4. Sophia

4

SOPHIA

I t's two days later when I see Theo again in the physio room. He's lying on his stomach, lifting a tennis ball over a small cone as sweat pours down his forehead. He's wearing a black tank top and athletic shorts, and I can see the muscles in his shoulders ripple with exertion. His hand shakes, and I will it, and him, to make another pass of the ball.

When he knocks the cone over, he tosses the ball, and I see his lips form the word fuck .

I heard from Jamie that Theo had passed out in the area we greet guests. Said he went down like a stone and that one of his biker friends caught him before getting help.

He said they all wore leather vests that said they were members of the Iron Outlaws. Of course, I searched the internet for them. A handful of documents from the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms said they were a motorcycle gang. Once I knew, I hurried to my room to process the information.

Like I did when I searched myself online to see if I left any footprint and found out my father is allegedly Mafia, a Cosa Nostra man of honor. I've researched what that means, and learned the word Mafia originated in Sicily but probably has Arabic roots.

I then watched every Mafia movie I could find.

I'm not sure I like being part of this family, but the images my family has shared show the complete opposite.

A luxury lifestyle. Parties with red lipstick. And I always have a glass of champagne in my hand.

My mom showed me our text messages. We clearly loved each other.

I was given a new phone by my father when I moved here, as my old one was damaged in the crash. The contacts were empty of everyone except my immediate family, but it began to fill up a little as people came to visit. Seemingly, I had no social media accounts. Alessio told me it was against our father's rules for our safety.

But I've become friends with every single person who has passed through these doors. I've built a life within these walls that feels safe, and I'm tempted to feign a fainting fit just so I can stay another month.

I've also thought about checking myself out and going to rebuild my life where no one knows me and has no expectations of me. But with no understanding of my own independent wealth nor access to any of it, I don't know where to start.

"Okay," Lori says. "I need one more circuit of the course."

"You're a cruel master." I wipe the sweat from my brow.

Lori chuckles. "So I've been told. You've gotten this far. I'm not going to let you bail now. Let's go, Sophia."

The circuit is designed to test my weaknesses. It includes steps and ramps, all with safety bars in case I need them. But the whole idea is that I don't use them. I walk towards the first low box I have to step up onto and then off.

"Lead with your left foot," Lori reminds me.

I take a breath, build up to it, then lean to my right a little so I can maneuver my foot high enough to clear the step. Instead, I kick the box slightly.

"Try it again, Sophia," Lori encourages.

"In my brain, it felt like I cleared it."

"Perception and balance can all change. With only one eye, your brain is grappling with depth perception issues. Try it again. You nearly had it."

I do as she says, and with a Herculean push, I manage to get my left foot up, swiftly followed by my right. My arms raise automatically to try and create some balance on top of the box.

"And down with your left foot too."

I look at Lori. "I'm taking a minute to celebrate the tiny miracle that is getting up here before I face the death-defying feat of getting off it."

Lori claps and cheers for about two seconds. "There you go. We celebrated. Step down."

I do as she says, but I pick up a little momentum and stumble forward a few steps. "Guess my line-dancing days are over," I say.

"You line-danced?" Lori asks.

I shrug. "No idea. My brain was restored to factory settings, remember?"

"Funny," Lori says. "Now the ramp."

I complete the whole circuit with some version of all the usual issues I'm currently working on. Walking up a steep ramp burns my legs, and I feel like I have to drag my leg the last few inches. My knees continue to turn in a little, but it's nowhere near as bad as it was at the beginning. There is progress. I can see it. Even better, I can feel it.

For a moment, I almost believe that I can get my life back to normal.

Theo finishes his session the same time as me. His hoodie is slung over one shoulder as he sips from a water bottle. Tattoos cover most of his body; I notice the words fear none are tattooed across his knuckles.

He has some unusual markings over his pecs. They aren't tattoos, but they are deliberate patterns of raised red lines, like scars.

"Good session?" I ask as we reach the exit at the same time.

"Depends how you define good," he says. "Feel…weak. Hold this, please." He hands me his water bottle while he tugs his hoodie awkwardly over his head, then takes it back. "Thanks."

As I walk alongside him, my limp feels a little more pronounced. It leaves me feeling a little…ashamed. Even though I know he just struggled to move a tennis ball. I feel like I want to be her around him. The woman I once was.

My therapist would be mad at me. I once told her I needed to get better so my family could move on with the rest of their lives. She told me that my rehabilitation and recovery isn't about them. That I need to rehabilitate for myself. That I need to accept and love myself.

As I am.

And if they thought less of me because of my injuries, then that wasn't the unconditional love and support I deserved.

"I don't know what it is about some sessions, but it just feels like you've had the crap beaten out of you when you leave," I say.

"How do you know what getting…getting…getting the crap beaten out of you feels like?"

"Fair point. I can imagine. And it can't be worse than Lori shunting me around her obstacle course."

Theo chuckles.

"Are you going to movie night tonight?" I ask. Once a week, they set up a large screen in the visitors' room, and we can all go watch it.

"I'd rather poke my own eye out," he says.

His choice of phrase stings, but I tap my eye patch. "Zero out of ten. Would not recommend."

"Ah, fuck, Sparrow. That was…insensitive."

"Better than dancing on eggshells and pretending you don't see I'm missing an eye."

He places his large hands on my shoulders, then dips his head a little so our eyes…eye…whatever, meet. "I see you, I see your eye patch, and I'm sorry I was an insensitive jerk."

