“Okay…” I drew out the word and looked back at my two remaining options. “I guess I could wear the khaki pants? But pants always look stupid on me.”
“As opposed to what?” Phoenix scowled. “Pants are clothes. In order to go to class, you need to wear clothes. I really don’t see a problem. Wear the khaki pants, white pullover, and pair it with one of the sweaters. You can’t go wrong. We done here?”
I nodded, words getting caught in my throat. I didn’t find my voice until he was halfway out my door. Running away. Again. “Thanks,” I called.
A grunt was his response.
Defeated, I crumpled onto the bed.
Maybe I should move on. But I had no one to move on to and nowhere to go. My brother and his new wife were living in marital bliss, and I got the hint early on that they needed that alone time, what with him being the new Cappo to all the families and nearly dying.
Drama. That’s what the mafia brought my life. Drama and loneliness. I had no place to fit. I didn’t fit with my brother in his home, and I didn’t fit with Phoenix at the giant house that felt more like a mausoleum than anything.
Bored out of my mind, I lay back on the bed and tried to think of something else.
School.
I could focus on school. Focus on getting my degree. And maybe, just maybe, if I focused hard enough. I wouldn’t cry myself to sleep — like I’d done every night since I was old enough to know what tears were.
CHAPTER THREE
Breathing is necessary in order to survive — right?
Phoenix
I STORMED THROUGH THE house, ran down the stairs, and damn near collided with Sergio when I entered the kitchen.
“Where’s the fire?” He scowled, arching a brow in my direction before opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water.
I didn’t trust my voice not to shake, didn’t trust myself to hold the scream in. I couldn’t deal with her, I seriously couldn’t. Her smell, the way she smiled, her body heat. Damn, I couldn’t even breathe the same air as her without suffocating with want.
“A man of so many words.” Sergio smirked and tossed me a bottle of water. “Tex is on his way.”
“His way?” I croaked. “Where?”
“Here.”
“Why?”
Sergio rolled his eyes. “Do I look like Gossip Girl? I didn’t ask, and frankly I don’t care.”
Clearly Sergio was still bitter that he’d been on the losing end of that love triangle. Mo Abandonato had chosen Tex early on — there was nothing Sergio could do; hell, the man wasn’t even on the same playing field. Not that I was going to be the bearer of such chipper news. Like I should talk. I couldn’t even look at a girl without getting sick — without wanting to vomit. Without remembering the way I’d treated them in the past.
Without remembering how I’d treated Trace, Nixon’s wife.
I clenched the water bottle tighter in my hand.
The doorbell rang.
Sergio didn’t move.
I stared at the wall.
Screwed up, that’s what we were.
“I’ll get it.” Bee’s voice carried through the house.
I ignored the way it made me feel, ignored the goose bumps, ignored the desire flaring inside. I would not, could not go there. Ever.
“Honey, I’m home!” Tex’s booming voice elicited a groan from Sergio and a half-smirk from me.
One thing I could count on? Tex’s ability to piss Sergio off just by breathing the same air. Kind of made my constant darkness not feel so dark when someone else was suffering worse.
“In here.” I took another drink of water and waited.
Heavy footsteps pounded against the wood floor, drifting in from the foyer. When they appeared in the doorway, Tex had his arm wrapped around Bee. He whispered something in her ear, and then she disappeared, skipping — right, skipping! — out of sight. Her happiness was like a homing beacon for someone like me, a starved man, a man in such desperate need for something light that he’d do anything to take it, to take her.
“So…” Tex popped his knuckles and took a seat at the barstool in front of me. “How goes life, Phoenix?”
“Why…” I set the water bottle down calmly. “…do I get the sudden feeling that you’re going to ask me to do something I really don’t want to do?”
Sergio moved to the opposite end of the table and watched. That was what he did best, watched and waited to make his move.
Tex smirked. I ground my teeth together. This couldn’t be good. A personal visit?
“You could have texted.” I sniffed, looking down at my hands.
“I text you about this, you read said text, throw your phone against the wall, grab your passport, and hightail your ass out of the country.”
“That bad, huh?” I tried to keep my tone light — tried and failed if Tex’s sudden dark scowl was any indicator.
“I know you have your own shit going on with the Nicolasi family.”
Great, that was just great. Remind me that my mentor was dead, and I was in charge of a multi-million dollar crime family that wanted nothing to do with me. And the coals just keep getting heaped. Oh look, Hell.
“But, I don’t feel comfortable about this and neither does Nixon… Chase doesn’t get a vote because Chase doesn’t feel comfortable about anything these days when it comes to you… no offense.”
“None taken.” Kinda hard not to be offended when Chase still hated me, but whatever. I couldn’t fix it. It was my fault in the first place. I was surprised that Nixon still spoke to me and that Trace looked at me in the eye and had the nerve to invite me to Sunday dinners. I refused all her mass invitations on account that I was pretty confident God would strike me dead for walking on holy ground. Didn’t want to test it. Not yet at least.