“I don’t want to get rid of you.” Coming up to a trash can, I throw my stuff away, watching as Jessie does the same. “You’re the one who tried to get rid of me.”
I don’t know why I said it. Why I’m suddenly determined to chew on old words and issues. Maybe my insecurities from earlier in the day are still dragging along behind me or the fact that we never really had a real conversation about what happened, or maybe even just my sad story about the moon. I don’t know, but the longer I stand in the dark, by the trash can at the beach, I feel the need to dig and pick at old wounds that still haven’t fully healed.
He stares at me, a slow blink the only movement on his face. It feels like a decade before he speaks, my chest tightening at the words before they’re even out of his mouth. “I never tried to get rid of you, Delaney. I did what I had to do.”
“Do you think… “I pause, looking down at my hands instead of his face. I’m making us have this conversation for no logical explanation, and I can’t even get my own questions out. “Do you think we’d be together right now if you hadn’t broken up with me?”
“If you’re asking if I think you’d love me instead of Donatello, then yes.” He steps closer to me, his body blocking out the light coming from the small lamp above. “If you’re asking if I think I’d love you, then yes. Yes, to both.” He lifts my chin, making me meet his gaze. “The real question you should be asking yourself, Laney Girl, is why the fuck you chose him over me.”
I stutter at his response. The pads of his fingers burning into my skin. “You left me.”
His hand drops, and he takes a fraction of a step backward, hands tucking into his pockets. “I did what I had to do.” He says it like the words are bitter, tasting of orange peel and ash, repeating his earlier statement. “Why are we doing this, Laney? Are you not happy with Donatello? Did you not get the fairytale ending you were dreaming of?”
“I…“ I can tell he’s angry with me, but I don’t have an answer he’s looking for, and it makes me hesitate. What the fuck is wrong with me. “I don’t know why I brought it up. I love Donatello.” And it’s true. I do. My heart sings for his, I’m happy with him, with how things have developed between us.
So why am I doing this?
Based on his expression, that’s not the answer he was hoping to hear, and the knowledge lodges itself in my throat, suffocating and painful to swallow. Why does knowing he wants me to be unhappy with Donatello hurt my heart almost as much as thinking he’s happy for us?
I can feel unwanted tears burning the back of my eyes, but I keep them at bay, pinching my dress in my fingers, looking at the sand while I try to figure out how to fix the mess I knowingly made but wasn’t ready to deal with. Without saying anything, Jessie steps forward, wrapping me up to pull against his chest. His thumbs brush along my temple and lower back as he cradles me to him, resting his cheek against the top of my head. “Why are you crying?”
I guess I didn’t realize I wasn’t successful in keeping my tears back, but now I can feel them wet on my cheeks. “I don’t know.”
But that’s a lie. Isn’t it? Because I do know. I’m crying because I finally got exactly what I wanted, to be with Donatello, and have a real relationship. But my dumb, selfish heart had to go and ruin things for us. I’m crying because I’ve started to realize my heart doesn’t have just one son to sing, and I have no fucking idea what to do about it.
Walking into the warehouse office, I leave the door open, eyes scanning over the organized chaos that was left by the last Capo to run this warehouse. Duke follows behind me, finding a spot near the window to lay down while I shuffle things around. Thumbing through a stack at the farthest end of the desk, I can see it’s all shit that should have been logged onto our encrypted computer systems and not left as paper trails. And that right there is the main issue we have with our older Capos, they repel the idea of changing their ways.
The stairs creak from outside the door, and I look over my shoulder to see Donatello fucking Genovese leaning against the frame. Duke stands at his presence but stays put, silently waiting for my direction. Fuck, do I wish I could have him kill this fucker for me.
Donatello is the first to speak, both of us blinking with silent hatred for the other. “The pup brought his dog to work?” He eyes Duke before stepping into the office. “Didn’t peg you for one of those people.”
I bristle at his nickname, the clear disrespect of my Famiglia name almost enough to make me pull my gun on him. As he gets closer, I can smell the coconut on his clothes, the soft sweet scent digging into my ribs like a double blade. I fucking hate that he gets to touch my girl. “Get the fuck out of my warehouse.”
He clucks at my words, shaking his head at me like he’s about to scold a child. “Or what pup? You’ll tell on me?” He chuckles an ugly, angry sound that makes me grind my teeth so hard my teeth hurt.
“Why are you here?” It barely comes out, my skin hot with my annoyance.
“Go back to Alabama.”
It’s all he says, and I can’t help but laugh. A real honest laugh, that’s loud and echoing in the small room, bouncing off
