Page 56 of Forgotten Comeback (Parisi Family #5)

Chapter

Fifty-Five

Gavin

“Stop right there,” Inferno catches me in the hallway, blocking my path. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”

“Who says I’ll regret it? Move.” I shove past him.

“Mike’s already gone.”

I spin on my heel, getting in Inferno’s face. “So help me find him.”

“You’re in no condition to fight anyone right now,” he warns me.

“Effie cleared me,” I argue.

Inferno shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. Mike got in here.” He taps my temple. “And by the look of you, he’s still in there.”

Crossing my arms so I don’t throw a punch through the cinderblock wall, I tell my brother in a clipped tone, “He assaulted my girl; I refuse to let that go.”

“Channel that anger into winning the belt. I believe in you. John believes in you. The question is, do you believe in you?”

“Now you’re the one getting all philosophical,” I snap. “Where’s Taylor?”

“She left after your bout.”

“Why?” I say, my throat constricting.

“I’d suggest you go talk to her. She was giving freak-out ‘vibes.’”

My hands land on the top of my head before letting them fall to my side. “Yeah, alright.”

“After the championship, you can take care of business with Mike, but not before. I promise to help you, but you have to promise me—”

“I make no promises, other than you’d better protect Taylor at the next fight, or I’ll torch this arena to the ground.”

I storm to my dressing room, my coach lying in wait. “Gavin—”

“You can bitch at me tomorrow. I’m out.”

Grabbing my bag and keys, I hustle out the back and to my new car. Falling into the driver’s side, I put the horsepower to the test, making it home at record pace.

And dammit, this is my home.

Taylor’s car is parked out front, and I breathe for the first time since I found out that she left.

Pulling in behind her, I hustle to the private entrance and use my key, but it doesn’t work. I did take a punch that made me see little birdies, so I try it again.

It’s not my cognitive skills; the key doesn’t fit.

I hustle around to the front, but the key doesn’t fit in that lock, either.

Cursing, I ring the bell.

The light’s on in her studio, but she doesn’t answer.

My phone in hand, I send her a message.

I know you’re in there. Answer the door.

Crickets.

Has she blocked me again? Why would she do that?

Not finding anything I can use to break the window, I eventually rip the mailbox off the wall and use it to bust out the glass.

Shrugging out of my shirt, I wrap it around my fish and punch out the remaining glass shards before I step through.

“Taylor, I’m coming in,” I warn her.

Opening her studio doors, I find her seated cross-legged on the floor, sketches surrounding her.

“Why did you change the locks? I had to break a damn window—”

She refuses to look at me. “Get out.”

“Nah, I’m not going anywhere,” I say calmly, even though I want to bust some shit up. “Why did you leave without telling me?”

“I love you, and you love me, and that means you’re going to die!” Taylor shrieks. “That’s why I’ve always chosen emotionally unavailable partners; to avoid this exact situation!”

“Is this a manic episode?” I ask gently. “Do you want me to call your doc—”

“This isn’t a manic episode! It’s the truth! You may be the Spider, but I’m the black widow.” She holds up her sketches like evidence. Page after page of macabre black widow spider drawings. “My twin. My dad. My mom. My first boyfriend. My grandma. Everyone who loves me dies!”

I hold up my hands, taking a small step toward her. “What do you mean your twin?”

“My mom was pregnant with me and my twin. Doctors called it vanishing twin syndrome.” She hops to her feet and begins pacing, and I want to comfort her, but I fear that would only push her over the edge. “My twin died, and I freaking devoured her; absorbed her tissue in my amniotic sac!”

“Taylor, that sounds like a shitty medical thing that happened. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I’m wrong, don’t you see?” she cries.

“That was only the beginning of it. My dad died in a freak workplace accident when I was four. My mom killed herself when I was twelve. My first love died in a car wreck when I was sixteen.” She counts off on her fingers.

“Nana died of a heart attack last year. And now you love me, and you were nearly killed tonight!”

