed you, too." My chest heaved, and I was suddenly an overheated mess. "I thought about you all day."
He grinned, gently—with the softest of touches—trailing his fingertips up my thigh. It tickled, making me tingle all over, especially down below. "I thought about you, too," he said against my lips, his hand going higher.
My eyes rolled as he scooped my panties to the side, touching me in my private place—a place that he owns now; it belongs to him. I gasped, licking my lips, lifting my chin, and hoping he'd duck down—needing to kiss him. When he finally did, I opened my mouth wide—wanting all of him, all of that mouth, his tongue, savoring the taste of him.
I moaned when his fingers entered me, gasped when his thumb twirled around my clit. "It feels—it feels good."
"Good. It's all about you, baby," he crooned, out of breath himself. "I don't want you to worry about those girls at school. You outshine them all. You're gorgeous, and they're—they're jealous. That's why they tease you."
While I nodded and swallowed, I tried to think of a response, and I couldn't—I didn't want him to stop what he was doing.
"Look at you . . ." His tone was awestruck. "You like it when I touch your pussy?"
"Yeah, yes—it's yours."
"I know." He nipped my lips, letting out a grunt before he dropped down to the floor. His movements were rapid, and I missed his fingers. But then he took off my panties, draping my leg over his shoulder.
"Oh!" I shouted when he placed his mouth on me, licking me, his fingers reentering me. I tried to hold onto the wall, and then I held his shoulders. "Oh my God…" I wanted to scream, but I could barely form words.
It felt too good, him—his mouth was fantastic.
Reaching for his hair, pulling it roughly, I rubbed myself into him. I couldn't help it—I needed more. I whined, my hips squirming, and yet my body was stiffening from the excitement of it all.
Santino surprised me. He let out a growl, grasping my hands, taking them away from his hair as he stood up to face me again. I'm sure I wore a pout, a panting mess.
"Um…"
He crashed his mouth to mine, holding my hands above my head. He kissed, bit, and licked down my neck, coming back to my mouth, so I could taste myself. His touches were rough, and I kept rubbing my legs together, needing him. I always need him.
"Fuck me," I whispered.
When I say that word, it drives him crazy. When I say any cuss words, really.
"What do you want?" he asked, and his chest was heaving, going up and down very fast, and his gaze was still deep—almost a predatory gleam.
Santino was trying not to lose control, but little does he know . . . I love it when he does, when I don't have to be in charge, when he makes love to me.
I gulped. "I want you to fuck me…I need to feel you inside me."
He kissed me deep again as I heard him undoing his pants in a hurry, belt clanking and zipper coming down.
Grinning to myself, I really wanted him lose it.
Grasping his forearm, I pulled him toward the bedroom. "Can I sit on your face, so I can suck your big, fat cock?" I may not know much, but I know my dirty talk—even if my version is on the innocent side—drives my hunk-a-man crazy.
When I turned for the room, he yanked me back to him—placing his lips to mine to pick me up. My legs wrapped around his waist and he turned us—I was right back against that wall, only higher.
And then he was inside of me.
I swore my heart stopped, and I held my breath until he moved.
"You feel—Christ, baby. You feel amazing." His lips traveled everywhere, and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders—enjoying the ride. "Fuck. You're so wet." He picked up the pace while I moved with him, trying to thrust back just as rough. "That's it—move with me."
I nodded, hitting him back even harder, my body shaking with how great this was.
He groaned, slowing down. "Be easy…I won't last—you just, Christ, baby." It sounded like he was pleading, holding my cheek, nuzzling his nose to mine.
That made me smile, wanting that, wanting to make him orgasm insanely fast. I didn't care about my own release—not as much as I cared about his pleasure, and I know how to make Santino lose control, how to get him to lose himself within me.
"When you fuck me like this . . ." I reached up for his hair, pulling it and pumping my hips—matching his movements again, and again, and again, only harder—making him go deeper. "I love you." I bit his earlobe, and then scraped my teeth along his neck before I bit down hard on that, too.
"Fuck!" He thrust into me, going as deep as possible, coming undone.
It made me gasp—swearing I can feel him in my stomach when he does that.
"Oh my God. Oh my God," he chanted, resting his forehead to mine, his breaths washing over my face. "I fucking love you," he laughed and then sighed. "Fuck, baby…that-that was the hottest shit." He kissed me forcefully and hungrily, the kind of kisses I've only read about.
"Shit…that was—" He let out another groan, wearing a bright smile, as he left me—let me down. "Now let's take care of you."
My legs were wobbly when my feet touched the floor. "You don't have to." Little did he know, just the act itself with him is as fulfilling.
He was still catching his breath; he still had his coat on and shrugged out of it to place it on the hook. "I want to." He grinned at me. "For every time I come—" he pointed to himself, stepping toward me, "you should come twice."
"Well," I giggled, feeling squishy, feeling a warm wetness seep between my thighs, "I like, um, those odds." My tone was supposed to be flirtatious, but…
"What's wrong?" he held my cheek.
"Um." I placed my hand on his, my eyes trailing below his belt. He was still undone, and there was nothing on his penis. It was a smaller version of perfection, although he still seemed excited—it was still bigger than when . . . we're not, and I realized—that although his is the only peen I've ever seen—they look awfully sad when they're soft. Then I remembered I didn't actually see him put a condom on, just assumed he did it while my eyes were closed, while I was kissing him. "You didn't—you didn't use—"
His eyes widened. "I am so sorry." He softly placed his lips to mine. "We can—I can draw you a bath, you can clean yourself out, um… I'm an idiot—I just—"
"It's okay." But it really wasn't. I was scared.
"It's not," he said. "This is going to sound fucked-up, but . . . I've had unprotected sex before, but I never cared before, actually cared . . . about the end result. Well, I did care. Those other women were, were on the pill, though. Fuck. I just—I got carried away and—but I care about you so much, and this is—this is—I totally forgot, never cared before. I'm clean, you're clean, and I'm just scared to knock you up—you'd hate me." He turned in a circle, holding his head. "All this makes me sound horrible."
