For a moment, his lost puppy dog eyes make me feel sorry for him, but then I remember walking in on him pummeling into the back of some skank while I was trying to build myself back up.
“I’m not going into this, Tony,” I huff and throw myself back against the seat. A screech of a bar stool across the floorboards has me shooting my line of sight to where Phoenix has taken up his position at the bar. I shake my head at him and put up my hand, silently telling him to hold off for a moment or two. “Why do you need Phoenix? Surely Javier has plenty of people under his thumb to do his dirty work for him.”
“Because your brother is the best, as much as I hate to admit it,” he replies, which isn’t much of an argument for me to agree to help. He leans a little closer, looks around, then lowers his voice. “I also figured he might want to take out the guy who killed your mother.”
“You’re bluffing,” I immediately reply with the weight of shock sinking deep within my stomach, stirring up the bile that is threatening to erupt at any moment.
“Lou,” he says, taking the opportunity to take hold of my hand while I’m still trying to process what he’s just said. “We loved each other once; I wouldn’t lie about something like this. In fact…” He sighs as he looks down at our hands, his thumb circling my knuckles in lazy circles. “I have never stopped loving you, mi corazon, I still love you.”
He looks at me so intensely, it takes my breath away. But then it all comes flooding back, how he turned, how he let me down, how he betrayed my trust beyond repair. I shake off his hand and get to my feet.
“No, you don’t,” I tell him before swallowing back the hard lump of emotion building at the back of my throat. “You couldn’t have.”
He smiles softly as he rummages around in his jacket pocket, and pulls out a small velvet box. The sight of it, after everything, has me shaking my head with disbelief before he can even show me what’s inside.
“I bought this two months before that piece of shit attacked you,” he whispers, then opens it to reveal a solitaire diamond sitting in a plain white gold setting. I audibly gasp before turning away, no longer able to handle the stifling atmosphere that has descended upon our booth. “Lou, I wanted us to be married, to be a family. I still want that…more than anything.”
“Then why did you destroy us?” I whisper shout before letting the build-up of tears fall over my cheeks, which only grow heavier the more I look at him.
Tony doesn’t get a chance to answer me because Phoenix is suddenly at our table, looking even more murderous than he did before. He eyes the box like it physically repulses him and pulls Tony to his feet. He doesn’t say a single word; his eyes talk for him, ‘Get out and stay the hell away from my sister!’ Tony holds his hands up defensively before pocketing the emotional little box away from view.
“Talk to him, mi corazon,” he says softly as he slides past me. All I can do is nod once with my eyes focusing on the floor, only so I won’t be tempted to look at him. “Ti amor, Lou; think about it.”
_____
Louisa
I’m late, I’m tired, I’m a wreck.
The words uttered between Tony and me have stayed under lock and key, deep inside my thoughts. Phoenix had badgered me all night about what we talked about, but I couldn’t speak, couldn’t comprehend all his words out loud. His temper eventually got to him, and he ended up going off on his bike all night, ripping up the dusty road as he left. That bike has stopped him doing a lot of shit which would no doubt have gotten him locked up or killed. For some reason, it’s the only calming influence my brother responds to - not drink, not fighting, not sex, just a bike and the open road.
By the time I got up this morning, the old bike was resting up against the wall down the alley next to the bar. At least it was still intact; he can’t have been as pissed off as I thought he was. Still, I decided to poke my head inside of his room where I saw him passed out, lying face down on his mattress, half-dressed, and smelling like a brewery. He was snoring and mumbling in his sleep. Satisfied that he was still alive and well-ish, I headed into work early.
And I am early, so early the office isn’t even open yet. Glancing at the clock on my phone, I decide to head toward the usual deli I go to when I buy Theo and Daniel’s lunches each day. It will be full of high-flying business types at this time in the morning, but they’ll likely opt for takeout and head straight to their offices with a hot coffee in hand. This means the tables are free and it is fairly quiet, which is perfect for someone like me who just needs a little solitary time to try and gather my thoughts without having to pretend to be friendly to random strangers.
My mind is a myriad of thoughts, all fighting to be heard over one another. I usually try not to think too much, for thinking causes too many emotions, which in turn, cause too many problems that could so easily be ignored; in short, thinking hurts. I remember watching Mr Bean and laughing at his odd beat behavior. After what happened, and after Tony, I began watching him again and was so incredibly envious of his ability to be content with such simple things in life. He didn’t feel hurt, or anguish, and his only problems were over such trivial things. I couldn’t understand how some people could be so free of pain when I was hurting so damn much.
I don’t know what destroyed me more; losing my father to an evil disease that ate away at him day by day, being sexually assaulted by a gutless man who had used a paperweight to hit me over the head to stun me, or watching the man I had loved since childhood sharing his body with another woman when I needed him the most. If Tony Ortega had proposed to me before I was attacked, I would have accepted it without a second thought. But he didn’t. He bought a ring and fucked someone else.
And then there’s Phoenix, my rock, who I’m afraid is slowly falling apart. Truth be told, he hasn’t been the same since Dad died. But after my attack, I sometimes don’t even recognize him. He’s so angry all the time, and I can’t figure out how to save him, how to make him happy again. I used to be the answer, but now I think he looks at me and feels unnecessary guilt over what happened to me. Phoenix has always been my knight, my savior, ever since he carried me out of the flames all those years ago. But how can I save him?
“Lou,” a voice from my past brings me to, and I instantly look into the eyes of someone who reminds me of the boy I used to look forward to seeing every day.
“Javier,” I barely whisper, though his smile tells me he heard me well enough. He glances at the chair in front of me, seeking my permission to sit in it, so I nod.
“It’s been too long, Lou,” he says, smiling in a fatherly way that makes me blush with shame. We had become close, Javier and I, soon after Tony and I got together as more than friends, and I know I’ve avoided him as much as I’ve avoided his brother. “I guess I have my brother to thank for that.”
The sugar packet between my fingers rolls over the top of the table and I stare at it intensely while Javier looks to me for a conversation I don’t want to have. Why else would he be here, wasting time with a PA who used to date his little brother a few years ago? He’s been avoiding me too. And let us not pretend that Javier Ortega isn’t a dangerous man with many unscrupulous business dealings with shifty men who all carry out his bidding out of respect just as much as for the money. He is a man where honor is expected, not earned. Javier is either here to get to Phoenix, or he’s here on Tony’s behalf. Most likely the former, considering he hasn’t been bothered about our failed relationship before.
“I have been looking after that stupid boy since…well, you know.”
Yes, I know. I felt the pain of their loss almost as much as they did. Everyone now knows how the Ortega parents perished, it was just as shocking as the way my mother was killed. It was premature and unnecessary, and probably the only reason Phoenix had carried out Javier’s killings in those early days after Dad died. Javier, Antonio, and Phoenix are all angry, bitter, vengeful offspring of parents who were stolen from them.
“I guess seeing you hurt in the way that you were was triggering for him, and being a man of little emotional intelligence, he couldn’t figure out how to deal with it in a logical way.”
He covers my hands with his and it feels familiar, warm, and comforting.
“He isn’t a man of little emotional intelligence, Javier,” I reply sadly, “he was the boy who finally got me to talk.”