Page 12 of Straightened Out

Alright, so maybe she is an expert.

“Your intentions were good, but I think you got lost along the way. I think you became too wrapped up in proving to the world that you weren’t your father’s son—”

I cut her off.

“But I am.” I move the glass from between my legs and stand. “I am Rocco Spinelli Jr. I’ve got his looks, his blood, and his drive to fuck everything he touches. You’d be wise not to forget that, Bug.”

She frowns.

“And you’d be wise to stop calling me that ridiculous nickname, especially after tonight.”

“Just because I’ve seen your tits doesn’t change anything.”

Lies.

It changes everything.

“I already told you, I’m not afraid of you.”

“And why is that?”

“You might not know who you are, but I do. You’re the guy who stalks after a girl once she’s humiliated herself and makes sure she’s okay. You’re the guy who settles the score that put her in that position in the first place. The one who promises to keep her secret from her brother, the man he considers a brother himself. You’re the guy grieving his mom. The guy who misses his sister. The guy who struggles every day to please his uncle because he’s terrified of becoming his father. You’re Rocco, the guy who used to crash on my mom’s couch and eat all the leftover empanadas. There’s nothing to fear about that person.”

I remain quiet as I stare at her.

That’s the thing about the youth, they’re so fucking naïve. They see what they want and not what’s right in front of them. The guy she knows doesn’t exist, he died a long time ago and the man standing in front of her is walking time bomb.

“You should get some sleep.”

“What about you?” she asks, eyeing the mostly full bottle of vodka. It doesn’t seem all that appealing anymore.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Then as I push the rolling cart out of my way, I pause—the same way I did at the cemetery. I turn to Violet, and despite my better judgement, I lift the back of my hand to her cheek.

“Become an expert in something else, Bug,” I say hoarsely.

Something worthy.

I drop my hand from her face, and I make my way to the bathroom where her clothes sit in a pile on the floor. I kick the door shut, lock it and stumble slightly as I bend to pick up her stuff. Setting it on top of the vanity, I lift my head and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I try to see what she sees. I stare and I stare hard, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

The youth may be naïve, but it’s the seasoned that cling to hope.

Raising my hand, I lay my palm on the mirror, covering my face from my view. My phone rings inside my pocket and I close my eyes. Forcing my head back into the game, I drop my hand from the mirror and reach for my phone. My uncle’s number flashes across the screen and I silence the call. When it stops ringing altogether, I dismiss the notification. I call the airline and change my flight to a later one.

Tomorrow I’m going to have to make a pit stop at the bank and take fifty grand out of my safe deposit box to give to my uncle. I’ll look him in the eye, hand him the stack of cash and tell him Mitch’s debt is paid in full.

The guy got off easy tonight.

Aside from the ten thousand he had in the safe and the three gold chains burning a hole in my pocket, he gets to live.

One day out of the year.

No lying.

No cheating.

No stealing.

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