Chapter 1 Parenthood #9
"Yeah," I breathe. "I knew him. And I miss him every day. Some days more. Like today." My voice cracks a little. I don't hide it. But I don't let it fall apart either.
"You remind me of him," I whisper. "So much sometimes, it scares me how much I love you." He hugs me. I hold him tight, because for a second I'm not just hugging my son.
I'm hugging every version of myself that needed to hear these words and never did.
Then I pull back, wipe his nose gently. "Okay," I say, forcing a soft smile, "let's get you in pajamas before you turn into a cold wet noodle and Dada yells at me for negligence."
Antonio giggles against my shoulder. I walk out of Antonio's room after half an hour, and I feel like someone scooped out my insides. I try to straighten up, pretend I'm fine.
I walk into the kitchen.
Rava is setting two plates on the counter. He walks over and wraps his arms around my neck without even asking.
I grab him by the waist and hold him tight, burying my face in his neck. Just breathing him in is enough to stop me from cracking open right there.
"What happened in the bath?" he asks softly.
Oh Rava.
You really shouldn't have asked that.
Wrong question, wrong time. I try to blink fast, to swallow the burn, to keep the tears where they belong... but the second he asks what's wrong, my fingers are already at my eyes, wiping.
His smile dies instantly.
"Oh no... hey. Come here." He drags me to the couch by the wrist. We sit face to face. "What happened?" he asks again.
I let out this bitter, shaky laugh. "I—fuck. I just had my first conversation about death with our son."
My voice cracks. "Because some little asshole told him his grandpa is probably dead and we're just keeping secrets from him." Rava sucks in a breath. "Oh my god... Gio."
He pulls me in. One arm tight around my shoulders, one hand on the back of my head. I cling to him, and a tear slips into his shirt. "He looked so confused," I choke out.
"He's two and a half. Two and a half, Rava. And he had to hear it from some random kid who doesn't know shit about anything."
"It's not your fault," Rava murmurs against my hair. "And it's not the kid’s fault either. Listen to me, some parents don't teach their kids a single fucking thing about being gentle. That's on them, not you."
I wipe my face, angry at myself for crying. "I didn't want him to learn it like that," I whisper. "Not like that. Not sad. Not alone in a bathroom asking me why. He's just a baby, Rava. And I had to see his face break because another kid couldn't shut his mouth."
"I know, baby," Rava says, cupping my cheek. "I know. And you're right." He shifts closer.
"But hear me out, Gio," he says softly. "He knows now. And he knows because you told him. Not a random kid. You explained it the right way. You held him through it. That's the part he's going to remember."
I stare at the floor, trying to believe him. "And don't be an asshole to yourself," Rava adds gently. "You're learning too. It's your first time being a dad, Gio."
I breathe out hard, rubbing my palm over my face.
"This is so much harder than I thought," I admit.
"Every time I think I'm good, something brings him up and it hits again.
Same questions. Same fucking hole in my chest. Why did he do what he did?
Why did he leave like that? When he was up there.
.. on that fucking building... when he was ready to jump—"
My throat closes for a second, but I force the words out. "Why didn't he think about me, Rava? I would never, never put Antonio through that. Or you. No matter how bad things got. Why didn't he think of me? Why didn't I matter? Why didn't he say, shit, my boy, my Gio, what is he gonna do?"
My voice cracks.
"What's he gonna think if I disappear? If I don't come home? If he sees the police at the door? What if he sees my dead body? What if he has to live with that?"
I can't stop.
"Why didn't he think, fuck, Gio's gonna think I left him. Gio's gonna grow up wondering what he did wrong?" I slap my hand against my thigh, frustrated tears sliding down before I can wipe them.
"WHY didn't he think of ANY of that, Rava?" I'm shaking now. "Why didn't he think of my face? My little hands waiting at the window? Why didn't he think of how I would survive after that? Why wasn't I enough to make him stay?"
That thought has been eating me alive for years.
Rava pulls me closer.
He rubs my back slowly, his chin resting on my shoulder.
"Baby, he didn't think about you because he wasn't here anymore.
Not in the way you think. People don't jump because they stop loving the people in their life.
They jump because their pain gets so loud that they can't hear anything else over it. "
His fingers slide to the back of my neck, grounding me. "And you... god, Gio... you were not the reason he let go. You were the reason he held on as long as he did."
