Page 33 of Unleashed
“You know, I should be confused about how you know that since the doctor hasn’t even been here to see me.” I settle back. “But I’m not.”
“The doctor says there hasn’t been any further bleeding. So there’s no need to keep you there.”
Something red and bitter stirs. “Seems like you had quite the conversation with my doctor.”
“I was worried.”
“So much for doctor-patient confidentiality.”
There’s a deafening silence on the other end, and I sit upright. “Is he on your payroll, or does he still think you’re the father?”
“Everly, you have got to relax.”
I swing my feet off the side of the bed, clutching the phone tight. “Sometimes I forget that you and Isaia are from the same world.”
“We are not the same.”
“Yeah, you are. If Isaia were here, he’d go to the doctor behind my back, too.”
“But he’s not there, is he?”
“That’s not the point I’m trying to make.”
“What is your point, Everly?”
I take a moment, letting my thoughts melt into truth. “You act like Isaia’s the devil, trying to convince me that he’s wrong for me. But the truth is, you’re the same. He’s just a little less subtle than you are.”
There’s a long stretch of quiet that somehow feels like distance being created, a chasm widening between us.
Finally, he sighs, a scratchy, tired sound echoing through the phone. “I won’t apologize for caring about you. For loving you.”
I suck in a breath, a sharp ache stabbing into my heart, not because of what he said, but because of who it reminds me of. I press my lips together, shutting my eyes as so many memories whirl to life. “That’s exactly what he said, too.” As a tear rolls down my cheek, I hang up, allowing another drop to slide down my cheek before I wipe it away.
Sometimes I forget that Anthony and Isaia are from the same world. The only difference is that the Paladino family’s influence is quiet and their control subtle, yet no less powerful. Yet he warns me against the Del Rossas, against Isaia every chance he gets. Reminding me that they smother you in love and call it protection. But now I’m starting to wonder if he realizes he’s doing the same thing. If he even sees how easily he’s stepped into the same mold. Just with softer edges. A gentler tone. But beneath it, it’s still control. Still another hand on the leash. Still another man deciding what’s best for me.
The silence settles in around me like a thick, choking fog, weaving itself through my thoughts and fears. I inhale deeply, my breath raspy against the sterile quiet, when my eyes drift to the window across the room.
Beyond the glass, perched on the railing just outside, is a bird. Pale gray. Small. Its beady black eyes peeking curiously into my hospital room.
For a second, I think it’s hurt. Wings tight to its sides. Chest barely moving. Like it’s unsure whether to stay or to run. I know that feeling—being frozen in a world that keeps pulling at you from every direction, unsure which voice to trust, which one is yours.
The bird tilts its head, sharp and curious, like it’s listening for something. Wind. Instinct. A beat loud enough to follow.
A moment passes, then it shifts. One step forward. Then another. Its body tense, unsure. And then…it flies.
One beat. Then another. Gone.
Not graceful. Not perfect. But free.
I want that kind of freedom. But wanting something and believing I can have it are two different things. Because right now, my life is anything but mine. Every step I’ve taken since the day Michele, the world’s worst stepdad, walked into it has been reaction, survival, consequence. My choices have always been shaped by someone else’s will.
My mother’s silence.
Michele’s threats.
Anthony’s words.
Isaia’s fire.
