Chapter 8
ESSENCE
“Bye, guys, see you tomorrow!” I call to my kids a few days later as I leave the classroom and walk outside to my bike.
The past few days have been challenging, to say the least. My students are constantly asking me questions about Leo’s funeral, and even though it’s been three months since he died, they still ask me why he’s not at school.
It breaks my heart and makes me want to cry every single time.
Children are so much more aware than adults give them credit for.
The mental exhaustion of dealing with that, plus the stuff I go through at home is too much to handle sometimes.
All I want to do is go home and relax, but then I remember that I still have so much to do when I get home.
Evan’s laundry, Evan’s lunches for the rest of the week, scheduling Evan’s doctor’s appointment…
I’m starting to think I have an oversized toddler rather than a boyfriend.
It’s a shame, because I actually do really want kids one day, but living with him for the past two years has made me seriously reconsider that. Having a child is a huge commitment, and I don’t think Evan is ready for that.
If I’m being honest, I don’t think I would ever consider making him the father of my children.
Once I get outside to my bike, I chance a quick look at the bushes, but there’s still no sign of him, which really disappoints me.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text, and when I pull it out and read the screen, I’m excited to see that it’s from Dante.
I haven’t spoken to him since the funeral; I’ve been giving him the space he needs to deal with burying his child.
But now that he’s reaching out to me, I feel like I can finally breathe again.
I run a hand through my hair tiredly and read Dante’s text.
DANTE:
Do you have a minute to talk?
My teeth worry my bottom lip to the point of pain before I text him back.
ME:
Of course.
The gray text bubble keeps popping up and going away, and with each passing moment, the butterflies in my stomach intensify.
What does he want to say? Did my absence really upset him that much?
After a few minutes, a text comes through.
DANTE:
I think we should talk in person. Can I give you a ride home?
ME:
That would be great. I’m exhausted.
Almost immediately after I send the text, Dante’s truck comes barreling into the parking lot of my job and screeches to a halt in front of me. The driver’s side door swings open, and Dante hops out and comes to grab my bike for me.
I look at him with raised eyebrows and chuckle. “That was fast.”
He smirks—which accentuates that delicious dimple in his chin—and hauls my bike into the bed of his truck effortlessly. His rich brown hair hangs just past his ears, and his dark five o’clock shadow makes me feel tingly at the thought of what it would feel like between my legs.
I silently scold myself for having such crass thoughts about him.
“I was in the area,” he says with a shrug.
Something about his tone lets me know he wasn’t just “in the area,” but I don’t say anything as he opens the passenger side door and helps me up. My breath hitches as his strong fingers grip my waist and hoist me up like I weigh nothing.
He’s a firefighter, so he has to stay in shape for work, but I can’t help the downright filthy fantasies I have of him.
Especially when he’s in his turnout gear.
My cheeks flame at the thought of him crashing through my window to get me out of a fiery house, lifting me into his arms, and reassuring me that everything will be alright.
“You’re safe now,” he’d said. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
The slamming from his door closing breaks me out of my thoughts. Even though I could have died the night of the fire, I still think of Dante in a less-than-appropriate way.
Shifting into drive, he peels out of the school’s parking lot. I look at that spot by the bushes one last time to make sure I don’t miss the masked man, but he’s still not there, much to my disappointment.
Dante and I drive in silence for a few minutes before he says, “I’m sorry about the other day, Essence. I shouldn’t have put that kind of pressure on you.”
I shake my head and look at him. “Don’t apologize. You’ve been through so much. I just wanted to give you some space.”
He lets out a breath and grips the steering wheel tighter with one hand, the other resting on his lap as his fingers start tapping against his leg restlessly. “I don’t want space, Essence. I want you. I only ever want you, and the fact that you’re still with Evan—”
“Dante,” I say, stopping his oncoming tirade. “I don’t want to fight right now, okay? That won’t be good for either one of us.”
He nods, and I think he’s going to drop the subject, but then I notice he starts to speed up and weave through cars.
“Dante,” I say again, this time a bit cautiously.
“I just want to know, Essence,” he starts darkly, slowly pressing his foot onto the accelerator, “what it is that you see in him. Hmm?”
My chest heaves with the effort to breathe normally. The other cars are nothing but a blur now as he speeds down the busy street.
