My throat closes. I don't know what to say. "I'm not blaming you," Gio says again, but the more he repeats it, the more it sounds like he is. I shift my weight, cross my arms. "You act like I haven't tried to make things easier."
"I act like that?"
I nod. "I get it. My dad's definitely not the easiest person. But come on, Gio. You've never exactly tried either."
Yeah. Okay. That doesn't come out great. I hope he knows what I mean. I'm not defending my dad. Not even a little. He's been awful. Unforgivable, even. But like...objectively?
What dad wouldn't freak out if his kid were into a guy with an actual criminal record? I'm not saying he's right. He's not. He's judgmental and mean and refuses to see Gio for who he really is.
But it's not like Gio makes it easy either. He doesn't walk into a room and scream "I'm healing, give me a chance." They bait each other. Constantly.
It's like watching two angry dogs circling each other, waiting to see who snaps first. I'm stuck in the middle trying to keep the damn peace, and they're both out here acting like it's a competition for who can piss off the other more.
"You're kidding, right?"
I hold my ground. "I'm just saying—he doesn't hate you for no reason. You literally do illegal stuff for fun in front of his face." Now the flicker is fire. "Are we really doing this?"
"He doesn't even know you. He just doesn't like your—"
"My what?"
"Your whole...attitude. The way you walk around like you don't give a shit about anyone."
"I wonder why." His voice drops lower. The tension spikes. "You think I give attitude to him for fun?" he says. "Your dad made my life hell. And my father's. He threatened him. Lied. Manipulated him. You know that."
I stay quiet.
"And now," Gio continues, voice cracking just a little, "he gets to sit on balconies in the sun and drink espresso like a decent human being, while mine's six feet under."
Oh God. That hits like a punch. I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. "I'm the one without a dad now," Gio says, smiling without joy. "Me. Not him. Not you.Me."
I take a step closer, slowly. "Gio…"
He shakes his head. "And still," he continues, "you want me to sit there and make small talk with him. Smile. Dress nicer. Be a good little boy so he'll maybe stop hating me for who I am."
"I never asked you to do that."
"You didn't have to. You just asked me to not be me."
That silence again. Thicker this time. Almost suffocating. He looks at me, breathing a little too fast. I can't even respond right away. My lips part but no words come out. Not because I don't have something to say. Because I don't know how to say any of it without sounding like a liar.
"Gio, that's reallynotwhat I mean. You know I love y—"
…
"—your whole style and all..."
He shakes his head once, like he's already decided where this is going. His expression shifts. "I think I need a second," he mutters. "Just some time. Alone."
"No," I say quickly. "Please. We should talk. We're not gonna leave it like this."
"I'm not trying to leave it." His voice is soft. Careful. "I just...don't think I can talk right now without saying something I'll regret."
The worst part? He is being gentle. Even now.
"I'm not trying to push you away," he replies. "Seriously. I'm just asking for space. Just for a bit. Please."
I stare at him, throat tight. I want to say no. I want to stay. I want to fix it. But he's already turning away. Already pulling back into himself. So I nod, even though it feels like ripping my chest open. "Okay," I say quietly. And then I leave.
