Chapter 21

21

Feeling like more of an asshole than I've ever felt in my whole life, I walked into my house.

My guilt and shame were no longer at war. After hours of sitting on my father's ratty-assed couch watching my father stare at a portrait of his dead wife and daughter, I snapped. The results of that were not pretty.

My father had a total and complete drunken breakdown—twenty-seven years too late—but he'd come apart, nonetheless.

The fallout was ugly, leaving more scars on my already mutilated soul. The only thing that was solved by having a front row seat to my father's trauma was the understanding I couldn't change him. I could spend the rest of my life feeling guilty, begging, pleading, wishing, wanting. Until he wanted to deal with the grief in a healthy way there was nothing I could do.

This wasn't the movies or the 1980's TV show I once thought my life emulated, with a happy mom and dad and the perfect family who could weather any storm and everything would be fixed in a sixty-minute episode.

This was life.

Gus Malone was an irredeemable alcoholic.

I finally accepted it.

At some point during his break as I watched him throw everything he could get his hands on around the house I came to accept something else. I was not him.

I was me, the kid who had a great start at life. The kid who knew a bounty of love. A kid with a great sister who was sweet, and once I gave myself time to remember her I couldn't stop thinking about how funny she was. I'd had a mom who baked really great birthday cakes and always made her family feel special. Who loved me.

Then I became the teenager who lost what I'd been granted for a short while.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Life. Loss. Tragedy. I was not special. I was not the only person on the planet who had bad shit happen to them. Neither was my father. Plenty of men tragically lost their wives or children.

I was not Gus Malone.

But I was a coward.

That realization was what drove me to a place I'd never been.

I wish I could say sitting with my mom and sister in a dark cemetery had given me peace, or even a sense of peace, but it didn't. What I found was closure. The day I watched their caskets being lowered into the ground was the last I'd been there.

Guilt.

I'd given my life over to guilt.

Guilty I was a shit son—I couldn't save my father from his drinking. I couldn't find it in me to visit my mom. I didn't love Vienna enough to put flowers on her grave.

The relief I felt when I found Sophie sleeping on my couch was a living and breathing entity that filled my house with hope.

I'd fucked up—huge.

I had one shot at making this right and suddenly the relief I'd felt turned to fear.

She was it for me.

Before I could decide if I was going to pick Sophie up and take her to my bed or sit on the chair and watch her sleep, her eyes came open.

The prettiest eyes I'd ever seen.

Intelligent eyes that held me hostage.

I knew she saw through me when her expression softened.

But then, she always saw, and I hoped she always would.

Still, I gave her what she needed to hear first.

"I'm sorry for every fucked-up word I said. I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I let you down. I'm sorry I hurt you and I promise you I will never do it again. "

Sophie pushed her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear.

"You'll hurt me again," she whispered.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .

"I won't, Soph?—"

"You will," she asserted. "It's impossible not to spend time with someone, especially someone you care about, and expect to never hurt their feelings. It happens. It will happen. I will hurt your feelings, you'll hurt mine. That's just the way of the world."

Spend time with someone .

I held onto those words like a lifeline.

Before I could come up with something to say, she beat me to it. "Are you here to go to battle?"

Hell yes, I was.

We were battling it out until I convinced her to forgive my fool ass.

"Yes."

Sophie immediately untucked her legs, rolled to sit, then finally took her feet. And when she did, she squared up.

Magnificent.

So fucking beautiful in her bravery.

"Right. I'm not leaving."

"No, baby, you're not. And if I can state my case and you forgive me I'm never letting you go."

"I'm not?" She shook her head. "You're not?"

"Nope. Not ever letting you go."

That's when she broke .

This time it wasn't her hands that were shaking. It was her whole body. I was across the room scooping her into my arms just as her first tear fell.

"Please don't cry," I begged. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm such a motherfucker."

Without warning she pinched the back of my biceps.

Goddamn, that hurt .

"That's what happens when you call yourself a name," she growled.

The growl was sexy. The irritation on her face cute. The pinch would've also been cute if she hadn't been trying to tear the skin.

"Copy."

I remained silent all the way back to the bedroom and waited until I gently deposited her on the bed before I said, "Get comfortable, Sophie, I need to change."

No way in fuck was I crawling into bed with the filth of my father's house still lingering on my clothes.

I rushed to change, went to the bathroom to wash my hands, and scrubbed nearly as hard as I did the day I was cleansing the naked woman from my skin. That seemed to be a theme—me always trying to wash someone else's mess out of my life.