“We’re not on the highway, Dante, maybe you should slow down—”
“I mean, what has he ever even done for you?” he goes on, not hearing me. “He doesn’t let you drive his car, he yells at you all the time, and he clearly doesn’t make you happy. Is that what you want? To live the rest of your life miserable with him?”
I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “I’m not planning on spending the rest of my life with him—”
“So, what’s stopping you from leaving him?” he asks sharply. “What’s stopping you from being with me?”
The light at the end of the long stretch of road turns red, and the cars in the distance start to slow down. My heart races in my chest, and tears begin to burn the backs of my eyes as we continue to go faster. “Dante, you’re scaring me.”
He doesn’t respond, and the car in front of us looms closer.
“Dante—”
The car is just a few feet in front of us now.
“DANTE!” I scream, bracing myself.
He slams on the breaks, shooting us both forward in our seats. I grunt as I fall back and hit my head against the headrest.
“Shit,” he hisses through clenched teeth. He looks over at me, his dark eyes soft and pleading. “Fuck, Essence, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
I wait for my breathing to calm down before I’m able to speak again.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap, wrapping my arms around myself to try and stop the shaking. He reaches out to touch me, but I lean away from his grasp.
“Essence, I—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Just take me home.”
Ten minutes later, Dante pulls up to my house.
He parks on the street, grabs my stuff from the backseat, and gets out of the truck to open my door, but I’m already hopping down onto the sidewalk by the time he gets there.
Even though I’ve calmed down for the most part, I’m still a little shaky and uneasy.
Dante tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, and even though I’m mad at him for what he did, the warmth of his touch feels so good.
“I’m sorry, fiore,” he murmurs, his dark eyes boring into me intensely.
My legs instantly turn to jelly when he speaks in Italian, and I swear I would melt right into the concrete if it wasn’t so chilly out.
“What does that mean?”
He blinks. “What?”
“Fiore,” I say, feeling foolish when I butcher the pronunciation. “What does it mean?”
Dante doesn’t say anything for a moment; I’m confused by the change in his demeanor, but I don’t question it. He’s been going through so much lately.
He clears his throat and drops his hand. “Oh, um—”
His cheeks redden. Is he embarrassed?
I chuckle and stand on my tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Everything that just happened in the truck is forgotten now.
“Thanks for bringing me home.”
He smiles in that boyish way that I love so much. “Of course. I’ll walk you to the door.”
Dante intertwines his fingers with mine as we walk up the driveway. My heart starts to race the closer we get to the front door. He must be able to sense my unease because he squeezes my hand as we ascend the porch steps.
“You know you can call me if you need me, right?” His voice is soft, but I can still catch that sharp undertone beneath his cool exterior.
I smile weakly and nod. “Yeah. Thanks again.”
Reluctantly, I let go of his hand to unlock the door, but Evan beats me to it. His sharp blue eyes are fierce as they land on Dante.
“Who the fuck are you?” he snaps.
Dante opens up his mouth to speak, but I can tell by the look on his face that what he has to say isn’t going to be pleasant, so I cut him off.
“This is Dante,” I say quickly. “He’s Leo’s father.”
“The dead kid?” he asks in a cold tone.
“Evan!” I scold, in complete disbelief that he would say something so blunt and heartless.
I can practically feel the anger rippling off Dante, so I place a hand on his arm. When he takes a step toward Evan, my throat drops into my stomach.
Fuck. Dante’s going to kill my boyfriend.
At six-two, Dante greatly towers over Evan’s five-eight frame.
He’s got such a smart mouth that’s constantly getting him into trouble because he uses it to compensate for his…
shortcomings. He’s always been incredibly insecure, and I think that’s why he’s so angry all the time even though I’ve never made him feel bad about it.
“Let me make one thing clear to you, you ugly motherfucker,” Dante says darkly. My blood goes cold at the stillness of his tone. “Say some shit like that about my son again and I’ll cut out your fucking tongue.”
The look on Evan’s face is priceless, and despite the seriousness of the situation, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Dante turns to me and says, “I’ll see you later,” before leaning down to kiss my cheek. He gently hands me my load of stuff and sets my backpack next to the door. As he’s walking away, I take a deep breath and turn back to Evan, who’s pale, pasty face is beet red.
“Evan,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Get inside, Essence.”