Saturday started so well. Yes, I had general nerves while at Jane’s game, but that was a regular feeling for me. I was a naturally anxious person, slowly healing after something traumatic. I even felt okay enough to maybe not go to a psychologist after all. Instead, I had fallen into a false sense of hope — hope that was ripped out from under me the second Dean told me who that man was.
Gabriele Gimello. Another mob boss. Another threat. Another reason for my brain to remind me of what I went through, even if they weren’t directly connected.
You’re fine.I shuddered as I practiced slow breathing.Nothing is going to happen. Antonio’s kids don’t care about me, they have no reason to— They had every reason to if they’re as bad as Dean says…
He hadn’t said a lot about them on the way home, I think to not worry me about how dangerous they could be, but it didn’t stop my thoughts from conducting worst-case scenarios. Even in the shower, where I had a quick rinse, those thoughts plagued my mind.
I swiped my phone off the coffee table. Not entirely sure why other than to get my mind off everything.
I landed on Pinterest and began doom-scrolling through the main page, scrolling by aesthetically pleasing images of books and art, sunsets and flowers, feel-good quotes and—
An image of blood-covered hands.Fakeblood.
I shut off my phone and set it aside.
If one image was triggering enough… How was it that I felt like my mind was slowly spiraling out of control, yet I was sitting completely still?
I tried the slow breathing again as I cast my gaze to the kitchen on my left, where Dean was making tea and lunch. He had misplaced the hot dogs on his way back to me at the flea market. Since arriving home, he had also gone extremely quiet.
My hand drifted across to the underside of my arm, where the pinch mark from last week lay beneath the sleeve of my shirt.
It helped last time…
Dean finished in the kitchen.
I moved my hand away from my arm as he joined me on the couch and set down my tea and a large plate of loaded grilled cheese sandwiches. Tomato, ham, and cheese all stuffed into a lightly seasoned bun with charring on the edges. It smelled good, but neither of us made a move to eat any of the slices.
“Might be a little hot.” He dropped heavily into the space beside me. “You okay?”
“Are you?” I smiled meekly.
He huffed tiredly and rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye. He didn’t have to voice how he felt when it was written on his face.
“It’s not every day a gangster flirts with you at a flea market,” I continued, trying for humor.
Dean didn’t exactly laugh, but he smiled — probably out of sympathy.
I picked up the tea, sipped it, and set it back down before breaking off some of the grilled cheese sandwich. I popped it into my mouth, decided I wasn’t so anxious I couldn’t eat, and picked up more for a bigger bite.
“I want you to promise me that if you ever see him again, you run the other way.” The seriousness in his voice remained from earlier.
I swallowed and brought the plate to my lap. “Trust me, I don’t plan on talking to him again.”
Dean hummed and then tapped his thigh with his hand. An invite. I lifted my legs across his lap, and he absentmindedly began massaging my calves, thighs, and the bottom of my feet.
Touch was his love language, but I wondered if the extra need for closeness was more to reassure himself that I was fine. That I was there.
“I think we need a distraction.” I put the sandwich on the plate and dusted off my fingers.
“What’d you have in mind?” His hand came to a stop on my thigh while he rested his head back, exposing the side of his throat and the moth tattooed across the front of it.
The way he watched me through half closed eyes made my heart flutter as if this was our first kiss.
I returned the plate to the coffee table and then wrapped my hand around his bicep and tugged him closer.
He fell into the kiss easily. With my legs still draped over his lap while he leaned into me, I combed my fingers through the back of his hair.
He hummed against my lips. “This works.”
