by Jane Anthony
“Want me to come in with you?” he asks, his dark eyes filled with warmth.
“No. I need to do this alone. I’ll come get you if I need you.”
With a calming breath, I step from the car and jaunt up the steps. I have the rest of my life to walk beside him. This is something I need to do alone, if for nothing else then my own peace of mind.
But I hesitate as I approach the door. Do I knock? Do I walk in as if nothing happened? In the end, I try the knob, my heart leaping into my throat as I step inside for the first time in weeks.
“Dad?” My voice rings hollow through the room. The house, exactly as it was when I left, now feels alien to me. My home resides elsewhere, but it’s not a town or a structure. It’s in the arms of the man with the matching ring.
My dad’s footfalls creak on the carpeted steps. “Gabriella?” He follows my call, moving faster as he gets to the bottom.
I came here bracing myself for the inevitable argument, but what I didn’t expect was the sheen of glass glittering my father’s gaze as he looks upon me as if I’m a ghost. I didn’t anticipate how much he’d be hurting. I let my own anger cloud my judgment, but the dark circles blackening his eyes are simply another piece to this messed-up puzzle.
“You’ve come home.” His gravelly voice is full of longing. My heart breaks inside my chest. We’re more alike than I thought. Stubborn to the core, unwilling to bend. But looking at him now, the truth emerges clear as crystal. He’s a flawed man, and I no longer have the strength to stay mad. I miss my daddy.
“I came to talk.”
His glare shifts past me to the picture window. Anthony’s car sits in the driveway, the back window taped up with plastic. “You’re still with him,” he announces, side-eyeing me warily.
“Yes.”
A humorless laugh blows through his nose as he breezes past and plops on the sofa. His head falls to his hands. He scrapes his fingers along his scalp before looking up to the ceiling. “What have I done so wrong?”
“Dad . . .” I take a single step, drifting off to collect my thoughts. “We’ve both made mistakes.”
“So, you admit he’s a mistake.”
I roll my eyes with an exasperated huff. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You’ve been my life’s work, Gabriella. The one thing in this world I thought I could be proud of.”
Tears well in my eyes. “I’m still the same person, Daddy. I haven’t changed.”
His broken gaze snaps to mine. “Everything’s changed. Can’t you see that?” He rises to his feet and takes me by the shoulders. “Come back home. We can work it out.”
“Dad—”
“I’m ready to listen and discuss it. Me, you, . . . and Anthony.”
His words hit like an avalanche. It’s everything I wanted. My dad’s acceptance, his willingness to talk it out, his ability to accept my choices, but it’s too late. I suck back the emotion threatening to spill as I lift my left hand. “I’m married.”
The blood drains from his face. “You’re a liar.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “We went to the courthouse last week.”
A bewildered look ripples over his features, followed by a mottled mix of remorse and rage. “You're pregnant?”
“No.”
He turns his back and paces toward the opposite wall. “Then how could you do this?”
“It was the only way to show you I was serious! Anthony is part of my life whether you like it or not.”
When he spins to face me again, the fury on his face nearly knocks me off my feet. “You did it out of spite?”
“No. I did it because I love him and I want to be with him. Don’t you remember love, Daddy?” I point at the picture on the wall. “You’d give up anything to have Mom back, and you know it.”
“It’s not true. I wouldn’t give you up.”
I drop my chin to my chest. “Now you have to.”
“I will never give you up, Gabriella. You hear me? Never.”
My pointed gaze snaps to his. “Well, I’m a package deal now, Daddy. If you love me, you have to accept him, too.”
His lips press into a thin line as he takes in my statement. “I was willing to. But I can’t accept this. You’ve gone too far.”
“Fine,” I whisper, turning toward the door.
“Gabriella Donofrio, do not walk away from me.”
I throw a look over my shoulder, the sadness taking over whatever strength I had left. “It’s Morello now. And I have to go.”
He takes a clipped step. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“You’re right.” I shrug. “It doesn’t.”