Time stands still for a moment. Even though he smells a little sweaty from physio, his proximity is enough to create butterflies in my stomach.

"It's fine," I say, trying to brush it off.

"It's not. But you're kind, trying to make me feel…less of an ass. Does your physio hurt?"

I shake my head. It's hard to concentrate on his questions when he's so up in my personal space. "Not really. I mean, my muscles burn, and my joints can ache, but I like to think of it as the price of getting better. I couldn't walk when I first got here, so I see the value of progress."

"I'm gonna have to try and adopt that attitude, because I'm not gonna lie, mine fucking hurt and I sucked at it."

I place my hand on top of his on my shoulder. "It'll get easier. I mean, it might not hurt less, but when you can do something next week that you couldn't do this week you find purpose in it."

"Sophia." I jump at my name, then recognize the speaker.

Theo drops his hands from my body as I turn to face the footsteps approaching us.

I miss the warmth of him immediately.

"Theo, these are my brothers, Luca and Leonardo."

Thankfully, Luca has shorter hair, and that's how I tell them apart. In the first month or two after the accident, I literally remembered them as Luca Cropped and Leonardo Long. Everything else about them is the same. The same dark hair color, eyes the same shade of dark chocolate, aquiline noses. They're the same height; my guess is a little over six feet, but they are shorter than Theo is. I think he's about a foot taller than me because I'm…

Shit. I don't remember how tall I am.

It's uncomfortable, but they all shake hands.

"See you later at the movie?" I say to Theo.

"Not likely, Sparrow," he says.

"Sparrow?" Leonardo asks as Theo heads to the elevator.

I roll my eyes. "A nickname."

Leonardo watches Theo until the elevator door closes. "Not sure I like a guy with that much ink having a nickname for you. What do you know about him?"

"Nothing. He arrived a few days ago. I crossed paths with him a couple of times." I don't know why I feel compelled to minimize the details. Probably some muscle memory throwback to older brothers being older brothers.

"Stay away from guys like that, Soph," Luca says.

"I'll choose my own friends. Let's go to the guest area." It dawns on me that everyone else greets their friends and family in the visitors' room. I'm not sure why my brothers always seem to meet me wherever they please.

"Can we talk in your room?" Leo asks.

I can't explain the discomfort I feel at the request. I don't know the cause, other than this feels like a conversation that doesn't belong in my personal space.

"I spend too much time in there as it is. Let's go sit out in the garden."

"It's November," Luca says. "And raining."

I glance at the window. "Shit."

Leonardo looks at Luca. "Fine, the visitors' room."

When we get there, we take a seat. "We need to talk about where you are living when you come home," Luca says.

"I'm keen to live on my own."

"That's not safe," Leonardo says.

"I haven't blacked out in three months. I'm fine. I'll wear a safety bracelet or something. I know my apartment isn't ideal, given the floor I live on, but I can make it work for now if?—"

"Dad moved all your stuff out and cancelled your rent last week," Luca admits.

"Oh my God. He was just here and didn't say anything beyond me moving in with him and Mamà for a month as I readjust to leaving here. Their place is so much closer to here than mine is, so I thought it made sense as an outpatient. He can't just do that. I'm a grown woman."

"Who hasn't been paying rent for the better part of this year," Leonardo adds.

"So why did he wait until I'm getting ready to leave before cancelling my lease?" On my last visit, I'd taken photographs. I'd been trying to relearn where everything was so that being there wouldn't feel like sleeping in someone else's home.

My brothers glance at each other, but I don't know what the look means.

"Maybe he thought keeping it this long would be motivation to get well," Luca says.

Emotions crash over me. The loss of autonomy. Others making decisions for me. The loss of a home I can't remember, but given how I feel about my room here, that it's my private sanctuary, I would likely be devastated about it in any other scenario.

"He was never going to let me live alone?"

Leonardo shakes his head. "Not yet. The apartment would have been impossible. If the elevator broke, there would be no way you could make it up all those flights of stairs."

"You've always listened to his advice," Luca says.

"But that's the thing," I say, my heart thumping in my chest. "He didn't give me advice. He took my home away from me without talking to me about it."

"It's for the best," Leonardo says.

"I decide what's for the best for me. I'm an adult. Papà had no right getting rid of my place. Where are all my things?"

"Papà put them in storage. That's why we're here," Luca says. "We know our parents want you to live with them when you get out, but we're going to Sicily on business for six months. Over the winter. Instead of staying with them here in the cold, come with us. Some winter sun. Milder weather. The new family property you acquired there has a guest house. It was one of the reasons you said we should buy it. You can stay in it, but then you'll be close enough to the two of us if you need us."

I can't bring the property to mind, but I can imagine the feeling of the sun warming my bones. For the briefest moment, I'm mentally packing a bag and leaving with them.

"But my things… I need to start figuring out what the rest of my life is going to look like. And, I need to stay here so I can have outpatient access."

Leonardo takes my hand. "I know the rental place where all your things are. We'll take you there and you can check everything is safe and secure. We're a wealthy and well-connected family, Sophia. We'll fly on the private jet. We'll find you outpatient care. It'll be safe. We'll be on our way before our parents realize you're gone."

"We know how overbearing our parents can be." Luca smooths a crease in his pants. "Just come with us, Soph. I promise we'll take care of you." They both look so sincere.

And hopeful.

"I'll think about it. That's the best I can say."

Because I feel like I just had the rug pulled out from beneath me.

And despite the obvious reason, that I've lost my apartment, I feel like there's something else going on that they aren't saying.