Page 47 of The Fractured

Dean raised an eyebrow knowingly while the corner of his mouth twitched. “Since I’m down here already…”

I knew he was joking, but it didn’t stop the subtle fluttering in my stomach. My words came out with quiet laughter as I gently tugged on his arm. “Just come inside.”

He rose to his feet, handed me the container, and kissed my cheek, smiling as he did.

I led him into the apartment, feeling completely giddy now that he was here. The pain meds were also finally providing some relief. The promise of some sugar-coated cannoli was also helping my mood.

We headed quietly into my room.

“How did you get into the apartment foyer anyway?” I whispered as I shut the bedroom door.

Dean took a seat on the end of my bed. “That guy on the first floor let me in. The one with all the birds.”

“Ah,” I nodded, approaching the bed as I opened the container. “That’s Nigel.”

I felt Dean’s eyes on me as I sat beside him, deciding which cannoli I would eat first.

He brushed his arm against mine, grabbing my attention.

“By the way, what you said on Friday night, it made me realize I’m a dumbass for keeping Mom in the dark.”

“You told her?”

“Everythin’.”

“Everything? As in deportation and prison?”

He pressed his lips together and nodded once. “The lot.”

I put the container aside and angled myself to face him. “How’d she take it?”

Dean inhaled. His expression was faintly amused. “She cried, ranted about how much she hated it, and called me an idiot for planning on keeping it from her. For not trusting her to keep it a secret like she’s done my entire time fighting for Antonio.”

“Well,” I sighed. “She isn’t wrong…”

“You can call me an idiot too, if you like.”

I leaned closer. “I’m just happy she’s aware… What’s the next step for her?”

“Applying for citizenship isn’t easy… She said she’ll just have to be careful.”

“Until we figure something out,” I reassured.

“Yes…”

Those gray-blue eyes watched me a second longer, noticing the small cut on my lip from earlier today, before he gently tucked several strands of hair behind my ear and cupped the side of my face. I tilted my head into his touch, searching his face for whatever was on his mind.

“You make me wanna do better.”

My heart skipped a beat, and my throat bobbed. That sentimental feeling from before set in quickly. There was a sudden glassiness to my vision.

“The intention wasn’t to make you cry.” He half smiled out of sympathy, wiping at a tear that tracked its way down my cheek. “Fuck, I’m on a roll this year.”

I huffed a laugh and wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my pajama top. “No, it’s fine. Let's change the subject before I’m a blubbering mess.”

“Good idea.” His eyes were still on me, making sure I was, in fact, okay before we continued.

“So,” I smiled, sniffling, “how did tonight go?”