Ten
Aspen
Present Day
Iknow about Vito Rossi’s death, of course. Mamma is still close friends with his sister, Therese, so she found out almost as soon as it happened. Before the word was officially out.
The Cosa Nostra kept it quiet for a good long while. Probably scrambling to keep everything in balance with their new reality and stabilize their infrastructure before the vultures swooped in to pick at the remains.
I thought about Kaiden during the aftermath. It was impossible not to. Maybe I even hoped… dreamed.
But the months passed, and there was nothing. No word. No contact.
It’s been ten years. I came to the only conclusion I could. That I’ve been fooling myself in thinking he hasn’t moved on.
Accepting that was like losing him all over again, and I’ve just about made my peace with it when the text message arrives out of the blue.
It’s Kaiden. Can we talk?
Five words. Ten years, and that’s what I get. Five freaking words.
My hands shake as I stare at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I’m certain my son will hear it from his bedroom down the hall.
I don’t respond immediately. Can’t. My fingers hover over the keyboard, a dozen replies forming and dissolving in my mind like smoke.
Yes.
No.
Go to hell.
Why now?
I hate you.
I never stopped loving you.
Oh, and by the way, we have a child.
That’s the one that stops me spiraling.
Instead of answering, I set the phone face down on the kitchen counter and walk away. My legs feel unsteady, like the ground beneath me has shifted. I make it to the living room before I have to sit down, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Kai. I need to think about Kai. My nine-year-old son who has his father’s dark hair and my green eyes. The son Kaiden doesn’t know exists because Mamma was right - some secrets are necessary for survival.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the tears that threaten to spill. I thought I was past this. Past crying over Kaiden Brooks. Past the bone-deep ache that used to wake me in the middle of the night. Past the phantom feeling of his arms around me.
But apparently, I’m not.
My phone buzzes again from the kitchen. Once. Twice. Three times in quick succession.
I force myself to stand, to walk back, to pick it up with trembling fingers.
I know I have no right to ask.
I know I hurt you.
But please, Aspen. Just talk to me. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.
The please does something to me. Kaiden never begged. Not when we were kids, not when Vito beat him bloody, not even in the few blissful months we had together as adults. He endured. He survived. He never, ever pleaded.
My fingers move before my brain catches up.
When?
The response is immediate, like he’s been sitting there waiting, staring at his phone the same way I’ve been staring at mine.
Tomorrow? The café near the museum. Santino’s. 2pm?
I mull over the location. I maintain close ties to the Newark museum of art, but I haven’t worked there since I managed to score $50,000 for an original artwork commission, and success meant I needed to devote more time to my craft.
The museum was instrumental in my success, allowing me to hold exhibitions of my work in the minor halls when they were between displays, since I was an employee.
It wasn’t because they had any great belief in me, though I was friendly enough with the procurement manager. It simply meant they didn’t have patrons wandering through empty spaces, and I was well placed to provide an alternative.
Right place; right time. Nothing more.
Dumb luck. Well, and a dash of talent as well, I guess.
Now I make a decent living from my work. I’m not internationally renowned, though my name is gaining traction abroad. But I’m certainly no ‘starving artist’.
Does Kaiden know any of this? I’d like to think he’s followed my career, but what do I know? Maybe he thinks I still live in the same tiny basement apartment we shared and work at the museum. Or maybe he picked this location for old times’ sake. Although not all the memories are good, so…
My reply is as simple and brief as my first, and I type it in before I can overthink it and change my mind.
Okay
My hands are still shaking when I set the phone down again, and this time I don’t pick it back up. Instead, I pour myself a glass of wine, something I rarely do on a weeknight, and sink back onto the couch.
Tomorrow.
On the basis of two single words, I’m going to see Kaiden tomorrow.
The thought sends equal parts dread and anticipation coursing through my veins. What will I say? How will I react when I see him in person after all these years? Will he look the same? Will those dark eyes still make my stomach flip?
And what about Kai?