"It doesn't!" I exclaimed. "Thank you for telling me—being honest. Accidents happen."
"The morning after pill." He nodded. "Later, I'll stop and pick it up at the pharmacy."
"Okay."
"What are the odds, though?" He scrunched his nose. "I'm sure you're fine—don't worry about it."
"That's easier said than done." I tried to laugh it off, but I haven't even started my birth control pills yet.
The doctor said to wait until my next period or until they call with all my test results—to make sure I'm not already pregnant, which actually is as scary as it sounds, but we've been using condoms every time. I'm due soon, I think. I never kept track of it. My cycles are irregular—never have been normal. There was never anything to worry about because I wasn't having sex. When I told Santino that—he was worried, wanted to know my cycle—he suggested I go to the doctor.
Dr. Scott said it was common, and there was nothing wrong with me. Once I start the pills, my period will even out. They said someone would likely call by Friday, the day after the holiday, and I know I'm STD-free—Santino being the only man I've ever been with. I'm excited to start the pills on Friday.
"Where'd you go?" He palmed my cheek.
"Just…thinking." I tapped my forehead. "Didn't Katie get pregnant, and it was only one time?"
He shook his head. "We messed up. She was trying to have a baby with her husband and was on fertility drugs—fuck. You must think we're fucking stupid."
"No." I smiled.
"Well, she never told me. I found out after when my mother was running her mouth—that Katie was on fertility drugs. At first, I was pissed. Not anymore, though. I don't have any ill feelings, and I think it's because of you." He poked my nose. "You've showed me so much—you challenge me, you make me think, and you calm me down in ways…you make me better." He pecked my lips.
Santino was about to deepen the kiss when I grinned and said, "When passion takes over . . . and if you were lusting after her, hated that she was married. I can see you going for it, even though you didn't have a condom."
He nodded. "You're a lot more mature than most twenty-five-year-olds." He stared at me, smirking. "We may not talk often, but when we do—you and me. We can converse without it turning into a fight…you're understanding, and you never judge me. Maggie, I need—fucking need—you to know how much I love you." He took my hands into his. "My world is intense, and…people don't always have the best intentions. Like Dame tried to fuck with your head, others might too. It might not be the last time. So, if you hear something about me—something questionable—please talk to me first before you jump to conclusions. Okay?" Santino pushed my hair back.
"Okay," I said. "And…I love you just as much, if not...I wanted to say more." I hated myself, that I was close to tears. "I feel too much sometimes."
"Me too." He hugged me tightly. "You have no idea how sorry I am, though—about that other shit. Next time, you bop me on the head, smack me—do something."
"Soon we won't need the condoms," I said, and I realized he felt even better this time—without it. "That was amazing…"
"It was—with us it's always fantastic." He kissed my hair. "I have a huge tub…I can join you, and then I'll fix your dinner before you go to the salon."
"Thanks…I can fix my own food, though." I still liked the sound of that.
He shook his head. "Nope. I'm serving you."
I giggled. "Will you have enough time?" He was put together like he was ready to head to Eclipse—in his suit.
"I have an hour before I have to leave . . . and that's plenty time to make you come twice, and set you up with food." He lifted me up, holding me in his arms.
"I love you." I smiled.
"I love you, too." He kissed my lips, whisking me off into the bathroom.
"Christ…I can't wait to see how my good girl looks wearing a skimpy little dress. I'm thinking something black with sequins." He sat me down on the toilet, and then started to run the bath. "I know what I like, but you can wear whatever you want." While he did that, I kicked off my shoes, tore off my socks, and saw the candles . . . the bath oil, the salts, and bubbles. There was a basket filled with things that weren't here this morning.
The candles were already lit, making the bathroom smell like lavender. He must have set this up before he came to get me. He'd planned to draw me a bath?
"What's all this?"
He took my hands to stand me up, and then continued to undress me. "I don't know—I wanted to do something for you?" His mouth pulled into a smirk, pushing my shirt away from my shoulders.
I let my white oxford shirt fall to the tiled floor. "You called me a good girl." That made me giggle. For the past month, I've been everything but.
He unbuttoned my skirt, and then that just fell down as he ran his hands along my back. "Christ…you're sexy."
When he says that it still makes me blush.
I mean, me? Sexy?
"You are a good girl—my ray of sunshine," he whispered. "You're 'My Girl', like the song." Santino broke out into a fit of chuckles. "When it's cold outside…with you by my side, it's like the month of May?" He cocked a brow.
I blew out a shaky breath. He swears he's always saying the wrong things, but then he says stuff like that. "I—I don't think those are the exact words," I giggled. "But—"
"Shhh." He palmed my breasts. "These tits…my tits." He groaned, reaching back to undo my bra, his mouth already claiming them.
My eyes rolled, my heart sored, loving the fact that I was within his embrace again.
And on was the cycle . . .
I forgot about the world once more.
"Fuck…even the bees envy me, baby. That's some shit. How'd I get so lucky, huh?" he palmed my ass, holding me tightly to him.
I snorted a laugh, because I think I'm the lucky one. "Shut up and fuck me."
"Oh!" He smiled brightly. "I can definitely do that." With a nod, he gathered me into his arms again.
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You guys ready? Just kidding. It's not too heavy. Hello, btw. Didn't mean to pull you out of the chap (waves)
I'm trying to be more interactive within the fandom. (snort)
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/=/=/=/=/=/
EDWARD
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Since I knew Sonny was having lunch with Shorty's dad and then picking her up from school, I made sure to call him at 5:30 . . . Just in case he needed a reminder. I know all too well how you can get carried away, especially when it's new . . . when you're literally fucking every spare moment you have together.
I smiled sadly to myself, missing how simple and happy times can be. Meanwhile, back then, it's like . . . the end of the world, everything, your emotions are confusing, and you think more with your body—your passion. Well, I did, but only because I had no fucking clue what love was; I went with my instincts.
