Chapter 31
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
RHYS
Shit. Shit. Shit. Angel’s mom is knocking on his door while I’m sitting in his lap—correction, grinding my ass onto his hard dick.
He stares at me, in just as much shock, neither of us moving.
She knocks again. “Angel!”
We both jump into action. I scramble off Angel, smoothing my clothes down, as if that will do anything to mask the way my lips still burn from our kisses.
Angel’s got his hand on his cock, like he’s trying to squeeze it back down to a normal size.
“Don’t make me go get my keys!”
“No!” Angel shouts. “I’m coming, Mama! Just one sec!”
He takes a step toward the door, but I stop him with a hissed, “Wait! What about me?”
He blinks at me, dumbfounded.
“Should I hide or something?” I gesture toward the bedroom, imagining myself crawling under the bed .
Angel turns to face me and the expression on his face rocks me to the core. It’s sincere and determined, concerned and a tad bit angry. But most of all, there’s so much love shining through his eyes that I’m stunned into stillness.
Meanwhile, the commotion at the door has died down, which is probably not a good sign.
“No, Rhys. You were made to shine. You should never hide how bright and beautiful you are.”
Oh god, I’m going to burst into tears again.
Angel closes the distance between us and takes my hands in his. “I’ll never let anyone hide you away or cover you up or make you less than you truly are. I don’t care who it is, not Mario and the guys, not your parents, not even Mama. Even if we need to leave and never come back. I’ll always stand up for you.”
I throw myself at him, burying my face in the middle of his chest, arms squeezing tight around his waist. He envelops me, strong arms holding me close, lips pressed against the top of my head.
How is it possible for one man to be so perfect? To check every single box I’ve ever had, and plenty more I didn’t even know I wanted? God, I fucking love this man so much it feels like my chest is going to burst.
Angel brushes my hair back from my face. I gaze up at his warm brown eyes, at his oh-so kissable pink lips. He cups my cheek.
“Ready to meet Mama?”
No, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to meet someone like Angel’s mom. I’ve never given a second thought to reestablishing connections with anyone in the old neighborhood. But for Angel? For Angel, I’ll go to the ends of the fucking earth.
I nod. “Yeah, let’s go.”
His hand engulfs mine when he takes it, and I cling to him like a child hiding behind his father. My stomach churns with nerves even as my heart douses me with a flood of love. I brace myself.
Angel pulls the door open, and on the other side is his mom, key in hand, poised to slide it into the lock.
She smirks knowingly, then glances past him to me. At first, there’s curiosity in her eyes, an eagerness that eases my anxiety. It only lasts for a split second before she blinks and realizes who I am.
“You.” Her brows slam together into a frown.
I gulp and tuck myself slightly behind Angel’s arm. He squeezes my hand.
“You’re not a girl. You’re… you’re Dina’s boy.”
“Hi, Mrs. Russo.” I hate how small I sound. I hate how much I feel like teenage Ricky Gallo right now.
“What are you—” Her gaze drops to our clasped hands, to where I’m gripping Angel’s arm with my free hand. Her lips flatten into a hard line and she stares for what feels like ages.
But before I can think of anything to say, before Angel can jump in, her gaze shoots back up to his face.
“It’s time to make Sunday dinner.” Then she spins on her heel and marches back downstairs.
Oh shitty, shit, shit. I forgot today was Sunday. I wouldn’t have agreed to come out here if I’d realized I’d be intruding on Sunday dinner with Angel’s family.
Angel steps forward, but I tug him back.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, resigning myself to a long subway ride back to Brooklyn. “Sunday dinner is a big deal. I’d understand if this is too much, too soon.”
Angel’s eyes blaze with a fierceness I’ve never seen in him before. “What do you want to do?”
I gape, trying to sort through the feelings tumbling around inside me. “I honestly don’t know.”
I don’t want to run. I don’t want to hide. But I also left this neighborhood for a reason. I’ve had enough of their silent judgment to last me several lifetimes. Why would I willingly subject myself to that again?
For Angel.
I’d do it for Angel.
He’s stepped so far outside of his comfort zone for me. Done so many things that must’ve been terrifying for him. He had plenty of opportunities to turn around and walk away, but he never let fear dictate his actions. He never said no because he was scared.
