40. Gianni

Chapter forty

Gianni

A s soon as Lark and her friends made their way outside, I hurried to my car to follow behind her.

There’s a parking spot right beside her, so I pull in and jump out, running around to the back to grab Pickles before Lark can even turn off her engine. I make my way to her door, opening it for her. She smiles up at me. “Didn’t want to stay for movies with your family?”

“Not when I could spend time with you. If that’s okay,” I add.

“I’d like that,” she says. Her eyes dart to her feet, looking away sheepishly.

An idea strikes me.

“Hey, would you want to go on a drive with me?”

“Now?” she asks, sounding surprised.

“If that’s okay,” I say, my shoulders sagging with the possibility that she might say no.

“That sounds nice, but I’ve got to let the dogs out first.”

** *

Once all three dogs are snuggled up at Lark’s apartment, we head out to the parking lot.

“You mind if we take my car?” she asks, and my stomach churns.

I don’t answer for a moment too long and watch as her smile falters.

“I—” I swallow thickly. “I don’t feel comfortable with other people driving, and I’m not a huge fan of anything smaller or less durable than my Jeep,” I admit.

Understanding dawns on her, and she nods, grabbing for my hand. She squeezes it as we continue to walk.

“That makes sense,” she says, shooting me a reassuring smile. “So, where are we going?”

My legs feel unsteady as they carry me to my car. “There’s an overlook about thirty minutes from here. Almost no one is ever there. It’s just somewhere I feel like I can think.”

We drive there with my favorite playlist trickling through the speakers and my hand on her thigh the entire ride. 1

I pull up, parking right in the middle of the dirt spaces for the best view.

It’s dark, so there isn’t much to see besides the trees surrounding us and the stars in the sky. They’re so bright out here, away from some of the light pollution in the city.

“It’s gorgeous.” She gapes. “How’d you find this place? I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’ve never heard of it!”

“Alex used to bring me out here when I was getting too in my head. He always had a way of knowing when I was dwelling on or overthinking things,” I tell her, and for the first time, I feel like I’m able to speak freely about Alex without grief gnawing at my chest.

“He sounds like he was a really great person.” She smiles up at me. Her hand wraps around mine, still lying on her thigh, and she gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“He was. Sometimes, I felt like he was the only person who truly understood me.”

She averts her gaze before speaking her next words. Her voice is choked as she says, “Do you ever think that maybe people don’t understand you because you don’t open up to them?”

Her words don’t hurt me though. I know I don’t open up to people, and that’s my fault. It’s just another reason I feel guilty. “I know that’s the reason. Genuinely, I do. But I don’t want to burden anyone, and I know my family is incredible. Absolutely wild but incredible nonetheless. I just haven’t worked through those insecurities, and everyone in my family has their own things going on. I know they’d never feel like I was a burden, but I still can’t shake that feeling.”

“Your family is incredible, and they’ll love you no matter what, but maybe it’d be easier if you tried opening up to just one person first?”

I quirk a brow at her. “Are you asking to be that person?”

“I mean, I’d love to be, but it doesn’t have to be me. It could be anyone you feel comfortable with.” She sounds so honest, and it gives me the courage to actually agree to let her be that person.

I want her to be that person for me.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” she asks, sounding shocked.

I nod. “You’ve never given me a reason not to trust you.” Besides, I’ve already decided that she deserves someone better. And since I’m entirely too selfish to ever see her with someone else, I’m taking on the task of bettering myself. Not just for her but for us.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

I lean back in my seat, closing my eyes as I prepare to speak the words that no one has ever heard me admit.

My heart clenches in my chest, nausea roiling through me.

Lark squeezes my hand again, and my next words leave my mouth through gritted teeth.

“I think I have depression.”

That weight begins lifting off my chest the moment I’ve spoken the words into the quiet space of this car.

Lark’s thumb begins rubbing small circles across the back of my hand.

She allows me the time I need to continue speaking, not rushing to fill the silence with affirmations. Just letting me feel .

“I don’t think it’s a secret that I’m depressed. I think anyone within a mile of me would have to be blind to not see it despite how hard I’ve tried to hide it, but it’s never something I’ve put a name to. I’ve never actually labeled it and verbally spoken those words before.” 2

She leans forward, resting her head on my shoulder .

