Parker
Rocco’s been MIA for days now. He does this time and again, but it worries me in the same way it pisses me off. Hard. He won’t respond to my texts, which isn’t unusual, but it fires the anxiety living within me. I need him okay. I rely on him as heavily as some would a parent. It’s been that way forever.
When Mom died, Dad changed. He’d always been a little darker, definitely volatile, but her death killed anything good within his soul. Day by day his insides grew blacker. He lost his ability for love and within the blink of an eye, we went from his children, who he cared deeply for, to nothing more than burdens. Reminders of her. A cold reality that she was gone and along with her, his heart.
When the mood struck or when one of us stepped out of line; he parented through fear, through fury, through his fists. He’d back-hand us with blame, because, somehow, one way or another, her death was on us. For existing, for making the threat of ending her life more attractive to those who wanted to destroy his business.
Rocco took that on.
Time and time again.
When I fucked up, he stood up and took responsibility. He took hits that were mine, more times than I can count. And when there was no way to deny I was involved, he made sure he did something to piss our father off more. He took my heat. And I stood by weakly and watched.
Then Dad died and the cycle started again with Marcus. Kane’s second in command. His best friend. Our uncle. Not that that meant anything to him. Family. He despised the thought. Saw us only as a burdened misfortune when he realized we didn’t share our father’s taste for delinquency and criminality. Still, he stayed. For what I couldn’t be certain. Possibly the connections our name brought him. Likely the money Mira inherited as our guardian.
Mira. His anger rained down on her in violence. Our fuck up, or his, meant she would meet his fists. Only way to keep her safe was through Rocco, because more than hurting others, Marcus thrived on the villain that lived within my brother. The one he craved to nurture into something psychotic. Going head to head with a raging Rocco made the guy feel alive.
When we finally managed to escape that hell-hole, he worked, doing God knows what, to let me finish school. When we came of age and gained access to our parents’ estate; I went to him with the concept for Ruin. He nodded, agreed without a question.
He makes sure I eat. He makes sure I sleep. He cleans. He might be fucking psychotic, but he’s the only parent I’ve ever really known.
I owe him my life.
But he only wants Codi’s and I promised him that.
I stand, hips pressed against the cool marble of the kitchen counter considering what the fuck to do about his disappearing act. I might be indebted to him for an eternity, but shit, doesn’t mean he’s not pissing me right the fuck off with these vanishing acts.
When he’s gone, he’s one hundred percent gone. No way of contacting him. No way of knowing if he’s okay. Not even mentioning the fact he’s not pulling his weight with the bar. I’ve been pulling all-nighters more often than not; working to manage stock, suppliers, our financials, pain in the ass fucking staff, while covering the bar when needed.
I’m fuckin’ wrecked. When I do get the chance to sleep, I crash, hard and wake the same way. It’s a vicious fucking cycle, one Rocco’s standing right in the middle of, seemingly expecting everything and giving nothing.
I exhale heavily, drinking deeply from my mug, praying it’ll fire up my non-existent energy levels.
The click of the front door echoes through the loft and I slam my cup down, harder than necessary, spilling coffee over the white marble.
I move from the kitchen with purpose, body raging with a potent cocktail of emotion I in no way understand.
Roc stops when he sees me, eye black and lip split.
“The fuck, man?” I ground out, no care about his current state, moving forward to slam my palms into his chest.
He stumbles backward, caught off by my uncharacteristic show of aggression toward him. He knocks my hands away, stepping forward into my frame. We’re nose to nose, anger storming in our eyes and my temper flares, pissed that he has the fucking nerve to throw attitude my way.
I push him again, but this time he’s prepared, his body barely moving an inch.
“Get the fuck outta my face, Parker.”
I push him again and he shakes his head, warning me against touching him again. But fuck him, so I do it again. “Fuck you been, Roc?”
He exhales heavily from his nose, his jaw wired shut with rage so volcanic his entire body is shaking. “Lay your fuckin’ hands on me again and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”
“Yeah?” I raise my eyebrows, spitting the words in challenge.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck you,” I seethe, lifting my hands and smashing them against the solid wall of his chest once again.
This time he pushes me back and I stumble at the strength in his attack. He pauses, giving me the opportunity to back down, his ice-cold eyes warning me to stop.
Correcting my footing, I glare at him. “Gonna tell me where you’ve been, makin’ me fuckin’ worry you’re dead or somethin’?”
Shaking his head, his scowl comes heavier onto his face. “Gonna tell me you killed the bitch while I’ve been gone?”
I run at him before I let myself reconsider what I’m doing. I tell myself it’s because he’s disappeared on me. That he won’t tell me where the fuck he goes. But in reality, I know it’s because he brought up Codi; called her bitch, brought up her imminent death.
We fall to the ground on impact, fighting for an upper hand I sure as shit I ain’t even gonna gain. He’s bigger than me. Stronger. He’s angrier than I am.
I land a punch or two before he twists, pinning my body heavily against the floor, hand on my neck. “Rein it the fuck in. Don’t make me fuckin’ hurt you.”
I struggle in his grasp, hands and legs moving to dislodge him, but his body mass is too much. I land a few blows into his ribs, into his kidneys and eventually he gives, letting me throw him off my body.
“Fuck is your problem?”
I rub at the tenderness on my neck, glaring at him. “Sick of you vanishing, man. You come back like this”—I gesture to his black and blue face— “more often than not. You’re big. You’re strong. You’re fast. You’re letting whoever the fuck to get one up on you. I’m worrying about you and running myself into the ground with the bar.”
