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“I won’t either,” he said, smiling softly. “I won’t leave you again.”
“You swear?”
“You fucking know I do.”
She laughed, eyeing Carmine curiously as she sat up. She placed her right hand on his cheek, gently stroking his skin and brushing her thumb along his mouth. “Have you been crying?”
“Maybe,” he replied, leaning forward to softly press his lips to hers. She didn’t pull away that time, didn’t turn her head. Instead, she moved her mouth in rhythm with his. It was sweet, and innocent, but it was enough.
He ducked his head and nuzzled into her neck, inhaling deeply as he kissed the exposed skin. Her presence was overwhelming, the touch and scent and taste of her driving him wild.
“Do you still feel that?” he asked, nipping at the skin near her collarbone. “The electricity between us? Please tell me you feel it.”
“I feel it,” she whispered.
“I need you, Haven,” he said, his voice cracking as the words caught in his throat.
“I know.”
A strangled sob escaped his throat, the sound causing her to grip him tighter, and she whispered quietly as he cried in her arms. He couldn’t seem to stop himself—she destroyed his walls all over again, broke Carmine down so it all came flooding out.
42
Life was a whirlwind, each day rapidly morphing into the next. Haven stayed with Carmine, things between them relaxed as she made herself at home. It was platonic, except for the occasional kiss and gentle touch.
Exhausted, Carmine grew wearier every day. Nightmares plagued his sleep and he tried his best to stay sober, but the liquor seemed to call to him. Haven never said a word about it, but he could see the concern in her eyes whenever she saw him take a drink. The looks got to Carmine, guilt chipping away at him every time he swallowed the harsh liquid.
But it wasn’t enough to make him stop.
Despite that, things were going well—almost too well, in fact. Carmine was waiting for everything to cave in around them. It felt too good to be true, like he had missed the fine print listing an expiration date.
People left them alone, though, much to his surprise. He thought for sure his brother would be knocking the door down to see Haven, or Corrado would be calling to deal with business, but there was nothing.
No visits, no phone calls, not a goddamn thing.
It was almost a week later when there was finally a knock on the door. Carmine begrudgingly opened it, surprised to see a mailman standing on the porch. He glanced down at an envelope in his hand, squinting as he read the name. “Carmine DeMarco?”
“That’s me.”
“Certified mail,” he replied, handing a small card to Carmine to sign. He scribbled down his name before giving it back, and he handed Carmine the letter. He thanked him before shutting the door, strolling to the living room and plopping down on the couch beside Haven. He saw it was from the lawyer and tore the envelope open, pulling out a piece of paper.
“What’s that?” Haven asked.
His eyes scanned the letter. “They’re reading my father’s will on Monday. Apparently he left me something.”
“Why do you sound surprised?” she asked. “You’re his son.”
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging as he set the paper down. “It still doesn’t feel real. I mean, I know it is—I know he’s gone. I fucking saw it. But it’s still hard to believe it really happened.”
“I bet,” she replied. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head. “That’s the last thing I even want to think about right now.”
“Okay,” she said, leaning over and pushing Carmine backward on the couch. She wrapped her arms around him and settled her head onto his chest as he grabbed the remote, turning on the TV and flipping through channels. They stayed that way the rest of the evening, forgetting about everything except what was happening within the walls of the house.
Once again, it didn’t last. The next day, at the same exact time, there was another knock on the door. Carmine grumbled as he walked over to it, pulling the door open. The same mailman was standing on the porch, holding a familiar-looking envelope in his hand. “Fucking déjà vu. Weren’t you just here for this shit?”
He nodded and looked down at the envelope in his hand. “Haven Antonelli?”