“I’m not ashamed that I’m depressed though. I’m embarrassed that I have such a privileged life with such supportive people surrounding me from every direction, and my brain is still finding ways to make me feel unappreciative. I don’t want to burden anyone. My mom and Ale have MS, Dante and Arielle are dealing with my nephew’s OCD, Rose and Charlie have to navigate male-predominant careers as lesbians, and here I am, a fucking musical prodigy with a kick-ass career playing a sport I used to love, and I can’t seem to dig myself out of my own thoughts.”

I take a deep breath in, filling my lungs and pushing it out through my nose to calm myself. “I’m not capable of just talking my feelings out and letting them go. I react so strongly to every fucking thing. Like when Alex came out and he was being bullied, it took everything in me not to pummel every person who so much as looked in his direction. He’d just shrug it off, perfectly content with himself, but I couldn’t do that, and with how much stigma there is in the sports community, it made it that much harder to ignore the comments.”

She kisses my shoulder and reaches forward, gripping my cheek in her palm and pulling my lips toward hers. Lark presses a soft kiss to my mouth and rests her forehead against mine. “I’m so proud of you, mon ciel étoilé .”

Her words tear me apart inside. There’s nothing to be proud of.

“Your mental health is important, Gianni. Yes, everyone has something to worry about, something that makes their life difficult in some way, but that is just life. It doesn’t make your struggles any less real, and it’s no one else’s business. But it sounds like it’s something that’s been eating you up inside, and I’m here to talk about it anytime you want. ”

A heaviness settles on my chest. “Before he died, he was coaching me through just that. Talking about my feelings. Alex was a wealth of wisdom. He knew me better than anyone and somehow always managed to get through to me when I was getting stuck in my own head.”

“I know it’s not the same, but I can be there for you if you decide you want that.”

Her soft-spoken words tie me up in knots. Her support means more to me than she may ever know.

“Thank you,” I choke out. A single tear falls down my cheek. She swipes it away with the pad of her thumb and kisses me again before leaning back in her seat.

“Alright, you’ve shown me yours, so I’ll show you mine.” She sighs. “The reason my mom left was because she quit taking her medication. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and would have manic episodes. As long as she took her medication, she was mostly fine, but sometimes, she’d get overwhelmed with life and forget a few doses, and things would spiral.”

My stomach drops. “I’m so sorry. Do you know what happened to her?”

“No, we don’t.” She shakes her head. “One day, we got home, and she was just gone. No note or anything. My dad hired a private investigator, but he wasn’t able to track her down. After five years of searching, he finally had to call it quits. Wherever she is, I just hope she’s gotten the help she needed and she’s living happily.”

“That sounds like a lot for a twelve-year-old to handle. How’d you manage?” I’ve been seemingly falling apart my entire life, so I’m genuinely curious how she was able to process her circumstances so well.

She smiles at me. “My dad insisted I start therapy. He said he wanted to give me the tools I needed to handle stressful situations and to find outlets for my feelings. It’s actually why I started painting.”

Therapy . How come that always seems to be the answer for everyone?

“In high school, when I was dealing with more changes than my coping mechanisms alone could help me with, I started taking an antidepressant that helps with my anxiety too. I’ve been on it for years now, and it’s improved my quality of life more than I can express. My mom was always embarrassed about her diagnosis, so the times she’d stop taking her meds were usually surrounding girls’ trips or nights away with friends because she didn’t want them to know she struggled with mental illness.” She pauses for a moment, squeezing my hand before she continues. “My dad says she was afraid people would judge her or think she was a horrible person, but that’s just not true. When she was all there, she was the best mom I could have ever asked for. She was a good person, and being bipolar or struggling with any other mental health condition doesn’t make someone a bad person. We all have struggles, and they manifest in different ways, but there is no shame in asking for help. Whether that be with medication, therapy, just talking things out with friends, or a combination of it all.”

She speaks so freely about the things that have plagued me for years. These are the same things Dante tries to preach to me, but he works as a mental health professional. His opinions are biased, but hearing it from Lark eases some of my worries. Maybe it is time that I at least try some things she’s suggesting .

“How long were you seeing a therapist before you felt like it helped?”

