1. Gianni

Chapter one

Gianni

Sunday, February 9, 2025

I wake up to a dark room, the blackout curtains preventing me from telling what time it is. My head is pounding already, which doesn’t bode well for the day. Soccer practice starts up again in a couple of weeks, and I have no idea how I’m going to manage this time around. Every day, it gets harder and harder to care about my career, or anything else, for that matter.

Alex’s death is the single worst thing to have ever happened to me. And yet, I feel mostly numb. 1

I toss my legs over the side of the bed, righting myself and grabbing for my phone. I check the time.

2:37 p.m.

Shit . I didn’t fall asleep until after three this morning, but I didn’t think I’d sleep in this late. I have two hours to get my shit together and head to my parents’ house for Sunday dinner.

I flick on my lamp, illuminating my studio apartment, which looks like I live with thirty unruly house guests and not just the golden retriever mix I adopted at Pawsitively Purrfect. Thankfully, Pickles is with Kat and Ale this weekend because they requested a playdate at their apartment. Something about their pit bull, Tank, bonding with Pickles or something. I’m not really sure. I miss the damn dog though. Some days, she seems to be the only reason I bother waking up at all.

Taking another look around the apartment, I cringe with self-loathing. Who fucking lives like this? I need to hire someone to come clean this mess up. These days, I just have no will to do anything. It’s already a chore to get up, feed myself, work out, and make sure Pickles gets taken care of. Cleaning my apartment is just entirely too much work right now.

I get up, stopping at my dresser to grab a set of clean clothes and head to the shower to get washed up before hopping in the car to stop for some items my mom requested. She said she needed some WD-40 for her wheelchair because the wheels were sticking again.

An hour and a half later, I’m approaching the large brownstone home that I grew up in. I make my way inside, greeting everyone as I pass through, heading over to find Mom in the kitchen. When she sees me, she wheels over. “There’s my handsome boy,” she says solemnly. “Come give your momma a hug.” I do as I'm told, realizing by the tone of her voice that I let my mask slip. Righting myself, I plaster a fake smile across my face, but the knowing look she gives me confirms that it never meets my eyes .

“Hey, Mom, I got the grease for your wheels so you can continue running over unsuspecting bystanders.” I grab the WD-40 from the bag and kneel beside her, spraying the hinges and coating each one.

“Thank you, sweet boy. Now, what’s got you so down today?” She’s unlikely to let it go unless I give her an explanation. She probably won’t believe anything I say, rightfully so, but I have to attempt to appease her anyway. If not for her, then for whatever's left of my sanity.

“I just missed Pickles this weekend while she’s been with Ale and Kat, and training starts up in a couple of weeks, and I’m not super excited to have Damien on our team this year.” None of that was a lie, but it isn’t the reason for my perpetual shit moods.

“Ah, Damien is a real piece of work, but your teammates have your back. Don’t let it get to you,” she says in a reassuring tone, reaching out to squeeze my hand. Mom smiles sweetly at me in that gentle way that reminds me just how fragile she thinks I am.

I give her a nod, standing and putting the cap on the WD-40, placing it under the sink for her to use next time she needs it. Before she can continue to pry, I head out of the kitchen as quickly as I can, looking to hide out on the back patio despite the frigid temperatures outside.

On my way to the back, I see Dante sprawled out on the couch watching some children’s show while he holds Lily across his chest. He looks up at me and quietly says, “Hey, kid, the boys missed you at their game last week.”

My face automatically contorts. I know he doesn’t mean to make me feel bad. He’s just letting me know they care, but it makes me feel like shit all the same. I wish I could have been there too, but I just couldn’t drag myself out of bed, let alone my apartment. The entire week—hell, the last month—has been a royal shit show. I give him a noncommittal grunt. “Yeah, I wish I could’ve made it too. Next time though,” I say, but we both know I’m lying.

It’s getting more and more difficult to hide how fucking exhausted I am all the damn time.

No amount of sleep seems to improve the bone-deep exhaustion that's settled into my soul since losing Alex, and that thought alone has an uncomfortable weight settling in the pit of my stomach.

“The boys are with Arielle at the grocery store. Charlie and Rose will be here shortly, and Kat and Ale are headed over with Pickles and Tank,” Dante tells me as I make a move to head outside.

“Cool, I’ll be out back if anyone needs me.” God, I hope no one needs me.

The cool air hits my face, and a chill quakes through my body, making me shiver. I love the cold. It helps clear my head, and the crisp air makes it easier to breathe, but there’s no denying that emotionally, I feel worse in the winter months.

I take a seat in the old metal chair with the chipped white paint and rust forming. I’m facing away from the house, overlooking the fenced-in yard, as I pull out my phone, pop my earbuds in, and press play on my audiobook. The book’s about someone who gets trapped in a dystopian video game, and while none of it makes any sense, it’s enough chaos to act as a distraction.

