"Dante, slow down," Erica pleaded. With her stilettos, she could barely keep up with my angry strides. My mother's parting words were lead in my stomach, weighing me down from the inside out.
I stopped to face Erica. "You should go."
"Wait, what? Why are you sending me home? What did I do wrong?"
Blood pounded in my ears and my heart raced like I'd just run a forty-yard dash. I was being an asshole because it was easier to be angry than deal with my disappointment. I was used to being hurt by my mother, but Erica didn't deserve her wrath.
Erica crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not leaving." The trickle of blood on her chin had almost dried, but she winced with each of her words.
What the fuck was wrong with me? Instead of comforting Erica, I was trying to get rid of her, so I didn't have to face the evidence of my mom's misconduct.
"Come on, let's go get you cleaned up."
I threaded my fingers through hers and pulled her to the nearest bathroom. Doing my best not to hurt her any more than she already was, I dabbed at her mouth with a damp paper towel.
"Dante, talk to me."
I couldn't handle the sympathy laced in the depths of her eyes. Choking back the emotions that were threatening to erupt, I apologized again. The clash of my past with my present felt worse than the hit that had almost paralyzed me.
"It's not a big deal," Erica said. "Please, don't look at me like that."
I caught my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were darkened slits and my body was coiled tight like I was ready to tackle someone. I did my best to soften my expression and shook my arms out before responding.
"Not a big deal? My mother just socked you in the face."
"She's drunk."
"That's not a fucking excuse," I bellowed.
Erica flinched and I immediately regretted my outburst. A single tear slipped out of one eye and trailed down her cheek.
"Babe, I'm sorry," I said. I lifted her onto the counter and wedged myself between her legs. With soft shushes she rubbed my back and consoled me, when I should have been the one consoling her.
"It's okay. I'm fine," she lied.
I pulled back and looked down at her. The swelling in her lip was getting worse. She tried to give me an encouraging smile, but it fell flat. I couldn't handle the sight of her beautiful face marred by my mother's hand. I stalked out of the bathroom and towards the lobby. I needed fresh air or I was going to put my fist through the mirror.
Erica trailed after me, keeping a safe distance. As we rounded the corner to the ballroom, we ran into a flustered Allister.
"What happened?" Allister asked as she smoothed down her tousled hair, eyes growing wide when she saw Erica's split lip.
"My mother. She's in the hallway, down there on the left."
Recognition dawned on Allie's face and she cursed under her breath. "I'll get rid of her," she said, marching towards a hotel staff member who was sitting at the front desk. In spite of everything, having my mother thrown out turned my stomach.
I pushed through the sliding glass doors and headed across the street to the Bell Harbor Marina. Erica took off her heels and walked barefoot beside me. She linked her hand with mine, but didn't speak, sensing my need for silence.
The briny scent of the bay whispered across my senses. Several people were boarding a boat, lit up with twinkling lights from stem to stern. I longed to catch a ride out to sea and forget about this awful night.
"Dante, I am so sorry."
"Why are you sorry?" I asked, not breaking stride. I had no idea where I was going, but I needed to keep walking. The night was chilly and Erica shivered, so I slipped my jacket around her shoulders before continuing my death march down Cruise Pier.
"Because your mom ruined your big night."
"I'm used to it." Or at least I'd thought I was, but I sounded like a petulant child.
"That doesn't make it okay. Dante, would you please stop walking and talk to me?" Erica pulled me to a stop. The kick of a boat turning on drowned out her next words. She stepped closer and placed her hands on my chest. "It's okay to be upset."
"I know that." But I hated that I was mad. I hated that my mom could still get under my skin and control my emotions, even though I was a grown man.
"Do you?" Erica asked, centering me with a palm on my cheek. She forced me to look at her. "What happened is not your fault. Your mom is sick. She needs help."
"I am so sick of hearing that shit. Just because she chooses to drink herself into oblivion every night does not mean that she has the right to act like that."
"You're right. But you can't blame her for wanting to be here on your big night. She is your mother, after all."
"That's where you're wrong. I can blame her. The only time she shows up to support me is if I'm winning. After I was injured, you know how many times she came to see me?"
"How many?"
I put my index finger up. "Once. She came to visit me in the hospital one fucking time." Erica shook her head, but didn't respond. "When the doctor told us that my football career was over, she bailed the next day. I wasn't even sure I was going to regain my mobility. What kind of mother does that?"
When my career ended after a heinous hit that could have paralyzed me, my mom had been devastated. For all the wrong reasons. Our relationship had never been the same.
"Oh, Dante," Erica murmured, wrapping her arms around my waist and settling her head against my chest. "I'm so sorry."
I listened to the water slap against the pillars below us and pulled her tight. Having her in my arms was the only thing keeping me from jumping off the pier.
"When I was a little girl, my mom used to stand me in front of the mirror, naked, and point out all of my flabby parts. She told me I was disgusting and that no one would ever love me if I didn't lose weight."
"Jesus Christ," I said, grabbing her upper arms and forcing her back. "You were just a little kid."
"For the longest time, I believed her. The way I looked on the outside was so intertwined with my self-worth that I was convinced I had to look perfect in order for people to like me. I think that was why I signed on with Hot Shot Cosmetics when I dropped out of school. To prove that I was worthy. To my mother. To myself."
I shook my head, but stayed quiet, rubbing her upper arms.
"There are still days I catch myself looking in the mirror and critiquing flaws that don't even exist. But then I remind myself of that night, ten years ago, when this cocky guy came home with my brother." I chuckled and her lips lifted into a smile. "That night at dinner, my mom tried to give me shit about eating a roll. Do you remember what you did?"
"I reached over the table and gave you a second one."
"And you said I looked amazing and that a few extra carbs wouldn't do me any harm. I thought my mom was going to have a stroke."
I threw my head back and laughed. "Well, you did look beautiful."
"I'm not fishing for compliments. In spite of all that shit my mom put me through, I came to the realization that parents are people too. They make mistakes, they have flaws, and sometimes they disappoint us."
"So, you think I should give her another chance? Even though she's let me down time and time again."
"Only you know the answer to that question. But isn't that what love is all about? Forgiveness? The adage that you have to forgive and forget is bullshit. You never forget. People we love will disappoint us. Hopefully it's unintentional, but it will happen. Forgiveness is the only way forward. Otherwise resentment will drag you down until your heart is so heavy with it, there's no space for the good stuff."
I was stunned silent. We had both grown up with mothers who would never win mother-of-the-year awards, yet Erica was able to move past the horrors of her childhood. Why couldn't I?
"How did you get so well-adjusted?"
"Time," she murmured. "And a shit-ton of therapy."
My chuckle mingled with hers, floating into the humid air and lifting my mood. "Therapy, huh?"
"Yep. It's very chic in the Big Apple."
"You're the only therapy I need," I said, pulling her tight against me.