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Jeanie
Iopen my eyes and stare at the one thing I never thought I’d see again: Gavino’s ceiling. Back to where I started a day earlier.
He’s still asleep beside me. He’s breathing deeply, slowly, and I don’t look over. If I look, I’m going to want to kiss him, touch him, feel something with him—but I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
Instead, I get out of bed and slip into the bathroom. I shut the door softly so he doesn’t wake up and stand in front of the mirror.
My face is a wreck from Benedict’s abuse. I’m bruised and exhausted. I reach up and touch the stitches on the back of my skull where Benedict sawed into my flesh. The terror of that moment, the agony and helplessness, it hits me like a flash. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can still hear the gunshots. I can still feel Benedict’s pressure on my back.
Romano tried to shield me from the bastard’s end, but I saw it all. I watch Gavino shoot him in the face. I watched Benedict crumple into nothing.
I close my eyes and hold back the tears.
Gavino’s apologies are like salt on my tongue. I want them so badly, but they’re too much. They make me feel dry and exhausted, and I don’t know how to feel. I want to forgive him—I want to throw myself into his arms—but that’s pathetic.
He tossed me aside. He threw me away.
But it’s not his fault that I ended up captured by Benedict.
I can blame Gavino for being an asshole. That’s not hard to do and he won’t deny it, but I know he blames himself for my stupid actions. I was the one that chose to chase down the bookie. I was the one that walked around in broad daylight when I knew that Benedict and Malcolm might be after me. I made those decisions. Gavino was the one that tried to get me out of the state, and if I’d listened and gone to the airport, none of this would’ve happened.
I prod at the stitches and grimace at the pain.
I brush my teeth and take a hot shower. When I’m done, I grab clothes and start dressing, only to realize Gavino’s not in bed anymore. I frown a bit, not sure where he went, and head into the living area.
He’s sitting on the couch. In front of him is a room service trolley laden with breakfast: coffee, scones, eggs, bacon, bagels and fruit. He looks over and a small smile drifts onto his lips, but it quickly disappears.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I hesitate, staying across the room from him. I want to cross the space between us so desperately it hurts, but I can’t, not yet.
“Tired,” I say. “You?”
“Same. And foolish.” He nods at the trolley. “I got this for you. I didn’t know what you’d want, so I asked for a little of everything.”
“Coffee, please.”
He fills a mug and adds a splash of cream and a dash of sugar, just how I like it. He brings it over and I accept it from him, but I don’t move.
He lingers there, looming, so big and strong. I sip the cup and my hand’s trembling. Why am I being like this? Why can’t I let myself feel happy?
Because I’m afraid he’ll do it again.
“Jeanie,” he says softly, pain etched into his face. “I fucked up.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I need you to understand how deeply Sonia broke me. She lefts scars in ways I never understood until you showed up. Being with you shined a light on all my darkness, and it scared me. It fucking terrified me. So when I found out that Malcolm is your father—” He pauses, wincing and looking away. “I lost it. I was afraid I’d spiral into hell again, and by being afraid, I let myself do it. I made you leave and I wanted to kill myself just to make the hurting stop. And you know what would’ve been simpler?”
“Talking to me,” I say quietly, holding up the cup to block a little told-you-so smile.
“Talking to you. Explaining how I felt. Hearing your side of everything. We could’ve done that so differently, but I let my emotions control me, and I’m sorry.”
He falls to his knees. This time, I don’t sink down with him. He stays there and takes my hand. It feels so warm and strong, and I release a soft whimper from my throat. He comes closer, pulling me against him, nuzzling his cheek against my chest and breasts and pulling me tight. I whimper again, and tears roll down my cheeks until I put the cup down on a side table and hug him tight.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, holding me, digging his fingers into my back. God, it feels good, his touch feels so damn good. “I’ll never let you down again, Jeanie. I swear it, if you let me, I’ll prove that I can be the man you deserve.”
“Gavino,” I whisper and he looks up. I nod once and he stands slowly and kisses me.