When Bella and I first met . . . I was late to everything for nearly a month; meanwhile, before that, I was never late a day in my life. It's big, being on time. If you're late, that means the people waiting—their time isn't important. Being late is seen as disrespectful—a waste of the other's time. Plus, you can always call and switch shit around, but you can never have people waiting.
Sure enough, Sonny was running late. He'd dropped Maggie off with Kylie, and was rushing—swearing he left with plenty of time, but he had to make another stop. He was at the pharmacy when I spoke to him, on his way here. I told him to get me some Fritos. He was already there, at the store . . .
Carlisle spent most of the day here with nothing better to do.
Aro just showed up . . .
They were both quiet, drinking and sitting across from me.
Sure, Aro had limited knowledge of what was going on, but I needed him here. As weird as it sounds, he does play peacekeeper.
Last night, things were as bad as I thought they'd be. When I got home, Bella wanted to talk, and she hadn't mentioned anything about Alex at all. That surprised me, so I asked if she'd spoken to her.
Alex never called, which was a good and bad thing. Good in the aspect that she was keeping whatever happened between her and Carlisle. Bad in the aspect that I brought it up, and now Bella was worried.
Truthfully, I was really antsy—wanted their problems to stay their problems, but that's not only their problem. Our son was the catalyst behind that whole mess.
I knew—have known for over two months now—what Damion did. I was upset with him when I found out, but even more . . . I'm fucking devastated now. I thought he thought he was in love—was drunk, had a huge lapse in judgment. But now the shit with Maggie . . . his blatant disregard for others, his family no less. This bullshit engagement to Amelia, although he hasn't asked her yet.
Carlisle hasn't said much, and why would he? If he did anything to Dame, I'd kill him and enjoy doing it. If Damion, somehow, contacts Maggie, I'm not sure if I could stop Sonny.
Lord knows I'd kill—fucking tear someone limb from limb—if they touched Bella, blood or not.
My heart felt ripped apart, and I needed Bella. I needed to flesh out everything—tell her everything, while I also fought hard to not burst into tears. It was a terrible feeling, one I'd never felt before—saddened, disappointed, ashamed, guilty—as I had all these different emotions hitting me at different times. They just kept coming at me, my stomach in knots.
Bella knew something was wrong, but I had her call Alex before I just broke down. I was worried about her, too. My brother hardly ever loses his temper. When he does—he fucking does. And I couldn't judge him—the horrible shit I did to Bella when I thought there was something going on between her and Aro. Whatever Carlisle did, it couldn't be much worse than that.
Only, it might be. He's told me over the years—how much emotional damage, scar tissue Alex still had from her relationship with Mauro. He was abusive, and Carlisle . . . he fought hard to gain her trust, never ever raised a hand to her, hardly ever really shouted at her. They did have a very happy marriage, despite them bitching every now and then.
Bella, none the wiser, called Alex—heard her blubbering, although Alex kept saying she was fine. My wife asked what happened over and over again, and Alex never answered her.
I got on the phone—said I knew Carlisle did something, and that we were concerned, to talk to us.
She swore she was fine, said he was rough with her, basically smacked her around a bit before one of the twins woke up. Supposedly, when Carlisle saw Li'l Ronnie, he just left—that's when he left for Dame's.
Carlisle flat out told me what happened—that he felt like shit when he saw Ronnie. They never argued. He approached Alex, said he knew something happened, and asked her to explain. She got halfway through the story, and then he backhanded her. She fell back from the force of the blow, and then he picked her up by her hair to do it once more.
What I don't get . . . She told him how persistent Damion was, with the gun and all, which was news to me. At one time or another, they'd both drawn on each other—Damion placed his nine to her neck to get her to kiss him, Alex placed it to him to get him to back off.
And Carlisle still knocked her one.
Just the thought . . . of her with another man, even if Damion forced her to kiss him.
And it was something as innocent as a kiss.
Logically, for those who can think logically, it's not that serious. I'd kill a motherfucker.
It sucks, makes us humongous douche bags, but I understood—could sympathize with his state of mind.
He's scared to go home, afraid to find the house empty—that Alex would have taken off with the boys.
She's still there, hasn't gone anywhere. She thinks it's her fault, that she deserved it.
But back to Bella . . . She wanted to go over there as we only live a few blocks away. I stopped her, because I needed to tell her why Carlisle lumped Alex up in the first place.
Since Alex swore she was fine, Bella told her to call if she needed anything. When she ended the call, I felt like the biggest pussy. I planted my head to my wife's abdomen and just cried . . . I couldn't keep it bottled up any longer.
I broke down completely, hugging—squeezing—her so fucking tight. The tears soaked her shirt. I needed, physically needed, to let it out. Nausea rolled in my gut, heart pounding, feelings just rushing all over the fucking place.
"Edward," she croaked, confused, worried. I could feel her hands on my head, my shoulders…checking to see if I was intact—what the fuck do I know. But she knew it was something. "Talk to me, baby." She was pleading; I could hear the desperation and fear in her voice. But what the fuck could I tell her? Everything, was the answer, but…fuck. "You're scaring me—did something happen?"
I sniffled, choked on a fucking sob, and looked up at her.
I didn't know where to begin, which I told her, so she asked me to explain—start at the beginning. Bella was shocked to see me in tears and afraid—she thought something happened to one of the kids.
I told her everything—starting at the beginning, like she asked me to.
Damion taking out some fucker, realizing that he was decent at it, like his old man, and deciding he wanted to do it again.
"Oh, God." Her face crumbled, and tears followed quickly.
She had no idea I had barely even started. I wiped my cheeks and forced out the next words.
The shit about Damion being handed contracts by Sonny. . .
Me finding out about it.
What happened between Alex and Damion, which fucking shocked the shit out of her.
She was in disbelief, shaking her head over and over again.
