26. Antonio
26
Antonio
T he sunlight filtering through the hospital window feels foreign to my skin as I sit on the edge of the bed, my meager belongings packed in a small bag beside me.
It's been a week since I last saw Colette, a week since she whispered those life-altering words that have echoed in my mind ever since — she's pregnant. With my child, our child.
The thought sends a cocktail of emotions — fear, excitement, anxiety, and a strange, burgeoning sense of responsibility — churning within me. Despite the turmoil, one thought remains crystal clear — I want to be there for them, for Colette and our baby.
The door swings open, and Leo strides in, his face a mask of suppressed anger. The tension between us is like an elephant in the room. He's spoken to me this past week, each silence echoing loudly how deeply I've disappointed him, and not for the first time.
I rise, my legs, and my body drenched in sweat. The simple act of standing feels like climbing a mountain, and I can't help but feel a surge of self-loathing as I catch my reflection in the window. I look like a shell of my former self — pale, gaunt, with dark circles under my eyes that make me look like a ghost.
God, I look disgusting .
Shame burns hot in my chest. But beneath the layers of self-hatred, a spark of determination flickers to life. I'm tired of feeling like shit. I'm tired of disappointing everyone who cares about me. I want — no; I need — to be better.
Leo watches me struggle with veiled impatience, his jaw clenched tight. I can almost see the words he's biting back, the lecture he's restraining himself from delivering.
In an almost completely deserted hallway, Leo leads me out of my private hospital room. He sets a brisk pace, his sturdy leather boots echoing through the entire floor. I try to keep up, but fall behind after only a few quick steps. I’m out of breath, clutching my knees, and gasping for air. Leo makes a disgusted noise inside his throat as he holds the elevator open for me.
I know that look. The one that says, I would rather do anything else in the world but this. And I can’t blame him. Who would want to be associated with an absolute fucking wreck like me? It still hurts me deeply, regardless. It burns me hotter than a branding iron to know that Leo is only here out of a sense of responsibility. He’s only here to clean up my shit. Again.
The silence between us is deafening as we make our way out of the hospital, each step an agonizing reminder of my weakened state.
As we approach the car, I muster the courage to break the silence. "Leo," I begin, my voice hoarse from disuse, "about Colette... is she..." I trail off, unable to finish the sentence. The words feel too fragile, too momentous to be spoken aloud.
Leo's shoulders stiffen, his grip on the car keys tightening until his knuckles turn white. He ignores my question, pulling open the car door with more force than necessary. My heart sinks. Even now, even after everything, he can't bear to talk to me.
"Please," I whisper, desperation coloring my tone. "I need to know. Is she... is she pregnant?" The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication.
Still, Leo remains silent, his back to me as he slides into the driver's seat. The silence stretches on, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine as he starts the car. I slump into the back passenger seat, feeling the weight of my actions.
"Leo, I..." My voice cracks. "I'm sorry. For everything. I know I've fucked up, but I... I want to be better. I promise. What happened… It was a mistake. A stupid mistake, and I hate myself for it."
Something in my voice, the raw honesty, perhaps, or the desperation, seems to reach through Leo's anger. He turns to face me, his eyes burning with an intensity that makes my heart clench.
"You have no choice," he says, his voice low and hard. "This time, I'm putting you in rehab for an entire year. And if that's not enough..." He pauses, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until I hear the leather creak. "You'll stay there forever if you have to."
His words hit me, knocking the wind out of me. A year in rehab, or longer. The thought is daunting, a mountain so steep it seems insurmountable. But as I look at my brother, I see beyond his anger to the fear that lurks beneath the raw, unhealed wound left by Rayla's death. If only she could have lived her life the way she wanted, what happened to her could have been avoided.
It’s a tragic shame that it took such a drastic measure as her slashing her wrists and taking her own life for others to fully comprehend the crisis she was enduring. The pain has stayed with us, and I see it now in Leo’s eyes.
I swallow with a resolution that I will not allow myself to put any more pain in those eyes. "I understand," I say, my voice a whisper. "I'll do it. Whatever it takes."
Leo doesn't respond, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as we drive in silence. The miles pass by in a blur, the familiar landscape of our hometown giving way to the sprawling expanse of the city. As we navigate through the bustling streets, my mind drifts back to Colette, to the child that may or may not be growing inside her.
My heart aches with longing and worry. Is she okay? Is the baby healthy? The uncertainty gnaws at me, a constant, nagging presence in the back of my mind. I turn to Leo once more, gathering every ounce of courage I possess.