She sobs, hiding her eyes with her hands, and I cross the room and jerk her into my arms, refusing to let go. “Baby, I got my clock cleaned. A mild concussion; it wasn’t anywhere near a brush with death. It can happen to the best of boxers. I got distracted, and that’s on me.”

“But—”

“No buts. Come on.” I scoop her up in my arms, grabbing her sketch pad and carrying her out the door.

“Where are we going?”

“To break your curse.”

“I’m not wearing shoes.” She sniffs.

“That’s fine. Curse-breaking can be done barefoot.”

She looks at me skeptically with bleary eyes. “Are you pulling this out of your ass?”

“There’s my girl.”

I open the passenger door, placing her gently in the seat and buckling her up.

“You got a new car.”

“Yeah. Same model, but she needs a red paint job and proper christening,” I tell her playfully, closing the door and hustling around the front to the driver’s seat.

“Where are we going?” Taylor swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“You’ll see.” I place the sketch pad between the console, revving up the engine.

That gets a smile out of her as I shift into gear, peeling out.

We arrive at the tattoo parlor, and I carry Taylor inside the neighboring tourist trap shop.

“No shirt, no shoes, no service,” a man calls.

“We’re buying a shirt and shoes,” I call back.

We exit with Taylor wearing a cheap pair of flip-flops and me a tie-dye AC tee. A quick stop at the car to grab her sketchbook, and we step inside the tattoo parlor.

I refuse to let go of Taylor’s hand as I get myself signed in, and we take a seat.

“Curse breaking involves tattoos?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Of course.”

Fuck if I know.

We’re called back to consult with the artist, and I shrug out of the shirt, showing him Taylor’s sketch. “I want a black widow like this one, but make her red triangle a heart. She’s hanging from a single web strand, with the heart-shaped web above her. Can you sketch what I want, Taylor?”

Her eyes are bloodshot from crying, but she’s calmed down enough to where she flips to a new page in her sketchbook and begins moving her pencil with determination. “Like this?” She shows me the web.

“Perfect. Just like this. Can my girl draw all this on me, and you ink me up?” I ask the artist.

He gives us a weird look. We must be a sight; me with my busted-up face and knuckles, and Taylor, who looks like she’s been through the emotional ringer. “I’m not supposed to do that—”

I slip him a wad of cash. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Go right ahead,” he says, handing Taylor the permanent marker.

“I’m nervous,” Taylor whispers to me as she leans over, eyeing where to make the first mark.

A yelp escapes her lips when I pull her into my lap, her now straddling me.

“Take as much time as you need. I have experience as a professional nude model.”

She fights a smile as she begins drawing the design over my heart.

Taylor’s flip-flops smack the boardwalk as we stroll hand in hand, with me freshly inked and carrying the newest member of our crew.

“Bonnie’s the only plant I’ve ever been able to keep alive,” Taylor worries.

“You said it yourself: Bonnie needs a friend. And what’s a Bonnie without a Clyde?” I argue, proudly displaying our new potted spider cactus.

“Clyde, you’d better not be a bad influence on Bonnie,” Taylor tells him.

“Nah, he’s just gonna bring some much needed excitement into her life.”

“Are we still talking about the plants?” She locks eyes with me.

“Are we?” I challenge.

We return to my car, and I guide Taylor into the passenger seat, placing Clyde in the back floorboard and hustling around to the driver’s seat. My girl scrambles over the console, and I grab her hips as she straddles me.

“Excuse us, Clyde, but we need a few minutes to properly christen the car,” Taylor calls.

“A few minutes?” I scoff. “Don’t sell me short.”

“Gavin?”

“Yeah, man-eater?”

She fists my shirt, the fire having returned to her eyes. “Quit running your mouth and fuck me.”

A smirk plays on my face as I unfasten the top button on my jeans. “If my girl insists. Clyde, she’s a screamer, just so you’re warned.”

I get to work making Taylor do just that. Can’t let our new cactus think I’m a liar.