By the time I got back to bed, Sophie was on her side, watching the bathroom door.

Waiting.

Christ, I was a dick. I'd made her wait all day and into the night for me to come home.

"Did you eat? "

"No. But I'm not hungry and I swear if you try to force food on me when all I want you to do is get in this bed with me and talk to me, I swear I'll get creative in my violence."

I had no doubt.

With her pinch fresh in my mind, I let the topic of food go, hit the lights, and crawled in next to her.

"Turn, baby. I want to hold you."

"I want to see your face," she whispered and offered her hand.

When I took it, her other hand immediately came up to bracket mine between hers.

My sweet Sophie.

After everything I put her through she was offering me comfort when she should have kicked me in the balls and made me get to my knees and beg her for forgiveness.

"I went back to my dad's."

There wasn't enough light in the room for me to see her clearly but it looked like she was frowning.

"The first few hours we sat there in silence. I don't know if he knew I was even there. He was just staring at the family picture."

"The one above the couch?"

As fucked up as earlier had been I was now relieved she knew, that she'd seen him, and how he lived. No one else knew, just her.

"My mom was so excited the day that picture was taken. Our first professional family picture. I thought it was goofy as shit, all of us dressed in jeans and white shirts."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve." A year and a few months later and half that family was gone. "Vienna was just happy Mom let her wear lip gloss. Dad's decree was no makeup until Vivi turned thirteen. He used to tell her she was too beautiful to put that stuff on her face. He was always telling her how pretty she was, that God had blessed him with a daughter who looked like her momma. Before we left the house that day, he grabbed the back of my neck and told me I was the best son a man could have, humoring my mom, being cool about the picture even though he knew I was missing baseball practice. That was him. Always finding his times to tell us how much he loved us."

I had to stop as the bittersweet memories of a father I no longer had tumbled through my head. A man I was proud to have as a father. A man I wanted to be just like.

"It took like three months for Mom to get that big-ass print back from the photographer. It took her forever to get it just right on the wall. The whole time my dad stood there holding the frame to the wall, smiling. That was him, whatever she wanted. He smiled and gave it to her. And she returned the favor."

"Your mom's beautiful. So is Vivi," Sophie whispered.

Hearing Sophie call Vienna her nickname felt like a gut punch.

"They say a person experiences two deaths. The first is when they die. The second is when they're forgotten. I can't remember the last time I heard my father say my mom or Vienna's name. I can't remember the last time I said their name out loud."

"Honey."

"I took the picture off the wall."

She was still whispering when she said, "Valentine."

"He freaked. Started yelling and cussing. He got out of that recliner faster than I'd seen him move in years. If I hadn't seen the empty bottle on the table I would've swore he was sober. He was moving around the room with purpose. Unfortunately, that purpose was to yell and break shit but he was vertical and walking without swaying. Tore through the whole house. Yelling, not making much sense, throwing shit around. He even went into Vivi's room. I don't remember the last time he's gone in there. The door's always shut and it's still a shrine to a ten-year-old. It looks like it did the day she left with Mom to go run errands. I don't know what he did in there, I stayed out in the hall, but he came out with the old bear and ranted about buying her a new one. That devolved quickly into him shouting about how it should've been him who died. That he wishes it was him and not my mom."

Sophie's hands holding mine tightened. She hitched her leg over my hip and brought herself closer. I hoped like fuck that meant she forgave me for being such a heartless prick.

"I never wanted you to see that," I admitted .

"I know."

"I wasn't ever going to tell you about him."

"I know."

"That's fucked, baby."

Nothing needed to be said, so she didn't. She knew it was fucked. I knew it was fucked so she let that lie.

"I knew it was fucked when I told you I needed to end things with you. I knew before I said it. I knew as I was saying the words. And I regretted them as soon as I said them. No excuse for me being a dick but you deserve an explanation."

I slid my hand between the pillow and her cheek, my thumb grazed the corner of her mouth, over her soft skin, and once again I was soaking in her goodness to drown out the ugly.

Taking more from her than I deserved.