Another padded footstep passes over the worn-out carpet as I reach for the door. “You remind me of her, you know. Your mom . . . She was spirited. So full of life all the time it was almost exhausting.”
I pause midflight, the sobs hitching in my throat.
“But I was a fool for that woman. I never thought I could love anyone as much as I loved her. And then you were born.”
My attempt not to cry ends in epic failure. Tears leak from my eyes as my father’s heat hits my back. Sorrow thickens his voice. He pauses, futility attempting to clear it away, but the desolate tone remains.
“I wasn’t prepared to raise you alone. It all happened so fast. I was just so terrified to lose you, too. I couldn't handle it. I held on too tight, and all I did was push you away.”
His nose touches the top of my head, the sounds of his labored breath drawing the fight right out of me. “It’s not all your fault.”
“It is. I made you do this. I acted a fool, and I don’t blame you for running away from me.”
Glancing back, I take his hand as I turn and face him. A pink tinge stains his eyes. Knowing it’s there because of me tears me open. We hurt each other because we could, and I don’t want this anymore. It’s too late to drag up the past. I’m ready to move on.
“I’m not running away, Daddy. I’m running toward something. It’s bigger than me, bigger than us, more massive than this whole damn town. An explosive energy that pulled me by the heart and held on tighter than even you could.”
“I don’t want to make another mistake, Ella. I don’t want to let you walk out that door because I fear once you go, you’re gone for good.”
"Do you know where I was the night I came home at 5:30 in the morning? I was at the hospital with Anthony while his only living relative died. I was supporting a friend. It was the most profoundly sad and beautiful moment of my life, but you turned it into vile accusations and mistrust. You wanted to make Anthony something he's not. He has dreams, Dad. Real goals. He's a good man, and you're missing out by not knowing him."
Tears fill the astounded look in my father’s eyes. This time, when he reaches for me, I fall into his arms. The scent of Aqua Velva surrounds me. The fragrance of Christmas mornings and sick days from school. Pancakes and cookies and chasing away monsters. He’s always been there, good times and bad. He’s the first man I ever loved, and that’s not something easily forgotten.
“Well. Go ahead, I guess. Bring the boy in.” He stands tall, shoulders wide as I reach for the door. He may be retired, but Rocco Donofrio is a cop to his core. The interrogation awaits, and it’s time to face the music.
I step on to the stoop and wave Anthony in. He angles out of the car. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I feel my father at my back and the hair on my neck raises, but not in fear. In hope. “Everything’s okay.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, but it fluffs back in place as he meanders up the walk. “Good to see you again, Mr. Donofrio,” he says, offering his hand.
The quiver in my father’s lips doesn’t do unnoticed. Nor does the sadness behind his stern glare as he slips his palm against my husband’s for the first time. “Coffee? I already have the pot on.”
Anthony flicks his gaze in my direction before focusing back on my father. “Sure. Yeah, that’d be great.”
I follow inside and close the door, but Dad stops me before I go any farther. “Not you. This is between him and me.”
“I’ll go pack my stuff,” I say more to Anthony than my father. Fear ripples across his features, but he stands stoic, ready to meet his nemesis head on.
My room is exactly as I left it, save for the door hanging on the hinges. I wonder when he decided to rehang it. How many days did he sit on his bed blaming himself for all the wrongs I had a hand in?
Standing in the center, I take it all in. Dolls and clothes and costume jewelry. My entire childhood crammed into one tiny bedroom that no longer feels like mine. I’m not the same girl who slept in that bed under posters of Jon Bon Jovi. Dad was right. I’m different now. I may not be an adult, but I feel like one.
My wandering gaze falls on the single photo of my mother tucked into the lip of the mirror. So much like me. A young woman on the verge yet not quite there. She never got to experience life, but I will. And I’ll hold her in my heart and take her with me. Not today, but someday. For now, the photo will have to do.
