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“Oh, I know,” she sasses back, waving a wooden spoon in the air. “I don’t need reminding of that.”
If the food didn’t smell so good, I would refuse to eat it. But spaghetti puttanesca is my favourite, and only Carina can cook like Mum can.
I shovel a forkful into my mouth and let out a moan. I’ve only been allowed soft foods since I woke up after surgery, and although Mum has been cooking soup to make up for the awful hospital food, it feels good to finally be back eating something with texture.
When Carina begins to bang around in the kitchen, putting stuff in the washer, I finally give in. She’s been acting like this since the very first moment she saw me in hospital. If this was my mum, who is full Italian, there would be no tip-toeing around it. Mum would have already given me an hour-long lecture. Which I know for a fact because it’s exactly what she did.
“Carina, just spit it out before you give yourself an ulcer. Or give me one.”
I hear the washer tray get pushed in seconds before I hear it close. I keep eating, waiting for her to join me. When she does, her expression is thunderous, her soft, tan skin brightening at the cheeks.
“You want to know what’s wrong?”
“Yes,” I reply, scooping more food onto my fork.
Shit, this is good.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I told you working there was a mistake. You don’t owe him anything, most certainly not your life.”
“I thought you liked Evan.”
“I love Evan and his family,” she rushes out, flicking her chestnut-coloured hair behind her ear. She’s the only sibling, aside from me, who didn’t inherit our mum’s black hair. I got my dad’s light, sandy blonde hair, and Carina is in between. “But you started there under the belief that you had to, Ben. And look where it’s got you. I know this is the worst it’s ever been but don’t think for a second you hide the other stuff. I’ve seen the bruises, I’ve read about the close calls in the papers, and I heard your nightmares at the hospital. You need to quit.”
I finish chewing my food before placing the plate to the side, on the portable tray Mum purchased for me. “Carina, you can’t ask me to do that.”
“Yes, I can. I’m your sister, for God’s sake. Do you think it was fun getting that call from Mum about you being in hospital? Because I can tell you, it brought me to my knees, brother. It wasn’t even a surprise because I live waiting for that call. Lucca is safe now. You don’t owe Evan anything, and you never did. Anyone in your situation would have done the same.”
“He saved me from prison,” I tell her, watching her eyes widen. “Mum and I decided to keep it from you, but that’s what my future held. The police saw my tattoos, they saw me with Mum, and labelled me a thug. I didn’t see a way out and neither did my lawyer. I was going to go to prison for gang related crimes and I would still be there if it wasn’t for Evan. He believed me, and saw something those policemen didn’t. He fought for my freedom and won. So yes, I owe him, but I don’t work there because of that. He showed me there is a safe way to get justice and that there are loads of people out there like Lucca. Like me. They need help, Carina, and I provide that.”
A tear rolls down her cheek. “When you put it like that, how can I argue? What you’re doing is noble, but at the same time, stupid. I don’t want to lose you like we lost Dad. You mean too much to us, and I don’t think we’ll get through that grief a second time. Mum is the centre of our world, but you are the glue that keeps us together. This was too close a call, Ben. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”
“I won’t sit here and promise you anything because it would be a lie. I don’t know what the future holds. But I can promise you I won’t be taking on any more serial killer cases.”
“Just please… if it gets too much, or you think the situation is becoming dangerous, ask for help. I don’t want to visit you in the hospital again.”
“Aww, you do care,” I tease.
She rolls her eyes. “No, the parking is way too expensive, dickhead. You owe me seventy pounds.”
“Think of it as partially paying me back the three hundred I loaned you for university.” It wasn’t really for university and we both know it. She’ll just never admit it.
She tilts her head to the side, her forehead creasing. “Ben,” she whines.
I hold up three fingers. “Three years ago.”
“Arsehole.”
I chuckle, forgetting my stitches for a minute. “Is that why you’ve been in such a foul mood?”
“Yes. I’m mad at you for getting hurt. You told me it wasn’t dangerous.”
“Because I didn’t want you to worry about me.”
“We all worry about you. Mum worries you don’t eat enough, Stefania worries about you being alone, I worry about you getting killed, and I think Lucca worries he’ll let you down.”
“For starters, Mum worries about everyone not eating enough. Stefania just wants to be an aunt before she becomes a mum. Yours is valid but is never going to happen. And Lucca has never let me down,” I argue. “And you missed Bella.”
“Isabella might have everyone fooled with that phone of hers, but I see her. She pays more attention than people think. She doesn’t particularly worry about stuff because she’d rather fix or approach a problem than stress over it.”