I inhale sharply.
"He didn't climb that building thinking, 'Fuck my son.' He wasn't thinking at all. Because when someone is drowning inside their own head, they don't see anyone outside it. Not even the people they love."
He kisses my head. "You should have been enough. You were enough. But he wasn't healthy enough to know that. That's the difference."
He rests his forehead against mine, breathing through the weight of it.
"You didn't lose him because he didn't care.
You lost him because he couldn't carry his own mind anymore.
And I hate that for you. I hate that you were a kid waiting by the window for someone who was fighting demons you couldn't see.
I hate that you thought it was your fault.
I hate that you had to grow up thinking you weren't worth staying for. "
He cups my face again.
"And look at you. Look at how that pain shaped you. Look at what you became because of it." I shake my head, but he doesn't let me look away.
"You are the kind of father who would walk through fire for his kid.
You love Antonio in all the right ways, because you know how it feels to grow up without the person you needed.
You would live for your son. That's the most important thing in the world.
" His voice breaks just a little. "And that's why you're different, Gio.
That's why you're better. That's why you would never leave.
Because you love Antonio the way you needed someone to love you. "
His forehead touches mine. "And I'm so damn proud of you," he whispers. "So fucking proud." I breathe out, and wrap my arms around him, cause he's the only thing holding me up.
"You really believe that?" I ask, but it doesn't sound like a question. More like I need to hear the truth twice to let it stick. He nods instantly.
"Fuck, Rava... I didn't know how much I needed that." I hug him tighter. "And you're right," I admit. "I love Antonio so much it scares me. I'd never leave him. Not for anything. Not even for a second. I want him to never feel the way I felt."
"Believe me... he will never feel unloved. Not ever. Not with us. That kid is drowning in love. We're doing so much better than you think. Better than I ever imagined."
I smile proudly. "Yeah," I say, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "Because we have you. You're over here comforting both of us. It's like having two babies, me and Antonio."
Rava snorts, then laughs into my neck, curling up closer like he's trying to hide in my hoodie. "Oh please," he mumbles against my skin.
"Don't leave yourself out of this. We're raising him together. We're a team. It's ride or die, and we're not dying. Remember?"
I groan and shove my face into his shoulder. "Oh god, don't say shit like that right now. I just stopped crying." Rava laughs, and he lifts his head just enough to press a gentle kiss to my lips.
"Come on," he whispers. "Let's go eat."
"Yeah..." I breathe out, finally letting my body relax. "Please. Before I start again."
He stands, still holding my hand, guiding me toward the kitchen. I really needed this today. And he didn't disappoint. He never does. That's why we're family.
8) Escobar
Small note: this scene was originally here, not in the Ride or Die book. So yes, you’ve technically read it before in this story, but here it has a very different ending.
Rava
I'm lying on the couch. Gio's head is parked right between my thighs.
We just put Antonio to sleep, finally. The kid refused to close his eyes unless we did the skit again. Me as the strict teacher, Gio as the bad student getting "punished," Antonio laughing like it's the peak of theater.
We had to run it three fucking times.
With three different punishments. Gio fake-crying louder every round. Antonio losing his mind. Now it's quiet. And Gio is too.
He's sad. He hasn't said it, but I can feel it.
Today's that day… The annual Underground street race. He never misses it. Or used to never miss it. Back then it was Gio and Lorenzo side by side, leaning on their bikes, driving like death is just a word.
That place was their second home. And he walked away from all of it. Mostly because of Antonio. Because of us. Because one day he looked at me holding him, and said "I'm not losing this."
But every year when this day hits... I see it on him.
He tells everyone "nah, I don't care anymore," but then he spends the whole night watching blurry videos his friends send, listening to engines rev over crappy phone audio just to rate them. He is always pretending he's fine, while his eyes say otherwise.
And it hurts.
It actually hurts watching him pretend he doesn't miss the one thing that used to make him feel alive. I run my fingers through his hair slowly.
God, I wish he'd just say it.
Say he wants to go. Say he misses it.
Instead... he stays here. With me. Sad in silence.
"Gio?"
"Hmm?"
I take a breath. "Let's go."
He shoots upright. Stares at me with those big, shocked eyes. I can't help laughing. "You wanna go to the race? I'm serious."