Chapter 27 Viviana #2
Evie is a late sleeper, so I prepare breakfast to pass the time. Coming downstairs, she sniffs the pancakes, a sound of satisfaction vibrating in her throat as we dig in.
Then we visit the farm where we ride for a few hours.
After we return, we swim for a while, lazing and tanning under the ball of fire reigning over the sky.
Quality time was needed. That’s why we decide to do it monthly.
She swipes her sunglasses up onto her head and wiggles her brows. “Who’s your favorite?”
I don’t even have to think about the answer, but decide to say instead, “Evie, that’s unfair.”
She waves me off. “Pshh, it’s just us. It’s Timmy, right?”
I giggle. “He asked me to marry him on Friday with a drawing and a love declaration.”
She holds her belly as she laughs. “Aww, so cute. Where was I?”
“I think Lia needed to use the bathroom.”
We exchange stories from our class as we watch the sun dive into the ocean. Afterward, we go inside, pop a bag of popcorn, and watch a movie.
“It’s peaceful. I wonder why?” she asks, sarcasm thick in her voice.
“No men,” we both say, rolling over in laughter.
“The dicks. Can’t live with or without them.”
I elbow her side. “Where did you learn that? Dick class. I must have missed it.”
Picking up a decorative pillow from her side, she smacks me with it. “I don’t think anyone will compare to him.”
She places her cheek on my lap, and I play with her hair. “I’m here for you. Always.”
“Thank you. Love you, bestie.”
“Love you too.”
Once in bed, I wonder what he’s doing, but not for long because he calls me.
“Hi, mo run. Thinking about you and that I am an idiot. You want my confessions? I’ll cut myself open for you.” The sincerity in his voice undoes me, triggering my eyes to well up, tears blurring my vision.
“Tristan, baby…” His pain is my pain, butchering my insides, torn apart between comforting him and knowing he needs to do this like I need to hear it.
“I don’t deserve you, but I love you. I love you so fucking much that if you disappeared from my life, I’d put a bullet through my head to end my miserable existence.
I can’t live without you. Forgive me for not knowing better.
For sabotaging the only good thing that’s ever happened to me.
Hurting the only person who never wanted anything but my love.
Give me a chance to prove to you that you’re my entire world.
I am begging you, mo run. Without you, there’s no me. Without your love, I won’t survive.”
The deep rawness echoing his love declaration heals the wound inside of me I’d thought would never mend. Leaving him would mean his death sentence, and I’d spend the rest of my life chasing the ghost of him. I refuse to live without him just as much as he does.
“I won’t,” I say in a peace offering.
He lets out a sound choked full of relief.
“Are you in bed?” I murmur. Everything between us feels fragile right now, but I believe in our love, our connection is unbreakable.
“Not when you’re not there.”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me, wearing the biggest grin. “What did you do before me?”
“Most of the time, I fell asleep at the office. Or on the sofa.”
“What is it with beds specifically?”
“He would always tear me from my bed,” he says so low I can barely hear him.
It takes everything in me not to curse that despicable person out, praying he suffers for eternity, boiling in the pits of hell. If I were to face him, I don’t know how I’d react. I’d probably kill him for inflicting so much hurt on my man. I can’t imagine treating your own child this horribly.
“Tristan, baby. Our upbringing doesn’t have to define us. But not talking about them will eat at us. The monsters under the bed are real to children. We’re a product of our upbringing. And despite yours, you have become a very successful, highly functional adult who is deeply loyal and driven.”
“Are we going to ignore that I am the boss of the Irish American mob?” he snaps, associating his past with his incapacity to control. Whenever he thinks he loses that, he reverts to being offensive.
His misfortune, I guess. He married a woman who has taken classes in child psychology to understand them. And his inner child needs acceptance, attention and love.
“I am a killer, Viviana. I’ve even lost count of the number I took or ordered.”
“Are you trying to scare the Mafia princess with your hit count?” I huff, feeling offended. “Honestly, husband, you need a better strategy. I’ve never been afraid of you and never will be.”
My words registering, he exhales a loud breath. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“I know, baby. It’s fine. I would never take advantage of you.
I just want to help you heal. Tristan, I refuse to see you suffering in silence.
You strive to be in control, but what you don’t understand is the past keeps you shackled.
You’re stronger than that. And when you’re not. When it gets too much, I’m here.”
A short break follows, followed by another confession. “I don’t want you to see me as weak.”
“Weak? It takes strength to face trauma. Surviving makes you strong, not weak.”
“If you say so,” he sighs.
My heart aches for my tormented man.
I need to go home.
Right now.