Page 49 of Forgotten Comeback (Parisi Family #5)
Chapter
Forty-Eight
Gavin
“What happened with your dad?” Taylor asks, squeezing my hand.
“A few days passed, and nothing happened. We hoped the incident had been swept under the rug, never to be brought up again,” I tell her, still refusing to look her in the eyes. “We were about to find out how wrong we were.”
Gavin
Fifteen-years-old
“Your papà is not answering any of my calls!” Mama drunk rages, throwing a wine glass across the room.
It shatters, the red liquid dripping down the wall, reminding me of Maria’s blood.
“He’s abandoned me, all because of you! Rocco, I can’t believe you ruined this for me!
” The back of her hand connects with my cheek.
And I snap.
“Always fucking about you!” I charge, wrapping my hand around her throat and slamming her body against the wall.
She claws at my hands, drawing blood, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel fucking anything anymore.
“Rocco, stop!” My brothers pull me off of her.
“You want to act like a crazy person, Rocco, I’ll treat you like one,” she promises, her eyes having shifted to midnight black.
She grabs her phone, turning on the water works.
“Yes, please send someone. My son, Rocco, is having a nervous breakdown. He attacked me, and I’m afraid for my life.
” And through her crocodile tears, she smiles at me.
“Run,” Luciano whispers to me, and I take off in a dead sprint, out the door and down the street.
I’m in hell of good shape, but the problem is I have nowhere to go. The boxing club’s gone. Coach’s gone. Maria’s gone. And I feel like I’m gone too.
A few miles in, and I turn around and jog back to the house.
Blue lights are there to greet me.
“There he is!” Mama points, and I don’t struggle when I’m swarmed by the cops and thrown on the lawn.
I’m in my corner, shadowboxing as I wait for the orderlies to bring in my “opponent.” These sick fucks found out I’m a boxer, and now, I’m the nightly entertainment.
The new patient’s brought in, bound with a straightjacket. His eyes are wild, like the lights are on but no one’s home. There’s some commotion as one of the orderlies pulls out a needle and stabs the patient in the neck.
“What the hell was that?” I demand.
“Let’s see how good you are now that your opponent is amped up on speed.” The orderlies laugh, and money’s thrown down in bets.
“See that guy over there?” An orderly points at me. “He ratted you out and is the reason you’re here.”
My opponent lets out an ungodly cry.
Oh fuck me.
Someone makes a ding sound, and they let the guy out of his restraints. He screams an ungodly sound as he charges, and I sidestep him.
This isn’t boxing; this is something fucking else.
Like a man possessed, he throws a wild punch, his fist going through part of the sheet wall. Jerking his arm out, he’s even more enraged, with no signs of pain.
On a guttural cry, he lunges for me again, and I roll, landing a jab square against his nose. It begins gushing blood as he grabs me in a bear hug, and I throw my head forward, connecting with his forehead.
He stumbles back, and that’s when I see it: a huge spider in the corner of the window. My bloody hand snatches it from its web, and I open my fist over the guy’s face.
The spider lands on his nose.
He squeals as he begins bashing his head against the wall, over and over.
“Stop him before he kills himself!” one of the orderlies shouts.
I slip out of the melee and return to my corner as they try to get my opponent under control. “Smart trick, there, Spider,” one of the orderlies calls.
“I’m done fighting,” I announce.
“This incident can be written up in one of two ways. One: You attacked this poor man who’s already in psychosis, and you’ll get thrown into solitary for the foreseeable future.
Or two: He got out of his restraints and began to self-harm, with no mention of your name.
Which version would you like in your record? ”
“Two,” I grit through my teeth.
“Smart choice. Back to your room, Spider. See you tomorrow night.” He does a little gunshot motion with his thumb and index finger.
Taylor
“It took weeks of me rotting in that hellhole before my brothers were able to spring me,” he says, giving his head a little shake.
“Gavin, I’m so sorry you went through that.” I wrap my other hand around where ours are connected. “What was the name of the hospital?”
