Chapter 16 #2
I look at him. Like staring into a mirror, except the tats that he got for himself.
“I wish I could, brother. I wish I could.”
That makes it all worse. Mas is the fixer.
The one who fixes stuff so I don’t have to.
I depend on him for everything. Everyone knows that.
It’s just how it’s always been. He was born first. Technically, I’m the baby, and babies are always taken care of.
But if he doesn’t know what to do. How to fix this, then we’re both fucked.
A scary thought pops into my brain. I’m thinking way too fucking much, and I hate it. I want to go back to the clear emptiness that my head held. But I have to ask Mas because it makes my heart beat faster and faster.
“What if she only wants you?” I squeak, voice cracking upward like a thirteen-year-old.
My body gets way hotter. For a minute, I’d blame the sex, but that high is long gone. This is more like panic or fear. Like when the Sox have bases loaded, and the batters keep striking out. When I’m yelling at the screen, ‘two out rally,’ and they still fuck it up.
Before he can answer, or maybe lie to me, the bathroom door opens.
Steam spills out. My angel, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping in dark curls over her shoulders.
She looks softer and more beautiful. Not harsh with her curls scraped up into that work bun.
Her DSLs aren’t glossy, and it makes me want to bite that pillowy softness.
Her eyes widen a fraction when she sees us. Two giant idiots sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for a woman we both like and one of us loves.
“Oh,” she jumps back, surprised. “You’re both right there. Were you waiting on me?”
“No!”
“Yes.”
The word seeps out of my brother’s mouth like a damn confession. He was never really good at lying. Older brothers usually aren’t. They are too busy covering up for the shit we baby brothers do.
Massimo stands but doesn’t get any closer. He scoops some shirt off the floor and throws it over my cock. As if embarrassed. Which he shouldn’t be. It was buried in her not ten minutes ago.
“Sofia—”
“I’m going home.”
The words hit harder than the punch my brother tried to throw. My throat clogs. My ears ring. My cast suddenly feels like it outweighs me, dragging me to the floor.
“H-home?” I stutter, trying to hobble upright while keeping my dick covered for whatever weird reason Mas has going through his head. “Home as in. Like, your home? Not . . . not our . . . not here home?”
“Yes. Home.”
She moves toward the dresser, still wrapped in the towel. Her voice is calm and distant in a way that makes my ribs ache. This is not her. She is loud, bossy, and feisty. My fiery Latina. Not practical and quiet. This is so wrong.
“Where did you put my bag and clothes, Massimo?”
Bro is frozen, staring at her. I take one for the team.
“But my angel, Mas’s baby, Paco’s coparent, cinnamon roll of my heart,” I babble, hand flailing because I don’t know what to do, “You didn’t eat yet.
And Mas made all that for you. The bastard wouldn’t feed any to me, saying you came first. That has to mean something.
And he didn’t even get me a beer when I asked.
And you have to eat. We double dicked you good, and you need your strength.
And you love to eat. I love to eat. Mas especially loves to eat, mainly your ass, but food too. ”
Her eyes slice through me. Not cruel or angry. Just tired, so I blabber on.
“And you love naps. And I love naps, and we could just nap together. I won’t even touch you. Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a needle in my dick. I swear!”
I hold up my fingers to make whatever that thing is the Boy Scouts do because I know we were in Scouts, even if Mas’s dumbass doesn’t remember.
“And the pool. You didn’t even get on the unicorn floatie with me. Paco did. He loves it here. Loves me. He’s our son, and you agreed to joint custody, and I need him for my healing. He licked my side, and made it felt better. See.”
I angle my body to show her, and she frowns. I keep going because that fucker Mas is no help at all. The slump of his shoulder says that he’s already given up this fight, but I haven’t.
“You shouldn’t let him lick you. Dogs’ mouths have bacteria that could—”
“See! This is why you need to be here. I don’t know these things. Mas doesn’t know these things. I could die from Paco. Our son is basically trying to kill me, and I don’t even know it. Bad Paco!”
I wag my finger at him. The tiny murderer pops up and trots out, getting away with his crimes.
“And I get my cast off on Monday. I’ll be able to fuck you even better. Mas and I could really get into tag teaming you. Buried deep in both holes, and you wouldn’t have to do a thing. And—”
“Emilio,” she interrupts, crossing the room to me. Her hand lands on my chest. The exact place that has the weird hurt. “I need space. I need my home and my bed.”