"Leo, please," I implore, my voice trembling with emotion. "I know you're angry with me, and you have every right to be. But... but I need to know about Colette. Is she pregnant? Is she okay?"
For a long moment, Leo remains silent, his expression unreadable. Then, just as I'm about to give up hope, Gabi reaches out from the backseat and touches his shoulder. I see the immediate effect it has on my brother. His rigid posture softens, the hard lines of his face smoothing out as he lets out a long, tired sigh.
"Yes," he admits, his voice a mix of resignation and concern. "She's pregnant. Henry... he took her away to get the best care she can to recover."
The news hits me like a tidal wave, a surge of emotions, joy, fear, disbelief washing over me all at once. It's real. The baby, our baby, is real. The realization settles in my chest as I feel a warm, growing sensation that feels like hope.
Leo continues, his tone shifting from anger to something more complex—a blend of disapproval, worry, and perhaps a hint of grudging acceptance. "I don't approve of this, Antonio. You both... you're both in such fragile states. But Colette..." He pauses, shaking his head. "She seems determined. And I can't fathom, she seems to trust that you'll be okay."
His words strike a chord deep within me. Colette trusts me. Despite everything, my addiction, my overdose, my shattered life, she believes in me. The thought fills me with a sense of purpose, a determination I haven't felt in ages.
"I will be," I say, my voice steady and sure. "I'll get better, Leo. Not just for myself, but for Colette and... and for our child."
Leo's eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, holding my gaze for a long moment. His expression softens, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, I see a glimmer of the warmth and affection that used to exist between us.
"You're going to be a father," he says, his voice catching ever. "I... I hope you get to see your kid, Antonio. I do."
The simple statement, the implicit blessing within it, brings tears to my eyes. I blink, trying to clear my vision as the city blurs past outside the window. The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders, not as a burden, but as a mantle I'm ready to bear.
As we pull up to the rehab facility, the reality of what lies ahead hits me. A year of isolation, of hard work, of facing my demons head-on. It's a daunting prospect, one that fills me with a mixture of dread and determination.
Leo helps me out of the car, his touch gentler than it's been in months. As we stand before the entrance, he turns to me, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Antonio, I..." His voice breaks, raw emotion spilling through the cracks. "I can't lose another sibling. I can't go through that again. Please, I'm begging you..."
The pain in his voice, the memory of our sister's tragic fate, it all comes crashing down on me. I feel the weight of my actions and the ripple effect they've had on everyone I love.
I think of Leo, carrying the burden of our family's tragedies. I think of Colette, her own scars from the past, now carrying our child. I think of our unborn baby, depending on us both to create a world where they can thrive.
Tears stream down my face as I pull Leo into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice choking with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Leo. I never meant to put you through this. I never meant to hurt any of you."
We cling to each other, two brothers united in grief, in fear, in hope. In this moment, all the anger and resentment that has built up between us seems to melt away, replaced by the deep, unbreakable bond that we share.
"I'm going to get better," I promise, my words muffled against his shoulder. "Not just for myself, but for all of us. For our family. For my child. I won't let you down again, Leo. I swear it."
Leo pulls back, his hands gripping my shoulders. His eyes, filled with a turbulent mix of emotions, search mine, seeking the truth behind my words. Whatever he sees there seems to satisfy him because he nods and his grip relaxes.
"Okay," he says, his voice steady once more. "We'll be waiting for you, Antonio. All of us." With a final, firm squeeze of my shoulder, Leo turns and walks back to the car.
I watch him go, my heart heavy yet somehow lighter than it's been in months. I know the road ahead will be long and arduous. I know there will be days when the cravings will feel unbearable, when the guilt and shame will threaten to drown me.
But I also know that I have something to fight for now. A brother who, despite everything, hasn't given up on me. A woman who trusts me, who sees beyond my broken parts to the man I can become. And a child, my child, who deserves a father they can be proud of.
As I turn to face the rehab facility, my eyes trace the long, imposing walls that will be my home for the next year. But instead of seeing them as a prison, I see them as a forge—a place where I can be broken down, reshaped, and tempered into something stronger.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp morning air. In this moment, standing on the threshold between my old life and whatever comes next, I make a solemn vow to myself, to Colette, to our unborn child—I will get better. I will become the man you all believe I can be. And when I emerge from this place, I will be ready—ready to love, to protect, to nurture.
Ready to be a father .
With that promise etched in my heart, I take my first steps into rehab, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. The journey to recovery starts now, and this time, I'm determined to see it through to the end.