“I’d say the very first session was helpful. I won’t lie and say everything was butterflies and roses immediately after an hour-long session, but I left with a few new techniques to manage things. Every week after that, we worked on whatever was bothering me. We changed gears as we went because sometimes we found one thing would work better than another, or I’d have a different set of stressors, but it was easier to navigate. After the first year, I was able to see her twice a month instead of every week, and now I still speak with a therapist once a month. It’s mostly just for a mental health check to ensure I’m taking care of myself and what I need to do, but it’s reassuring to have someone there who knows my history but has no biases surrounding what I tell them. I get to say anything I want and know it won’t be used against me or brought up later outside of our video call.”

That piques my interest. “You do your therapy sessions over a video call?”

“Yep. I used to do them in person, but my schedule is so hectic these days that the video calls make it easier to fit in.”

The words bubble over. “Can you help me find a therapist like that? One who does calls over the phone or something?”

A small smile spreads across her bowed lips. That little freckle is staring right at me, begging me to kiss it.

“I’d be happy to.”

** *

“Okay, so your dad calls you little bird, you’ve spoken French your whole life because your mom spoke it in the house, your favorite meal is anything with grease, Ghostface turns you on, and you prefer soccer over hockey, but you like hockey romances better?” I ask, raising a brow at her, confirming I’ve memorized each and every detail she’s shared with me while we’ve sat here.

She smiles brightly at me. “Yep, that sums it up.”

“I’ve got a burning question for you that’s been bothering me for weeks.”

She shifts in her seat. “Shoot.”

“What exactly is on that list of kinky things you want to do? I’m just trying to gauge how much of that list I’ve actually crossed off.” I smirk at her.

She rolls her eyes, huffing out a small breath. “Fine, if you’re gonna keep asking, I’ll list them off, but only if you tell me some of yours too.”

“Deal.”

“Okay, well, obviously being submissive and dominant. And clearly, you’ve crossed one of those off.” She wiggles her cell out of her pocket and stares down at the screen for a few moments.

“Noted. Do you keep a list on your phone or something?”

Her freckled cheeks turn pink. “It’s something I made recently, but yeah.” She giggles. “There’s a lot of usual stuff on here, too, and like I said, I absolutely have a Ghostface kink, so I’d like to explore that at least once and find out if it’s really something I like. ”

I know what I’ll be buying online when I get home.

“Go on,” I urge.

“I’d like to try bondage, but I’m not interested in ball gags or those leather masks that spread your mouth open.” She giggles, and the sound goes straight to my cock.

“No ball gags or mouth spreaders. Got it. Aside from my dick in your mouth, of course,” I say with a wink and revel in the way her cheeks flush.

She nods, confirming what I’ve said with a wry grin. “Exhibitionism is something I’m into in theory, but not really sure I want to risk actually getting caught.”

Well, isn’t that interesting?

“I think that could be arranged…” I trail off, but my cock is already swelling in my jeans. Gripping her jaw, I pull her mouth to mine roughly, planting a sloppy kiss on her lips. “No one gets to see my woman’s pretty pink pussy besides me.” I trail kisses down her slender throat. “But out here, if someone pulls up, they might see us together. Would that suffice?” I love that she didn’t object to being called “my woman.”

Her body quakes under my grip, goosebumps lining her skin. “Y-yes.” She moans.

Pulling out my wallet, I extract the condom I put in there just for Lark. I sure as shit hadn’t needed it before.

Opening it with my teeth, I pull out the lubricated condom. “Lean back in your seat, little red.”

Her brows pinch in confusion, but she does as I say. I work the condom over the gearshift, and her jaw literally drops. “Wh-what is going on? ”

“You’ll see. Do as I say, and I’ll have you coming so hard, you won’t see straight for a week.”

Her eyes are wide, but her shoulders relax. “Okay,” she whispers.

“Slide your tights and panties off.”

She does as I say, sitting beside me in her flowy black skirt and band tee. I slip my hand over her thigh and dip a finger through her slick heat. “You’re so goddamn wet.” I groan.

“Mhmm,” she squeaks out.

“Does this turn you on, ma petite rouge ? To know you could get caught out here? You could be seen begging for release, riding my hand.”

She releases another moan as I slip two fingers inside her. She’s absolutely soaked.

1. Tongue Tied – GROUPLOVE

2. Sweater Weather – The Neighbourhood