But I pushed forward. I told her about the sit-down, the conversation Carlisle and I had with Damion and Sonny about Dame's involvement—how he didn't want any part of the thing, how he planned to never do anything again.
Damion clipping Joe.
"No, no, no." She wept, still shaking her head—in denial. "God—please, no, no…no, I can't—this can't be happening."
I swallowed, tried to push down my emotions, but it was fucking impossible. Those tears kept coming. I squeezed her a bit harder, needing contact. But inside, I was a raging mess, and soon I ended up pacing. I wanted to throw up, punch a wall, or…just anything—something. An outlet. Which turned out to be my spewing out more words…
I told her about Damion having a meltdown, pointing his nine at Sonny, Aro, and Caius.
Me needing to teach Dame a lesson, how he's been "sort of" working for me.
The shit with Maggie and Sonny.
Thankfully, I was pretty much finished because . . . she was so upset, she asked me to stop.
It was four in the morning, the tears were still spilling from her eyes, and she pleaded for me not to tell her any more. Bella, who's always yearning for information, who always wants to be in the know . . . Good, bad, or indifferent, my wife always wants the story.
"Just stop," she begged hoarsely. "I can't—" She held up her hands, and I could see it in her red-rimmed eyes, she'd had more than enough. Another heart broken . . .
She cried herself to sleep, and I held onto her tightly—following right after.
When she woke up, she was still a wreck—wondering if we could commit Damion against his will, have him checked out by psychiatrists or whatever. She didn't care about my work matters, how that might come up, but she did care when I brought up some shit.
I mean, what's Damion supposed to say? I kill people and feel nothing? Human beings don't matter to me? They'd fucking lock him up for the rest of his life.
Bella's beating herself up, thinks it's her fault, but it's not. Damion is the sweetest, most polite, and loveable person around his mother. It's me. I'm the prick. It's my fault. Maybe I did something wrong. Fuck. I know I have.
Bella's nervous, too. She keeps saying she doesn't know him—doesn't know her own child, and she's scared to even see him. But she wants to see him. She wants to hold him. She wants to sit him down and have him talk to her.
That all sounded great, if the kid could tell the fucking truth. He was going to today. He was going to spell it out for Carlisle—what really happened. My brother deserves that much, while Sonny deserves to say his piece—his warning.
I don't think there's anything to scold Damion for yet, as far as Maggie was concerned. But I'm sure Sonny will be looking for some type of explanation, too.
Damion showed up before Sonny. He knocked on the office door, kept his head down. He looked reproachful—looked.
And he had Amelia with him—her hand tucked into his.
"Uh…" I stared at her, wasn't sure what to say.
"She knows; I told her what happened that night." He briefly looked to Carlisle. "Because nothing happened."
My brother had nothing to say.
"Sonny should be here any minute. What about that other shit?" I asked.
"I want everything out in the open," he said.
"No." I pointed. "Amelia, call Pietro, have him come get you. Have a drink or a few while you wait."
She furrowed her brow up at Damion. "What's going on?" With everyone else here, did Damion really need Luke coming for his ass, too? What goes through this kid's mind?
"Nothing. Some things can't be discussed…you know…in front of . . . I didn't think of that." He planted his lips to her hair, whispering his words, and that sounded like a very plausible excuse.
Amelia left. Damion walked her out to the bar, and then came back. He sat down with a beer, wincing, and I'd guess Carlisle bruised his ribs last night. That should piss me off, if I didn't think Damion deserved it. He definitely had that shit coming.
Like Sonny last night, Aro was paying way too much attention to his phone. Carlisle was…he was just fucked, and I had no idea—even if Sonny isn't here yet—how to start or what to say to Damion.
"You guys go." I looked to Aro and Damion. "Go wait with Amelia. When Sonny gets here—"
"I'm here!" He came running into the office with a plastic bag in his hand. "My bad." He tossed my Fritos onto the desk. Sonny didn't look upset at all. The smile on his face…that fucker looked like he won the lotto or something.
"What's up?" I asked him, his smile making me grin.
"Nothing."
"What's that?" Aro asked, pointing to the bag. "What'd you need at the pharmacy? Needed to get your girlfriend some coloring books?"
"Shut the fuck up!" Sonny pointed. He'd sidled up to me, thrusting that bag into the desk drawer. "Why you in my business? Why you gotta get on my ass as soon as I enter the joint, man? Katie and I aren't together—get the fuck over it already."
"He's right," I said, facing my friend.
Aro put his hands up, not saying any more. To my surprise, after a few seconds of Sonny settling down, he went right back to being happy—happy-go-lucky.
"I mean, seriously, Aro...Just get off my ass! You wanna fuck me or somethin'? You jealous?" Sonny started laughing.
I nodded, knowing I could leave Sonny alone with Damion since he was in a good mood.
"Fuck you." Aro gave him the finger.
"That's enough—this shit ends now. It's annoying and cunty . . . Go talk to your brother." I patted Sonny's back, looking to Aro. "You make sure they don't kill each other."
"I'd rather we all spoke," Damion said.
"I don't care what you want. Go." I jerked my head to the door. "Make sure Amelia's out of earshot."
Damion groaned, dragging his ass out of the chair. Aro followed, and Sonny was still standing next to me, taking off his coat.
"I don't even know what to say to him anymore." Sonny trailed his hand through his hair, and that motherfucker had a hickey on his neck—two actually, right below his ear.
"Look at you," I laughed. "Do you feel like you're a teen again? Being with Maggie? 'Cause you're acting like it—young, and happy, and in love." I was very happy for him, my chest feeling lighter.
He shrugged. "I don't know what it is, but it confuses me. All I know is…I'm ecstatic. I've told you." He nudged me.
"That's nice," Carlisle whispered. "Good for you."
I grabbed Sonny's hand, giving it a squeeze.
"Let Dame talk," Sonny whispered down to me. "That's what I plan to do . . . you know, if you don't know how to start..."
