Chapter Fifty Larissa #2
“Honestly, it is, and their story is pretty wild,” I boast.
He nods, seeming to sober as he glances around in search. “Shit, are the babies—”
“The night nurse took them so I could drink in peace and catch up with Taylor. While you apparently decided to go twenty rounds with your hero.”
“It wasn’t by choice, and I lost within a minute flat—well, you saw the other guy.”
I hold out my makeshift ice pack to him as he grimaces, slowly lowering back on the couch.
“Something tells me you let him get more swings in than you could have.”
His eyes drop, confirming that suspicion, as he takes my offering with a soft “thank you.” He presses the pack to his jaw as he speaks. “I told him not to drop me off here, but I can’t really walk yet. I think I pulled … something, or he did.”
When his smile again breaks through, I flinch in horror. “Oh, fuck.”
“What?” he asks, blinking through his swollen eye.
“You’re missing half a tooth!”
“You’re shitting me.” He immediately begins tonguing his teeth before his eyes widen. His “fuck” coming out “phuck” when he finds said broken tooth. I can’t help the laughter that bursts from me, his eyes lighting at the sound of it.
“He phocked out a philling, phat’s all,” he states, tonguing his bottom tooth. “I’ll survivith.”
“All right, Daffy,” I snark, unable to help my smile, “well … Was it better than having your balls nailed to a two-by-four?”
“Not by much,” he grumbles, managing to open his other eye, both of them gazing up at me where I hover at the edge of the couch. A long second passes as he seems to sober himself considerably, his hoarse whisper caressing me in a soft apology.
“If a deserved ass-whoopin’ could erase the damage I’ve done, I’d suffer a dozen more,” he rasps out mournfully. “I can’t fix this, can I?” When I don’t reply, he speaks again, as if answering someone else’s question. “I don’t know how to let something be broken.”
The sight of him, along with the silence, pains me to the point I force myself to speak. “I don’t want to spend my life resenting, hating, or sparring with you … I swore last time you left would be the last time I lashed out like that, and I’m trying. It’s not good for Alexander and Macey. Or me.”
He nods as his eyes fill with something other than physical pain. The look in them causing me to fail in biting my tongue just after speaking that struggle.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I snap, and for the first time in my presence, he flinches at my outburst. “Wow, you really are here now, aren’t you?” I ask, knowing he’s aware of my meaning.
“Getting there”—he swallows—“and the more I start to see clearly, the more I hate myself for what I’ve done.”
“That’s not good for Alexander and Macey either. Or you.”
“I’m working on it, but like you, it’s easier to say than execute.” His eyes go a little distant with his next admission. “They kicked me out, you know.”
My brows pinch in confusion before it dawns on me. “Of the club?”
“Yeah, and I’m okay with it. To be honest, I quit before I came to you the first time, but they gave me the boot when I got home,” he admits roughly. “My guess is they want to see real progress before they let me back in,” he chuckles, pointing at his face. “Think this will bode well?”
Too stunned to play along, I prompt him. “Do you miss it?”
“No,” he answers instantly. “I really don’t.
Instilled habits have me worrying about them a lot, so I’m trying to keep busy.
Thankfully, there’s plenty to do.” His metal-laced eyes searching as he carefully chooses his words.
“The only thing I truly missed is being here. I mean”—when his lips lift, he winces through it, maintaining his proud grin—“our babies are everything, right?”
“Yeah,” I agree. “They really are.”
He moves to sit, cursing and holding his ribs as I help him the rest of the way up.
When I realize how close our lips are, I go to get some needed space, and he lightly grips my upper arm to stop me.
“The more I look at you, the more I confirm I’ve missed you, too.
Please … let me talk to you. Let’s just talk. That’s all. About anything.”
“Tyler—”
“I want to know some more trivial details about the woman I’m raising children with.”
“Like my favorite color or food?” I toss his words from the woods back at him. A breath later, cursing my inability to keep my venom at bay as he gives a gentle, forgiving shake of his head.
“It’s a start,” he whispers, “but let me guess the answer to the first, pink?”
I jerk back a little in surprise, having no idea how he would know that.
