Chapter 23 #2
Waiting. Not for me. For his friend. His new best friend.
One that didn't sleep with his mom. One that helped him catch a serial killer.
The innocent bystander in the shitstorm I created by wanting something with Babs.
Now I'm here, uninvited and unwelcome. The roaring echo of my engine probably gives me away before Diego has even turned the corner.
Dom doesn't flinch.
Doesn't move.
He sits there like he's got every reason in the world to be pissed because he does.
And yet, for one second, all I want is for him to look at me.
Not with pure hate. Not wanting to murder me.
But maybe with something that says we're still brothers beneath the blood-boiling betrayal.
That somehow he'll forgive me, even if it takes time.
Even if it's a lie.
Even if it's already too late.
My heart, still thundering from screaming down the freeway, thrashes against my ribcage.
Adrenaline spiking. Diego slows, tapping his front tire to Dom’s front tire.
Casual but a greeting. Something he didn't always do.
Yet I can't remember when or how it started.
It seems isolating now. Another thing they share.
I feel more out of the loop than ever.
I was the bridge maker.
The one who brings the two sides together. Nothing gets between the twins, unless it's a shaved pussy with huge tits. Diego and Dom are now on the other side. I could be pushed out so easily. Friendships hanging by a thread. It's the last thing I want and need.
Diego rolls back, shoves his boot heel into his kickstand, and kills the engine. He drags his helmet off, sets it on his bars, and looks at me. I do the same, wondering if this is a set-up for both of us or if Dom agreed to meet me. To hear me out.
“Why the fuck is everyone doing a goddamn intervention?” Dom growls to the sky, vape escaping with his words.
Diego looks at me.
I look at him.
Both of us are confused.
Neither is willing to break the ice. Even if it's Diego's idea, he tends to be quieter. Not usually the first to talk, that's Em's role. But with two non-conversation starters looking out at the water, letting the tension grow, I take control.
“Dom—”
“Why the fuck did you bring him out here, Diego?” he cuts me off, blaming our friend who's acting as the substitute peacemaker. “Fuck, man. He's the reason I called you to ride.”
Diego cuts me a look. Then runs a hand through his hair as if equally stressed to be here.
“Because it's bullshit. Your bullshit. His bullshit.” His head shakes slowly, and his gaze shifts to the water again. “Everyone's bullshit. What happened to Em. What . . .”
He stops talking. Shakes his head and stares.
Searching for words or answers. I don't know.
But affected. Bothered in a way, I didn't see being too consumed with what he calls my bullshit.
His gaze returns to us. Dom first. Then me.
It's scathing in the darkening sky. Angry at us.
It's surprised me. Makes me even more worried.
He clears his throat.
“What is happening to Em is what matters. Dude is struggling, fighting. And you, fucker, haven't been there.” He stabs a finger at Dom, who shifts uneasily. Drags another vape. “Like what the fuck, man?”
Dom doesn't answer. He scowls at me instead.
“I get Em rides your ass like a fucking donkey. But dammit, he's our brother. You can fight and carry on your shit another time, but you don't even show up to the hospital to see him because of this dickhead? We're a fucking family after all.”
His finger stabs me. The accusation stings, but what's more surprising is that Dom hasn't been back. I assumed he had in a carefully coordinated time when I wouldn't be there, but hearing he hasn't been there at all is fucked up.
“Why?”
My inquiry is soft, not blaming, just curious. Actually, more shocked.
“Don't you fucking act as if I'm the problem, Hollister. I'm not.”
His glare stabs me thousands of times, lingering on my black eye. But the daggers in his expression remain there when he turns to Diego.
“Yeah, so I haven't been fucking back to the place where my mother showed up with her lover in tow.
Where I was stabbed in the back by two of the few people I trust. One who fucking raised me, and the other I considered my brother.
So yeah, I'm fucking justified for not being there.
It's not as if I haven't been talking to Massimo. At least he calls me when he has questions about Em’s neuro shit, what the doctors say, and wants my opinion.”
He places the blame on everyone else. Granted, I own a considerable part of it, but his words dig a path deeper for the guilt in my brain. But fuck not seeing Em at all. Only waiting for Massi to call him is messed up.
Anger ripples through me. I lean forward, wanting him to see how pissed I am.
“How fucking selfish can you be, Dom. Em is seriously hurt, and you wait around for people to call you?
