Page 36 of Just This Once (Stone Family #2)

Taryn

A fter Dante storms out, I exhale a ragged breath that gets caught in my throat, and suddenly I can’t see, my eyes so blurry I need to cling to the counter to lead me over to the corner where I have a box of tissues. Of course, no one in this house refills or throws anything out, and it’s empty.

The straw that breaks the camel’s back.

I release a shuddering sob, covering my mouth with my hand so the kids don’t hear, but my sweatshirt sleeve is almost immediately soaked with my tears. I need to find more tissues.

After flicking on the light, I carefully make my way to the basement, sniffing and coughing, throat burning, face tight, and I hang a right to the corner that has the washer, dryer, and storage for things Ian insists he buy me from Costco—one hundred rolls of toilet paper and a million boxes of tissues.

For once, it comes in handy, and I grab a box, ripping it open carelessly as I trudge out into the main space of the basement.

It’s unfinished and mainly a place to keep anything I don’t know where to put, but since all of my pottery has moved out to my shed, I’m able to appreciate this as usable space. Like Dante said.

One day, he randomly mentioned that he could finish it, giving the kids and me a little more room. In a house this pea-sized, sometimes it feels like we’re right on top of one another, especially with only one bathroom and only one communal living space.

I blow my nose a few times and wipe my face dry before tilting my head back, filling my lungs with air, willing myself to settle down.

I shouldn’t have acted that way with Dante, but I felt like a cornered cat.

I couldn’t listen to him and his fantasies about being a family when I’m in the middle of fighting for mine.

Yet he kept pushing and pushing, and I lashed out.

After the chats we’ve had about how his father treats him, I went and treated him the exact same way. As if he doesn’t know his own mind, as if he wouldn’t be able to be a good parent.

That’s not true. He is smart and capable, and anyone would be elated to have him offering himself up on a platter. Except for me. Because I self-sabotage. I am afraid of getting hurt, and it’s easier to break things first than to have to experience the pain when they cut me later.

But Dante is the last person I want to hurt.

I pivot, intent on going back upstairs, and freeze when I finally notice the new piece of furniture in the corner.

A curio with glass panels and dark-stained wood, filled with all my I Love Lucy knickknacks.

All the pieces my mother amassed during her life: the Barbie and porcelain trinkets, a collector’s plate, a rare first edition of Lucille Ball’s memoir.

There are pins, a lunch box, and small tins that can’t hold more than a few quarters but are set up to show the many faces of Lucy .

It’s a display of all the things I shared with my mother, the only items I have left of her.

Dante built this for me.

For my mother.

And I pushed him away.

A sob escapes my throat, raw and painful, and I fall to the floor. I’m a fucking idiot.

Dante loves me, and I acted as if it wasn’t enough.

When it is everything.

I cry for myself, the grief of my mother, the resentment of my father, the rage for my ex, and the overwhelming love I hold for the man who has built me a curio, shed, and safe place to land.

I don’t know how long I sit, crying into my hands, but it’s long enough for my face to ache and my back to hurt from the position I’m in. But as I finally hoist myself to standing, my cell phone buzzes in my pocket with a phone call from my brother.

Instantly, I know something is wrong.

Griffin would sooner do another tour with the service than have to make a phone call.

A pit forms in my stomach, heavy and foreboding, and there is a moment while staring at my screen that I wonder if I can simply ignore it.

If I don’t pick up, will the bad news on the other end simply cease to exist?

If I never hear the words, does that mean it never happened?

I recall the phone call from Ian, informing me of Mom’s passing. My life changed in those seconds, and I know whatever it is Griffin tells me will change it once again.

I cannot stand another heartbreak. How many can a person withstand before they crumble?

I don’t know, but I compose myself to answer and hope I will survive it. “Hi, Griffin.”

There is no preamble. “Dante’s been in an accident. It’s bad, Tar. Really bad.”

My heart stops, and I slap my hand on the wall to steady myself as my brother continues. “I thought you’d want to know. I was called to the scene. He was hit by a car.”

“Oh god,” I cry, knees threatening to give out.

“The ambulance left for the hospital a few minutes ago.”

