17. Samantha
SAMANTHA
I wake up nestled in Dante’s scent, rolled up in his sheets. I inhale deeply. I slept like a rock. I sit up and stretch before I hear Ricardo shouting my name.
I scramble out of bed, bursting out into the hallway. Ricardo blinks when he sees me coming out of Dante’s room. “Samantha?”
“What’s wrong?” My heart is in my throat. Is Dante hurt?
“Your father’s been shot.”
I gasp, clapping my hand over my mouth as my eyes fill with tears. It’s not the first time Papa’s been injured, but it’s been years. Not since I was a teenager. “How bad?”
Ricardo walks closer to me and his eyes are kind. I suddenly feel bad for disliking him. “He’s okay,” he says softly, his hands hovering over my arms but not quite touching me. Respectful.
Guilt twists my stomach. I’m an asshole for misjudging him. “You’re sure?” Tears slip down my cheeks.
He nods. “Shoulder wound. He’s staying at Doc’s until tomorrow, but he’ll recover well.”
“Thank God.” I awkwardly reach out and pat Ricardo’s shoulder.
He smiles at me. “Don’t worry. Dante’s on his way back, and I’ll stay here until he gets here.”
“Dante’s okay?” I ask in a small voice. Ricardo blinks again and my stomach rolls.
I’m revealing too much. I’ve just come out of Dante’s room and now I’m asking about him, and—
“He’s fine,” Ricardo says. “Don’t worry so much.”
I nod slowly, biting my lip. He doesn’t push me further.
“If you need me I’m right downstairs.”
I take in a shaky breath and slip back into my room. Sofia’s on her back, snoring like a lumberjack, while Reese sleeps on a futon mattress on the floor, half under the bed. I chuckle at my friends, and the laugh is welcome.
Reese snorts awake when I kick him lightly in the ribs. He wiggles from under the bed and sits up, rubbing his eyes like a little kid. “What time is it?”
“Early,” I admit. “Papa got hurt.”
He gapes at me for a second as if he hasn’t processed what I said. “Shit,” he says thickly. “Is everything okay?”
I nod. “He’s alright. It’s his shoulder. Nothing vital.”
“Thank Christ.”
“You think you can wake up Sofia so you two can get out of here?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m sure you’ll wanna see your dad.”
I don’t tell him that he’s staying the night at Doc’s, because I’m planning to tell Dante about the baby and I’m not sure how to say it. I’m worried they’ll try to talk me out of it.
Reese bounces on the bed to wake up Sofia and she swings at him. I laugh again. By the time we’ve explained everything to Sofia and they leave, Dante’s pulling up. They pile into the car and I look out the bedroom window, watching Dante get out and walk inside.
I wait for a few minutes before I head out into the hallway. I stand at the top of the stairs as Ricardo leaves and Dante comes in. They speak to each other briefly, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. It seems kind of… tense.
I make my way downstairs and Dante doesn’t look up at me, sitting down hard on the couch and putting his head in his hands. “Are you alright?” I ask quietly as I pad down the rest of the stairs.
His head snaps up but he still doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m fine.” He drops his hands, but not before I see them trembling.
“It’s okay if you’re not.”
“I’m fine, Samantha.”
His words are clipped. I frown. “How’s Papa doing?”
“He’ll be alright in a couple weeks.”
“I didn’t know he’d be with you.”
Dante doesn’t answer. “I’m glad you were there,” I continue. “Papa tends to go off the rails.”
Dante still doesn’t respond. “Dante?”
“What?” he snaps, his blue eyes flashing as he finally meets my gaze. I take a step back, stunned at his reaction.
Then I step forward and sit next to him. I try to take his hand. He wrenches away from me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything’s wrong,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. It’s a nervous habit I’ve noticed.
I need to talk to you about something. I’m about to say it when he continues speaking.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
His words fall on me like a hammer on the top of my head. “Can’t do what?”
He gestures between the two of us with his hand. “This. Us. We need to stop.”
My stomach knots and my mouth fills with saliva like I’m going to throw up.
“You’re just a kid.”
I gasp softly. It’s like every word he says is a punch to the stomach. “Dante–”
He cuts me off. “I’m serious this time, Samantha. It’s over. Just.. meet someone new. Find some guy who you can be with out loud. Someone Elio would approve of.”
I swallow and it feels like my throat is full of razorblades. “You… you want me to move on?”
He chuckles bitterly, dragging a hand across the back of his neck. “No,” he says, and at least that sounds honest. “But what I want doesn’t matter. This isn’t going anywhere, and we both know it.”
I put a hand on my stomach unconsciously, then realize I’m doing it and move it away.
But the baby…. “We can… we can talk about this,” I start.
“You can talk until you’re blue in the face,” he says flatly. “I’m not going to change my mind about this. It’s over.”
“Don’t say that.” Tears start to slip down my cheeks and I angrily wipe them away. “You don’t get to just decide—”
“Actually, I can. That’s how this kind of thing works.” His voice goes colder and colder.
“So that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“This was just some… dalliance?”
“Worse. It was a mistake.”
A mistake. My chest feels empty.
He glances at me and scoffs. “Don’t cry. You’re just as unwilling to tell Elio about this as I am. You knew what this was when you started it.”
“When I started it?”
“You came on to me, remember?”
I blink as more tears stream down my face. I can’t seem to stop them. “This isn’t you.”
“Isn’t it?” He twists on the couch to face me, and the emptiness in his eyes makes the void in me even wider. “How much do you really know about me, Samantha? Do you know who I am? What I’ve done?”
“I–I—”
“Exactly. So just… live your life. Go out with your friends. Fuck who you want. I won’t stand in your way.”
“Dante, I don’t want to–”
“Like I said, Samantha. It doesn’t matter what I want. What you want. All that matters is that this can’t happen again.”
He stands up and I look up at him with wide eyes, my bottom lip trembling. He tears his eyes away from me like it costs him something to do it, and walks up the stairs.
My feet want to follow him. I want to get down on my knees, beg and plead. But my pride won’t let me.
He doesn’t want me. Not enough.
That’s all there is to it.
And now I’m having his baby, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do about it.
Dante’s door closing sounds like the end of the world. I cradle my stomach as sobs wrack my body, rocking back and forth to comfort myself. After a long time—minutes, hours—I finally run out of tears. I slowly head up to my room and pause just outside his door. Put my hand on the doorknob.
I keep walking, disappearing into my room.
I barely make it to the toilet before I throw up all the fudge mint ice cream I ate last night. I spit into the toilet before flushing, straightening up with a groan and turning on the sink. I let the water run as I look at myself in the mirror. My blue eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, my face pale.
I look like shit, which makes sense, because I feel like shit.
I have to do this alone. I can’t tell Dante. Not now. Not ever.
Because if he doesn’t want me enough, I’m not going to try and trap him with a baby. I just have to get through the next few weeks, until everything with Ricci calms down. Once that’s resolved, Dante can go back to Italy or wherever the fuck he was, and I can focus on myself and my baby.
“We’re going to be okay,” I say brokenly, looking down at my stomach. It’s not quite flat anyway, because I like ice cream and cake too much, but I’m not showing. “Okay, little one?”
My voice breaks, and I groan as more tears spill down my face. I wash them away, rinsing out my mouth with mouthwash and spitting it into the sink.
I can still smell him on my clothes, so I strip them off, getting into the shower and letting the water wash away the tears and snot and vomit. I’m a fucking mess.
But I’m going to be okay. Because I have to be.
For my baby.