Page 87 of Bad Medicine
I didn’t know, but as we trudged back up the four flights of stairs—my legs and lungs very quickly reminding me that I really should be adding more cardio into my life—I realized it might not matter after this conversation anyway.
I had told Lexi all those weeks ago that I didn’t want to saddle Rocco with my baggage, and now that I had, it was looking like I had been right all along.
When we reached the ground floor again, Rocco helped me out of the hatchway, his grip firm and his skin hot against mine before he pulled away. Looking at him, I could see the anger simmering in his eyes, and I cringed inwardly for my part in it. Moving away from me, Rocco began pacing the smooth concrete floor next to his plane, the heels of his boots thudding aggressively in the quiet as he wore a path from one end of the aircraft to the other. His fists opened and closed repeatedly, his jaw muscles bunched, and every once in while, he ran one hand through his dark hair, growling under his breath the entire time.
“I’m sorry,” I said pre-emptively, wanting to cut right to the chase.
Rocco froze, eyes narrowed as he stared at me, his chest heaving, and I waited not so patiently for him to say something.
Anything.
“For what, exactly?”
“Um.” I licked my lips, confused. “I’m sorry for causing you trouble. I’m sorry that being with me has made things in your, uh, business difficult.” I had expected approval for my confession, but his face, if anything, only appeared angrier than before.
“Difficult?” he asked, incredulously. “You think that I’m mad because things with Gregor got...difficult?”
“Yes?”
“Fuck, Mia.” Blowing out a breath, Rocco shook his head. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?” I asked, my heart racing. “I was trying to fix it, Rocco. I was trying to—”
“You were leaving!” he snarled, cutting me off. “I get to your house, worried out of my mind that some Russian thug has hurt you—hurt Jasper—and you wereleaving!”
“Of course, we were leaving!” I shouted. “What the hell did you expect me to do?”
“I expected you to trust me,” he raged, pounding his palm against his chest. Taking a step back, I moved away from him, closer to the plane, like it could offer me an escape from his anger. “I expected you to call me. To tell me what had happened and to let me fuckin’ help you with it. Not to pack a bag and fuckin’ flee into the night. Were you even planning on telling me?” he questioned. “Or were you just gonna ghost me, leave me wondering what the hell had become of the two of you?”
“I—” I inhaled, my mind spinning at his words. I hated the feeling in my chest, the embarrassment I felt at my decision to just up and leave, but also the feeling of outrage at his accusation.
How dare he judge me for doing what I had to do in order to protect my son?
“I panicked, alright? I didn’t think of anything but getting us as far from Greg as I possibly could. I had no plan past that.”
For a moment, Rocco just stared at me, beautiful in his anger with his blue eyes more serious than I could ever remember seeing them, and I wondered what he was thinking. What he saw when he looked at me.
Did he see the weak woman I often felt like? The woman doing her very best to just keep her head above water, and still she felt like she was drowning?
I hoped he didn’t. I hoped that I could fool at least one person into thinking I wasn’t absolutely falling apart.
“You know,” he started, and I could hear the sadness in his voice. “I killed a man today.”
My eyes went wide at his casual confession, unsure of why he was telling me this. What he expected me to do with the information. Walking toward me, Rocco corralled me against the side of the plane, one hand on either side of my head. But, unlike when I had been in this position with Greg earlier, I felt no fear with Rocco.
Only passion. Excitement.
Desire.
“I killed him, shot him in the middle of the street like he was nothing, because of you. Because he dared to threatenyou.”
“Rocco,” I breathed, wanting to protest his words, but he didn’t stop.
“And when he was dead? When his brains were splattered all over the fuckin’ pavement at my feet, do you know what my first thought was?”
I shook my head, terrified to hear what he was about to say, but at the same time, desperate for it.
“My first thought was of you,” Rocco said earnestly, his eyes boring into mine, like he was pleading for me to understand. “My first thought was that I had to get to you, had to make sure that you and Jasper were safe. I thought of nothing in that moment—not the cops, not Enzo, not even myself—just you, Mia. Just you.”