"Thank you." I truly appreciated him saying that.
"Be the Skip." Sonny winked.
"What happened with Maggie's dad?" I asked.
"He hates me—doesn't want me with his daughter at all. He wants her back home, which means she has to say goodbye to me . . . Yet he threw some shit about us getting married at me."
"How do you feel about that?"
He jutted his lower lip out, contemplative. "I can see it, but over time, after shit is sorted. I'd ask just to have a ring on her finger—so fuckers know she's taken." He stared into space. "I'm content just to have her with me, though—living with me, just with me." He shrugged.
"And the baby?"
He chuckled, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "I've told you. She knows—she doesn't mind or care. The baby will be my responsibility. Before she started working at the salon, she used to baby-sit. She adores kids . . ." He smiled even wider. "Before we got together—because of the nun thing—she said she'd never given any thought to getting married, having babies, and the whole nine."
"Is that what you want?" I asked. "With her?"
He nodded slowly. "I do…which sucks because…I'm ready for that now. She—well, she's obviously not. We hafta talk again…We didn't really dive into it or flesh it out."
"Okay." I nodded and then he left the office.
Once Carlisle and I were alone, I waited for him to speak as well. Hoping he'd open up, I didn't see why he wouldn't.
Problems aside—just like Sonny and Damion—we're best friends. Aro, Carlisle, and I—we've always been there for each other, even when we hated each other.
Tension was still high as it was rolling off of him in waves, and the silence was threatening to eat me alive.
"You know how much Alex loves you," I said. "She hasn't left—thinks she deserved what you did."
He covered his eyes with one hand, and I knew he was weeping.
"She's already forgiven you . . . you also know that she didn't really cheat on you."
He sniffled, lifting his head. "It was all that fucker!"
I shrugged. "This is all fucked up. I don't know what to say to you or him, or how to squash this. You know the rules. Technically, you can defend Alex's honor—take Dame out back right now and clip his ass. There'd be nothing wrong with it. No one would question it . . . Except me, Bella . . . your family." I swallowed, nervous because this can go either way. "If you clipped him, though, you'd follow."
"He did that shit to his aunt. How fucking horrible is that?"
I couldn't help it and grinned. "We never had aunts who looked like Alex when we were kids."
Carlisle woke up, probably wanted to grin but couldn't. "I'm not going to kill him. Anyone else . . ." He trailed off. "He's to stay away from her. I just hope I have a marriage to go back to…hope I have a wife—"
"You know you do," I whispered. "Carlisle . . . you guys have been blissfully happy for years. One wrong move, one fucked-up thing, doesn't call for divorce. She's already forgiven you. I'm sure you'll eat some shit for a while—we all do—but things'll go back to normal soon. You'll see." And talking to him like this just makes me want to go home and squeeze the shit out of my wife.
"You're a forgiving person, too." I continued. "You don't have that hate—that coldness. You'd wanna die after you iced Dame . . . after you thought about it for a while. I don't know if Dame's apologetic—I don't even know why he told you."
Carlisle opened his mouth, and I was fast to speak over him. "I knew about it," I admitted. "I also knew nothing—nothing—really happened, and getting you worked up, getting you upset, wasn't worth it . . . Alex wanted to tell you. Shit, she felt some way with Bella, too—guilty. But your wife didn't do anything wrong. I don't know what's up with this kid." Feeling exhausted, I massaged my forehead.
"Why did he tell me?" Carlisle asked. "All I did was—yesterday, I leveled with him. He was talkin' some shit…" He shrugged. "Then he comes out with that shit . . . I couldn't stop thinking about it."
"Of course not, C…I understand. You think I don't know what you're going through . . . The shit with Bella back in the day? Fuck me. You're lucky you scraped through the first years of my marriage." I chuckled.
He raised a brow, his mouth pulling up into half a smirk. "I never crossed that line."
"You almost did," I said, nodding. "Bum rushing her into the office at Twilight. If I didn't see youse . . . who knows? You'd be dust in the wind by now."
"I don't remember that—it never came back to me."
"And Dame was drunk as fuck. You know—you know the kid doesn't drink that often. Meanwhile, he drank like a bottle of vodka, C."
Carlisle didn't say anything for a long while.
"Look, the kid is probably shitting his pants right now." I doubted that but said it anyway. "He's got you and Sonny out for him, and if he doesn't watch himself Luke will be added to that list. I—I wonder if Dame is suicidal—dead-ass. But . . . you spoke to him last night, the little you did speak to him. I think you got your message across. Now…go home and save your marriage."
He blew out a breath. "I should have another drink—get a dance, something to help me relax." He sipped his scotch.
"No," I said. "You'll end up fucking some cooz, and then it'll be this cycle because you'll get away with it, so you fuck another broad, and another, and then you'll settle with some goomah. Go the fuck home." I pointed to the door. "Don't fuck shit up even more. You know you don't want this—you want all this to disappear somehow. Go hug your wife, kiss her tears away . . . You think she left, and she thinks you're never coming home. Just go, C."
"Yeah." His voice was raspy.
"Youse'll be good."
"Right." He made no move to leave.
"Go!" I shouted. "You don't need to talk to Dame."
"I do," he said. "I know Alex's version, but I need to know—"
"You don't . . . Trust. Your. Wife," I said it slowly. "My son's a liar any-fucking-way. Christ!" I fucking hated this, possibly more than Carlisle did. "I heard the story from Dame's lips, and it's the same—swear to God. I wouldn't lie to you."
"But you covered for him—"
"He's my kid! Of course I did," I laughed. "Dame going after his aunt? You think I want people to know about that sick shit? Least of all, let it get back to you? And you'd cover for your kids, too—if the shoe were on the other foot. Fucking little Eddie…the way he follows Kylie—"
"Dude." He put his hands up. "I told him it wasn't right he look at her like that. He's—he's going on sixteen, needs to get laid or something. Maybe we can lie to one of the girls here, have them do something—"
"Yeah, whatever . . . But you see how you're quick to defend?" I asked. "Go home, okay?"
