Page 98 of Always Mine
It’s cathartic to finally share every detail—the good, the bad, and the ugly—with my best friend, the guy I’ve always considered a brother.
“Why didn’t you just tell me what happened with my asshole dad? We would have found another way.”
“I honestly thought I was doing the right thing. I knew how badly you—we—wanted a shot at success. Bella Donna was your way to show him you have a brilliant mind for business. I couldn’t bring myself to take that from you.”
“So instead you gave up a fuck ton then carried the burden in silence for six fucking years?” he says with incredulity. “We’ve always trusted each other enough to share the load of our problems; you should’ve come to me.”
“I just thought why make it harder, when your dad made it sound like a simple solution. I guess I convinced myself it was a little pain for a lot of gain. I just didn’t bank on things necessarily going like this.”
“Fuck, bro. You’re a better man that me.”
His words strike a chord that sets off another round of self-loathing. The memories of Sophia’s tear-streaked face then and now play behind my eyes like a dual timeline. Am I really a better man than Patrick, or am I just like him? Withholding the truth to manipulate outcomes. Making decisions on behalf of other people I have no business speaking for.
I need to get home. I need Sophia.
Sebastian’s phone vibrates again. “Pocket Rocket” flashes on the screen. There’s only one girl I know by that nickname.
“Bro, is that Evie messaging you at booty call o’clock?” I give him a sly smile.
“She’s probably just checking in to see everything is okay. As a friend,” he emphasizes, his discontent evident.
Hmmm, interesting.
“Sebastian ‘Most Eligible Playboy’ Prinzi friend-zoned? That’s a fucking first.”
“Yeah. Something like that,” he concedes, as he checks his message. Whatever’s there takes him by surprise, and his lips tip up into a secretive smile. “Listen, as your best friend, I feel like it’s my duty of care to point out that if you want any chance of becoming my brother for real, you need to get your fucking ass home to Sophia.” Turning serious, he grabs me and pulls me in for hug and a backslap. “This shit ends tonight, yeah? We’re in this together or not at all. No more secrets.”
No more secrets. Time for me to be the better man.
Chapter sixty-nine
Better Man
Marco
It’sgone2a.m.by the time I finally drive into that garage. I throw open my door at the same time as I depress the brake fully and put the car in park. I’m vibrating with the need to make things right, to confirm she’s still here. I stride through the house just short of breaking into a jog, my mouth dry and my heart thumping in my chest. I check the lounge room, but she’s not there, so I go straight to the bedroom. And the sight makes me double over like I’ve been kicked in the guts. I pull in deep breaths like I’ve been winded because she looks so fragile curled up in the fetal position in the middle of the bed wearing one of my hoodies. Like a fallen angel. And I’m the fucking bastard who broke her. I quietly cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed, close enough to be able to reach out and stroke her soft, makeup free face. The puffiness under her eyes and the reddened tip of her nose tell she’s been crying, and it chips away another piece of me. I did this to her, and now I must make it better. Do better. I continue lightly stoking her cheekbone, pushing away the hair that’s fallen free from the messy bun on her head. She stirs, groggily calling for me. “Marco, is that you?” She pushes herself up to sitting slowly.
“It’s me, baby,” I say as I kick off my shoes and shuffle closer to face her on the bed, taking both her hands in mine and drawing circles on her wrists with my thumbs. She instantly tears up again. “I’m so sorry, Sophia. I didn’t mean for you to find out that way. I had every intention of telling you.”
“When, Marco?” she whispers. “That night I showed up on your doorstep, my heart in my hands, we promised each other no more secrets—except here you are with an entire closet full of them.” Her face is stricken, like just saying the words wounds her again.
“You’ve had so many chances to set the record straight, but you keep deflecting. I think deep down I knew that, and some tiny part of me was waiting for this to all just blow up and kill what little belief I had in my own judgement.”
I cuff her neck tenderly and press my forehead to hers. “Ask me anything. I’ll tell you.”
“Tell me everything. Do not leave one fucking detail out.”
So I do. I start from that summer in the Hamptons and tell her every little thing that has brought us to this very moment. I tell her about the fight I had with her dad a few weeks ago, the file I’ve been keeping on Arty, including incriminating evidence of his drug use and treatment of women. I tell her about the businesses I have with AJ and my latest move to buy a controlling stake in GG’s media company, meaning she no longer requires Belmont Media’s backing. I answer every question she asks and apologize at any opportunity possible.
“I have something to tell you too,” she says after I finish telling her about where we got up to tonight with our own investigation into who was responsible for tampering our gas mains and how I suspect Arty orchestrated it.
“I went and met GG for a drink. She told me everything,” she says, peering up at me from under lashes. “Including how you basically paid for sponsored posts to cement your playboy reputation and the reason you fell out with her.”
“As I told you, I did what I thoughtI had to do.”
“I know, and now GG is going to help me—well, us.” The crestfallen look she gives asks,is there still an us?Instead of letting it divert our conversation, she keeps talking, outlining the plan she’s hatched with GG.
“Sophia, Arty’s dangerous. I don’t want—”
