“Did you get the journal?” she asks, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “I left it on your steps a couple months ago.”
Dragging my hand down my face, I tuck my chin and drag in a heavy breath.
“I took it from him after we broke up,” she says. “I . . . I thought maybe it would show you . . . I just . . . I just wanted you to see how much he loved me.”
“Of course. It’s all about you.”
“And why I chose him over you.” Kerenza reaches for me, foolishly expecting me to need comfort from her of all people, and I back away.
Peering at her, brows furrowed, I spit my words, “Why? Why the fuck would you think it mattered a year later?”
Her red lips form an O shape, and her narrow brows meet. “Because . . . because you fell apart after . . . after everything that happened. I mean, you basically became a recluse. I destroyed you, Alessio. And I feel awful for that. I’m trying to right this ship. I’m trying to give you closure, because clearly you needed it.”
Wearing an incredulous smirk, I drag my thumb across my lower lip and stare at the sidewalk behind her.
“Really?” I ask. “Really, Kerenza?”
She says nothing, only stands up tall with ironclad confidence. Funny how those tears of hers dried the second she realized they weren’t working on me.
“You didn’t destroy me,” I say. “Let me make that extremely clear to you.”
Her eyes soften, as if I’ve hurt her feelings, which is pretty damn hilarious because I’m not sure she has any.
“You leaving me on our wedding day, in front of four hundred thirty-two guests, was classic fucking gold. I mean, seriously, go big or go home, right? And then finding out you’d been fucking my best friend behind my back for months? That was the icing on the $15,000 wedding cake we never did get a chance to enjoy,” I speak through gritted teeth. “But my anger this last year? My bitterness? It’s always been directed at myself.”
Kerenza seems confused, her lips dancing and then sealing.
“I never should’ve gotten in that car,” I say, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. I’d rented a 1957 Austin-Healey convertible, white with a red interior. The car was Kerenza’s idea after she’d seen a photo shoot in some wedding magazine, and me, being the ignorant schmuck that I was, wanted to make her happy, to give her the wedding of her dreams. After our wedding reception, we were going to drive off, dragging tin cans and one of those God-awful “Just Married” signs behind us, waving at our friends and family and kissing as we rode over the hill past the venue. Just like we’d planned since we were kids. Instead, I left the church, yanked the bullshit signs off the back of the classic car, and sped off in the direction of my best friend’s Martha’s Vineyard retreat where he was staying during the wedding weekend.
I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was only seeing red.
In the fraction of a second, I’d lost my childhood sweetheart.
And a man I’d loved just as much as if he were my own blood brother.
I wasn’t going to take it lying down, watching everyone sit around feeling sorry for me, listening to Zia Maria-Teresa telling me to go on a solo honeymoon because that would really be sticking it to them . . .
I had to see them. I wanted to look into his eyes. Slam him against the wall. Spit in his face. Beat the shit out of him because at the time, it seemed like a good way to transfer the intense pain that was coursing through my body.
And then, when he was lying on the floor in a pile of his own blood and vomit, looking like the fucking piece of shit he was, I was going to inform him that he was dead to me.
Losing Kerenza hurt like a bitch.
But losing my best friend, my brother, hurt a hundred times worse.
My hands gripped the wheel hard as I sped through the windy Provincetown highway that led to his place. I wasn’t watching my speed, though I know I was flying. And before I knew it, I was literally flying. The car caught a hairpin turn on a road I was unfamiliar with, and when I woke up, I was lying in a hospital room hooked up to machines, consumed with the worst physical pain I’d ever felt in my life.
The next thing I knew, my mother was frantically yelling in Italian and running off to get the doctor, and within the twenty-four hours that followed, I was told that my right shoulder was shattered in five places and more than likely, I’d never pitch a baseball again.
“This past year,” I say carefully. “I haven’t been mourning you, Kerenza. I’ve been hating myself for getting in that car, believing that you two were worth the trouble I was getting myself into. We were best fucking friends, he and I. Closer than brothers. And you took that away. The two of you did. Together.”
“See, this is why I wanted you to read the journal,” she says, almost smiling. “I wanted you to see that it wasn’t easy for me. He documented everything. His love for me was different than yours. You loved me too much, Alessio.”
“Goddamn it.” This is what I get for arguing with a narcissist. “You’re not. Fucking. Listening.”
Kerenza’s head tilts, her tongue slicking along the part of her lips. She looks like a confused cocker spaniel, her dark hair all wavy and loose around her shoulders. I used to think it was endearing, and now I can hardly stand to look at her.
“Alessio, I just want you to know that I regret my decision every single day,” she says. “Knowing that my actions caused your life to be turned upside down is not lost on me.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
“He represented excitement and adventure. He was shiny and new,” she says, her eyes lighting. “He traveled the world. You traveled to stadiums. He loved me with everything he had, never holding back. Your love terrified and amazed me. It felt like home. You were my anchor, Alessio. I just didn’t want to be tethered. At least not at the time.”
I glance at my watch. “Are we done here?”
“Why? You have somewhere you need to be?” She chuffs, like she’s insulted I don’t want to stand here and let her wax poetic about the good fucking thing she once had and how she screwed it up by being a heartless fucking bitch.
“Save it, Kerenza. At the end of the day, I never should’ve gotten in that car. I never should’ve come after you two, because the fact of the matter is you and Gianluca? You were perfect for each other. Abso-fucking-lutely perfect.”
Kerenza’s jaw drops and she stands, blocking my doorway.
“Move,” I growl.
She swallows, blinking quickly and glancing at a passing couple on the sidewalk. She turns back to me.
“Did you read it?” she asks. “The journal.”
“Fuck. No,” I say, everything starting to make sense for once. Can’t say that I blame Aidy now. I’ve seen the way Gianluca writes, and I know he has a penchant for hyperbole, and anyone who knows him knows he doesn’t mean half the things he says. He’s a lot like Kerenza that way. Even their eyes are matching shades of bullshit. “But my girlfriend did, and apparently she thinks I wrote all that lovey-dovey shit about you. And god damn it.” My fists ball as everything finally makes sense. “She thinks I’m still in love with you.”
Kerenza’s lips twist into a satisfied smile, which doesn’t surprise me in the least.