"Speaking of that horny devil, he's called me a record of ten times today—knows something's wrong, although he's not sure."
"You see? Go home. Relax. Snuggle with your wife, and apologize until you're blue in the face—have sex." I pointed to him. "Reclaim that shit again if you feel you have to." I shrugged, knowing that always made me feel better. "But call me, lemme know wassup."
He nodded, standing and grabbing his jacket.
I finished my drink before I walked him out, wanting to make sure he left without saying shit to Dame.
While I was out on the floor, I peeped Dame and Sonny talking. My eldest was very animated in his words, talking with his hands and such; however, what he was saying didn't sound like it sat right with Aro. He wore a scowl, like he does with anything that concerns Sonny these days. I'd bet Sonny was going on about the wonderful Maggie—that was Aro's problem.
Damion would put his head down or glare into his brother's eyes. It seemed as though he was having a war within himself—heed Sonny's warnings, go for it anyway, or . . . I think I detected remorse? I wasn't sure.
"She's an angel, okay?" Damion shouted. "And I don't mean in the good, behavioral sense. In the all-around sense." He twirled a finger. "She's a fucking angel—sent from heaven . . ." He groaned. "You just don't deserve her—fuck. I don't either. Just let her go!"
"Why the fuck should I?" Sonny asked, as I slid into the booth next to him.
Damion, upon seeing my arrival, shut down.
"Answer him." I jerked my thumb.
Damion scratched his forehead. "You were hungry—thirsty for love, and here comes Maggie . . ." his fingers crawled along the table, "persuasive, innocent as fuck, Maggie. You want to hate me, but look at what you're doing to her! She'll be knocked up in a year, and by then . . . you'll realize that you never loved her. But it's all good because now you got this little trophy wife. She'll never go to school, you'll start fucking around, and she deserves more out of life than being your bed warmer, your little breeding machine—she deserves better than anything you could give her, including yourself."
He sat back and continued. "You were on the rebound…Maggie made you forget about Katie . . . Lord knew you hadn't gotten laid in a minute—and the first chick to show she was interested . . . boom! You fell in love. Isn't that a fucking coincidence?" He raised a brow. "She's not even your type, not even on an intellectual level or anything else. I mean, I bet all you two do is fuck, talk about how much you love each other to fill the silence. Youse are in this little love bubble. Well, let me fill you in, that high doesn't last forever. It's going to get old pretty-fucking-fast. Get real! You're using her. Just admit it to yourself before you destroy her."
I peeked over to Sonny who wore a blank face with his brow furrowed, but then he smiled. "That's not true. Everything you just fucking said, it was a reflection of your own shit. That's what you do—deflect. You feel that way about Amelia, bro. Not me."
Damion banged his fist down, and he truly looked pissed.
"Oh . . . for real?" Sonny was provoking him. "I don't have to sit here and defend my feelings or my relationship. I'm a big boy. Unlike some people, I know what love is, and I know how to treat a woman—as much as you think I don't. I'd never hurt her, or do anything to harm her, and you . . . Be honest, say what you did yesterday. You wanted to fuck her and bounce, and once I came into the picture . . . you got all sour. You couldn't have her. Maggie was no longer an option. I get that you care for her in your sick and twisted, warped way, but keep your nose out of my relationship. I'm not saying you have to like it. But fucking respect it—respect me as your brother, the prick who looked out for you since you were born . . . Fuck, Dame." He shook his head, exasperated.
"Forget about doing Amelia dirty; you're ready to do me dirty? Try to steal my girl? Try to fuck her?" Sonny pointed to himself. "That's wrong, and I've never been anything but good to you—your whole life. I've cared for you, put you first, looked out for you, and this is how you repay me?"
I sat there nodding along, agreeing with everything Sonny said.
Damion smirked. "It actually has nothing to do with you. I can't tell you why I feel the way I do . . . I don't know what it is about her, man." He slouched back. "I really can't. You're right, though. Seeing her with you? I realized she was no longer available. I had the chance—to either be with her or be her friend, and I fucking blew it. But it was because I was terrified." He'd brought his voice down. "No." He waved a finger. "I wanted to stay away—had it in my head to stay away, and then I met Amelia, which made it even easier. I forgot about Maggie, but not really. And maybe that makes me slime, but that's the way it is."
"Worry about Amelia. That's it," Sonny said, dusting off his hands. "Worry about your own girl, and I'll worry about mine. She's living with me—she moved in with me, Dame—"
"What?" Aro asked. "You moved Katie out just so Little Miss Jailbait could move in?"
"Don't fucking call her that shit!" Sonny made to stand, and I pulled him back down.
"Give it a rest, or we'll have problems," I said. "You hear me, Andino?" That shit was getting old.
"I'm trying to understand shit here. He moves out the mother of his child, so another child could—"
"Enough!" Now I went to stand.
Sonny kept me sitting. "Look, Katie made that decision—she moved out of her own accord. We also discussed Maggie, too. Katie met her on more than one occasion already, said she was a nice girl. Talk to your daughter. Maybe she'll tell you the truth. I don't know. She's hell-bent on playing some victim lately."
Aro had no reply to that. Maybe he just felt left out or something and had to open his big mouth.
My own brows rose, staring at that fucker.
"So she moved in with you…" Damion thought that was hilarious. "Look at yourself, Sonny. You're fucking starving for affection—"
"No, I never had a problem with affection. Any time I needed affection?" Sonny snapped his fingers. "I got it. That shit is all on you. Stop trying to pass your bullshit on to me."
Damion didn't reply.
"Dude, no one was more shocked than me—that I fell in love with Little Miss Sunshine," Sonny laughed. "We're together and that's that. And I don't give a fuck who has a problem with it." He looked from Dame to Aro. "It's y'all's problem. Not mine. There's no beef on my end. I'm the happiest I've ever been, which leads me to believe youse are hatin'."
