Page 60 of Heaven Help Me

He sits back in his chair and rocks slowly. “Take it from an old man. You don’t want to die and have regrets.”

“Papa,” Deuce interjects, but Marcel holds up his hand.

“I’m not saying I’m dying right now, but it’s inevitable for all of us. Why, when this life has a definitive end point, do we waste even a day doing the crap we don’t want to do? Why do we wait to love? To spend time with those who make our cheeks hurt from smiling so much?”

I don’t know what’s happening to me, but ever since I got to Heaven, something is rearranging in my chest. A restructuring that can’t be seen with the naked eye, but is happening internally nonetheless. Maybe it’s the realization that I’m getting fatherly advice for the first time in my life. Or maybe it’s the realization that there’s a whole other way to live one’s life than the one I was brought up in.

“You sure you weren’t an English professor, Marcel?”

He turns watery eyes my way, a trace of a smile on his weathered face. “If I could do it all over again, maybe I would. The good news for today is you still have half your life to live, honey. You can be whatever you want to be.”

I let that rattle around in my brain while Deuce and his father discuss the week ahead and what doctor appointments Deuce will be going to with his father. I wonder what Valentina Ricci wants out of life if she’s not a knife-wielding mob boss. Could I move to a place like Heaven and be happy? Be fulfilled instead of bored out of my goddamn mind? Could I make real friends? Find someone to love?

Deuce slides his arm out of my grasp, but finds my hand, threading our fingers together. It’s an absentminded touch, but I stare at our entwined digits, wondering when touching like this became normal. When did I go from hating him to craving his presence? To not only tolerating his touch but yearning for it?

Is that love?

Because if it is, it doesn’t have the adrenaline shot that comes from getting into a knife fight with someone who wants you dead, but it does leave me warm and tingly all over.

And I think I could get used to it.

I think I could come to depend on it.

I think I might want it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Deuce

Valentina has been off all week. I doubt anyone else has noticed. She’s good at putting on a front, acting the way she thinks others want her to show up, but I know her. Something’s going on in that brain of hers and I’m just waiting for her to spill it.

I mean, she told me she hoped my yolk was dry when I opened the bag of bread to make us eggs and toast the other day. She didn’t even bother to put some venom behind the lame words. Her insults have lacked heat and creativity all week, and that has me more worried than anything.

“Valentina?” I call up the stairs. I hear her door crack open right before she answers. “I put a lasagna from Dad’s coworker in the oven. Want to come with me on a run while it cooks?”

She pauses for a second. “Sure. But why are we eating your dad’s food?”

That makes me grin. For as coldhearted as she tries to come across, I can tell she likes my father. “He can’t eat the dairy in it. Didn’t want to tell Brenda after she took the time to make him a homemade meal. Don’t worry, I took over something to replace it.”

“Okay. Just give me a minute to change.” And then comes the click of her door closing again.

When she comes back down, she’s in black running shorts and a sports bra, her long lean legs and torso on display. Her olive skin is even darker since coming to Heaven. She’s got her raven-black hair slicked back in a ponytail on top of her head. She could be an athleisure wear model if she wanted to.

She looks up from her phone and realizes I’m staring at her. She pops a hip out and glares at me. “I hope your headphones short out the minute you step outside.”

I grin like a fool. “What’s wrong with me staring at the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on?”

She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks take on a slightly pinker hue. I know I’ve gotten to her when she marches past me, making sure her elbow whacks me as she goes. She always resorts to violence when flustered.

“Let’s go, Romeo,” she snaps.

We head out, both of us with headphones in as we jog through my neighborhood and then increase the pace when we get to the dirt trail that leads to the park. It doesn’t take long in this summer humidity to work up a sweat. By the time we hit the park, we’re both breathing hard and actively trying to keep sweat from dripping in our eyes. We head straight for the bars to hit some pullups.

I wait until we’ve both completed a set before I try to pry out of her whatever has had her flatlined this week. “So, what’s going on in that head of yours, V? You gonna tell me or do I have to torture it out of you?”

She scoffs. “As if you could.”

I reach over and tuck some wayward hair behind her ear. I drop my voice and leave behind the teasing. “Seriously, V, what’s going on? I want to help.”