Catherine parked the Lexus in the drive of her parents’ home, and drummed her manicured fingernails to the steering wheel. The entire drive to Amityville had left her anxious, but now, her anger was returning fast and swift.
She hadn’t slept at all the night before. She couldn’t sleep when she had far too many questions rattling around in her mind, and just as much anger filling up her heart.
Sadness and anxiety, Catherine could deal with. She had learned the best tools to handle those kinds of emotions through her work with Cara. But anger? Not so much.
It didn’t help that for reasons Catherine couldn’t quite explain, a deep sense of betrayal had burrowed into her heart. Like everyone around her had lied, lied, and lied more.
Before she could convince herself otherwise, Catherine exited the Lexus and headed for the house. Inside, laughter filled the main hallway. She followed the sound to the kitchen, where she found her mother and father.
For a moment, she simply watched the two. They didn’t seem to notice her presence in the entryway.
Catrina sat on Dante’s lap at the head of the table. He tipped his wife back, and kept a tight hold on her before he kissed her twice in quick succession.
“What are you working on, bello?” Catrina asked.
“Nothing,” he murmured. “I can’t love my wife?”
“You can.”
It was a cute, sweet scene. Any other day—any other time—and Catherine wouldn’t have interrupted. She probably would have turned away, and tiptoed out of their presence so they didn’t know she was there. For the most part, her parents were very private about their love and how they expressed it to one another.
Sure, she saw lots of moments between them over the years, but not because they allowed her to see it.
Dante and Catrina Marcello were not the kinds of people who allowed others—even their family—to witness their private moments. Something as simple as handholding could be incredibly intimate for them, and so they treated it that way.
It was not for the consumption of others.
So yeah, any other time, and Catherine wouldn’t have stepped in on their moment. Right then, though, she was too pissed and too confused to really care.
“When were you going to tell me you knew I was working for Andino?”
Instantly, Catrina was up out of her husband’s lap. Her mother fixed her dress while her father’s head whipped in Catherine’s direction.
“Catherine,” Dante said, standing from the chair.
She was supposed to come over to visit this week. That’s what she had promised her father.
He probably expected that.
Not this.
“I asked a question,” Catherine pointed out.
Catrina cleared her throat, and looked to Dante. “Well, couldn’t we ask you same thing?”
“Except I asked you first.”
“Don’t act like a child, Catty,” Dante said. “Be respectful.”
“Once I get an answer, sure.”
“Catherine.”
She ignored her father’s second warning.
“Apparently, you’ve known that I was dealing for … well, since I started,” Catherine said, opening her arms wide. “Stupid me thought neither of you had a clue because no one figured they should speak up. You didn’t think for even a second that you should maybe tell me you knew what I was up to?”
“You didn’t think you should tell us,” her father shot back.
Catherine’s hackles rattled.
She rose to the bait.
“All this time, you’ve known. So I guess you were just, what, getting a good laugh about it all? Silly little me with my head in the sand, right?”
“No,” Catrina said, “of course not, Catherine. We just—”
“Whenever I asked about Ma’s business, you both shut me down. Whenever school came up in conversation, I was pushed in that direction. I kept this quiet because I felt like I had no other choice. Yet, I did have a choice. You both knew what I was doing, but shit, maybe you wanted me to do something else, so you just opted to say nothing. What, did you fucking hope I would eventually let it go if you didn’t speak up?”
Dante frowned. “Now—”
“Can’t you just answer a question?”
Her shout echoed in the quiet house.
Neither of her parents said a thing.
Catherine’s anger bubbled higher. “You know what, this is ridiculous. You’re both ridiculous.”
She turned to leave already done with a conversation her parents couldn’t seem to have with her. She was not wasting her time more than she already had.
“Catherine!”
“Go to hell,” she shouted over her shoulder.
“Catty, wait,” her mother called.
“I guess that’s our thing, right?” Catherine asked at the front door as she pulled on her ankle-high boots. “We’re all fucking liars here. I lie, you lie, and we all lie about what we’re lying about.”
“Catherine, are you even listening to yourself?” Dante held up a hand to keep Catrina from coming further down the hall. “You’ve come here to fight with us about something that doesn’t even need to be a fight. Tell me what the real problem is, please.”
Fuck him.
He didn’t even get it.
“It’s a damn shame, Daddy. Had I known years ago that I could have come to you when I needed you the most without fear of your anger or judgement, it might have saved me from everything. Had you given me someone to come to, like I needed, I wouldn’t have tried to hide how fucked up I was. Don’t you get that? You didn’t tell me, so I didn’t think I could tell you!”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t,” Catherine spat, more frustrated than ever. “You don’t know anything about me at all! I never felt like I could tell you!”
