“Boyfriend of a murdered pussy and small tits I want to bite. Husband . . . fuck that part. And I will have my vengeance, in this life and the next TO REUNITE MY FAMILY!”
I raise my fist in salute. My body races with adrenaline. I jam the key in and turn it. The bike roars to life. I slam Mas’s helmet over my fat noggin and slap the visor down. Ready to go to war! I scream a battle cry into the mic and jam my walking boot on the peg.
Pain is temporary.
Love is forever.
Backing out of the driveway is its own catastrophe. My walking boot slips. The bike swerves. Then I get it straight, pointed in the right direction, ready to fly.
And when I hit the throttle, when the bike lurches forward like a freed demon, when the wind smacks me in the face hard enough to blur my vision, when my leg pulses with a level of agony my doctor would absolutely faint over.
I laugh out loud. Unhinged and joyful. I’m doing something good. Fixing something good.
Getting both my brother and my angel back together. I ride reckless, wild, free, wobbling like a drunk flamingo on a tightrope but absolutely determined.
Five days is too long to be without her. Too long to watch my twin die a slow emotional death. Too long to pretend I’m okay when I’m absolutely not okay.
The city blurs around me. Cars honking, people pointing, someone yelling something I don’t understand. My booted foot keeps slipping, and every bump shoots lightning through my bones, but I lean into it. I push harder. I go faster.
I’m almost to her block. Almost to her. Almost to everything that matters.
And when I turn onto her street, the thrill spikes so high I swear I’m vibrating. I can almost see her building through the gaps between houses. Can imagine her walking out. Can imagine her seeing me and knowing we’re cool. She can come back now.
I grin so wide my face hurts. And then it happens. I hit that last curve, lean too hard on a leg that isn’t ready, and the bike skids from under me like life hates my ass.
The world flips.
The pavement rushes up. My helmet cracks against something that isn’t pavement at all. Maybe a parked car, a mailbox, a trash can, or possibly the universe that’s trying to kill me every time I leave my house without Mas.
My ribs slam.
My leg screams.
Everything goes sideways. I land on my back in someone’s yard with a plastic flamingo staring down at me like it’s judging all my life choices. For a second, I just lie there, blinking, breathing, existing. Pain searing through the adrenaline. Until everything goes white. Then black.
“Sofia, help me.”
CHAPTER 23
MASSIMO
The water hits my shoulders hot and brutal. Trying to peel the week off me in one scalding sheet. It doesn’t do a damn thing except remind me how long it’s been since I’ve done something as basic as take a shower.
I lean my forehead against the tile. Let the water and steam smother me, and yet it still isn’t enough to quiet the noise in my head. Everything feels swollen inside my chest. My ribs are too tight around something. I don’t know what to call it. Her name, always her name, shoves into my head.
Sofia.
Every time I blink, I see her closing the door. Hear the clank of her new locks. Every time I try not to think about it, my mind goes right back to the way she looked at me. Like she felt sorry for me. Like I’d taken something from her I didn’t have the right to want. But didn’t I?
Did I want too much? Her bossy voice in my house. Her curls on my pillow. Her hand in my hair. Her curvy body between mine and my brother’s because for the first time in a long time, something felt right, and I let myself believe it.
Stupid.
The water finally goes cold, and that’s what gets me moving. I shut it off. Blow out another frustrated breath and try not to think about all the unanswered calls and text messages. Wondering if she simply blocked me, and they’re not getting through.
I wrap a towel around my waist and step out. The first thing I notice is the quiet. Not the sports highlights. Not him yelling at his video games. Not him hollering for food. No. This is peaceful. The wrong kind of quiet. The kind of quiet that hits the center of my spine like a warning.
The house never sounds like this. Not with Emilio in it.