What the actual fuck? I've been up there as many hours as they'll let me, praying my fucking brains out for both brothers and sitting in the chapel as Massi cries like a fucking baby.
And you're what, just sitting at home chilling like a little bitch?”
I don't hold back. He needs to hear it. Needs to be held accountable. Diego's right. His bullshit too. Not just mine.
Dom's off his bike in a flash, ready to beat my ass again.
But this time, I won't hold back. I have the weight advantage here.
I'll pummel him into the ground if that's the kind of shit he wants.
Diego, with his damaged spine, won't be able to hold me back.
It's one thing to hate my ass for what I did.
It's another to take it out on Em because of it.
I clear my leg over my bike, ready to go, when Diego slips in front of Dom, pushing against his chest to slow him.
“Don't fucking do it, Dom. You hear me. I'm fucking tired of this shit. I get you’re mad at the fucking world all the time. Holli got his head bashed and has been sleeping at my place. And the twins . . . Fuck, it's too fucking much.”
It's a scuffle between them.
Diego gains momentum between actions and words. I stand ready. Hands balled into fists. Blood pumps through my veins. Body tight in anticipation of this going sideways.
“You two fuckers don't know how lucky you have it,” Diego seethes between his teeth.
Dom glares at me over his shoulder. “You both haven't had to deal with physical shit.
Injuries, surgery, physical therapy, and pain meds that make you addicted.
Em has a long fucking road ahead of him.
You don't know it, but I do. I've been there.
It's fucking lonely and scary. You think you might be better off dead.”
Dom stops struggling against Diego with that last statement. I still. Never have I heard Diego say he's had dark thoughts. Dark enough to think the world without him would be a better place. Dark enough to get addicted to pain meds.
“Holy shit.”
My surprise leaks out. Diego turns, keeping his shoulder against Dom's chest, to look at me.
“Is that true, D?” I continue, looking from him to Dom, who's strangely quiet. His face is still a mask of fury, but his body is not coiled and ready to pounce.
“Yeah, how could you not. One minute you're at the top of the world. The next, you need a nurse to help you pee. Fuck, don’t even think about getting your dick hard. That's impossible with all the pain meds and shit they give you.”
He's spiraling down a past we only knew about from the bits and pieces he's shared. Now he's taking us into the deep crevices of where the mind goes when the body doesn't work. It's fucking terrifying.
“No one understands it. The hospital room is crowded as hell, but you're the only one going through it.
You're laid up in that fucking bed at the mercy of every nurse and doctor in the place.
A fucking pin cushion. But everyone who visits gets to come and go as they please.
They get to leave behind the tragic accident and return to their regular lives. Unaffected. That's you two fuckers.”
He leans away from Dom. Splitting the space to stand with a shoulder to both of us. Ready to act if necessary, but giving us breathing room to process what he's saying
“You, asshole, are holed up in that fucking tower you live in, not giving a shit about anyone but how pissed you deserve to be.
I get it. It's fucked that he's seeing your mom.
I'd go berserk too. You have every right to feel what you feel, man.
But you're also fucking healthy, even with this shit.”
He wrestles the vape from Dom's hand. I didn't even know where it went in the scuffle. Diego drops it to the ground and crushes it under the heel of his boot.
“You don't even come and go. You hide away, and that shit's not good either.”
He's inches from Dom's face, speaking the truth. Yet Dom, for his part, doesn't flinch. His scowl softens. Only his eyes flicker down to look for the remnants of his vape.
“And you fucker, crying in my guest bedroom.”
His full attention turns to me. I open my mouth to say he's wrong when Dom's eyes flip up to mine. It's not cool that Diego's calling me out. It's too much candor. Makes me too vulnerable.
“I don't—"
“Yeah, you do. I hear it, man. It breaks my fucking heart.
My family is in crisis right now, and I fucking hate it.
This shit between you two can't fester any longer.
Deal with it. Now. Here. Tonight. Because my brother is laid up in a bed where he can't stand here and be pissed about bullshit things.”
Diego stabs the air with his finger in the direction of the hospital.
“Ah, he fucked my mom, and I have unresolved mommy issues, boo fucking who,” he mimics a crying kid that gets Dom to raise his eyebrows in surprise. “I'm so sad to lose my best friend and his smoking hot mom that looks like her son, no one fucking cares.”