“Whose fault is that, Catherine?”
“When are you going home?”
Catherine looked up from the book in her hands. Cara stood across the living room with her hands on her hips. Despite her posture, Cara did wear a small smile.
“Soon,” Catherine said, “but I need a break, that’s all.”
Cara nodded. “Everyone does once in a while. At first, I was fine and happy to accept that excuse from you when you didn’t want to talk. Now, not so much.”
Catherine frowned. “And why is that?”
“You’ve been here, oh …” Cara waved a hand, and finally said, “Five days, now.”
“So?”
“You haven’t talked once about why.”
“Because you’re a safe place for me,” Catherine said quietly.
Cara’s postured softened. “I know that, Catherine, and I will always be that for you. Should you need it, of course. This time, however, I don’t actually think you do need it.”
“How can you know that if you don’t know why I’m here?”
“Your father got in touch with me this morning.”
Fuck.
Catherine tossed her book aside with a sigh. She left New York the night she had confronted her parents. She didn’t bother to call them before she left, either. She assumed someone would figure it out, and clearly, they had.
“You cannot just run when things are not going your way,” Cara said. “You’re twenty-five, not ten.”
“Ouch,” Catherine muttered.
“Child-like tactics deserve appropriate responses, Catherine.”
“I didn’t … run.”
“Oh, yes you did.” Cara strolled across the large living room, and took a seat on the sectional across from Catherine. “It seems, from what I understand, something came up that you didn’t like, and didn’t know how to appropriately deal with. Your first choice was to not deal with it, and so here you are. That, Catherine, is called running.”
“When you put it that way, sure, but—”
“How long have I been telling you to be truthful with your parents about dealing drugs?”
Catherine wouldn’t meet Cara’s gaze. “A while.”
“The entire time I’ve been a part of your life, actually.”
“I said a while.”
“Why did you feel the need to confront your parents in the way you did?”
“I don’t know,” Catherine admitted.
“Or do you, but again, you don’t want to deal with it.”
“You never cut me slack, Cara.”
“That’s not my job. My job is to make you take a good, hard look in the mirror, and own the reflection staring back at you. I give you tools to handle situations in life that upset your delicate balance, so that you can set yourself upright once more. I teach you how to manage your life in a world full of triggers that could set you back. So no, I am not here to hold your hand and let you run from issues that pop up.”
Cara smiled, and crossed her legs before she said, “And that is why I think you came to me. That is why you came here for your break. Everyone else in your life is too busy holding your hand, and walking on egg shells. None of them will tell you what you need to hear, when you need to hear it. They’re concerned they’re going to upset your balance. I, on the other hand, am quite aware of just how strong you actually are.”
“Cross probably would,” Catherine said after a moment. “Tell me the truth, I mean. Put me on the spot. Make me own my shit.”
“Are you still seeing him?”
“Trying. It’s … complicated. I wanted to blame them.”
“Your parents?”
Catherine nodded. “For the shit that happened way back when, you know what I mean? When I figured out they knew what I had been up to, I was pissed because I thought had I just known, I wouldn’t have needed to hide and lie my way through the depression from the assaults and all of that.”
“But?”
“They’re not to blame. I can’t blame them because I made a choice not to speak up, and I was the one who didn’t ask for help. How could they know I was drowning when I wasn’t screaming for help?”
“You called them liars,” Cara said.
Catherine wished her father could have held a little bit of information back when he talked to Cara, but apparently he couldn’t.
“Aren’t they?” she asked.
“Aren’t you?” her therapist threw back.
“I don’t know why they didn’t tell me.”
“You didn’t ask, Catherine. You didn’t ask them anything. You accused and blamed. You shouted and left. Children who throw tantrums might have behaved better, to be honest.”
“Okay, that’s enough with the child comments.”
“I have more,” Cara said as she stood up, “but I’ll refrain.”
“Thanks.”
“You can stay longer, if you like, but I don’t think you should. You need to go home, Catherine, and learn how to handle things that make you uncomfortable. Learn how to work through them on your own. You have spent your entire life acting as the ideal daughter. You have avoided confrontation. You lied your way through relationships with people who love you. You’ve done these things simply so that you could pretend to be happy while keeping everyone else around you happy, too.”
“Yeah,” Catherine agreed, “I have.”
