Page 14 of Spring Break with a Mafia Prince
My heart panged in my chest. “I know, Dad.”
He’d taken all her photos down after we lost her, saying it hurt too much to see her. I wondered now what he felt every time he looked at me.
My steps took me too fast into the kitchen. My hip collided with the corner of the marble bench top where I’d left Falcon's jacket. I hissed breath through my teeth at the shot of pain that tore through me, rubbing my hand over the spot that would be sure to bruise. I always marked up fast. As a kid I’d been covered in spots Mom used to be certain was dirt until it wouldn't washoff. I laughed softly at the memory as I opened and closed cupboard doors with no actual plan in mind.
This is not working out so well.
“What do you want me to make for dinner?” I limped back into the upstairs living area to find Dad’s head slumped over one shoulder.
He snored fairly efficiently, so I figured he wasn’t going to suffocate. Sighing, I propped him up with pillows, grabbed a tub of blackberries from the fridge, and headed out the back to the wrap around verandah. A short flight of stairs took me to the rooftop where I curled on the terrace, staring out at the flickering lights of Love Beach.
At one end of the town all the buildings were clustered about—the shopping area and tourist traps, plus the bigger resorts and even a nightclub or two. Then there was the large marina right in front of that and the boardwalk that wound through everything like an endless snake.
But if I traced that same board walk all the way along, it led to the cliff tops to my left, much farther away from the town itself. A smaller bay with a tiny marina and longer jetty sparkled with the lights of the boats moored there, the few occupants who were still awake at this hour.
I grimaced belatedly, realizing how long I'd left my father alone for, knowing he didn’t cope well on his own after dark. Especially here, in a place where he and Mom had been so close in the years during her supposed remission and the treatments that came afterward.
The tears that threatened in the house brewed and fell without any prior warning or shot of pain to wash them away. I dug my fingers into my palms, and when that didn’t work, I stabbed my nails into my ankles.
But the grief refused to stop and poured out of me until my tears covered the backs of my hands. I hung my head, letting myhair blow around in a knotty mess as the night wind picked up as it often did here, the edge of Spring’s cold kiss numbing my skin after a while.
Or maybe that was the pain I refused to accept.
My father wasn’t the only one with grief issues.
It took my phone several beeps to tell me I had incoming messages.
“Sorry,” I muttered my apology out of pure habit to the inanimate object as I checked the unknown number, straining through my blurred vision to read the texts.
UNKNOWN: I enjoyed today.
UNKNOWN: Be able to sleep better if I knew I could see you tomorrow.
UNKNOWN: Make it a date, my Bella.
I swallowed hard.My Bella.My thumb fumbled the keypad in my haste to reply as I saved his name in my phone.
BELLA: You really are crazy. I didn’t give you this number.
FALCON: Perks of the crazy that’s me, I guess.
BELLA: Keep your crazy over there.
BELLA: But thank you for today.
FALCON: You’re welcome. I enjoyed myself.
BELLA:
FALCON: I know you enjoyed what we did. You can say it.
BELLA: I did. Thank you.
FALCON: I heard you whisper that. I’ll see you tomorrow.
BELLA: Maybe
I closed my phone, and stared out at the dark water. The tiny lights on the very much not tiny boat where I knew Falcon would be tonight — sleeping or otherwise — beckoned me.