He’s been so brave—he’s being so brave. Bringing me to meet his mom at Sunday dinner is exactly the opposite of what Hayden was afraid he would do. It’s the least I can do to be brave in return. It’s only one meal, after all. A few hours, tops. I’ve lived through worse. I can survive this. Then we’ll escape back upstairs, or maybe even go to my place. It’s not the end of the world.
I take a deep breath. Yeah. Okay. Sunday dinner with Angel’s mom isn’t what I thought I’d be doing after shooting a porn video today. But lemons and lemonade. I can do this.
I nod and Angel leads us downstairs.
The downstairs apartment is laid out almost exactly the same way my parents’ house is. We go through the living room to the kitchen where Mrs. Russo is chopping vegetables. Very aggressively.
We stop in the doorway. “Hey, Mama.”
She doesn’t look up. “Roll out the gnocchi.”
Angel and I exchange a silent look. She’s obviously talking to him, since I have no idea how to roll out gnocchi and should never be allowed to try. He nods to the kitchen table, and as quietly as possible, I slide onto a chair.
Angel starts opening drawers and pulling out kitchen utensils I wouldn’t have a clue what to do with.
“Where’s Sabrina?” he asks.
“Out.”
“Did she take Jonah with her?”
“Yes.”
Angel shoots a tense glance in my direction. “Is she coming home for dinner?”
“I don’t know, Angel. If you want to know so badly, why don’t you call her yourself? It’s not like I know anything that’s happening with my children.”
I shift awkwardly in my seat. I certainly hope she doesn’t know everything her children do. If she was aware of all of Angel’s extracurricular activities, I doubt I’d be allowed to sit in her kitchen like this.
Angel’s ears go red, but Mrs. Russo is so focused on murdering innocent veggies that she doesn’t notice. Thank fucking god.
Silence descends on the kitchen as the two of them work side by side. It’s actually fascinating, watching them move around each other as if they’ve been doing this their whole lives. Mrs. Russo hands Angel utensils and he immediately knows what she wants him to do next. He grabs things from the tops of cabinets before she asks for them. There’s a comfort between them that I’ve never had with either of my parents.
Is this what’s at stake here? Angel’s so close to his mom. They depend on each other so much. Is my relationship with him going to put this in jeopardy? Could I live with myself if I came between them?
Gradually, the scent of home cooking fills the kitchen and my stomach grumbles in anticipation. Dishes of gnocchi with fresh tomato sauce, roasted vegetables, caprese salad, and cheesy garlic bread fill the table. I offer to help set the table and Angel hands me forks and knives and napkins.
Mrs. Russo is the last to sit down and the second her butt hits the chair, she launches into saying grace. “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”
I hurry to make the sign of the cross, which I haven’t done since… god, I don’t even remember. My family is more of a Christmas-and-Easter type, so even though Mom has some crucifixes hanging up at home, we never said grace before meals.
“How is Dina?” Mrs. Russo asks, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s speaking to me.
“Oh, uh, my mom? Yeah, she’s good.” I think. Other than the voicemail she left me today, I haven’t spoken to her in weeks.
“You don’t have Sunday dinner at home?”
I shoot a panicked look in Angel’s direction, but all he can do is shrug.
“Uh, I don’t really go to those.”
Mrs. Russo’s eyes flit to me, hard and fast and a thousand percent disapproving. “Sunday dinners are important. Family is important.”
“Uh… yeah.” Explaining the concept of found family probably isn’t going to win me any points with her.
“Angel’s a good boy. He always takes care of his family.”
“Mama—”
She turns her glare onto him before he can get any further. He gulps, looking like he wants to crawl into a deep dark hole. I don’t blame him. I kind of do too. But instead of backing down, Angel sets his fork on the table and sits up a little straighter.
“Mama,” he says, wincing when she stabs a piece of gnocchi especially violently. “Rhys and I—I mean, Ricky? And I?”
She scowls at him. “What are you talking about?”
I laugh nervously. “Oh, it’s nothing. My friends like calling me Rhys. It’s just a nickname.” I definitely don’t want to explain why I need a stage name.
