Her thoughts drifted to the night in the cave.
Being with Marco had made her feel safe and cared for while she suffered the DTs. He’d been like a rock, his presence calming, reassuring, and present. And then—the passion... She fanned herself.
“And the guy knows what to do with the tools he’s been given,” she said, a wistful pang twisting her heart. She tapped out one of her favorite old school collaborations between Prince and Sheila E—Erotic City. “Maybe that will be the theme song to our one encounter, big guy,” she said. “Followed by a classic Gwen Stefani song, Don’t Speak.”
When her phone started ringing, she scoffed, thinking, Christ Almighty, D. She scanned the caller ID and read, Carol, calling.
“Nope,” she said, tossing the phone on the coffee table. She picked up her sticks and resumed practice.
A few minutes later, her door buzzer sounded. She pitched the sticks on the sofa and huffed out a sigh. “Really, Dante? You’re just going to send this sober candidate over even though I told you no?”
He insisted she at least meet with them.
She pressed the brass button and said, “Sorry, I’m not home.”
“Gia.”
Marco. Her name shot through her like a bullet. Her heart began tippity-tapping as if auditioning for a dance performance. She stood, frozen, unable to think of a witty response.
“Can I come up?”
“Uh, sure,” she said. Her fingers shook as the pressed the door release. Her head whipped right and left as she appraised her surroundings.
“What the fuck? What’s he doing here? What does he want? He already apologized,” she whispered. She finger-combed her newly bleached hair, feeling like a frigging teenager.
When the knock landed on the solid door, her mouth turned dry.
“Come on, G, you can do this.” She tightened up her tough girl persona and swaggered to open the door. When she saw him, standing at ease, she became speechless once more, all the sauce and vinegar draining from her attitude. He looked soft, humble, beautiful, and hot as holy hell as if he’d channeled his frustrations into serious gym-time.
“Marco,” she said simply. “What can I do for you?”
“Can I come in?” he said.
“Sure,” she said, stepping aside for him to enter. “It’s simple, but it’s home,” she said, sweeping her arm in a half-circle, indicating the living room.
“You could be standing anywhere, and you’d still look beautiful,” he said.
She blushed. She rarely, if ever, felt outgunned when with a man. As usual, Marco made her feel vulnerable and a little crazy.
He stood, towering over her, uncertainty radiating from him.
“I like your hair,” he said, in the same way, a clueless teenager who didn’t know what to say might remark.
“What? This?” She patted her bleached blond locks. “It’s in its blank slate place. I’m waiting for inspiration. I always go blond when I’m between moods.”
“Is that what you are? Between moods?” He continued to stand in the hall, stiff and statue-like.
“Brutus,” she said, taking his hand. The electric heat humming between their skin made her want to press him against the wall, jump into his arms, and do what consenting adults do—fuck their brains out. “Here’s where you say, ‘Thanks, Gia, don’t mind if I do.’ You don’t stand in the hall like you’re afraid I’ll bite and ask me what kind of mood I’m in. Instead, you take these few steps toward my sofa,” she said, dragging him along. “And you turn,” she said, dropping his hand, placing her palms on his hips and guiding him around. “And you...” She paused, mouth gaping, as his gaze met hers.
His chocolate eyes appeared hooded and dark. Lips parted, he stared at her like he might devour her.
For a few tempting seconds, she wanted to peel off his jeans, drop her head, and take him into her mouth. Catching herself, she snatched her hands away.
“And then you sit.” She stepped backward, out of the vortex of his potent gaze. She banged into the coffee table and had to catch herself.
“Right.” He perched on the couch and leaned on his legs, clasping his hands together. “I came to apologize again. I crossed boundaries. I took advantage of you. I exploited you, Gia and I’m...”
“Stop right there, Brutus,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “I was a more than consenting adult. I wanted it. I wanted you. By the time we got around to that kiss, I might have come on the spot, I was so hot for you.”
“You didn’t let on you were interested,” he said, his eyes wide with surprise.