I take a long sip of wine, letting it burn down my throat. Mamma’s voice echoes in my head, as clear as if she were sitting beside me. He must never know. It’s too dangerous.
But Vito is dead. The threat is gone.
Isn’t it?
I mean, I guess it must be relatively safe since Kaiden’s gotten in touch. I’ve heard nothing from him since the day he walked out. A day I don’t remember, but one when he was apparently there at the hospital, according to the nurses.
My mother has been close-lipped when it comes to Kaiden. She refuses to discuss him whatsoever. I know he was hurt - punished - when he returned to work for the Viper, but if Helene knows anything else, she’s never said.
And I don’t ask any more.
I can’t fault Mamma. She took me in and cared for me when I got out of the hospital.
My medical bills were miraculously paid, and she told me not to ask how, though I have a suspicion she used her position as Don Salvatore’s mistress and mother to his child, to coerce him into paying, since his brother caused the damage.
Whether she blackmailed him or he did it willingly, I’ll probably never know.
I stayed with her for several years after that, and she watched Kai when I needed to work or paint. After I’d made enough money and moved out, I offered to buy her a house as a ‘thank you’. To my surprise, she told me she already owned the one she lived in with my younger brother.
A ‘push present’ from Sal, I suspect, since we moved there shortly after Milo was born. It’s a nice house. Not flashy, but spacious and in a good neighborhood, but I’d always assumed it was rented.
Guess I really don’t know the half of it.
I finish my wine and pour another glass, even though I know I shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter. Sleep won’t come easy tonight anyway.
My mind drifts back to those six months Kaiden and I had together.
The shabby basement apartment that felt like a palace because we were free.
The way Kaiden would wake me up with kisses along my shoulder, whispering endearments against my skin in Italian, even though it wasn’t his first language, but it made me feel special that he’d learned it for me.
How we’d cook together in our tiny kitchen, bumping into each other in the cramped space and laughing about it.
Well, I cooked, and he tried his best, which was pretty awful, but he wanted to learn.
The way he’d watch me paint with this look of wonder, like I was creating miracles instead of just applying pigment to canvas.
I was so happy. Deliriously, stupidly, insanely happy.
And then it all came crashing down.
I drain the second glass and force myself to stand. Tomorrow is going to be hard enough without adding a hangover into the mix.
I rinse the glass, check that the doors are locked, and make my way down the hall.
Outside Kai’s bedroom I pause, pushing the door open just enough to see his small form curled under his covers.
He sleeps like his father used to - on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow.
In the dim light from the hallway, I can just make out his features - Kaiden’s sharp jawline softened by childhood, my pale eyes, but that face.
Even in the half-dark, I know he’s a replica of Kaiden at that age.
The age he was when I met him.
There’s no denying my son’s paternity, and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t scare me.
I pull the door closed quietly and continue to my own room. After changing into pajamas, I climb into bed but don’t bother turning off the light. There’s really no point pretending I’ll sleep.
Instead, I stare at the ceiling and let myself remember. Really remember, not just the sanitized version I’ve been living with for the past decade.
The truth is, Kaiden saved my life by leaving. I understand that now, even if I didn’t appreciate it back when I was suffering from heartbreak and depression. When I was struggling to be both father and mother to our son, even though I was only a teenager myself.
Truth is, understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less.
It doesn’t ease the loneliness or help me find answers now Kai’s started asking questions about his daddy.
And tomorrow… tomorrow I have to face Kaiden.
I have no idea how I’m supposed to look him in the eye and not tell him about Kai. How I’m supposed to pretend our son doesn’t exist when he’s the most important thing in my world.
How the secrets I’ve kept are so much bigger than Kaiden walking away to keep me safe.
How he’s missed an entire decade of his child’s life because I chose not to tell him the truth.
My phone buzzes one more time, and against my better judgment, I reach for it and glance at the screen.
Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.
I don’t respond, just set the phone on my nightstand.
Tomorrow will bring whatever it brings.
All I can do is wait and see if my life’s about to get blown apart again.