My breath hiccups as I force the words out. “I want to go. I have to go.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

I stuff my phone back into my pocket and trip up the steps, furiously wiping at my face. If I’m going to go, I need to have some semblance of awareness. I race up to the second floor, yelling my kids’ names. They both rush into the hall before I’ve even made it to the top step.

“Mom? What’s wrong?” Jake asks, holding out his hands for me as if I might fall. My boy, now a young man.

“It’s Dante,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “He’s been in an accident. I need to go to the hospital.”

“Is he okay?” Maddie asks, and I shake my head, tears filling my eyes again.

“I don’t know.” A wave of nausea passes over me, and it takes a few moments for me to feel like I’m not fighting the ocean current. “I don’t know,” I repeat again, unable to make the promise this time, that everything will be okay.

Because I don’t know.

And I’m afraid it won’t be.

Maddie lunges at me, throwing her arms around my middle. Jake loops his arms around the both of us, and then we’re all crying. They’ve both grown so attached to Dante, losing him would not only be a blow to me but to the kids as well.

As much as I tried to deny it, the four of us have formed a special bond over the last few weeks.

One of laughter and safety. Hours spent watching Frankie chase Tortellini on his skateboard.

Sharing dinners and watching Dante gossip with Maddie and play soccer with Jake. The nights he spent in my bed.

All of it has imprinted on my skin, soothed my soul, and strengthened me to keep going. I kiss both of my children on the head. “Take care of each other. I’ll let you both know as soon as I hear something.”

The drive to the hospital is a blur. I don’t remember parking or rushing into the ER, but suddenly, I’m standing in the waiting room, my heart pounding in my chest, white noise in my head.

There are a handful of people here, including a couple in the corner who catch my attention.

The man has a full head of dark hair and a familiar-looking profile.

The woman clasps a rosary, her lips moving silently in prayer. They must be Dante’s parents.

I hesitate, unsure of what to say—if I even should say something—so I stay rooted in my spot, nervously plucking at the zipper of my coat until I hear my name.

I whirl around and run to my brother. He hauls me into a hug, one hand on my head, the other around my back.

“I’m sorry, Taryn. I didn’t know what I should do, if I should call… ”

“No, you did the right thing,” I say against his coat. When he relaxes his grip on me, I step back but hold on to his arms to keep myself steady. “What happened? How bad is it?”

“I don’t know for sure.” He winces. “My crew was called to the scene, and from what the driver said, it seems like he came out of nowhere, like Dante didn’t see the car around the curve.

He was unconscious, and… It wasn’t good.

Most likely a few broken bones and probably some internal bleeding, but I don’t know the details, only what I could gather from the EMTs. ”

My eyes sting with tears, but I blink them back, needing to stay in the moment, cognizant enough to understand the information .

“It’ll probably be a while,” Griffin says, and I nod.

“I’m not family. They won’t let me see him.”

He glances to the hospital wing doors as if he might be able to throw his weight around and get me into Dante’s room.

“I’m staying,” I tell Griffin resolutely. “I’m staying here until I know what’s going on.”

He squeezes my hand. “I’ll make sure the kids are taken care of. Don’t worry about them. Just take care of yourself, all right? You’re no use to anyone if you’re not functioning.”

The last person I’m worried about is myself. In fact, it feels like penance. I don’t deserve to feel comfort right now. Not until I see Dante and win his forgiveness.

Griffin curls his arm around my neck, tugging me to him again, his lips against my hair. “Keep your head, yeah?” When I nod, he offers me a soft chuck under my chin. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I open my mouth to answer, but instead of my gratitude, it’s a shuddered breath. Griffin merely kisses my forehead, understanding and compassion in his dark eyes. The same ones as mine. The same as Ian’s and Roman’s. As our mother.

Once he’s gone, I take a seat close to the doors and settle in to wait.

Twenty minutes.

Thirty minutes.

Almost an hour into me reliving my fight with Dante, I receive a text message. The buzzing jolts me into reality, and I shift in my seat to retrieve my phone from my coat pocket.

For another surprise.

Roman

Ian told me Craig tried to act tough with you and the kids.

Roman

You want me to kill him?

I bark out a laugh, the sound echoing in the sterile waiting room. After everything that happened tonight, to receive that message is the cherry on top of this unexpected shitshow sundae.