“I was a little busy dealing with a pretty harsh breakdown,” she said, scoffing. “DTs and all that, ya know?” Unwilling to move closer to him and risk jumping his bones, she folded into a cross-legged position on the floor, next to the shiny chrome and glass coffee table. Her hands tapped a rhythm against her legs. “And then when we, you know...” Her hands stilled, her eyelids dropped to half-mast, and she slowly ran her tongue along her upper lip.
Marco grinned, seductively. “Yeah. It was pretty sweet.”
“Sweet,” Gia said. “It was fucking awesome is what it was. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
His eyebrows flew high on his forehead. His cheeks puffed with a mouthful of air, which he slowly released.
“Yeah. So.” He looked fidgety like he might run from the room.
“Why’d you really come over, Brutus? To see if you still have a chance?” she said, all her stuff and swagger at her command once more.
“Gia, I...” he said, spreading his hands.
“You do,” she said, swallowing any lingering anxiety. “But I can see the thought makes you uncomfortable. Let’s go grab a bite to eat. I haven’t eaten all day.” She got to her feet, noting his expression of concern. “I know, I know. A recovering addict needs to be mindful of proper nourishment. I’ve been too busy working on some beats. I’ll play them for you when we get back, okay?”
His face brightened, no doubt relieved for a new topic. “Yeah, way cool. I’d love to hear.”
Across the street at the deli-coffee shop with its bold checkerboard tiles and pink and black checkered walls, they fell into an easy camaraderie.
Munching on pastrami and rye, she said, “I’ve been going to meetings like the devil’s chasing me and the only place he can’t find me is surrounded by other recovering alcoholics.” She smiled, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.
Marco swallowed the last of his sandwich, noisily slurped the remnants of his soda through his straw, and nodded.
“Good girl. I’m proud of you. I knew you could do it. I worried...” He looked skyward as if carefully choosing his words. “I know each person’s actions are his or her own responsibility. But I worried by crossing boundaries with you, you’d relapse.”
“Oh,” Gia said, dragging the word out. “Like I can’t make a good decision on my own. You and everyone else seems to have tremendous faith in me.” Her lips pressed tight.
“Come on,” he said, dropping some of his polite veneers. “You were in a vulnerable place. I took advantage...”
“Would you stop saying that? I swear, Brutus if you say that one more time I’m going to flatten you. I get it. We all signed a contract for our assigned roles. But people do things all the time, finding loopholes in the fine print. Ask my father.” The last sentence slipped out before she had a chance to stuff it back into its hiding place. She thought about all the meetings she’d attended over the past few weeks. You’re only as sick as your secrets. This phrase was waved before them like the word of God. I shared with Kennedy, I may as well share with Brutus. “You know how when I was at Gray House I never talked about my dad? I’d be asked about my home life, and I’d say something like, oh, it was a normal childhood?”
“Yeah,” Marco said, leaning back in his chair.
“It wasn’t. My dad seemed pissed that he even had children. But he didn’t take it out on my mom, God rest her soul, he took it out on me and my little sister. He bea
t the shit out of us. Time and again I threw myself in front of the belt to protect my sister. And he’s some master psychologist in California.” This part of the story slid out so easily this time, she decided not to press her luck and share about her sister’s death.
Marco looked at her with his usual compassionate concern. “That’s harsh, Gia. Now I understand why you never wanted to talk about it.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Her phone, which she had set on the table, began to ring. She glanced at the caller ID. Carol calling.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Marco said. “I don’t mind.”
“Nope,” Gia said tersely.
Marco cocked his head. “Could be important, judging from your expression.”
“It isn’t. Carol is my dad’s new wife. My mom died, no doubt of heartbreak. She did nothing to stop the beatings, but maybe somewhere in her shriveled little heart, she felt bad about it. So dear old dad married a San Francisco socialite. She’s probably calling to tell me about dad’s failing heart or colitis or some new bullshit.”
Marco’s eyebrows stitched together. “You won’t know unless you answer it.”