He looks rightfully ashamed, closing his eyes and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Park, you don’t need to worry about me. This” —he gestures to his face, shrugging— “is me blowin’ off steam. Nothing more.”
He slides along the ground, moving his back against the closest wall. He stares at me for a few loaded seconds. “You’re right. I need to pull more weight with the bar, but that’s not what’s got you so worked up.” He shakes his head, bending his knees and crossing his arms over his chest.
I mirror his position against the front door, eyes focused on my bare feet.
“Park,” he starts and I close my eyes against the concern in the sound.
“I know,” I bite out. “I know,” I repeat, quieter.
He waits a beat before speaking again, his voice carrying the same level of worry. “Told you to enjoy her, not fall for her.”
“Not fallin’ for her,” I argue, but it’s meek.
“Don’t lie to me,” he barks out a laugh. “Don’t lie to yourself. Cool if that’s what’s happened but all it’s gonna hurt in the end is you.”
I drag my hands roughly against my face, groaning loudly.
“Rein it in.”
I twist my neck to bring him into focus and I hate the way my eyes sting. “She’s different, man. I hate... I hate that she’s a Rein. In another life—”
“Ain’t another life, Parker. Her family stole ours. She might be sweet, but you don’t have a happily ever after with her. Surely you fuckin’ see that?”
I tip my neck up, feeling the thud of my head against the door through my entire body. It numbs my thoughts, if only briefly, so I do it again.
And again.
And again.
Rocco waits for me to stop and when I do, I turn my head to look his way. “I don’t know what I let myself believe.”
“You think you’re gonna sit at family dinners with them, knowing what her father did. You gonna watch him walk her down the aisle knowing Mom’s not there to see you get married because he took her from us. You gonna let him hold your kids, knowing our mom will never get the chance.”
“I get it,” I yell, irritated at myself. “I fuckin’ get it, okay?” I close my eyes, slamming the back of my head against the door once again.
Rocco gives me the silence I crave, the quiet I need to fight the quicksand of emotion I seem to be drowning in.
I don’t know how long we sit there, the low punctuation of our breathing working to make me feel suffocated, claustrophobic in the wide expanse of our loft.
Finally, when I’m sure I can bring myself to meet Rocco’s stare, I look to him, expecting disappointment and animosity to cloud his intense gaze. Instead, I see sadness, maybe regret and possibly guilt.
“Hate pulling anything good away from you, Parker,” he admits miserably. “I see she brings you somethin’ you’ve been missing, but…” he pauses, head shaking in an unexpected show of emotion. “I can’t give you this, little brother. It’s not that I don’t want to, its... I can’t.” He thumps a fist over his heart, his words cracking.
“I promised her retribution. I’ve sat at her grave countless times and promised it to her, over and over again. I need it. This has gone too far, we need to end this. I need my peace, man,” he says the words through a plea, the desperation in the statement slicing into my heart.
“We need to end this,” he repeats, the soft rumble of his tone finishing on a heavy sigh and I nod.
“Just give me a bit more time with her.”
“A week.”
Bile rushes up my throat but I swallow its acidity down. I nod, against every protesting muscle in my body. He watches the jerky movement for only a moment before standing.
“Roc,” I call before he walks away and realize how broken, how pathetic I look right now; ass planted on the floor, body slumped in defeat, eyes red-rimmed, the cracked dejection in my voice only magnifying my desperation.
He looks back at me, a complete contradiction to my broken self; even battered, bruised and caught in the nightmares of his mind, he looks collected, his body bulky and imposing.
“I can’t—” I start but the words are inaudible, breaking off in my throat before they can fully form.
He walks over, reaching over a hand and I take it, standing with his assistance. Pulling me into his body, he hugs me fiercely as a tortured sob escapes my lips without permission.
“Never expected you to, dollface. Too much of Mom inside you. You’ve done your part. Rest is up to me. It’s on my conscience, Parker.” He pushes me back, searching my eyes. “Not yours. This’ll be my guilt. Promise me that.”
I frown at the stupidity of his statement. He doesn’t care for her, love her the way I do. To him, she’s no one. This guilt will be all mine. It’ll drown me. Suffocate me until I take my final breath, which’ll be more than I deserve. But this is the only thing he’s ever asked of me. It’s not on him that my weak heart got involved.
“Parker,” he pushes and I nod my lie, agreeing with him to placate the monster stirring within him.
He keeps my eyes, searching for my deceit but believes the storm in my eyes as agreeance and not the hate I feel drowned by. At myself. At him. At Kane. At Dominic.
Stepping back, he cups my jaw, a sinister smile turning his lips. “We got this, dollface. We’ll finally let Mom rest easy. We’ll bring her what Dad couldn’t.”
I watch his retreat with a heaviness in my heart, sickened by the blink of time I have left to love Codi the way she deserves.
One week.
Seven days.
One hundred and sixty-eight hours.
Ten thousand and eighty minutes.
Six hundred, four thousand, eight hundred seconds.
That’s it. Then I’ll be made to live the entirety of my life without her.
Forty years. Give or take.
Four hundred and eighty months.
Two thousand and eighty weeks.
Fourteen thousand, six hundred days.
All. Without. Her.
I fall against the door, dropping down as my legs give way and for the first time in eighteen years, I cry.