Page 56 of Hooked

Because I can’t.

Because he has to do that.

But I do want an explanation. I deserve one.

I unfold my legs and get up, picking my way through my family, who stare after me.

“I know where you live,” Evi shouts. “You better watch yourself!”

Seamus shushes her again. He’ll pay for that later I’m sure.

I follow him to the hallway and sit on the stairs. He slides down next to me, close but not touching. I keep my gaze on my knees.

“Sia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I’m not trying to make excuses for myself. But I need you to know that what I said isn’t true. It came from my own fear and had no basis in the reality of your relationship with your cousin.”

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

His hand moves closer to my leg, but he pulls it back.

“No one who truly sees you could ever forget you, Sia. Whether they want to or not.” He laughs wryly. “God knows I wanted to forget. Forget how you made me feel, and how I blew up at you like a coward.”

Normally I’d say something at this point. Something to absolve him and diminish my own feelings. But that’d be unfair. To both of us, honestly.

“I wanted to run,” he continues, clutching the box on his lap. “Go back to hiding from what happened in my past that shut me down.”

His honesty shocks the hell out of me, and my gaze snaps up to his face.

“But you’re right. Pain needs to be dealt with. And people.” He pauses and flashes me a grin. “Well, certain people are worth facing it for.”

Smiling with that split lip can’t be comfortable.

“I can’t be who I was before I met you, Sia. And even if you can’t forgive me, I had to see you again. To thank you for inspiring me to try again.”

He hands me the box.

“I want to be the man I saw reflected in your eyes when we danced at your party. Happy birthday.”

How did he know it was my birthday? I never mentioned it. Uncle Danny, maybe? I gingerly take the package from him. Silver ribbons are tied messily around green wrapping paper. I slowly undo the bows. Drew always used to yell at me to rip the paper—that I was being too precious about it.

I put the ribbons to the side and slide a finger under the tape at one end of the box. I follow the seams all the way around, and soon the paper is off in one piece. Vinny isn’t a very neat wrapper.

I pull the lid off the box. Inside is a book that looks like one of my portfolios, only slightly different. My business name is embossed in bolder letters across the red cover. I lift it out, and he moves the box out of the way, putting it on the stairs behind us.

I open the cover and flip through the pages. When I get to the last one—the event I did to raise money for a homeless shelter in Boston that serves a population deeply impacted by the opioid epidemic—I choke up.

“I took the originals to the historical society,” Vinny says. “The preservation team couldn’t make the originals like new, so they reproduced one for me instead. They can do the rest if you want. But I wanted you to have this one today. For your birthday.”

The tears pooling in my eyes threaten to cause water damage to this new book, so I close it, hugging it to my chest.

He inhales deeply.

“Sia, I’m so sorry for what I did. But from here on out I’ll fight like hell to be the man you deserve. If you want me, that is.” He goes to rub his hand over his face but winces at the pain and drops it on his lap.

What do you want, Sia?

I want to give and receive joy. I want to shine bright for myself as much as for anyone else. I want to believe I deserve love.

And I want to forgive Vinny. I don’t want to be a vessel for grief.

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