Gia picked up the phone and deliberately disconnected the call. “That’s my answer. Dad’s been sick for months, or so I’m told. Each time it’s the end. Last call. His final encore. And yet each time he lives. I fell for it once. I won’t fall for it again. I don’t do encores,” she said, her mouth forming a line so crisp she thought her lips might shatter. “Are you finished?” she asked, indicating his empty plate.
“Yes,” he said, resting his palms on the table.
She loved the strength he held in his hands.
“Then let’s go for a walk. I’ll show you all the sites in my neighborhood. And then I’ll play my beats for you. And then...” She waggled her eyebrows up and down.
He grinned and shook his head. “And then I’ll be heading home, able to hold my head high for making amends so successfully.”
Gia threw back her head and groaned. “Wrong answer, Brutus. Wrong answer.”
She wanted nothing more than to roll around between the sheets with him for a long, delicious time. But in truth, she didn’t know if she could or would even allow herself the pleasure of letting someone in…strike that…of letting Marco in. I don’t do encores, and I definitely don’t do relationships.
Chapter 17
Unwilling to stop herself, Gia boldly seized Marco’s hand when they reached the Sara Roosevelt Park. He didn’t resist so she took this as a good sign. Matter of fact, unless her guy-dar was way wrong, which it seldom was, he seemed to melt into her touch.
“I’m back in the band. Going on tour.” She tip-toed along the honeycomb concrete path, avoiding the lines, like she did as a child when faced with any kind of sidewalk pattern. Then, she intentionally stepped on the lines, in the same manner.
The sun shone brightly, but the smell and feel of autumn’s end lay all around them. A sense of joy and infinite possibilities bloomed in her heart. She sensed that life without booze...without numbing herself...could mean a life far richer than she’d previously lived.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Marco said, stepping over a pile of orange and yellow leaves.
“Won’t know until I try it,” she said.
“Yeah, but all that temptation and old habits are there for the taking. You haven’t been in recovery for long,” Marco said. “I’m only looking out for you.”
“And here we go again with the ‘no one believes I can do this’ attitude. The same temptations will be there in four months or forty. And I can’t simply stay locked up at meetings. I need to get out and play again. I’m itching to be with the crew, playing music together. It’s such a rush when you catch that wave.” She released Marco’s hand and traced soaring lines in the air. Then, she resumed the hand-hold. “Oh, and your cuz and I have stitched things up.”
“That’s great,” Marco said, his smile broad.
Gia loved Marco’s smile. It warmed her soul.
“She even bought me a camera.” Excitement rolled through Gia as she thought of her new Nikon.
“You like to take pictures? Me, I’m a ‘snap it with my phone’ kind of guy. But mostly I don’t bother,” he said. He gently swung his arm, making their clasped hands swing.
“I used to love it when I was a kid. Dad stole my Polaroid, but he can’t hide stuff worth shit.” It was getting easier and easier to talk about her dad without wanting to punch someone in the face—or drown herself in a vat of vodka.
Her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and read, Carol, calling.
“Stop calling me!” she said to the phone.
“You might answer it,” Marco gently suggested.
“No!” she said. Her mood seemed to slip behind a building, lost in the shadows of city life.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, exiting the park and entering the sidewalk zone. Then, Marco said, “You know, you might deal with your dad differently if you ever saw him again. You might be strong enough to say what you need to say and get closure.”
“Fuck that, Dr. Phil. You’re not my shrink,” Gia snapped. Her phone rang again. Carol calling flashed on the screen. “Leave me alone,” she barked at her phone. Her stride began to quicken.
Marco put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her. “I can keep up with you, no problem, but what are you running from?”
She pushed his hand off of her. “Let me sort this on my own, got it?”
“Okay, okay,” he said, putting his palms up.
She bit her lip. “I’m a bitch, I know it. I’m sorry. But let me deal with this in my own way.”
“Fair enough,” he said, back to the reasonable guy.
They resumed walking.
