by Bethany-Kris
“Anything else?”
“People to see.”
Siena.
His mother.
“You’re awfully jittery, too. Bouncing your knee. That’s new.” The two of them stared at one another until the therapist moved on with, “What are your plans after you leave here today?”
John gave the woman a look, curious at where she was trying to go with this line of questioning. Usually, she tried to focus on how the meds were working for him—or not, typically—and his history, or his family.
“I have to be on one side of New York this morning, and on the other side tonight,” John replied.
“Is that an everyday thing for you lately?”
John shrugged. “Can be. More often than not, it is.”
“You must be exhausted.”
“Not really.”
“You’re getting enough sleep, then?” Amelia asked.
“Enough.”
“Like a few hours?”
“A couple,” John said.
The therapist scratched something down on her pad with the pen, and said, “And you are keeping up with your medications, right?”
John lied, then. “Every single day.”
He halved her dose of Lithium, and when that hadn’t worked to stop the fog in his head, he got rid of the other three medications she put him on. She wouldn’t agree to stop prescribing the anxiety and depression meds when he wasn’t even battling those to begin with.
Sure, he made it look like he was taking the pills, but he didn’t. He filled the prescriptions every month like he was supposed to. He didn’t actually take them, though.
“All of them?” she pressed. “Did the fog you mention lift?”
John shrugged. “Not particularly.”
He didn’t offer more. Not even when Amelia stared at him like she was waiting for him to continue explaining.
“Do you find the meds helped with the anxiety and depression that took you up and down from day to day?”
Yes.
Mixed with two mood stabilizers and an anticonvulsant, they also made him feel like he couldn’t think a coherent thought on a bad day.
“They did their job,” he said instead.
“Are you getting a lot done?” the therapist asked after a moment. “Work wise, and whatever else.”
“Always,” John returned.
She continued on that line of questioning for whatever reason. She focused in on the things he did daily, and how he was spending his time. She asked him different questions about his family, and how they seemed lately. Not that he had much to tell her for that side of things.
John knew she was pressing for something—maybe trying to gage something with him—but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Whatever.
He let her dig.
Soon enough, his time was up.
“Do not reschedule your appointment for next week, Johnathan,” his therapist said from behind him as he left her office. “Or I will report you for a third time to your parole officer.”
Well … shit.
“Ma!” John called out.
The front door of his parents’ Amityville home slammed closed under his hand. The female murmurings coming from down the hall quieted damn near instantly.
“In the kitchen, Johnathan,” he heard his mother say back.
He kicked off his shoes, and shrugged off his jacket. Setting the items aside, he headed for the kitchen where the smells were already wafting from. Something sweet, with a hint of cinnamon. His mother could cook—goddamn, could she cook. His childhood had been filled with memories of things his mother made for him to eat.
Especially in more difficult times of his life, he could bring forth strong memories of Jordyn’s sweets and other things she made just for him. It was a way she had gotten him to talk, or whatever else.
John found his mother sitting with his second youngest sister at the kitchen table. In her arms, Cella rocked a bundled-up baby. Swaddled in pink, this was the first time John had actually gotten a glimpse at his two-month-old niece.
She had not even been christened, yet.
“Ma,” John greeted, crossing the space to drop a kiss on Jordyn’s cheek.
“How was your day?”
“It was good.”
“Say hello to baby Tiffany,” Jordyn said, waving at the baby.
John passed Cella a look, but his sister only shrugged. The two didn’t even speak as he leaned over to tug the blanket aside with one finger. The sleeping newborn barely stirred at her uncle. Her cream skin, and long eyelashes were a sweet sight. One tiny fist had grabbed tightly to her swaddling blanket.
“She looks like you, Cella,” John said. “She’s beautiful. Congrats.”
His sister smiled faintly. “Thanks, John.”
Jordyn’s gaze drifted between the two—her smile saying one thing, and her eyes saying another. He knew it hurt his mother that her oldest daughters were not welcoming to their brother. John knew that was never going to change. He had said too much and done too much in the midst of episodes where Cella and Liliana were concerned. Their issues ran too deep, and wounds like those never healed properly.
“I thought you were coming over a little later,” Jordyn said.
He heard the question his mother didn’t ask out loud. She wanted him to be there when his father was also at the house.
John had different plans.
The men of his family were no longer going to be messing in his business or life. Not if he could help it.
“Some stuff came up, Ma,” John said, taking a seat at the other end of the table. A couple of chairs away from his sister, Cella finally looked like she relaxed a bit. Usually, his guilt would compound at the idea that being near his sibling caused her anxiety, but he simply brushed it off. What was done, was done. “I don’t think Dad will mind.”
“Your father was looking forward to having dinner with you tonight, John.”
John shrugged. “If he wants information, Ma, he’s got all sorts of ways to get it when it comes to me.”