“Going home and dealing with it doesn’t have to mean going to them, either. You don’t have to talk to them until you’re ready. Actually, I think you should wait until you’re rational and won’t lash out or run when you’re told something you might not like. It’s okay to need space.”
“Sure.”
“However, when you do talk to your parents …”
“Yeah?”
Cara smiled. “Apologize for being a hypocrite. You do not get to call someone a liar when you’ve built your entire world on lies, Catherine.”
Damn …
Cara was right, though.
This was exactly why Catherine came here.
Catherine tossed a piece of popcorn drizzled with chocolate into the air. It fell back down into her waiting mouth.
“You are home, then?” her mother asked. “Cara called to let us know you had left, but I wasn’t sure when you would get back.”
She didn’t even look toward the phone on the floor as she replied, “Got home this morning, actually.”
“Could I come—”
“I would rather you didn’t, Ma.”
“Okay,” Catrina said quietly.
Catherine felt like shit for refusing her mother, but right then, she didn’t know what else to do. She was trying to take Cara’s advice, after all.
“I need some time, and then I’ll come over,” Catherine explained. “We can talk.”
Catrina cleared her throat, and the speakers crackled from the volume of being on speakerphone. “All of us, or …?”
“Daddy, too.”
“Good.”
“Is he very angry with me?” Catherine dared to ask.
“Because you left without a word?”
“I mean, yeah.”
“No, he isn’t angry,” Catrina said with a sigh, “but he was very worried.”
“Sorry.”
“Michel mentioned stopping by and checking on you, if you were going to be home. He didn’t say for sure, or whatever.”
“All right.”
“We’ve all made a lot of mistakes, haven’t we?” her mother asked.
Catherine’s hand froze as she was about to toss up another piece of popcorn. “I lied a lot, Ma. The rest of you just went along with it, I think. I’m still settling myself with the fact I can’t be angry at others for doing exactly what I do to them.”
“If you want to meet up or anything …”
“I’ll call you, Ma,” Catherine promised.
“All right, mia reginella. I miss you, Catherine. Don’t stay away for too long.”
“I’ll try not to.”
With a quick goodbye, her mother ended the call. Catherine didn’t even bother to reach over and shut off the screen on her phone. She let it blank out itself. On her back, she stared up at the ceiling of her apartment, and tossed another piece of popcorn into the air.
The knock on the apartment door made her miss the piece as it fell back down.
It hit her in the eye.
“Ow,” she mumbled, rubbing at the spot.
She figured it was just her brother—her mother said he might check on her, after all.
“The door is open,” Catherine called out.
She still didn’t get off the floor.
She quite liked it down there.
Like meditating, it was calming and familiar. She could think without chaos. She could hear through her own noise.
It was not Michel who came into her apartment.
Catherine turned her head to side to see Cross closing the door. She had known that he was aware of her address only because he told her so. She didn’t ask how he knew, though.
“How did you get inside my building?”
“Pressed a bunch of buttons. Someone let me in.”
“Huh.”
At the sight of her on the floor, his brow furrowed and he tipped his head to the side.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Catherine tossed a piece of popcorn, caught it, chewed, and swallowed before answering. “Thinking.”
“On the floor.”
“Yep.”
“With … popcorn.”
“It has chocolate drizzled on it,” she defended.
“Oh, well, that makes it okay, and not at all strange.”
“Don’t judge me. We all have our things. This is mine.”
Cross hummed under his breath, and took a step forward. “Is this like the time I came out in the morning to find you sitting on the pool table meditating?”
“Kind of.”
“I see.”
He took one more step closer.
Catherine pointed at him.
“You stay right where you are. I told you, I’m thinking.”
He hesitated in his next step. “What does that have to do with me coming closer?”
“When you’re near, I can’t think at all. I don’t think. You make me go stupid in my head.”
At his frown, she quickly added, “It’s okay, though, because I don’t mind. Most of the time. Right now, I actually need to think. Work through stuff. Face issues I have created.”
Cross made a face and said, “That doesn’t sound like something you would say at all.”
“It’s not. Cara said it to me. She’s right, so I’m … doing what she said.”
“Who is Cara?”
Oh.
Yeah.
Catherine hadn’t explained that bit to Cross.
“Well, she’s a friend,” Catherine said, watching Cross with wary eyes as he took a seat on the floor. Way across the room from her. He didn’t move once he sat down, except to shrug off his jacket and toss it aside. “Now she’s a friend, I mean. She used to be my therapist. A couple of months after my suicide attempt my father called her in for me. I felt better talking to her—safer, I guess—because she comes from the same life we do.”
Cross scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “Cara … as in, Cara Rossi?”