She says that same damn word. The worst word in the English language.
“Sofia,” Like the chump Mas is, he steps toward her.
Hands open like she’ll trot out of here like Paco did.
“We get that. Em and I really do, but you don’t have to go right now.
You could just stay the weekend. Ignore Em and his bullshit about tag teaming.
Just stay and relax. We’ll leave you alone—”
“What? Not fuck. That sucks.” Mas glares at me like he’s about to throw hands.
Sofia’s eyes shift from him to me, hardening.
She snatches her hand back. That’s not good.
“I mean, yeah, whatever you want, my angel. I’ll keep my chubby to myself, but if you want my mouth to help you fall asleep tonight—”
“Shut the fuck up! You’re making everything worse.”
“Boys, I appreciate it, but—”
“Don’t run, Sofia.” His hand caresses down her back, making me jealous. “You don’t have to with us. We’ll give you whatever you want. Space, time, whatever. Just don’t run away from this. If it’s too much, then we’ll talk about it, and I’ll duct tape Em’s mouth shut.”
“Hey, that’s not nice,” I whine, knowing he’s right, but it still stings. My mouth is one of my best qualities.
“I’m not running.” She spots her bag and clothes spilling out on the chair by the windows and steps around both of us to get to it. She’s already pulling on her underwear underneath the towel. “I just need to breathe without both of you watching me. Without pressure. Without—”
She stops talking, tugs her jeans on, then turns her back to us to yank a shirt over her head.
Without us.
I feel it even though she doesn’t say it. Massimo swallows, jaw working. “I didn’t mean to pressure you earlier. Neither of us did.”
“I know. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” she says, looking a bit sad. I’m sad. Mas is sad. Everyone is sad. The only way to fix it, since Mas is doing a terrible fucking job, is for her to stay. But she won’t. And I feel lousier now than ever before.
“But you’ll come back,” I blurt, because the silence between sentences is killing me.
“Right? You’ll text. Call. Let me send dick pics.
You’ll send a pic of Paco, your tits, and that fat ass?
Like balance. Right? Work-life balance. That’s what it means.
I send you my goods, you send me yours. I’m super good at balancing shit. ”
A tiny laugh escapes her. Barely there. Gone before I can catch it.
“I’ll text when I get home. After I figure out how to get home.”
That’s it.
That’s the nail in my coffin.
I’m dead. Mas looks murdered. Both of us standing there bleeding out like when the Sox fucked up their World Series comeback in 2019. Yeah, that fucking bad.
She digs some shoes out, slips them on, and grabs the handles of her bag. All moving in slow motion.
“I’ll take you home, Sofia. Even if you need space, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Day or night. Doesn’t matter.”
“Paco!” She nods but doesn’t look at me.
Doesn’t look at him. The traitorous little rat-dog runs back into the room.
All excited and shit. He jumps up, shaking his ass.
Ugly bug eyes about to fall out of the sides of his face.
Our son trots straight to her, picking her in the divorce, and now I’m stuck with the sucky dad custody.
“Wow,” I mutter, crushed from all angles. “Even my own son abandons me.”
Betrayed, stabbed, and left for dead by an eight-pound gremlin nestled against the tits that I wanted to suck.
“Sofia,” Massimo grits, voice rough, eyes shimmering again.
She turns, eyes softening just for him, but not enough to change her mind, just enough to hurt him worse.
“Thank you for taking me home.” She approaches me, kisses my cheek, and is out of arm’s reach before I can even think to grab her and hold her hostage. “Follow the instructions that Ryan gave you. Infection is always a risk, and I don’t want to see you back in my ICU. You hear me?”
There it is, back to nurse without the swinging gold hoops. My chest squeezes so tight it’s hard to breathe. Then she walks out, walks away. I’m left holding my brother’s shirt over my dick and wondering what the fuck just happened.
“I’ll be back. Let me know if you need anything while I’m out.”
Then he’s gone too, and I’m all alone. It’s the second-worst feeling in the world. Her leaving is the first. Space. She wanted it, and now it’s all I have. It’s downright miserable.
“But now I’m all alone.”