“The Bridge. The bridge to hell, we all called it,” he says bitterly.
“Oh, shit. Wasn’t that the one that got shut down by the state?” I ask, and he nods. “I’m so sorry. What happened with your mom and brothers?”
“That’s my brothers’ story to tell, not mine,” he says quietly.
“By your brothers, you mean Inferno and John?” I take a wild guess.
. He slices his head in acknowledgment.
“And your dad?” I ask gently.
He hesitates.
“Gavin, you can trust me,” I encourage him.
He releases a dry breath. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but until things settle down, you having this information would put a target on your back.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Uh, in case you haven’t noticed, I already have a target on my back. Besides, I thought you were handling the Fabio problem.”
“It’s being handled,” he assures me.
Crossing my arms, I give him a look. “‘Being handled’ isn’t the same thing as ‘handled.”
“What if Fabio drugs you again? If you don’t know, you can’t tell,” Gavin argues.
“Do a better job of protecting your girl, and I won’t be in that position again,” I counter.
He laughs mirthlessly, his head hitting the back of the couch.
“He passed away recently, but Antonio Parisi was my dad and my brothers’ dad.”
My forehead bunches.
“Romeo Parisi’s dad,” he clarifies.
My eyes become the size of saucers as I stammer, “You’re Romeo’s brother? As in Romeo Parisi, the boss of Jersey?”
“Half-brother,” he corrects me. “Our mom was Antonio’s goomah,”
“What does that word mean? Goomah?”
“Mama was Antonio’s mistress, and we were the hush-hush bastards.” The words rush from his mouth in an acidic burst.
My head falls next to his as I take in this revelation.
“I’m used to keeping secrets; sometimes, you may have to pry information out of me with a crowbar,” Gavin warns me.
“You don’t say.” I squeeze his hand.
“In the psych ward, labels got slapped onto my file. ‘Uncooperative.’ ‘Violent.’ ‘Psychopath.’”
“Gavin, you know a label doesn’t scare me,” I remind him gently.
“Sometimes I have big emotions I don’t know how to handle; over-the-top reactions that might scare you,” he warns me.
“Like you storming out after Fabio threatened me?” I tread lightly.
“That wasn’t over the top.” His tone darkens. “If anything, that was understated.”
“Gavin,” I say gently. “What did you do?”
He shakes his head. “Some things about my business you don’t need to know,” he continues, laying out a case against us. “I don’t know how to be a boyfriend. I’ll probably fuck up a lot.”
“Yeah, probably,” I tell him, nudging him with my shoulder.
His mood remains somber as he continues, “If you ever land back in the psych ward, I can’t promise you that I won’t lose my mind and bust you out.”
I pause for a beat, considering his words. Not knowing how to answer, I parrot what he told me. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“Now that all that’s on the table, you still want a relationship with me? Here’s your out if you need it.” His gaze remains on our connected hands, emotion radiating off his body in violent waves.
“Gavin, look at me.” I cup his cheeks in my hands, his hesitant eyes meeting mine.
Rings of gold around molten steel and vulnerability.
It’s the first time I’ve seen beneath this man’s easygoing mask, and it knocks down a few of the bricks I’ve mortared around my heart. “Fuck your out. But going forward, you don’t get to ghost me and expect a second chance. Are we clear?”
His handsome face flickers with emotion. “As a bell.”
I gently press my lips to his before asking, “What happens now with you and the Parisi family?”
He blows out a long breath. “I don’t know. Right now, I just want to focus on winning the championship and my girl. Everything else, my brothers can figure out.”
“In private, do you want me to call you Gavin or your real name?” I wonder.
“Gavin,” he says decisively. “Rocco died years ago.”
“Alright then, Gavin, let’s go home.” My hand gives his another squeeze. “I need sleep, and then tomorrow morning, we’re going furniture shopping like a normal couple.”
An amused grin stretches across his face. “Baby, we’ll never be a normal couple.”
I grab him by the shirt, pulling him close. “Promise?”
He playfully nips my bottom lip. “Promise.”