“You know her?”
“I met her husband when I was a teenager traveling with Wolf. I’ve run them guns when they bought a few shipments from Chicago.”
“Huh,” Catherine mused. “Small world.”
“Not really. All these crime families are just interconnected in more ways than most people know.”
She looked over at him again.
He looked damn good—relaxed, cool, and unbothered—in dark wash jeans and a faded Tee. He grinned at her when he caught her looking, but Catherine didn’t turn away.
“Pretty sure I said I would call you when I was ready, Cross,” she pointed out.
“It’s been almost two weeks. I’m tired of waiting, babe.”
“Oh?”
“Someone let me know your car showed up here, too. You were gone.”
Catherine’s gaze narrowed. “You’re having me watched?”
“No, someone just checks in occasionally. You have an enforcer from your father to watch you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“That’s what I’m offering,” Cross shot back.
“Ass.”
“You know it.” Cross kicked out his legs, and hooked his Doc Martens one over the other. “I assume if you were talking to Cara, you must have made a trip over to her side of the border.”
“Sometimes I just need to hear it from her, even when I already know what she’s going to say. She tells me it like it is.”
“Does she?”
“She might as well have told me to stop acting like a child,” Catherine muttered.
“Were you?”
“Probably. I do that, or rather, use child-like tactics to avoid confrontation. Everyone else around me simply avoids creating conflict with me because they’re scared of what might happen to me if they do.”
“Like you’ll fall back again,” he murmured.
Catherine picked at her manicured nails. “Yeah, like that. They don’t get it, though.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m allowed to be angry, sad … or whatever else I want to feel. Not everything I feel is going to be on the good side of the spectrum, and that’s okay. If I avoid feeling any sort of emotional upset, then I never learn how to handle how I react to it. That, more than anything else, is what could trigger me.”
Catherine propped her arms behind her head like a pillow. “Besides, I do have spells. I have days where I don’t want to get out of bed, when I’m tired for no reason, and when I just feel like … dark in my heart. It comes and it goes. I deal with it, though, as it happens. When it happens.”
“Before, you didn’t deal with it all.”
“Nope.”
“Cara was good for you, then?” Cross asked.
“The best.”
“I can go, you know, if you don’t want me to be here.”
Catherine eyed him with a smile. “I thought you were tired of waiting on me to call.”
“It’s your life, Catty. I don’t need to be forcing myself into it when you don’t want me here.”
“I want you,” she whispered, “and sometimes I want to run away from you.”
“If you do run, could I chase you?”
Cross asked the question so flippantly that it almost made Catherine laugh. Still, she could see how serious he meant for it to be, despite his light tone.
“Yeah, you could chase me, Cross.”
“Good to know.”
“And … stay,” she added.
“Sure, babe.”
“Hey, do you remember that time we had a fight with flour and I kicked your ass?”
Cross scowled. “That was not how I remember it going down.”
“Yeah, well, let me have my moment.”
He waved at her. “Yes, princess, have your moment.”
“Okay, so after I kicked your ass with flour, my uncle showed up.”
Cross made a noise under his breath. “Locked my ass in a pantry like an idiot.”
“So, he totally knew you were there.”
“What?” Cross grinned at her. “Seriously?”
“There were footprints in the flour.”
Cross laughed, loud and hard. “There was, I bet.”
“We were so stupid back then.”
“Nah, Catty, we were … in love, amazing, crazy, and life, babe. We were everything that was real and good and true.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, “and all of that, too.”
“We still are, you know. Or we could be.”
“Could we?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
He was.
He didn’t have to be.
Yet, there Cross sat far across the room from her. He gave her space simply because she asked him not to come closer, and no other reason. His gaze was only on her, even though this was the first time he had ever been inside her place.
Despite her bullshit. Despite the barriers she threw up, her behavior, and her faults. Despite her, he was still there.
Waiting on her.
Wanting her.
Everyone had a better half.
Cross was most definitely hers.
Catherine did not deserve this man.
Not like she was.
“Cross?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“I haven’t said it, but I love you.”
“I know,” he murmured, “and I don’t need you to say it.”
“I’m sorry that I’m kind of awful.”
“You’re not awful, Catherine.”
“I am, sometimes. Especially to people who love me. Sometimes I don’t know why, and other times, it’s just habit. I’m trying to be better, though. I am.”
Cross swallowed thickly. “I know, Catty.”
“So yeah, I love you.”
“Promise?”
She laughed. That was supposed to be her line. She didn’t mind the change.
“Always, Cross.”