I pluck it from its dusty spot and shove it in the back pocket of my jeans. Slowly, but surely, I pack away all that’s special and leave the rest. I don’t need it all. Just the things that will carry me through to the next phase.
My name bellows through the open doorway. I swing toward the sound and trot to the landing. As Anthony’s smile lights up the darkened stairwell, I know I’ve made the right choice. He’s my future. Mr. and Mrs. Morello, Daniel, my mom . . . casualties lost so we could find each other. It will happen to all of us. Like the band on my finger, a perfect circle that continues without end.
Life, love, and death.
Epilogue
GABRIELLA
“This would be a lot easier if you just tell me where we’re going,” Anthony whines as he pulls onto the highway.
“Just keep going. Stay in the right lane,” I reply with a smile. My chest flutters with excitement. The last year has been a roller coaster of ups and downs. It hasn’t been easy, but through it all, we’ve come together. Getting married so young was a perilous pursuit, but we jumped in with our eyes closed and hearts open, willing to take the risk on each other. That’s what you do for love.
Cars rush passed. Wind whips through the windows, the engine roaring over Dave Mustaine’s growling vocals. “Can I have a hint?”
“It’s an anniversary gift.” My fingers tangle in the hem of my shirt. We just returned from California, the honeymoon we never got to take. It destroyed me when Maribelle left. It felt as if a piece of my heart was boarding that plane. I was sure I’d never see her again, but two weeks ago, Anthony presented me with the best present ever — two tickets to Los Angeles. He was quite pleased with himself at the time, but I’m about to blow his romantic gesture clear out of the water. “Pull in here.”
The deafening roar goes silent as he cuts the engine. With furrowed brows, he leans over the steering wheel, peering at the so-called surprise.
Two structures on a vacant lot.
To our right, a stately colonial sits amongst the trees, their reaching limbs twisting over the roof’s steep pitch. Daffodils line the walkway that leads to a gravel road, and at the end, a squat, square building sits off the road.
“Aww, babe. You brought me to a crack house for our anniversary,” he quips, but his head whips toward the sound of gravel crunching under our tires.
I audibly snort. “Let’s go.”
“Sorry I’m late.” The driver’s voice floats on the breeze. She steps out, then reaches back in for a briefcase before slamming the door with her hip. “You must be Gabriella. I’m Beverly.” Gold rings match the thick bangles on her wrist as she extends her hand.
“Thanks for meeting us,” I greet, slipping my palm into hers.
Crystal-blue eyes size me up from top to bottom, then shift to Anthony as he approaches. I imagine we are the complete opposite of what she was expecting when coming down here today, but her plastic grin never wavers. “That must make you Anthony.” She reaches one finger into her teased hair and scratches her scalp with a mauve-tipped nail as she flies into her spiel. “As I said on the phone, this place is priced to move. I was able to get the sellers to postpone listing it until you’ve seen it, but I’m not sure I can stave them off much longer.”
I take his hand and walk him to the front of the lot. Two large bay doors sit under the sloped shingle roof beside a single glass-panel entrance. His lips part, his eyes widening as she reaches for the key. “It does need work, but it’s all cosmetic. The foundation is good.”
Chewing my lip, I look at Anthony, hoping for a sign or a signal. Something to show me what he’s thinking, but his face is a blank slate of shock and confusion. My stomach sinks. I was certain he’d be over the moon, but now I’m worried I overstepped. This is his dream, his years of saving, his inheritance . . . not mine. I had no business putting my nose in it.
Yet, when my father called with a tip on the building, I jumped at the chance. My deathbed promise to Daniel constricts my chest. He admitted he denied care in order to set Anthony up with enough money to start his business. He died for this, and when the opportunity arose, it felt too perfect to let go.
With a heavy heart, I follow behind as Beverly pushes through the backdoor. Faint highway hubbub still dashes in the far-off distance, but birds chirp overhead, the heady, floral scent of daffodils dancing on the breeze. She disengages the lock with a click, and the door springs open.
