Page 42 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

I wait until she closes her bedroom door to turn back and face the TV, trying to figure out exactly what to say to Tomás that won’t make it painfully obvious that I’m lying.

Problem is, I’m a horrible liar. Even if I can come up with something to cover my tracks, my face usually gives me away. Often, it’s louder than any words I can say.

I don’t know if it’s the painful erection I’m trying to ignore or the fact that my mind is lingering on how Lorena looks waiting for me in her bedroom, but the usual effect weed has on me creatively, seems to vanish.

I can’t come up with a good enough excuse or cover.

All I know, and all I can focus on right now, is getting my ass up and getting to Lorena. Right. Fucking. Now. Before I burst.

Ready to just say fuck it by keeping it simple and telling him I’m just going to call it a night, I get up from the couch.

As if on cue, my phone vibrates. Rolling my eyes, I look down and see it’s Dante, not texting me…calling me. I glance up at the time causing my stomach to drop. It’s late, damn near midnight. Dante rarely calls me, let alone at this hour.

“Answer it,” Tomás says, voice dry, jaw tight, and my stomach drops.

There’s no way that my fucking brother, my own damn flesh and blood, would do me this dirty right now by ratting me out to Tomás. My blood runs cold, dulling my senses, as I swipe to receive the incoming call.

Clearing my throat, I answer. “Everything good?”

I swallow. Feeling sick to my stomach. The long-winded sigh on the other side isn’t helping matters at all.

My phone vibrates against my cheek. Likely Lorena, texting me to ask what is taking me so long. I want to check to confirm, but I can’t. My brother’s lack of response, mixed with Tomás' concerned expression, are all I can focus on.

“Dante, what’s up?” I press him. Needing him to get to the point here.

He’s acting like someone has died.

“What is it?”

“It’s Dad.”

I pace back and forth with the phone clenched tight in my palm. I haven’t heard from our dad since the last time he called me from the police station, needing me to bail him out for whatever time it was, I’ve lost count.

“What trouble is he in now?” I ask, expecting my brother to return the frustration I know we both share towards him since he abandoned us.

He wouldn’t call it that, but choosing the liquor bottle over your family, not coming home to your kids who had just lost their mother, that’s the fucking definition of neglect and abandonment to me.

“It’s not like that. He’s in the hospital.”

“Of course, he is. What the fuck did he do now? Get into a fight?” I hate how bitter I sound. I wish that the relationship with him was different, but it’s not.

“No, Santino.” Dante’s tone is unreadable and it’s enough to make me sit down.

“He’s really sick.”

“Okay…” Is all I can say, as I wait for Dante to go on.

“The doctors aren’t sure exactly what it is, but he’s been going in and out of consciousness.” Dante’s voice cracks. “I don’t know if he’s dying or what this time.”

I say nothing. Trying to process those two words. He’s dying.

The man who has been dead to me, in my heart, for years.

He died the moment he showed his true colors when he couldn’t take the loss of his wife, the mother of his kids, and ran and acted out instead of being there for us and getting the help he needed.

He’s fucking dead already, Tino.

Dead.

So why is hearing that he’s possibly dying make me feel the way I’m feeling now?

Why is hearing this making me get up on my feet and head to the front door instead of to the bedroom where the one who has unknowingly made me feel better about my life, is waiting for me?

Why the hell am I allowing him to rule my emotions and mess up the best thing to almost happen to me?

I don’t know.

I just don’t.

And that’s killing me.

That I still have a heart for this man, after all he put our family through.

“Listen, I know you two haven’t spoken since…”

“The last time he hit me up for money. No, no we haven’t,” I say coldly, cutting Dante off.

“That aside. He’s still our dad.”

“Is he though? I mean last I checked a father doesn’t hurt or abandon his children.”

Dante sighs into the phone. “I get it, Tino. I do. But right now, I’m asking you as my brother, to put that aside and come upstate to the hospital near the rehab facility. I can’t deal with this alone.”

“Fine. But I’m only doing this for you,” I half-lie, opting not to finish the rest of what I want to say, in fear that I’ll get too choked up and not be able to say it.

I’ll go for our mom, because that’s what she would’ve wanted. To have her remaining sons together by her husband’s side.

Too bad it has to be under these circumstances.

At least she didn’t have to see him like this.

That trauma belongs to us, and us alone. And somehow, no matter how many years pass, that pain and memory never fades, it only increases with each passing day.

THE PAST

“He needs help.” A truth that feels like an understatement, as I peer down to the shards of glass I’m standing on top of.

Thankful that at least this time when my dad decided to get drunk and start throwing shit, I already had shoes on.

The last time he got this bad, that wasn’t the case.

It was the middle of the night, and I was awoken by what sounded like everything in the house shattering and falling off the walls, and in my tired state of getting out of bed to see what was happening, I forgot to put on shoes, and it was my bare feet that caught the sharp-end of the wreckage he caused.

Both of my brothers are quiet at first. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve called them since they’ve been out of basic training camp, now that I can talk to them outside of letters, to let them know that our dad has gotten himself into trouble again.

