I know it’s Angie standing there before I even look up from the bench where I’m sitting. Without a word, she lowers herself down into the seat next to me.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is soft and full of concern.

I laugh dryly. “Nope.”

We sit quietly, watching cars move in and out of the hospital’s parking lot. I can tell that Angie wants me to dig deeper into my feelings but she doesn’t pressure me. She just sits silently, patiently.

“That was super weird, huh?” she says finally.

She pushes up close to me, coaxing me to put an arm around her and because I can never resist her warmth, I oblige. “Yeah, super weird.”

Another beat of silence passes, and then she prods some more. “I know this must be difficult to talk about but I’m here for you, Ben. I just want to know where you’re at in your head because I don’t want you to spring any more surprises on me when I least expect it. That wouldn’t be fair to me.”

I consider her words. I think back on the feelings I kept from her when my father died. I didn’t let her in. But back then, I was a kid. Now, I’m a man and I need to act like one. My mom may have been rambling like a mad fool inside the hospital a little while ago but one thing she said sticks out in my mind. Love is fragile and fleeting. You’ve got to cherish it. You’ve got to preserve it. You don’t ever dare disrespect it because it hurts like hell when you lose it. She’s right about that. I have no excuse to shut Angie out. I know better so I’ve got to do better. Even if it’s hard.

“I guess it wasn’t enough—having the burden of wondering if Clyde is gonna be okay or not. The Universe also had to drop this huge, new bombshell, too. It’s not everyday you find out that your mom used to get gangbanged by your dad and the man who eventually became your stepfather.”

I feel her cringe in my arms. “There's so much more to a ménage than just the sex. It's about connection, power dynamics, role-reversal. It's very empowering toward women. It’s arguably a manifesto on modern feminism.”

I stare down at her in my arms with a horrified feeling in my chest.

She instantly reads my expression and bursts out laughing. “No, no, no! I’m not suggesting that we try that! That lifestyle may work in some couples but not ours. You’re it for me. You’re the only one.”

“Good,” I say firmly, “because I’m not ever sharing you with anyone else.”

“Good.” She looks quite content with that proposition.

A quiet moment stretches out between us and then I realize that Angie’s shoulders are shaking subtly. I look down on her again and see the repressed mirth in her features.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she pants as she tries to stifle back a laugh.

And now, I feel laughter bubbling up in my chest, too. There’s not much I can do to keep it from pouring out. The damn breaks loose and her giggles fly out, too. We sit on the bench like two crazy people, laughing hysterically at an unspoken joke. Because what the fuck? In what kind of twisted world does shit like this even happen? I release all of the pent up emotions that have been festering inside of me for the past few weeks in that good, deep belly laugh.

As our cackling peters off, I press a kiss to the side of her head. “I’m sorry for yelling at you back there. I know you were only trying to make my mom feel better. I shouldn’t have been an asshole.

She presses a kiss to my throat, silently accepting my apology. “I’m just glad that we’re on the same page now, that we’re back together and we’ve addressed all our issues and now we can just go on with our lives, together.” She snuggles close, resting her head on my shoulder.

Guilt settles on my chest like a weight and I feel the overpowering need to clear my conscience. It doesn’t feel right to go on with this secret anymore. This woman has been so kind and generous to me. She’s given her heart back to me when I don’t really deserve it. She’s amazing and it’s disgustingly wrong for me to keep the truth from her any longer.

I ignore the knot in my throat and just spit it out before I chicken out again. “Angie—there’s something I haven’t told you…”

This isn’t the way my life was supposed to turn out…

That’s what I’m thinking as Rocco shoves the backpack hard into the center of my chest. “This—this is the greenest of the green, son. The freshest of the fresh. Smell it!” He brings his nose closer and takes a deep inhale.

My stomach churns at the stench that smells like an herbal fusion of boiled cabbage leaves, body odor and skunk. I hate that fucking smell. It’s probably the main reason I never experimented with weed while all my friends were giving it a go. Now, here I am, selling it. Life can be an ironic bitch.

My other reason for steering clear of this stuff was Angie.

Angie…

She’s a good girl. She never gets in trouble. She never breaks the rules. What would she say if she knew about this “second job” that I’ve picked up after school to help pay for shit around the house? I don’t have a choice, though. I heard Mom talking to Dad’s best friend this morning. She was telling him that Dad’s insurance company is refusing to pay out the life insurance benefit. I didn’t understand the details. All I know is that she won’t have the money for this month’s mortgage.

Clyde said he’d pay it. But that’s not his place. I don’t like him sniffing around my mother. Dad’s body isn’t even cold in the ground yet and I can feel that he’s already trying to take his place. Madden and I talked about it. We’re gonna come up with the money for the mortgage. Half-half. My brother’s got his own plan. This is mine.

“Don’t fuck around,” Rocco warns me. “I’m giving you this shit on consignment. That means, you sell it. And then, you pay me. Remember, it’s mine until you put the cash in my hand.” He comes closer with his bulky frame, his breath hot and putrid like rotting garbage. “And just in case you’re wondering, all the stories you heard about what I did to the idiots who didn’t put the cash in my hand, they’re true.”

That warning plays out in my head as I stash the backpack into my locker in the employee changing room at Gallos. It plays in my head all throughout my shift. It plays in my head when I swing the locker door open a few hours later and the bag is gone!

I dig through the locker, again and again. I tear the whole room upside down looking for the bag. Finally, I accept that it’s gone and I’m gonna have to face the consequences.

My heart is pounding as I push open the restaurant’s back door, dragging the bags of garbage from my shift along with me. Rocco is already there, leaning against the dumpster with a cigarette tucked between his lips. His men stand off at a distance.

“I don’t see the backpack,” he tells. He straightens and strolls over to where I’m standing, shaking in my boots. “That could either be a really, really good sign—if say, you sold all the product—or a really, really bad sign—if say, something else happened.”

I jam my hands into my pockets and lick my lips nervously. Words spill out of my mouth. Apologies, excuses, promises, pleas for mercy. I couldn’t tell you exactly what I said because my head was such a mess. Then, blows were raining down on me. A punch to the jaw. A kick in the stomach. A sharp elbow to the ribs. I was on the ground, balled up to protect myself against their force. And then, everything went black.

The next thing I remember is the pain in every part of my body as I force my swollen eyes open. It feels like days have passed but the clock on the wall tells me it’s only half an hour later. I spot my backpack on the table in the corner. Angie’s cousin, Franco, squints down into my face wearing a nasty scowl.

But then, he’s pushed out of the way and Gianni Gallo’s red, bloated face swallows up my line of vision.

Angie sits rigidly beside me until the very last word comes out of my mouth. She offers no reaction, only a stony glare off into the distance.

“Do you see now, Gigi? I didn’t leave you so I could run off in a fucking boy band and trot around the world. I didn’t care about fame and money and all that shit. Not more than I cared about you. Never more than I cared about you. Your father didn’t want us together when he found out I was dealing drugs.”

Her jaw tightens with anger. I reach for her hand but she jerks it away.

This is what I was afraid of. Now that she knows the truth, now that she knows what kind of person I am, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. She thinks I’m scum. And she’s right.

“Please talk to me, Gigi.” I’m desperate and frankly, I don’t care if it shows.

She presses her eyes together and takes in a deep breath. “I’m gonna go inside,” she says. “I can’t talk about this right now. I’m gonna go check on your mother and Clyde.”

I don’t follow after as she rises from her seat and limps inside with the weight of my truth on her shoulders.

Fuck—I’ve lost her. Just like I knew I would.