With bated breath, I take it all in. The heavy wooden casings, the wide inviting staircase, the large, open kitchen. My hands spring to my abdomen. Children’s laughter echoes in my ears. The smell of Sunday dinner and the warmth of home. I already feel it standing in the foyer.
But Anthony’s thick baritone tugs hard on the reins. “Wait.” His boots thump on the hardwood floor. He comes to a stop in the wide opening of the living room. “The house comes with the building?”
Goose bumps slather my arms. “I know it’s not much, but we have the rest of our lives to make it ours.”
Mouth agape, he turns to look at me. “Ours?”
“If you want it. I’ve already run the numbers.” Shame blooms up my cheeks. I swallow hard, my mind racing through all the research I’d done. “With what we already have in savings, plus what we’d make on the sale of your current house, it’s enough to cover the purchase price, plus closing costs, and my dad said he would co-sign a business loan for us to handle the rest.”
With no response, he stares wild-eyed, his gaze ping-ponging between me and the huge front windows.
“You hate it.”
“I don’t hate it,” he mumbles, stepping farther inside. “I’m fucking flabbergasted. How did you do this?”
I shrug, “I told you. I’m good with numbers.”
He glances at Beverly over his shoulder. “Can we have a minute?”
With a curt nod, she lets herself out.
“You sneaky little rebel,” he growls, pulling me against him. His mouth lands on mine, his tongue teasing my lips as they instinctively part.
“So, what do you think?”
“I think I finally have everything I ever wanted, and I can’t believe I have Steele Hammer and a shitty fake ID to thank for it.”
I twine my arms around his neck. “Does this mean Morello’s Restoration is officially in business?”
His fingers slip through my hair before landing on my swelling stomach. “Morello and Son’s Restoration.” He drops a tender kiss to my forehead. “It all starts here.”
Playlist
“Is This Love” – Whitesnake
“Alone” – Heart
“When I See You Smile” – Bad English
“More Than Words” – Extreme
“When It’s Love” – Van Halen
“Seventeen” – Winger
“Love Walks In” – Van Halen
“Girls, Girls, Girls” – Mötley Crüe
“Girls Just
Wanna Have Fun” – Cyndi Lauper
“What Was I Thinkin’” – Dierks Bentley
“Born To Be My Baby” – Bon Jovi
“Sister Christian” – Night Ranger
“Heaven” – Warrant
“Hold On Loosely” – 38 Special
“Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” – Starship
“If I Die Young” – The Band Perry
“I Think We’re Alone Now” – Tiffany
“One” – U2
“Sweet Child O’ Mine” – Guns N’ Roses
“In Your Eyes” – Peter Gabriel
Acknowledgements
When I wrote Secret Promises in 2015, I never planned to expand upon the story. Far as I was concerned, it was one and done. A stand-alone story that ended after Jameson and Jillian got together. But being new to the author world, I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t anticipate the outpouring of love and demands for more.
When Chasing Casey came to fruition, again, I assumed I was done with the series. All the Morellos has their happy endings – there was nothing left say.
Except, there was.
No Regrets is truly a labor of love. A niggling ear worm that hammered into my heart with all its glam rock glory. Gabby and Anthony may not have been physically present in the initial duet, but they’re spirits are there. They sat in the back of my mind, dictating every move AJ and Jillian made through the course of their fictional lives. It all started with them. Two crazy in love kids who just wanted to be together. The start of Morello and Son’s, and the story that takes my career full circle. Start to finish.
At the risk of being too long-winded, I’ll slide into my thank you’s and get them out of the way.
In all honesty, I take no credit for this story. Sure, it’s my words and my ideas, but the one person who really deserves all the praise is Linda Soto. I can’t properly thank you enough for all of your help and support while fleshing out this story. All day, every day, you lived these lives alongside me, pushing me to finish. When responsibility saddened me, you became my buttress and my heart-stealer, so consider this a limb enclosure from me to you. I hope it becomes mutual.