“Right. Uh, so, Ricky and I…” Angel takes a breath and looks straight into my eyes. “We’re in love.”
Mrs. Russo pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth. We all sit stock-still, Angel and I holding our breaths as we wait for her reaction.
Except she doesn’t react. She just lifts her fork the rest of the way and takes a bite of gnocchi. She chews. Slowly. Then takes a sip of her wine. By the time she sets the glass down, it feels like it’s been hours.
“But you’re a boy.”
Angel and I exchange a look. Who is she talking about? Me? Him? Both of us?
“Yes,” Angel replies .
“You can’t be in love.”
I watch as emotions flit across Angel’s face. His ears redden with embarrassment. His expression blanches from fear. Then a look of indignation as he works himself up to argue with his mom. We’ve never spoken about this before, but if I had to guess, I’d say that Angel’s never talked back to her before. Ever.
“Mrs. Russo,” I jump in. I don’t know how tonight will change Angel’s relationship with his mom. From the way things are progressing, it doesn’t look good. But if there’s anything I can do, anything I can say to help salvage it, then I owe it to Angel to try. “I do love your son.”
Mrs. Russo wipes her lips with her napkin, looking like she’s about to excuse herself from the table. But then, she sets her napkin down, folds her hands into her lap, and waits.
“You’re right. Angel is good,” I continue. My words are directed at Mrs. Russo, but I’m looking at Angel as I speak. His eyes are wide with a mix of worry and adoration and the love in my heart wins out over the anxiety eating away at my stomach.
“He’s honest and hardworking. He’s caring and protective. He would do anything for his family. But would you do anything for him?”
Her gaze snaps to me, eyes burning with outrage. “What kind of question is that?”
I can’t help but shrink back in my chair a bit, but I dig deep for the courage to continue. “It’s a legitimate one, Mrs. Russo. I love Angel. And if that means I need to cut my hair, change what I wear, and move back to the neighborhood, then…”
I never in a million years would’ve been willing to do any of that—not until this very second. Not even earlier this evening, when we were upstairs confessing our love to each other. But sitting at this table with Mrs. Russo, asking her what she’s willing to do for a son she claims to love, I realize that I’m willing to do anything—everything—to show Angel I love him. It wouldn’t be easy, and maybe a part of me would die in the process, but I would gain so much more by being at Angel’s side.
“I would never!” Angel’s chair scrapes against the floor as he shifts, lunging across the table to reach for me. He grabs my hand and his gaze bores into me. “I would never ask you to do any of that! I would move out first. I’d leave and never come back. I love your hair. I love your clothes. I love you exactly the way you are.”
I grip his hand as hard as he’s gripping mine, and tears well up in my eyes. “I know you do. And I know you would never ask me to change. Which is why I’m willing to.”
Bang! Mrs. Russo slams her hand down on the table, making the dishes and cutlery rattle. Angel and I tense, bracing ourselves for what comes next.
She glowers at me, then Angel, then me again, before pushing to her feet so forcefully, her chair almost tumbles backward. Without a word, she stalks out of the kitchen, and a second later, a door shuts with a loud, firm thud .
I blink as the last few minutes fully sink in. I just told off Angel’s mom, basically accused her of not loving her son. If I was trying to impress her, trying to win her over, I have epically and spectacularly failed. Now she hates me and maybe she’ll end up hating Angel, and I think I’ve just ruined their relationship forever .
“I’m sorry.” I slap a hand over my face. “Oh god, what the hell was I thinking?”
Angel stands and comes around the table. He pulls me to my feet so he can take my seat, and I settle back down on his lap.
Burying my face against his shoulder, I groan. “I’m such an idiot. Why did I say those things?”
Angel nudges my chin to get me to look up at him. His lips are curled into a small, shy smile that makes me feel all melty and gooey inside.
“I liked the things you said,” he whispers to me. “Thank you for defending me.”
“Always,” I say, putting a hand on his chest, right above the steady beat of his heart. “I love you.”
His smile widens into a grin and the tips of his ears turn pink. He puts his hand over mine. “I don’t care what Mama thinks. I don’t care what the neighborhood says. I love you and that’s never going to change.”