I sit next to him on the bed, my hand reaching for his.
“I miss the outlet.” His thumb traces my hand. “When I’m stuck. When I’m fucking confused. When I’m lost,” he finishes on a whisper.
“Could you find somewhere to do it safely?”
Twisting his neck, he looks at me, a smile growing on his face. “Fuck, you’re cute.” His arm hooks over my shoulder, bringing me into his body.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
Lips to my temple, he talks against my skin, the burr of his voice kissing me. “I don’t do it for the fight, Cami. I do it searchin’ for pain. Tempting fate, gambling on my life.”
“Oh.” My heart cracks.
“So I’m caught. I can’t do that anymore. I don’t want to do that.” He eases my hurt. “But…” He trails off, unsure of what more to say.
“Sometimes life gets hard.”
He shakes his head. “Sometimes I don’t know what the fuck to do and I don’t know how to take control. Everything is so fucking uncertain.”
Neck tipped back, he growls at the ceiling.
“I haven’t told my mom about the twins, about you.”
I try hard to hide my shock, failing miserably. “You talk to your mom?”
“Mm,” he confirms distractedly. “I visit her grave. Talk to her about how much of a fucking failure I am. She listens and I think I still have her love. No matter how much I disappoint her.”
“Rocco.”
He shakes his head, standing to distance himself from me. “Talk about a buzzkill.”
“Baby.” I stand, moving toward him. He attempts to move away but I halt him, hand on his arm, pulling him back. “Let’s go now. To Lila. Tell her about Blake and Jesse. Tell her about me. Tell her about the things that make you happy.”
Rocco’s eyes are consuming on a good day. Days like today, tumultuous days, they’re like caverns; dark and deep, voids you could easily become lost in.
He doesn’t speak for long drawn out seconds. Enough to make me second guess myself.
“I… I shouldn’t have suggested it. I—”
“You’d do that with me?”
What is it about imposing men that show their vulnerability that slices away at your heart?
“Of course,” I implore.
“It’s your dad’s birthday, the party—”
“Is hours away,” I cut him off. “We’ll go and be back with plenty of time.”
His arms wrap around me tightly. The obvious strength in them squeezing me in love and appreciation. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I shiver as I step onto the well-kept grass of the cemetery, my arms wrapping around my body to shield myself from the cold. I offered to stay in the car and while he didn’t respond verbally, he did so in true Rocco form, through action; opening my door and reaching for my hand.
The place is deserted. Not a single soul in sight. The smell of fresh-cut grass and warring floral aromas just an upbeat and pleasant scent to attribute to death. To those who left us behind.
Rocco is comfortable with me following at a distance. He didn’t want me to wait in the car, but I’m betting he doesn’t want me listening to his conversation either.
It might be strange to admit, but I feel like I’ve met Lila Shay. Her presence was so heavy at Parker and Codi’s wedding, she was a little hard to ignore. Add that to the love she obviously poured into her two boys and I know she’s someone I’d admire.
In the beginning, I refused to even attempt to understand Rocco. I pinned him as a poisonous human. Everything in his vicinity decaying and turning black. But as time passed, I saw through that smokescreen. Lila Shay loved her boys so hard, that upon her death, her loss was catastrophic. Rocco and Parker loved their mother so completely, they had no other choice but to seek revenge. They were never fueled by hate. They were inflamed by love. A devotion so chaotic, few people would ever understand it.
Her name, carved into her headstone, reads the same on Rocco’s heart. Forever ingrained, a marking that will live long after we all die.
Loving wife. Adored sister. Devoted mother.
The words on her gravestone. Devoted. Mother. If Rocco were to die today, his would read something similar.
Loving brother. Devoted son.
He’s more like his mother than he’s ever realized. I just wish he could see it. See that good that lived in her is also very much alive in him.
“I wish it was raining,” he says.
“Rain and tears aren’t the same, Rocco,” I tell him. “You can’t camouflage emotion with mother nature. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
“Says who?”
I shrug, eyes skating across the cemetery, taking in the flowers offered to those we’ve lost. It surprises me, how you never come across another person in a cemetery, yet headstones are always adorned with fresh flowers. Are we just so overcome with our own grief, we refuse to see anyone else? Or does fate let us select our timing, ensuring our grief is our own?
“Emotional tears have a different make up than other secretions of your eyes,” I tell him distractedly. “It’s all science, but they move through different tissue, which makes your eyes puffy. Basically, your body is a traitorous bitch when it comes to emotion, it wants everyone to know you’re breaking.”
Glancing between his mother’s headstone and myself, I take his hint.
“I’m going to sit over there.” I point to a large Dogwood tree, the white flowers in full bloom.
It’s hard not to watch him. To let my eyes wander to where he sits in an attempt to work out what he’s saying.
Did he jump straight into the twins?
Has he mentioned me?
Is it selfish to consider he even would with everything else he has going on?
He’s with her for over an hour. Sixty minutes I’m certain he’s no way filling with mindless conversation. Which means she’s either talking back, or he’s enjoying their shared silence as he decompresses.
Standing abruptly, his hand moves across his cheeks, swiping at the tears he doesn’t want me to see.
My broken soul, so afraid to let anyone see the cracks in his armor for fear they’ll turn their back.
Hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, he keeps his face downward. “I just have one more person to see.”
“Of course. Take as much time as you need.”
He waits, a sharp inhale as he moves to speak, but stopping, thinking better of it.
I watch his retreat, waiting until he’s out of sight before moving toward the ghost of Lila Shay. I don’t know why I wait for him to leave. Whether it was a conscious decision or one my mind made for me. Would he be mad? Am I overstepping?
Sliding my hand along the grey stone, I feel the damp chill under my palm.
“You don’t know me,” I tell her. “Or maybe you do. I’m not sure how all this works.”
Dropping to my haunches, I pick at the dead grass around her headstone, tossing it aside to leave only the green. To leave only life.
“My name is Camryn Rein and I’m so sorry that you were taken from this world too quickly. You’re missed, I’m sure you know that. But just in case you had your doubts, please know that you’re thought of every day.”