There have been times that I’ve kept it to myself, not wanting to burden them with it while they are so far from home, but I’m starting to reach my personal threshold of how much I can deal with alone.

Something has to give. I don’t know how much longer I can go on seeing the man who went from never missing a sporting event or practice we had growing up, and who always volunteered at our school events, ruin himself. And me in the process.

“What did he do this time?” Dante finally speaks, with Emilio, chiming in after him, asking if I’m okay.

I look down at my forearm. The makeshift bandage wrap I put on it has held in most of the blood, but that’s not what’s hurting me right now.

My fucking heart feels torn in two. You’d think that it was my chest that my dad accidentally sliced with the broken whiskey bottle when he threw it my way, trying to get me away from him, insisting he was fine, mere seconds before he blacked out in front of me, falling to the floor.

“I’ll be fine,” I reassure them, knowing that after I do what I’m about to propose to them, I will be. At least I hope. “But he’s been drinking again.”

Dante scoffs, muttering under his breath. “Yeah, okay. Again implies he stopped.”

“I mean drinking to the level he usually does this time of year.”

“I thought he did,” Emilio chimes in. The two of them couldn’t be more opposite.

Where Dante always sounds gruff and leans to being more of a pessimist, Emilio’s voice always sounds hopeful, and every time I’ve had to tell them about our father’s latest shenanigans, he always clings onto his optimistic nature, hoping that this will be the last time. Hoping that things will change.

“No, Emilio, he hasn’t stopped. If anything, ever since mom’s birthday that just passed, he’s been binging non-stop, and tonight when I tried to get him to put the bottle down, he threw it, shattering it, and then he came after me with what was left of it.”

“Holy shit,” Emilio says.

“Yeah, holy shit is fucking right. Do you need us to come home?” Dante asks.

“No, I can’t have you two do that. You’re not allowed to leave anyway.

But this is why I called. We…” I clear my throat, correcting myself.

“I can’t keep doing this. Since Pops hasn’t been able to hold down a job, I’ve been working seven days a week between the pizza shop and bakery on Boller Ave.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a day off, and then to keep dealing with his outbursts, ruining the bit of time I do have to myself. It’s just too much.”

“So what are you thinking?” they ask in unison.

I turn my head and look at the pamphlet for the rehabilitation center on the fridge.

Even in the dimly lit kitchen I’m standing in, the place looks like a dream.

Much bigger than our apartment. It looks like a beacon of hope, the last resort that we need if we have any chance of getting our father back to the man he was, before he essentially died in spirit when our mom passed.

“There’s a place,” I begin, but Dante clicks his tongue, interrupting me.

“This sounds expensive already.” He’s not wrong. In fact, he’s correct. It’s very expensive. Drain the savings account, and hope they’ll take off a couple thousand off the price, type expensive.

Propped against the wall of the kitchen, I hang my head low.

Not that my brothers can see me, but I feel such sadness and overwhelm I can’t keep my head up right now.

Pushing through how I feel, I go on. “Anyway, it’s doable, and it’s really fucking nice.

I think he’ll be able to thrive there.” Suddenly, the hope that’s usually in my brother Emilio’s voice is in mine.

Convincing myself in silence that this is going to work. That it’s going to be worth the sacrifice I’m about to make. That we’re going to get your dad back. And that maybe then, everything will be okay again.

“How much is it?” Dante asks geting right down to business.

“Yeah, how much? We’ll chip in,” Emilio says.

I can’t ask them to do that. Not when I’m technically making more, working myself to death.

“I got it,” I quip, bracing myself for the fight they’re about to put up.

Sure enough, in a matter of seconds, Emilio shifts from his usual sunshine personality to a more apprehensive one, saying that they don’t want me to be burdened by making sure our dad is okay.

“I’m the oldest!” I blurt, silencing them both.

A few shallow breaths later, I break the silence my outburst caused. “It’s my responsibility to take care of our family. Like I said, I’ve been working every day, I have more than enough for him to be treated there for at least a few months.”

I move over to the fridge, taking the pamphlet and begin to read them some of the highlights.

I purposely don’t give Dante or Emilio any numbers.

I mean it. This is my responsibility. They try asking, but I go over each time.

Partially because I don’t want them to have to fork over whatever savings they have.

Also because the more I think about the cash I’ve stashed away for my dream culinary school upstate, the more I’m afraid I’ll change my mind.

I end the call with my brothers, tiptoeing around my dad still passed out on the kitchen floor, and go to sit down at the table to call the rehab center.

My hands shake with each press of the button as I dial.

All I can think of when my finger taps the call button is something that my father used to say to me and my brothers all the time when we were younger.

“Family is everything. Both the family you’re born into and the one you gain through friendships, if you find yourself fortunate enough. But no matter how your family is formed, it’s up to you to keep the foundation alive. If there’s a crack, do what you can to fix it.”

Advice I wish he’d taken more seriously, but they are words I have chosen to live by. I’m going to fix it. And if this doesn’t work, I’ll keep trying until something sticks. I just hope he appreciates the sacrifice I’m about to make for him.