Jordyn outright frowned at that. “What are you talking about?”
“Ask Dad.”
He wasn’t going to hurt his mother like that.
Jordyn sighed, and reached over to stroke the top of the newborn baby girl’s head as she spoke again. “Well, what came up, then? Because I was looking forward to having you come over tonight to eat, too.”
“I’m here.”
He would always make time for his mother. Sure, he had alienated himself away from his family over the years. He put up walls, and made the distance grow as time went by. His mother never factored in to that. Ever. He would figure a way around anything that put up a roadblock when it came to his mom. Simply because he loved her enough to do it.
Jordyn had constantly loved him, after all.
Through everything.
No matter how awful he could be.
She loved him.
“I know you’re here, John,” Jordyn said as she stood from her chair, and headed for the stove that started to beep. “I also like to have you here when everyone else is, too. You’re always coming and going when it’s just me, but there’s more than just me in this family, my boy.”
Jordyn turned around to point a finger at him. “And your father loves you, too.”
“Sure, he does.”
He also didn’t trust John.
How could the two ever repair the burned bridges when something like that came into play? He didn’t explain that to his mother because she wouldn’t understand. She loved them both—Lucian and Johnathan. Their faults were not something she liked to look at for very long.
“I also didn’t forget that you avoided my question about what came up,” his mother said.
Cella smiled at that, and looked down at her daughter. “She never misses a click.”
“Tell me about it,” John muttered. Then, louder for his mother, “I promised to take Siena to a new restaurant and bar in Manha
ttan, actually. I forgot that the opening was tonight.”
He didn’t forget anything usually, but it was happening lately. Little things—unimportant things. He figured as long as it didn’t bleed over into business, it wouldn’t matter.
Jordyn hesitated as she pulled a cake pan from the oven. “You forgot?”
“Yeah. She reminded me this morning.”
His mother waffled in her gaze before she finally settled on asking, “Was she with you this morning?”
“Usually is.”
He didn’t offer more.
His mother let out a quiet sound, but said nothing else.
“Is that a cinnamon bunt cake?” he asked.
Jordyn gave him a smile. “It is—your favorite.”
“I might be able to squeeze in some more time before I have to leave, then.”
She laughed.
“So, you’re still seeing her?” his mother asked as she worked at the counter. “The Calabrese girl, I mean.”
“Please don’t start with that, Ma. Don’t be like the rest of them.”
“Them?” Jordyn met his gaze from across the room. “For one, that’s your family. Not them. For two, it’s not the family that I worry about, John. It’s you.”
“I’m fine.”
Cella cleared her throat.
John just ignored his sister, and kept his attention on his mother. “Really, I am.”
“A relationship could possibly—”
“There’s nothing to say, Ma,” he interrupted sharply. “Not about me and her.”
Jordyn nodded. “Sure. But what does she really know about you, John? Does she know everything? Have you been honest with her?”
John bristled at that comment. “If you’re asking whether or not I told her about my disorder, then yes. I did.”
His mother brushed her hands together. “All right. I just wanted to make sure. You should maybe bring her over for dinner on Sunday. Church, too. I assume she’s Catholic.”
John gave his mother an odd look.
What in the hell was she on?
“Do you think it’s a good idea for me to bring a Calabrese to church and Sunday dinner with our family after I was told to stay away from her by Dad, and the rest of them?”
Jordyn shrugged. “You won’t know unless you try.”
She had a point …
“John!” Matteo Calabrese’s voice echoed across the quiet restaurant. The heavy-set boss sat on a stool, and had what looked to be a glass of whiskey in his hand. “My boy, come over here.”
John did his best not to bristle at the my boy thing. Matteo was always respectful, and John was dating the man’s daughter, so to speak.
“Are you here for my girl?” Matteo asked as John came closer.
“I promised her dinner.”
“Not here, I hope.” The man gave him a look. “You can’t call it a proper date when it’s the same place she works.”
“Not here,” John said.
Matteo waved at the stool. “Sit, John.”
He didn’t have a reason to refuse, so John sat.
“I never get to sit and chat with you,” Matteo said, grinning widely. “You’re always running with my daughter, or working with my boys. You should stop and say hello once in a while. We’re all friends, right?”
Friends.
Right.
If by friends, he meant two men who came from a long history of bad blood, then sure.
“Friends,” John forced himself to say.
“Oh, I saw that father of yours the other day. Asked about you since I hadn’t seen you in a while.”
John stiffened. “That so?”
“He didn’t have much to say about you. Kind of a shame, really.”
John tried not to let that admittance sting him on the inside, but it kind of did. Seemed his father couldn’t muster up a good word about John, unsurprisingly.
“Here, have a drink,” Matteo said, waving at the bartender down the way.
Soon, two fingers of whiskey were sitting in front of John. He didn’t have a reason to refuse, and he couldn’t say no to a boss, anyway. So, he stared at the drink while Matteo nursed his and overlooked the patrons.