"Stop," I said to him. "You're right. You don't have to defend shit." I felt horrible since he's being doing that for the past month, especially to me.
"You slept around for years—" Damion started.
"Shut up about me." Sonny spat. "Be a man and be-fucking-straight with me…for once in your life, dude. While we're at it, you're ready to be engaged after, what? Three months? Gimme a break. Maggie's living with me. It's done. Please, just let this go." He gritted his teeth, stiffening. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you touch her—and hurting you would hurt Mom. I just want your word—that you'll leave her alone."
"You're just jealous," I spoke up. "Plain and simple, you're green with envy, and I don't know why. You have a great thing with Amelia . . . I see you two together, just like I see Sonny and Maggie—both of youse—my sons are in love. But I can't understand the mind-set, Dame. I'm still head-over-heels in love with your mother. I could never in a million years fuck around . . . Are you also in love with Maggie?" I ducked to look into Dame's eyes. "I've heard it's possible—to love two people at once."
He slightly shook his head no, but then said, "I don't know what it is about her or why I want her. I know what my feelings are for Amelia . . . I don't know what this is with Maggie, and I am being straight—I'm telling you the absolute truth. It feels compulsory, borderline obsessive . . . If I didn't want to fuck her, I'd agree to back off, and this conversation would be over. I'm being honest."
Sonny rubbed his chest. "How can you even sit there and tell me shit like that? That breaks my fucking heart—makes me wanna break your fucking head. Hell. Maggie IS my heart, understand? And you're sitting here—" He groaned, letting out a growl and slamming his fist down.
I was quick to cover the rock with paper. "Relax," I said.
"What the fuck do you care?" Damion spat at me. "Let him kill me. You were going to let Carlisle do it last night."
"No—"
"You didn't make a move to help me at all!" Dame shouted. "Fuck the shit about these broads." He looked to Sonny. "I'll keep my distance, okay? She's like…bewitched me in some way. I'm telling you. I. Don't. Know. But I'll respect your relationship." He stood up. "This whole family is fucked—why do I even bother?"
"When do you bother?" I stood up, too, needing to stop him. "What do you do besides cause trouble? Huh? You only come around when it suits you—when we can cater to your fucking needs."
He put a hand up. "You know, I never knew how much you hated me until last night. Now I do, so just let me go." He widened his arms, a heartbroken mess before me.
Damion may think he can't feel a fucking emotion, but he's never been more wrong in his entire life. Maybe my son just isn't in tune with himself. That makes sense. For a long time, before I met Bella, I was numb—couldn't feel a fucking thing—and falling in love changed all that.
Suddenly, I had all these feelings that I couldn't name. I was going out of my fucking mind, and I'd lash out at Bella—the last person in the world who deserved that shit.
Maybe Amelia, or even Maggie, opened him up—woke him up. I know Maggie did that for Sonny, but who did it for Dame?
Maybe that's why everything—all these problems—are happening at once. When he was with Julie, he never acted out or even spoken out of turn.
"Let you go?" I asked. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Your mother knows everything . . . I told her every-fucking-thing. We're scared, okay? We're fucking scared shitless. Who the fuck are you? What are you doing? These are the things we keep asking ourselves." I knew I was going to lose it—tear up—and I couldn't do it here, so I left the table. Also, I thanked God that the music was loud. As the Skip, who I am, I always have to save face. I don't have a choice.
But then I turned back to Damion. "Walk with me. Just you." I could barely look at him.
With Damion I hardly ever lose my temper, not like I can with Sonny. Truth be told, I'm soft in different ways when it comes to each of them. I can converse with Sonny because he's more my equal—a friend. Sadly, the past few months, I have no idea who Damion is to me. Is he an enemy? I know he's my son . . .
When I walked into the office, I didn't go for the desk. Sitting on the couch, I watched Damion trail in after me. Once he locked the door, I racked my brain for something to say. "Do you really think I hate you, or did you shoot off at the mouth to end the conversation?" I raised a brow. "Be real."
"A little bit of both."
I nodded, patting the cushion next to me. "Have a seat."
He plopped down, looking miserable, his gaze unseeing.
"Look at me." When he did, I continued. "I've always thought you were like me—"
"That's Sonny. Him and me are nothing alike." He shook his head.
"No . . . you have a lot of me inside you—things you got from me, dare I say . . . the bad stuff, as if you've inherited my demons." I could barely get the words out. "I need you to come clean—I need you to talk to me. If you can't open up to me, then please. Talk to Mom. No lies . . . just help us out. Help us understand you." I placed my hand on his chest. "She's heartbroken—"
"So, you're only upset because she is. I get it—"
"No." I cut him off. "I love you, Damion. I am your father, and I'd love—fucking love it—if we could be friends. But you don't want that."
"Stop," he said. "All my life . . . all the bullshit, and now I gotta sit through the concerned father bit?"
"It's not a bit," I whispered, wiping my eyes. "You want me to be your friend? 'Cause the way you're going—you need someone to look out for you." I cleared my throat. "You have the ability to be a good person. I know so. Fuck. If I can care, then so can you."
"I have fucked-up morals—my ethics are corrupt. But I'm still a good person." He stared at the ground. "I know what I want. If I see something I want, I go for it. It's a shitty hand to be dealt—first thinking you're in love with your aunt, and then . . ."
"Getting what you want when you want it is for babies, Damion." I made him look at me. "You're a man. You need to take responsibility. You fucking iced Joe . . . You weren't even thinking about the repercussions. He had his button. Did you know that I have to kiss a few people's asses now? Your brother has gone to bat, and you're fucking him over . . . He wants to clip those who think you're getting away with too much shit. I squashed that—said no, but not because of you. The reason why you've been working with me is because I want you to see—see everything, learn the rules, learn what's right and what's wrong. Three people want to see you dead, and you know what? I've whacked fuckers—close friends—for much less than what you did to them. It's not about the money, but . . . because of your trigger-happy finger, I lost three big earners, and you bring nothing to the table. I'm just saying. Money never sleeps and this shit is all about the paper. A whole family died because you wanted what you wanted, and you still don't care."