I allow myself to get lost in the chasm of this new world being built by the author, and about thirty minutes later, the sliding door behind me opens, letting a rush of heat burst out. I hear children shouting in the background, which means Alessandro and Kat have just arrived. The kids love Ale. He’s clearly their favorite uncle, and I can’t fault them. Luca is an ass, and I’m just a downer. I’d pick Ale over me too.

“Hey there.” Kat’s cheerful voice greets me as I turn my head toward her. “I’ve got a cute little lady ready to see you.”

I hear a high-pitched whine and see Pickles trying to make her way through Kat’s legs before she finally opens the door wide and lets her out to tackle me. She’s a big girl, but she doesn’t know it. Pickles hops directly in my lap, giving me kisses before spinning and plopping down on my legs.

My fingers twine into her soft fur, and I focus my attention behind her ears, giving her scratches in her favorite spot. I bend to kiss the top of her head, my mouth stretching with the first, albeit small, but genuine smile I’ve had in weeks. “Hi, pretty girl. Did you miss your daddy?”

She perks up, licking at my face again to confirm that she has missed me. I turn to Kat, who's now seated in the chair beside me with her knees tucked under her chin.

“Thanks for socializing her. What’d you guys do while she was there?” I ask because I really do care, but also because Kat is one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet, and she’s also the only one who doesn’t look at me with pity.

“We took them to the dog park. She got covered in mud, though, and I’m pretty sure icicles were literally forming on her fur,” Kat says, letting out a little snort. “So we took her to Pet Kingdom to get groomed, which is where she got that super cute bandana she’s wearing.” Kat points to Pickles, where a pink bandana with little dancing pickles is tied around her neck. “Oh, they also did a couple of feeding puzzles and…” She trails off, looking away sheepishly, and the guilty look in her eyes has my stomach fluttering with butterflies. “So…” she says, dragging out the word. “I went down an internet rabbit hole and found that there’s a place called ‘Rocket Dog’ that offers classes like rally, rodeo, and agility. So I signed Pickles and Tank up for a tricks-for-treats class.”

My eyes widen with alarm, but again, she continues. “Don’t worry, though, it was super cheap.” That wasn’t my concern at all. “And I already have it worked out with Kas for him to take Pickles if you can’t make it. He really doesn’t mind,” she promises, wrapping her arms around her drawn-up knees and clasping her hands together. “I would’ve waited to confirm with you, but there were only two spots available in the class, and I didn’t want it to sell out!” She sucks in a breath for what seems like the first time since she started speaking.

She’s cute enough to get away with murder, so I don’t particularly mind the rambling, but the content of her thoughts is a tad disconcerting.

I look away from her for a moment, closing my eyes briefly and sucking in a deep breath. I blow it out slowly, focusing on calming my pounding heart before answering her. “Thanks for taking such good care of Pickles. I’m sure she’ll really like the classes.”

She gives me a small smile that crinkles the edges of her honey-brown eyes.

As the silence stretches, my heart begins to hammer against my ribs. I try to focus on anything other than that feeling.

I glance over and take note of her outfit, providing my racing thoughts with something less ominous to focus on.

Kat's wearing a cherry-red turtleneck and black denim pants, her hands turning white from the freezing weather .

“Gi,” she finally says, her tone hushed. “I know you’re not a fan of talking about your feelings.” She pauses, her cheeks heating with embarrassment as she takes another moment to make sure it's okay if she keeps going. I work on a swallow, my jaw grinding together, but I give her a nod so she can get it out and we can get this over with. “I’m sorry if this is overstepping, but I care about you. We all do. And it isn’t really any of my business, but Ale’s shared some of what happened to your parents with me, and I can sort of relate. You know, because of everything with mine.” She and her brother had their own horror show to live through as kids, and when that information got leaked to the press, they made it their mission to spread every detail of that tragic day to anyone who’d listen. “And Alex was a really great guy. I’m just sorry I hadn’t gotten to know him better.” My heart sinks. Alex really liked Kat, and even hearing his name still stings.

“All that to say, I don’t know what you’re going through or how you’re feeling.” That admittance is exactly why I like Kat so much. She’s capable of showing empathy without making me feel pitied like I do by every other well-meaning person in my life. “But if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always here. And I mean that, Gi. I won’t tell Ale or anyone else anything you want to share with me,” she tells me with sincerity in her tone. “I won’t dissect what you tell me or try to psychoanalyze you.” Of course, as someone who lives with anxiety, she would know that that’s one of my biggest fears. “I can just be a listening ear, but there’s also absolutely nothing wrong with seeking professional help. You might think you hide it well, but every time I see you, your eyes lose just a bit more light.” She trails off before catching herself, eyes suddenly brimming with tears .

My heart is lodged in my throat, and I feel bare and raw as she speaks so freely of the things I fear so much.

“It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to take medication for a chemical imbalance that’s causing you to be so unhappy. It’s okay to speak with a therapist. You’re never alone in this, okay?” she asks me, and I give her a noncommittal nod. I know she’s right, but the thought of seeing a therapist makes me want to vomit.