Before he thought much about it—he didn’t really think at all—John picked up the whiskey, and tossed it back. The glass clinked to the bar when he sat it back down.
“Another,” Matteo called, waving a finger between John and the glass.
He threw back three glasses of whiskey before he finally found Siena in the back of the restaurant working. She peeked up at him from the computer with a wide smile. Bending down, he pressed a quick kiss to her sweet lips.
Siena hesitated when he pulled away. “Were you drinking?”
“A couple with your dad.”
“But you don’t drink, John.”
“Don’t worry about it, love.” It was just a drink. Alcohol wasn’t great with his meds, but he was already fucking with those anyway. He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Are you ready to head out of here, or what?”
“Almost.”
Siena went about saving all the files, and turning the computer off. She packed up her bag, and rounded the desk to come and stand beside John.
“So hey,” he said.
He slipped two fingers under her chin, and tipped her head back to make her look up at him. Those blue eyes of hers darkened with lust when he dropped a soft kiss to her mouth. Her tongue teased along his when her lips finally parted for him.
“Hey,” she whispered when he pulled away.
“I was thinking …”
“I thought you did that quite often.” Siena winked. “Thinking, I mean.”
“Cute. No, I meant about this weekend. How would you feel about coming to church with me, and then to a big Marcello dinner afterward? It’s a regular thing.”
“For them, or for you?”
John shrugged. “I don’t go as often as I used to. You coming with me, bella, or not?”
Siena stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him again. “Definitely coming, John.”
Something in the lilt of her tone sent a shot of lust straight through his bloodstream. John barely thought about what he was going to do next—his rationale entirely gone with a little smile and wink from her.
Lately, his grasp on good and bad decisions fell more to the reckless, stupid side of things. This would probably fall in that category as well.
John just couldn’t find it in himself to care.
He was who he was.
Bulletproof.
Untouchable.
Invincible.
Especially with Siena.
He didn’t care that her father was just twenty feet away. He didn’t consider that this was a public place, or how disrespectful it might be to her family.
No, he just closed the door to the office, picked Siena up, and set her on the edge of the desk. She laughed breathlessly as he pushed her skirt up around her hips, and got down on his knees. The black cotton panties she wore slipped down her legs easily, and she widened her hips without even needing to be told.
She tasted like honey on his tongue.
A drug he wanted more of.
She muffled her cries with her hands. Every stroke of his tongue against her silken pussy, and hot little clit had her rocking into his mouth.
So perfect.
It was the recklessness of it all that got him off, next to the way Siena looked while he ate her out, of course. Still, the danger and craziness of it all made it that much fucking better. He couldn’t deny the way the high slipped through his blood like a needle shot straight into his veins.
It was everything good and bad for John.
A part of him understood that—his life and actions lately were reflecting symptoms of his mania, and he knew it. From the lack of sleep, to the irresponsible decisions, and the wild behavior. The bigger problem was the part of him that recognized his spiral was quickly shut down, and shut out. Irrationality took control.
As quick as the understanding came …
It was gone again.
Forgotten.
He felt instead. He felt everything.
It was overwhelming.
It still felt like air, though. He just kept sucking it in.
No matter if it was poison.
Siena’s cheeks were still blushed with a pretty pink when they left the office. John thought to say goodbye to Matteo as they left—for respect’s sake—but the Calabrese boss was on the phone, and only eyed the couple as they left the business.
It was odd, but John figured it didn’t matter.
He had what he wanted tucked into his side.
And she was still smiling.
FOURTEEN
Siena was not panicking.
She was not.
It was church.
Sunday service.
Mass.
She did this every week with her own family. She attended services every single Sunday since she could remember. Her first communion was one of her fondest memories. Church and God were a must for her family.
It wasn’t a big thing.
It shouldn’t be a big deal.
So, why couldn’t she just pick a damn dress?
Five church appropriate, Catholic service approved dresses rested across her bed. She had pulled out far more than five at first, but these were the ones she ended up with after discarding the others on the floor of her closet.
All had been spread out, so she could get a good look at them. She kept going from one to another, either finding something she didn’t like about one, and then finding something she loved about the same piece.
They ranged in color—a white, off the shoulder number, another light green dress, one dark blue, a maroon red, and even a violet shade. All with designer names, respectable style, and modestly cut necks. Nothing too low, and nothing too short. All the skirts fell at her knees, or even an inch below.
And these dresses?
That was all before shoes. Shoes were a whole other kind of hell. Siena was not ready for that hell.
This was not hard choice on any other day. Usually, Siena just grabbed a dress, and tossed it on. She didn’t buy something if she didn’t love it right off the rack.
The thing was, this wasn’t any other Sunday. Her family would not be attending with her, and she wouldn’t be going to her familiar church.