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“You come and go, there’s no way to get in touch with you. I know because they talk, and we’re all in the same place for the time being. Well, Libby talks,” she added quickly. “And it worries me for my son when he’s already suffered so much. I want him to be happy, and I want him to have things he thinks he can’t . . . but I see what he won’t because he’s too caught up in you.”
I stared at her blankly, waiting for her to acknowledge who I was.
“He’s found the first girl to make him feel again, but I would rather him hurt for a while longer than be played by you until you decide you’re done with him and disappear.”
When I realized she wasn’t going to continue—that she was finished with her rant—I let the blank mask lift from my face.
Disappearing was something I’d been planning forever, but it wasn’t something a Borello would know. Hell, Beck didn’t even know.
I thought back through everything she’d said about me, thinking about it through her eyes, a mother looking out for her son whose fiancée had been taken too soon, slowly nodding as I did. “I understand.”
My stare fell to the table as I opened my mouth to speak again. Every explanation to all of her worries was on the tip of my tongue, but somehow felt wrong.
“I could try to reassure you, but they would only be reassurances from a girl you don’t know, and a girl who is already worrying you. They wouldn’t mean much.” I met her steady gaze. “However, he saved me, and I think—given time—I might save him from what’s haunting him.”
“You know,” she assumed, her voice low.
I dipped my head in confirmation. “But he wasn’t the one to tell me.”
I wanted to tell her I was sorry for her loss, because clearly it would’ve been her loss as well, but I didn’t kn
ow how when the reason for it was sitting directly in front of her.
Instead, I found myself saying, “The thing is . . . we’re not meant to be. And yet, I’m positive I was made for your son, and he was made for me. I fell in love with him knowing the universe would do anything to prevent it. And it’s an irreversible, world-changing kind of love.”
Sofia studied me for a long while before asking, “And my son knows you feel this way?”
“No,” I answered honestly. “Because like you said . . . I come and go. But I have no intention of playing him and then leaving him.”
“I wasn’t expecting anything that honest, and I don’t think I’ll get anything better than those answers.” She cast me a little grin. “I should probably get back to work before Demitri comes in and catches me grilling you.”
“Sofia,” I called out when she slid out of the booth and turned to leave. “Do you think it’s possible to love someone after a tragedy?”
“You want to know if my son loves you?”
I shook my head, because of all the reasons I’d asked that question, that hadn’t been one of them.
I wanted to know if she thought love was possible after all she’d been through since she’d never married again.
I wanted to know if love was possible for Kieran after everything he’d seen—after losing his best friend. After losing me.
I wanted to know if love was possible for Dare when his heart was so full of hatred and his mind so set on revenge.
I wanted to know if it was wrong of me to love after having witnessed both of my brothers killed in front of me.
I wanted to know from the mother in front of me, because mine had never recovered after the loss of my brothers.
She stepped forward with a soft smile playing on her lips, and bent to rest her arms on the table, her face close to mine. “There are tragedies all around us, Elle. Every minute, every hour, every day. Without love, there would be no reason to stand back up and fight. Without love, there would be no reason to live.”
With a gentle squeeze of my hand, she pushed away from the table and left me alone with my thoughts. Left me alone with hope.
I stared down my mom as she walked away from Elle, and was met with a challenging glare offset by her warm smile. But instead of stopping or saying a word, she just gestured to Elle with her eyes and continued to the back.
Palming the scrap of paper, I kept my pace steady as I walked toward the girl I’d been aching to see, and slid the paper onto the table in front of her as I passed by to sit across from her.
The soft inhale that came from where she sat was enough for me. The unknown . . . it was worth it.
God, what was she doing to me?