I massaged my forehead. "Any of this sinking in with you?"
"You would have clipped Joe—"
"And I'm the boss of this family, Dame. Who the fuck are you?" I chuckled. "Honestly. You run around like some punk kid with a chip on his shoulder. I'm not poking fun—I'm just saying."
He had nothing to say.
"Please talk to me . . . I only know a few approaches. I'm begging you—help me understand you."
"I can't . . . they are like demons," he whispered. "I do things . . . but I don't feel bad after. I just—I'm sorry what I did put you in a tight spot—"
"No. Only apologize if you mean it."
"I do." He nodded. "I'm sorry you guys—you and Mom—are fucked because of me. I didn't want to want Alex, just like I don't want to want Maggie . . . but I did and I do, and I'm always fucking up." He shrugged.
"You're human. You're allowed to, but . . . these are huge, calculated mistakes, Dame. Shit you thought out."
"I know—shit I knew was wrong, but I wanted to do it anyway," he said.
"This can't happen again. I mean, as people we have different sides to us. I'm probably more fucked-up than you because I can flip back and forth so quickly now. I'm used to it. You call them roles, 'I'll be whoever-the-fuck today', but they're really moods. I have a horrible temper—shit happens and I just snap. I have the capacity to be a cold-blooded killer, and then I go home to my family, and I'm a husband and a father—a big softy. You've never seen a few sides to me. Maybe you're the same . . . I don't know. All the time, I pull a trigger, and then I go back to a sandwich or some shit. That doesn't bother me. This shit breaks my heart. You think I hate you . . . Christ. I love you, Damion."
I turned to him and grabbed his hand. "I love you more than I could ever explain, and as your father I want to protect you—even if it's from yourself, because I understand a few mind-sets."
"Thanks." His eyes filled with tears, his lip quivering.
"Your mother and I love the fuck out of you kids. Maybe we didn't always have the answers . . . maybe we fucked up?" I shrugged. "But we always tried our best and we always loved—still love—you guys."
"I know you guys did your best. Just somewhere, along the way . . . I still remember it. I've stopped having dreams years ago, and I try not to think about it . . . but . . . I still remember back when Sonny—you know, which bothers me. I love you guys, too, but Sonny—he's my best friend," he cried. "And…I don't know why I'm doing what I'm doing, or did what I did, or want what I want. I told him the truth. It has nothing to do with him, but I still believe what I told him. And if he's going to be a scumbag and ruin that girl's life . . ." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "This isn't because of her." He pointed to his face. "I know what it's like to be defenseless, have someone come after you—Maggie doesn't know any better."
"Who came after you?" I held his chin.
He turned away from me. "I'm saying...the shit with Maggie is..." He stared at the ceiling. "Meanwhile, oh God, I went after her." He palmed his face to cry into his hands. "How can I make others my victims?" he mumbled, and I didn't understand him.
"What?" I asked.
He shook his head, staring down.
I didn't have an answer for him, not about the Maggie shit. "When your brother was shot . . . I was scared to death. All my life, being in this life, I've come to accept the fact that each day might be my last—whether it's a bullet or prison. But…you'll understand when you have kids. When you have kids, the love…That's something I can't explain. Maybe Mom can. But that day, I'd never been as scared in my whole life. I don't fear much. Then, when we had to send you guys away . . . each time we had to do that, it was for your protection. Fuck. After Sonny was hit? I was ready to send you guys to Europe—someplace really far, but California was far enough. Everything your mother and I did . . . We were never selfish parents. We never dropped you guys off to go on elaborate vacations. It was life or death. Life or death, and because of my lifestyle…the choices I'd made, all this fucked-up shit could happen. But it was never about us—or me—it was about the safety of my children. I'd die for all three of youse."
"It still stung . . . back then. I knew all this stuff was happening, but I didn't know why. I wish…I still wish you guys would have explained it."
"What would I have said?" I asked. "Back then…was I supposed to saddle you with my secret? Tell you all about the ins and outs of this thing? We told you what we could, and when you were old enough . . . I told you what I could. I've lived my life . . . maybe I wasn't the best man—I know I'm not the greatest father, 'cause I've made a lot of mistakes, but loyalty, honor, and love . . . Those three rules and nothing else. I honor my wife and my word, I'm loyal to those around me, and I love quite a few people nowadays . . . You're one of them, so I'll never stop trying to get closer to you. But you have to help me out. Mom thinks you're bipolar—"
"I'm more of a sociopath," he said.
"No, shit. Me too." I nudged him with my elbow, and then rolled my eyes. "No, seriously. Aro's been telling me that for years. Don't listen to that bullshit. I mean…" I was stuck. "Do you think you're sick? 'Cause you can't tell a doctor whatever's going on in your mind."
He shook his head. "I'm just a freak."
I blew out a breath. "That's not what I asked you."
"I'm fine . . . I'll shape up. I promise, and—I don't know."
I nodded. "Stay away from Alex and Carlisle, okay? And if you give Sonny your word, you better mean it. Otherwise . . ."
"He has my word," he whispered. "Like you have mine. I'll try and work some of this shit out." He pointed to his temple.
"Can we be friends?" I asked. "I don't even want you collecting anymore—you're free to go because . . . it's obviously not working."
"Yeah."
"Good…Can we leave so you can sit and talk with Mom?"
"Yes."
"You'll be okay." I rubbed his back.
"I hope so."
After pulling him in for a hug, I was shocked that he hugged me back and quietly cried into my neck.
There was something else wrong, and I bet he doesn't even know what it is.
Thank you for reading.
And I purposely didn't attach the Italian translations . . .
Oh, and . . . Next chapter is Thanksgiving! (snickers)
See you Wednesday!