"His drinking didn't get bad until I was about twenty. Before that he was just disconnected. He took me to school, went to work, I took a bus home, he came home, dinner was takeout or a frozen meal. Sometimes he cooked an actual meal. When I got older sometimes I'd cook. He didn't go to my practices. He made it to one or two of my games. When I started to drive, he never went to another game. I did the grocery shopping. He barely spoke to me but he wasn't drinking. He was simply hiding. No more fishing trips. No more batting cages. No more telling me he was proud of me or he loved me. No more tossing a ball in the backyard or watching a game on TV. My dad was gone. And I watched, all of it. I was a teenage boy who loved and looked up to his father and that's what he taught me. Love was a weakness."

Sophie nuzzled her face into my palm. I took a fortifying breath and rushed to get the rest out.

"I've never had a woman for more than a few weeks. I never wanted a relationship. A wife. Kids. None of it. Then I met you and I knew I'd go the way of my father if it meant I had you for however long it took for you to realize I was broken. I'd make it worth it until you saw me for who I really was. Today wasn't about me not wanting you. It was me being a coward and leaving you before you could leave me. Before I had to see the disappointment in the eyes I love so much. Before you could tell me what a piece of shit I was for leaving my father to live in the rat hole to drink himself to death. My mom and sister were taken from me and my father is forcing me to watch him slowly kill himself. That's all I know. The people who I loved the most left me. Then there's you."

She immediately stiffened. I fucking hated I did that to her. I made it so she braced for an emotional blow.

Christ .

"My Sophie. Brave. Strong. Standing toe-to-toe with me, not letting me get away with my bullshit. Being the strength we both needed because I was too weak to face my fears." I leaned closer to her, trapping our hands between our chests. "I need you to know, if I came home and you weren't here I was going to find you. I took your warning, baby, and I came home to battle. I wasn't going to let you leave me. I'll fight for this, for you, for us. But you need to decide if this is what you want. Twenty-seven years of grief and fear doesn't disappear after one night of facing it. I let go of some of the guilt tonight. Logically I understand I can't make my father do something he's not ready to do. But that doesn't mean it still doesn't feel like shit. It's gonna take time to work this out of me. And the choice is yours whether or not you stay for the ride or get off now."

Sophie still hadn't relaxed, not the way she was holding herself, not her grip on my hand, even the muscles in her thigh thrown over my hip was contracted.

I'd seriously fucked this up.

All of it.

"Baby, you don't?—"

"How did you leave things with your dad?"

Oh, yeah, I'd fucked it so badly she was avoiding the conversation we needed to have about us.

"I put the picture back on the wall. He settled down. Tomorrow or the next day he'll run out of booze, sleep his bender off, then call me. I'll go over, clean up his mess the best I can, give him his keys, and wait for the next time he falls into a case of liquor."

"His keys?"

"Only thing I can do to protect him is take his keys so I know he won't drive to get more booze when he's like that."

"He doesn't drink like that all the time?" she sheepishly asked .

"He's an alcoholic. He drinks all the time, but like what you saw? No, that's an every-few-months treat."

And the benders were coming more frequently. What used to be a twice-a-year event—my mom's birthday and the anniversary of the accident—turned into adding Vivi's birthday. Then he added their wedding anniversary. Now, I had no clue what sent him spiraling, but it was more than four times a year.

"Do you think…" she trailed off.

I waited for her to finish. When she didn't, I told her, "You can ask me anything, baby."

"Do you think he wants to die?" Her question was so soft I barely heard it.

"Yep."

"Do you think he hasn't done anything permanent because of you?"

I blinked into the dark, rolling her question around in my head. The sentiment was nice, but the truth was I had no clue. I had no relationship with my father beyond me checking in on him. And during those times we barely spoke. At this point I wasn't sure he even remembered I was a cop. He'd never been to any apartment, condo, or house I'd lived in. He'd never been in my car. I hadn't been to a restaurant with him since I was a teenager and I couldn't remember the last time I shared a meal with the man. Maybe in my early twenties. I was nothing to him.

"Don't know."

I felt Sophie nod against my hand under her face.

"We need to talk about us?— "

"We already did."

Panic assaulted until I was dizzy with it.

"Please, baby, listen to me?—"

"I did. I heard everything you said, Valentine. Now you need to listen to me. You said all you needed to say about us when you told me you weren't letting me go. The rest is about you and getting you to a place where you don't see us and our future through the filter of your father's trauma. Like you said, that'll take time. You need to come to the understanding that your father's inability to see you through the loss of your mom and sister isn't a challenge of your worth. That's about him, Valentine."

"Have I ever told you how incredibly brilliant I think you are?"

"No."

Fuck, I was an asshole.