Marco said, “You know, I’d give anything to see my fiancée one more time. I’d make that moment count. We had an argument over the phone. That was our last conversation. I was getting ready to go into combat. I was nervous about it. Anything could happen, and did, as a matter of fact. I lost far too many friends.” He paused, his mouth bunched up in a tight pucker. “I told her we needed to get all our affairs in order. Write up a living will. I wanted to make sure she was provided for. That I might not make it out alive. She told me I was stupid, that nothing would happen to me. ‘You’re a Marine,’ she told me as if that granted me total absolution. I think the talk of my dying freaked her out. Anyway, I was tense, she was tense...things weren’t perfect between us at that moment. Then, I got called away from the phone. I couldn’t exactly tell my commanding officer, ‘Oh, hey, can you give me a sec? I need to patch things up with my fiancée.‘” His lips pressed into a bitter line. “I whispered ‘I love you‘ into the phone and I think I mumbled something like, ‘We‘ll get this sorted‘ and then that was that. Last conversation I had with her.” He blew out a deep sigh. “What I’d give to make amends.”
Gia considered his words before responding. She pulled her gray hoodie tight, as a gust of wind billowed all around her.
“I hear that. I get you. I’d feel the same way. But here’s the difference. You loved her, right? She didn’t beat you or abuse you. I can’t see how anything good can come out of talking to my father...more like listening to him rant or lecture me. He never apologizes. Acts like he did nothing wrong. Even on his so-called deathbed, all he said to me was ‘why do you have to be so different?’ Like being who I am is a mortal sin.” Tears formed in her eyes, but she blinked them away.
“That’s where you might be mistaken, Gia. It’s not about his response. It’s about you saying what needs to be said. Needs to be said, girl… not should be said or could be said, or wouldn’t it be great if I told him off. I guarantee you there’s something inside of you, that if you could access it and say it...” He turned and stopped, guiding her to face him. “If you can access it and communicate it, there’s a healing, guaranteed.”
Gia’s heart and tummy did some weird flippity-flops, considering his words.
“You might be right, Brutus. But how do I access the message?”
“Pray, meditate, drum...I don’t know. Each person accesses their inner voice differently. You might hear it when you’re in the middle of a hold-on-to-your-seat drum solo, who knows?” he said.
His brown eyes looked so lucid and clear, it gave her the shivers. Or maybe it was his proximity to her...his face, inches from hers, seemed a heartbeat away from a lip-locking, intoxicating kiss. Her eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head, studying him.
I know you feel it, too. What’s your hesitation?
He ran his luscious tongue across his lips, sucked in a breath, and pivoted away from her, resuming his long-legged stride...and his knowing speech. “Have you ever thought that one of the reasons you got where you got...with the drinking and all, I mean...is because you never spoke your heart? That you might still be holding onto the past?”
“Come on, Brutus. I don’t need a therapist. You don’t have to psychoanalyze me, or preach to me, or tell me what’s what, all right?” Gia’s annoyance level began to spike, what with Carol calling and Brutus feeling the need to preach to her. She took a long, calming breath. She didn’t want to blow up and push him away. “Please?” she said in a conciliatory, peace-making tone. She eyed his expression. He looked like a puppy who’d just been paddled. “I’m sorry. It’s only...”
“Nah, don’t, Gia.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I get it. I came on too strong. I think I was talking to myself, you know? I’m the one who hasn’t attained closure. Me, not you. I’ve never let go of her. I’ve been holding on to a ghost. Afraid to let myself get close to anyone because I might lose them. And then you came along...” He gave her a long, soulful gaze that nearly made her legs buckle.
“I’m hardly the stuff of hearts and flowers romance, big guy,” she said, her insides squirming like a nest of vipers.
“I know,” he said. His lips parted as he regarded Gia.
This is it, Gia thought. This is where we pass Go, and I get to feel him again. One hundred percent sober. She licked her lips. Her hands curled around his forearms. When her phone rang—again—she barely acknowledged it.
A Twist of Love Page 11