Page 97 of Whiskey Throttle
Anger ripples through me. I lean forward, wanting him to see how pissed I am.
“How fucking selfish can you be, Dom. Em is seriously hurt, and you wait around for people to call you? What the actual fuck? I've been up there as many hours as they'll let me, praying my fucking brains out for both brothers and sitting in the chapel as Massi cries like a fucking baby. And you're what, just sitting at home chilling like a little bitch?”
I don't hold back. He needs to hear it. Needs to be held accountable. Diego's right. His bullshit too. Not just mine.
Dom's off his bike in a flash, ready to beat my ass again. But this time, I won't hold back. I have the weight advantage here. I'll pummel him into the ground if that's the kind of shit he wants. Diego, with his damaged spine, won't be able to hold me back. It's one thing to hate my ass for what I did. It's another to take it out on Em because of it. I clear my leg over my bike, ready to go, when Diego slips in front of Dom, pushing against his chest to slow him.
“Don't fucking do it, Dom. You hear me. I'm fucking tired of this shit. I get you’re mad at the fucking world all the time. Holli got his head bashed and has been sleeping at my place. And the twins . . . Fuck, it's too fucking much.”
It's a scuffle between them.
Diego gains momentum between actions and words. I stand ready. Hands balled into fists. Blood pumps through my veins. Body tight in anticipation of this going sideways.
“You two fuckers don't know how lucky you have it,” Diego seethes between his teeth. Dom glares at me over his shoulder. “You both haven't had to deal with physical shit. Injuries, surgery, physical therapy, and pain meds that make you addicted. Em has a long fucking road ahead of him. You don't know it, but I do. I've been there. It's fucking lonely and scary. You think you might be better off dead.”
Dom stops struggling against Diego with that last statement. I still. Never have I heard Diego say he's had dark thoughts. Dark enough to think the world without him would be a better place. Dark enough to get addicted to pain meds.
“Holy shit.”
My surprise leaks out. Diego turns, keeping his shoulder against Dom's chest, to look at me.
“Is that true, D?” I continue, looking from him to Dom, who's strangely quiet. His face is still a mask of fury, but his body is not coiled and ready to pounce.
“Yeah, how could you not. One minute you're at the top of the world. The next, you need a nurse to help you pee. Fuck, don’t even think about getting your dick hard. That's impossible with all the pain meds and shit they give you.”
He's spiraling down a past we only knew about from the bits and pieces he's shared. Now he's taking us into the deep crevices of where the mind goes when the body doesn't work. It's fucking terrifying.
“No one understands it. The hospital room is crowded as hell, but you're the only one going through it. You're laid up in that fucking bed at the mercy of every nurse and doctor in the place. A fucking pin cushion. But everyone who visits gets to come and go as they please. They get to leave behind the tragic accident and return to their regular lives. Unaffected. That's you two fuckers.”
He leans away from Dom. Splitting the space to stand with a shoulder to both of us. Ready to act if necessary, but giving us breathing room to process what he's saying
“You, asshole, are holed up in that fucking tower you live in, not giving a shit about anyone but how pissed you deserve to be. I get it. It's fucked that he's seeing your mom. I'd go berserk too. You have every right to feel what you feel, man. But you're also fucking healthy, even with this shit.”
He wrestles the vape from Dom's hand. I didn't even know where it went in the scuffle. Diego drops it to the ground and crushes it under the heel of his boot.
“You don't even come and go. You hide away, and that shit's not good either.”
He's inches from Dom's face, speaking the truth. Yet Dom, for his part, doesn't flinch. His scowl softens. Only his eyes flicker down to look for the remnants of his vape.
“And you fucker, crying in my guest bedroom.”
His full attention turns to me. I open my mouth to say he's wrong when Dom's eyes flip up to mine. It's not cool that Diego's calling me out. It's too much candor. Makes me too vulnerable.
“I don't?—"
“Yeah, you do. I hear it, man. It breaks my fucking heart. My family is in crisis right now, and I fucking hate it. This shit between you two can't fester any longer. Deal with it. Now. Here. Tonight. Because my brother is laid up in a bed where he can't stand here and be pissed about bullshit things.”
Diego stabs the air with his finger in the direction of the hospital.
“Ah, he fucked my mom, and I have unresolved mommy issues, boo fucking who,” he mimics a crying kid that gets Dom to raise his eyebrows in surprise. “I'm so sad to lose my best friend and his smoking hot mom that looks like her son, no one fucking cares.”
“Fucking brutal,” Dom mutters, locking eyes with me.
“Damn, D,” I echo Dom's sentiments.
Diego is minimizing all my pain and sadness to nothing. Making fun of me for being upset. It's a normal fucking feeling to grieve what we were starting.
With a ragged breath, he wipes his eyes and starts walking back toward his bike. The limp he always carries is more prominent. Before he gets there, he turns around and points at both of us.