"I think you're brilliant, Soph. Way too smart for the likes of me." She lifted her head off my hand and I didn't have to see her to know she was giving me the evil eye. "But it's too late. I'm keeping you and I'll do my damnedest to be everything you need."

"You already are."

For the first time, I let that penetrate and didn't question it.

"I'm sorry, baby. So fucking sorry."

"I know you are. I knew when your dad came out of the house, everything was going to be bad. I put the pieces together and was ready when you turned. I just didn't know if I was doing the right thing pushing you while you were going through something so ugly."

It was a punch to the gut I made her question herself.

"Never let me get away with my bullshit. You're far from dumb so I'm not surprised you clocked that situation and knew what I was going to do. But what I did to you was total shit, Sophie. You didn't deserve any of that. I'm grateful you understand but, never again will I treat you to that."

"I won't."

No, she wouldn't. She'd call me out and put a stop to it.

She settled in and relaxed. Feeling that, I did the same.

Long moments passed. Us just lying there in the dark quiet. Grateful didn't touch what I was feeling holding her hand, listening to her breath, knowing she was giving me a chance to prove to her I'd do my part—I'd do the work to fix what was broken or find a new way to deal with it. If I didn't, I'd lose her.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sophie, baby, you can ask me anything . Nothing's off limits. You need it all, so ask."

"The marks on your back," she started shyly but didn't finish.

"Are you asking about my GSW scars?" I asked, though the exit wound scars were nothing compared to the left of the center on my stomach.

"GSW? You've been shot?" she screeched and sat up .

Smooth, asshole.

"Few years ago. Took two to the gut, one to the neck."

"Valentine—"

I rolled up, tagged her around the middle, and pulled her back down. This time pulling her over my chest, with her cheek resting on my pec. She did the rest and curled into me.

This was where she was meant to be.

Her place.

"Though the neck was just a graze. And as you can see, I'm fine. So, what about my back?"

"We're not done talking about you getting shot," she groused. "But I meant my nail marks on your back. You said you liked the pain. You got off on it. Is that because you want to punish yourself?"

I tried. Seriously I did. I even locked my body tight so it wouldn't happen. But I lost the battle and shook with silent laughter.

"Are you laughing at me?"

Fuck .

I sobered immediately.

"No, baby, I'm not laughing at you. I get why you asked that, but no, I'm not trying to punish myself and using your nails as the tool to deliver it. Straight up, Sophie, it's about you. Only you. Not ever before did I get off on some chick tearing me up. It's about you losing control, being lost to the moment, me feeling that loss of your control in a visceral way. The kind of pain that heightens all your other senses. That's yours and only yours."

I felt her thighs squeeze together and shift restlessly.

"You okay, Soph?" I teased.

"Peachy."

"You need me to take care of that for you?"

"Do you need to ask?"

Normally, no .

"Right now, yeah, I need to ask. Before I take more of your body I need to know where you're at and I need you to know where I'm at."

"And where are you?"

It was time to buck up and lay myself out.

I rolled her to her back, came up on an elbow, and leaned in. Unseeing but still feeling her attention on me I gave her what she needed.

"I'm in deep. I'm falling in love with you and that scares the fuck out of me, but I'm not letting you go and I'm not running. We're in this. Together. Me and you fighting to keep what we got strong."

"You don't want kids."

I wasn't sure if that was a question or a statement. What I did know was my heartrate kicked up a few notches.

"I also didn't want a woman or a wife. Yet here I am with a woman, falling in love, hoping she doesn't wise up before I can get my ring on her finger. Do you want kids?"

"I used to. But I'm thirty-seven. I might've missed my chance."

She sounded pained and full of regret. She wanted kids.

"It's not too late. When the time comes we'll make beautiful babies."

"That's awfully presumptuous of you to think I'll be popping out mini-Valentines," she huffed.

I dropped my head and laughed. There she was, my Sophie, giving me shit.

Thank fuck .

"How soon do you want babies?"

"Before I'm forty."

That could be arranged .

"Tell me where you're at, Soph."

"I'm with you."

My eyes closed and three words I didn't know I needed so desperately seared through me.

"Then kiss me, baby, so I can get busy taking care of my girl."

Sophie lifted her head. I met her halfway before I forced her head back to the pillow and I kissed her.

Then I got busy taking care of my girl—slowly and methodically I worshiped her like she deserved.

And when I was done, I had a few new lines down my back.