“The sundress you were wearing the day I got here. It was worn in, I could tell it’s your favorite.”
I nod, unsure of how to handle him tonight, terrified my defenses are too low as exhaustion threatens. “Let me get a washcloth and clean you up a little. I really don’t want you scaring them tomorrow.”
He slowly nods, releasing me, but I can feel his eyes trailing me as I walk back into the kitchen, wetting a washcloth before taking a seat on the edge of the couch.
Using the pad of my pointer through the heated material, I gently start to clear the crusted blood.
A majority smeared along his cheeks and forehead, making his injuries look more substantial than they are.
“You’ll have a nasty shiner, but your nose is still intact,” I tick off. “That cut on your lip is going to sting like a bitch for a while.” I pull back, grinning. “Honestly, he took it easy on you. I looked far worse after day one of training.”
“He hit you?” He gapes at me.
“Maybe with less force, but not much. He wanted me to know what a man’s punch felt like, so I’d never back down after the first blow.”
“I don’t ever want you fucking knowing that,” he counters with edge, glaring at the door Daniello exited. “Not ever.”
“You can’t be serious, I’m a donna in a male-dominated mob.
I’m going to get into fights. Every one of them will be for my life.
He didn’t beat me down to prove himself—he did it in an effort to help me survive it.
In my position, at least for the first few years, I’m more likely to get attacked than any other made man. ”
“Let those motherfuckers try,” he hisses, and I have to stifle my grin at his protective ramblings while working to get the crusted blood off his hairline.
“Hold still, south boy,” I joke, managing to clean a good majority of it from him before his apologetic whisper hits me.
“I wish I would have been the one to pull the trigger … on Ciro,” he relinquishes somberly.
“I regret that ruthless decision I forced you into every day. Every fucking day, I relive those seconds,” he utters brokenly.
“I was so fucked up by your confessions that when I realized your intent, I couldn’t break myself free and get to you fast enough.
Though some part of me thought you wanted it.
” He shakes his head as if picturing it vividly before his eyes gently prod. “I have to know, are you okay?”
“You know I am,” I give freely. “It was always supposed to be me. I did want it, Tyler. It’s all I wanted, and no, I haven’t lost any sleep over it.”
Nodding, he braces himself to sit up further by clutching my hip for support.
The pain in his return stare seeming to shift as he brushes a finger along my hip, over my birthmark.
A caress I’ve felt a dozen times or more since I’ve known him, which has me briefly pausing my ministrations with the rag.
“I know how strong you are,” he murmurs.
“I do, it’s just that, whatever is within my power to spare you from, I want to.
I wish I would have fucking spared you from the worst of me.
And while I’m painfully aware you can take care of yourself, just know I will be protective of you.
Annoyingly so. That’s all I care about now. ”
This time, I fully pause the rag. “What do you want me to say to that, Tyler?”
“Nothing, it’s just the truth.” He grips my freed hand, gently sliding his thumb along the back of it.
“I need you to know I respect you—immensely—for what you’ve been through and overcome.
I hope you can believe that one day.” He gently squeezes my hand as his words hold me captive.
“Every night, I stare at the ceiling and think about how you must have felt carrying our babies.” Eyes heavy on my profile, he turns my hand over, gently running the pads of his fingers along my palm.
“Of what you must have thought about after the way I hurt you.” His eyes try to capture mine as I resume cleaning his face.
The remorse and shake in his voice threatening to reopen the wound I’m still desperately trying to heal.
“Going through labor alone and, after, coming out so much fucking stronger. You are”—he swallows—“so many things I blinded myself to and see more clearly now.” When he laces our fingers, I stiffen, and he lets out a resigned breath before releasing his hold.
“I’m sorry, fuck, I know words can’t change anything, and I’ll leave.
But before I go, there’s something you deserve to know after all you’ve sacrificed. ”
I lower my rag as dread settles at his change of expression. “Such as?”
“It’s time to tell you the rest of that bedtime story,” he admits, the metallic whisper of blood on his breath filling my nose, his physical pain feeling more like my own as he gently implores my audience. “Because I only discovered the rest of it after us.”
I nod, anxiety spiking at his foreboding expression.