She digs some shoes out, slips them on, and grabs the handles of her bag. All moving in slow motion.
“I’ll take you home, Sofia. Even if you need space, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Day or night. Doesn’t matter.”
“Paco!” She nods but doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t look at him. The traitorous little rat-dog runs back into the room. All excited and shit. He jumps up, shaking his ass. Ugly bug eyes about to fall out of the sides of his face. Our son trots straight to her, picking her in the divorce, and now I’m stuck with the sucky dad custody.
“Wow,” I mutter, crushed from all angles. “Even my own son abandons me.”
Betrayed, stabbed, and left for dead by an eight-pound gremlin nestled against the tits that I wanted to suck.
“Sofia,” Massimo grits, voice rough, eyes shimmering again.
She turns, eyes softening just for him, but not enough to change her mind, just enough to hurt him worse.
“Thank you for taking me home.” She approaches me, kisses my cheek, and is out of arm’s reach before I can even think to grab her and hold her hostage. “Follow the instructions that Ryan gave you. Infection is always a risk, and I don’t want to see you back in my ICU. You hear me?”
There it is, back to nurse without the swinging gold hoops. My chest squeezes so tight it’s hard to breathe. Then she walks out, walks away. I’m left holding my brother’s shirt over my dick and wondering what the fuck just happened.
“I’ll be back. Let me know if you need anything while I’m out.”
Then he’s gone too, and I’m all alone. It’s the second-worst feeling in the world. Her leaving is the first. Space. She wanted it, and now it’s all I have. It’s downright miserable.
“But now I’m all alone.”
CHAPTER 17
MASSIMO
The Koenigsegg purrs instead of roars on the drive back. Like, even the engine knows to keep its mouth shut. Boston slides by in glass, gray, and brick. Normally, I’d be weaving through traffic with Em in the other car, both of us showing off. Today I stay in the right lane, hands at ten and two like some nervous teenager on a driving test.
Sofia’s in the passenger seat. Paco’s a little blonde loaf in her lap, where Em and I both want to be. Her bag and his bed are crammed in the tiny space behind our seats, where they were just twenty-four hours before. Hypercar life. Looks cool. Useless for actual living.
The silence eats at me. I should say something. Ask how she’s feeling. If she’s sore from everything. If she regrets it. If she’s mad. I don’t. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m afraid to know the answers. Afraid her truth isn’t mine. And I’m trying really fucking hard to give her what she asked for.
Space.
Feels like slow suffocation.
Red light.
The car idles low, a deep hum under my palms. I glance over. Her head is tipped back against the seat. Wet curls hang down around her face, which is turned toward the window. No makeup now. Just the faint shadows under her eyes and the tiny frown line between her brows that’s been there since she said she’s going home.
Her fingers move absently over Paco’s head. Long strokes. He sighs like he’s in heaven.
Lucky little bastard.
“Are you warm enough?” It comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.
She blinks. Turns just enough that I catch the side of her profile.
“I’m fine, Papito.”
The words are polite. Neutral. Might as well be a stranger in my car. The light turns green. I ease the clutch, roll us forward. I shouldn’t notice that she’s just said papito without the usual heat. Without teasing. Without the little smile she usually tacks on. But I do.
We’re quiet for another few blocks. The city changes. The pretty tree-lined streets give way to tighter, older roads. Graffiti. Trash. Triple-deckers with peeling paint and satellite dishes stuck at odd angles. The neighborhood I already decided I hate.
My phone dings in the cupholder. I don’t look. My eyes stay on the road. Her gaze flicks down.
“Your phone,” she murmurs.