She grips the arms of her chair, pushing herself up and out before smiling at me and heading back inside. I should go in, too, but my head is spinning with thoughts. I always hear, “Mental health is health,” and I agree, especially as someone who hasn’t felt well in as long as I can remember. But seeing a therapist? That scares the shit out of me. I don’t want to relive my trauma. I don’t want to talk about it. And I definitely don’t want the press meddling in my life and sharing all the sordid details of my childhood with the world when someone snaps a photo of me walking into or out of a psychiatric office.

The door slides open behind me. Luca's leaning through the doorway with one hand on the door and another on the wall beside him. “Come on, Eeyore, get inside. Mom won’t let us eat until your sad ass is at the table with us.” Luca’s the only one who doesn’t tiptoe around my shitty moods, and sometimes I wonder if it’s because he feels the same or at least something similar. Like a shared cloud of sadness and anxiety looming over us both, but he’s better at hiding it.

“I’m coming,” I tell him, not having it in me to joke with him tonight. I lean down, whispering to Pickles, “Come on, pretty girl, you’ve gotta get up. We need to eat dinner.” She lifts her head, her eyes finally opening as she stands, stretching her long spine with her front paws on the ground and her back ones still in my lap. She climbs down, sniffing around the back patio as she waits for me to peel myself out of this chair.

I get up, and she follows me inside, taking her place on the floor beside me at my end of the table.

Dinner goes as expected. The kids fight at their table in between giggling at one another and throwing food around like tiny piglets. Everyone pesters me and Luca about when we’re going to bring someone home for them to meet, and then they rag on Ale for not having proposed to Kat yet. It’s a lot of the same stuff we talk about every week at Sunday dinner. That’s not to say these dinners are boring. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but it’s just familiar.

After dinner, we all help clean up. Ale and Kat put the kids to bed for their Sunday night sleepover.

Ale has always slept over at our parents’ house on Sunday nights when he didn’t have a game the next day. He does a much better job at spending time with our nephews and nieces than I ever have, and I envy his ability to give so much of himself to others.

Not that I'd expected it to, but even after he started dating, this routine hasn't changed much. Now Kat just stays over, too, treating our family as if it were her own, and truthfully, it feels like we always have been.

Dante and Arielle sneak back to their house, same as Charlie and Rose, who take this one night a week to have some alone time, knowing their children are in excellent hands. Once they’re gone and Luca has sufficiently given us an Irish goodbye, leaving without saying a word, I leash up Pickles and start heading home, kissing Mom on the cheek and getting a hug from Dad .

I drive for the next twenty minutes before pulling up outside of my apartment. I park and, instead of heading inside, take Pickles on a walk around the block. There’s a small park with a few black metal benches directly across the street from where we live. The trees are decorated with twinkling lights year round, so it’s pretty well lit, even for a late-night stroll.

I start my audiobook again, feeling confident that the area is nice enough to not be in any danger. Pickles trots ahead of me, her tan tail wagging and the bells on her collar jingling with each step. When I first adopted her, I had trouble finding her in the apartment because she liked to flatten herself into a pancake and army crawl under the furniture or anywhere she could make herself fit. I got her a collar with tiny jingle bells so I’d hear her and know where she was. Eventually, I got used to them and haven't had the heart to do away with them.

We do a couple of laps around the park before I stop by a trash can, tossing my gum out. Just as I’m steering us back home, I hear a squawk and see a flash of black wings pass by us. This park is filled with crows, even at night. I read that crows don’t see well at night, but with the constant artificial light here, you see them at night a lot more frequently than you would otherwise.

I feel Pickles tug on her leash, jolting forward toward something on the ground. She’s got it in her mouth, and she’s chomping. My lips pinch, and my eyebrows pull taut when I realize the damn crow dropped a fucking chicken bone for her! I quickly crouch down beside her, working to pry her mouth open and grabbing for the bone, but she panics and swallows it, looking at me with wide, guilt-ridden eyes. “Ah fuck, Picks, now we’ve gotta go to the vet,” I tell her, running my hand through my hair, tugging on my roots in frustration.

“Come on, pretty girl, let’s get in the car.” I direct her over to the SUV, open the trunk and let her jump in. I’ve got a hot-pink dog bed back there with a blanket and her favorite stuffy. The dog is obsessed with things that happen to be pink, so I have an embarrassing amount of pink items in my possession. I really need to learn to stop letting her pick out her own beds, toys, and blankets because it’s always pink. Dogs can’t even see shades of red, but somehow, she always wants the pink toy, blanket, bed or whatever else.

She snuggles up in the back, suckling on her stuffy as I close the trunk and round over to the driver’s side. I hoist myself into the SUV and start the heater for her before searching for the nearest emergency vet. It’s almost midnight, so my options are limited because even the emergency clinics are mostly closed by now. It takes a few minutes, but I find a place that says it’s open twenty-four hours, and it’s only twenty-six minutes from here. I call them and let them know what happened so they know I’m on my way and can add me to their queue.

1. Pain – Three Days Grace