I text back, my fingers shaking.

No, thanks. I have it handled.

Roman

Then add this one to my tab.

Roman

My IOUs are long, but you can call them in whenever you like.

Yet again, my vision blurs the words on the screen, and I’m not sure how I have any moisture left in my body. I use a couple of tissues and lean over to toss them in the can underneath the table covered with magazines and pamphlets before meeting the concerned gaze of the woman from the corner.

She’s still holding her rosary, but she’s now sitting uncomfortably close to me.

Her smile is tremulous when she speaks. “I think you might know my son.”

I press my hand to my chest, my heart beating hard against my palm. “I think you might be the mother of my…friend.”

She nods. “I’m Angela. Angela Moretti.”

“Taryn Stone,” I say, angling myself in my chair, our knees touching, each of our hands curled around the wooden armrests.

“I’m guessing you’re the woman he’s renting his apartment from? ”

My throat swells, and I croak out a quiet, “Yeah.”

Her answering smile is tepid. Sad. She pats her upper lip with a tissue and sniffs then clears her throat. “I’m happy to meet you.”

Everything hurts. My jaw, from holding tension. My back, from sitting so ramrod straight. My feet, from digging my toes into my shoes. My heart…

My heart feels like it’s been put in a shredder, but as a mother, I can imagine her pain, and everything hurts all over again.

“I’m sorry it’s under these conditions,” I say when I’m sure my voice won’t break.

She clears her throat a few times. “I’m glad you’re here. Dante’s been…different lately. Happier, I think…because of you.”

I drop my gaze to my hands, not sure how to respond. The first time I admit the depth of my feelings for Dante can’t be to his mom. It has to be to him. When he opens his eyes. When I know he’ll be okay and smile at me.

“I know I haven’t been the best mother,” Angela confesses, and I shake my head.

We all feel like we can do better, but Dante has never said a bad word about her.

“With three boys, I did the best I could, but my Dante… I know he sometimes got lost in the shuffle.” Her mouth turns down in a frown, chin wobbling like she might cry, but she takes a breath and settles herself before continuing, “He seems like he’s found what he’s been looking for. ”

She lifts her watery eyes to mine, the meaning of her words clear.

He’s been looking for me.

Her lost boy has been found.

A man no longer searching for what he wants. Because he knows what he wants .

And I have the awesome privilege of keeping him. Supporting him. Lifting him up. Standing by his side as he has stood by mine.

I won’t let him go.

All I need is for him to wake up.

I lock my fingers together, squeezing them, attention on the linoleum, unable to meet his mother’s gaze. “He’s a good man. He’s been there for me and my kids in ways I can’t even describe.”

“He cares about you,” she says without hesitation.

That is easy enough to admit, and when I finally lift my eyes to her face, she’s smiling in a way that is so similar to her son, it is another physical blow. I have to witness that smile again.

I need to.

“I care about him too.” Tears threaten to spill over, but I blink them back. I won’t break down in front of her, not when I know what she must be feeling. I need to be strong for her. For Dante.

“I’m glad you’re here, Taryn. He needs you right now. He needs all the love he can get.” She places her hand over mine, still knotted together, but the gentle pressure has me relaxing until I turn my palm up, folding my fingers over hers.

We sit in silence for a minute, a comfortable affection passing between us. Then Angela speaks again, her voice filled with worry. “I never liked him riding that motorcycle. I always feared something like this would happen.”

I agree with a frustrated huff. “I know. I’ve ridden with him before, and it’s terrifying. But he loves it. I wish he didn’t.”

Angela sighs with her whole body. “He’s my baby, no matter how old he gets.”

I squeeze her hand in mine, wiggling it so she’ll focus on me. “The worry never ends. ”

“We’re mothers. It’s what we do.”

We share a smile.

Despite the circumstances, I feel a sense of comfort in Angela’s presence, and I can see where Dante gets his warmth and kindness from.

I haven’t had the embrace of my mother in a long time, but I can guess I would enjoy his mother’s hug. I only hope that we will come out on the other end and have reason to celebrate.

Until then, I close my eyes and pray to my mom to send me her strength. Because while I wish she and Dante had met on this plane of existence, I’m not ready for them to meet on the other.