"Maybe," I say, "but I'd rather get punched in the mouth than watch him disappear thinking he wasn't worth fighting for."
He just shakes his head. "You never change."
I swallow hard. Keep my voice steady. "I'm trying." He turns to leave again. But I follow, a step behind. "I know I'm not the kind of guy anyone wants to root for," I say softer now. "And I know what I did to your brother won't ever go away. But I didn't hit him because he insulted me." I look at him now. "And maybe you still think I'm trash. That's fine. But Rava's not. And if you let him leave when he has a chance to thrive here, to do whathe loves, just because of me, then maybe you're not as different from your brother as you think."
That lands. I see it in the way his face twitches for a second. But then he shuts down again. "Don't push your luck, Fontana." "I'm not. I'm just trying." He pauses. And this time, he doesn't say no. He just walks away.
I look at the time. Shit. I have to pick up mom.
But I won't let go that easily. That bastard will see my face again.
…
I stop outside her room. Knock twice, even though the door's open. She's sitting up. "Hey, Ma," I say.
"Giovanni." Her eyes light up. I step in, and she opens her arms without saying a word. I drop my guard and fall into them. God, she looks smaller now. "I told you I'd be okay," she whispers.
The doctor walks in a few minutes later, clipboard in hand, expression neutral. He gives me the rundown.
Medication schedule. Check-ins. Rest. No stress. "She needs help," he says gently. "You'll need to keep a close eye. The recovery isn't just physical."
"I've got her," I say immediately. But a part of me clenches. Because I know what it means when doctors say "recovery takes time." I've heard it before. It means it's not over. It means be ready. Still, I look at her again. She smiles at me. And I nod.
"Come on. Let's take you home, Ma." As we leave the room, I hold her hand. Not only because she needs it. Because I do too. Because today I've got two things I refuse to lose.
My mother. And Rava.
And I'm not going down without a fucking war.
…
I drop her off at the house, holding the bags even though she told me three times she could do it herself. "No stress, remember?" I say, half-serious. She rolls her eyes. "You're more dramatic than the doctors."
We walk to the door, and Rava's mom is already there. They look at each other and light up like two high school girls who haven't gossiped in a week.
"Oh, you're here," she says to me, barely glancing. Then she turns to my mom. "I brought the good coffee, girl."
"Finally," my mom grins. "That hospital swill almost killed me." I stare. "Okay…should I leave you two alone?"
"Yes," they say in unison. I blink. "Wow."
My mom turns to me and cups my face like I'm five again. "Go, Giovanni. Let me have girl time."
"I literally just got you out of the hospital—"
"Exactly. I deserve it."
I laugh, and let her push me gently. "Fine. Just don't talk too much shit about me."
"No promises."
…
I walk back into my place, not expecting much.
Maybe a quiet mess. Maybe Rava still sleeping. What I get is domestic fucking heaven. The bed's made. Kitchen smells good. And there on the couch, one hand petting Lulu, the other holding a glass of water like some kind of half-naked husband from a movie, is Rava.
No shirt. Sleep hair.
