by Tessa Thorne
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I say, squeezing him again. “Come on. Let Mommy take you home.”
I grab his equipment bag from the ground, take him tightly by the hand and turn to the chaperone. “I’ll text you my new number soon as I’m home.”
She nods as I turn away and walk with him down the street. I can feel her eyes on my back, judging me for what a terrible mom I am. Ethan follows me listlessly, dragging his feet.
This must have happened at baseball practice. He told me he didn’t like the coach, and I didn’t listen to him. I just wanted him to stay in it so I could finish my project. I’m so God damned selfish. This is all my fault!
Ethan’s sitting quietly on the couch watching TV when Rocco comes back home. He’s wearing another well-fitted suit. Navy again, but without stripes this time.
He nods hello as he kicks off his shoes and lays his jacket across the back of the couch.
“Hey kiddo,” he says to Ethan, leaning in over the back of the couch.
Ethan glances up at him, and Rocco’s eyes go wide when he sees the black and purple swelling around his eye.
“Shit,” he says. “What happened to you?”
Ethan responds before I have a chance to scold Rocco for using that kind of language around my son.
“I did what you said,” he says, looking right at Rocco.
What the hell is this?
Rocco steps around the couch and takes a seat next to Ethan. He lifts his chin and takes a good look at his eye.
“It doesn’t look so bad,” he says. “Just a solid punch to the eye.”
I walk up to the couch, put my hands on my hips and stare directly at Rocco. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him what you should have,” he says, looking up at me. “That the next time a bully pushes him, he should punch him right in the face.”
“You did what?!” I shout. “How dare you tell him that? Do you see what you’ve done?”
“He needs to learn how to stand up for himself,” he says, standing up to his full intimidating height and looking down on me.
“Not him!” I scream, not letting him cow me. “He’s not like that. He’s a sensitive boy.”
I drop down next to Ethan on the couch and wrap him up in my arms. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I left my little boy with this killer. I should have never trusted him.
“The world doesn’t go easy on sensitive guys,” he says, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “He needs to toughen up if you want him to survive out there in the wilds.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Am I really being lectured by a mob hitman on how to raise my son?
I turn around and glare back at him. “The world would be a better place if people didn’t grow up to be like you,” I spit out. “I don’t want this for him.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want,” he says. His jaw muscles are taut, and his voice carries a tone of held-back rage. “I’m sure you didn’t want the father of your child to be an alcoholic wifebeater either. But that’s how life turns out.”
“That’s low,” I say as I pick up Ethan and carry him to his room. I glance back and see Rocco staring after me, his arms still folded across his chest.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whisper into Ethan’s ear as I put him down on the bed. “I should have never put you in that position.”
I hear the sound of the front door slamming shut. Good. It may be Rocco’s apartment, but I don’t want him in it right now.
“It’s not his fault,” Ethan whispers.
“Of course it is,” I say. “He should have never told you to punch him.”
“I asked him what to do,” he says. “It’s my fault.”
My heart sinks upon hearing that. “This isn’t your fault, baby,” I say, soothing his hair back. “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”
He drops his chin to his chest and stays quiet.
I look down at him and put my arm around his shoulders. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” I say, squeezing him tight against my side.
He looks up at me, his eyes glistening with tears. “I like this place and I like Rocco,” he cries. “I don’t want to move again because of what I did.”
My heart aches as I squeeze him close against my chest and let him cry on me. My poor little boy. What have I done with my life? I shouldn’t have ever put him in this situation. “I love you, baby. Everything’s going to be okay.”
I keep saying that, but at what point will I admit to myself that it’s not a promise I can keep?
Chapter Thirteen
Rocco
I wait for Dorra to finish dressing Ma before I come into the room. She smiles at me as she heads out, leaving us alone together. She’s sitting on her rocking chair, staring out the window with a blank expression on her face.
She looks like she’s watching the view out her window. It’s a nice view of the East River. You can see the commercial boats making their way down the water, glistening in the afternoon sun. But her eyes are dead. She barely even blinks.
“Hey Ma,” I say, pulling up the chair from her desk and sit down across from her. “Nice day, isn’t it?”
She keeps staring out the window, just like every other time I visit. She hasn’t spoken since the last time my stinking dad beat her. Doctors said she was lucky to be alive. Took her months to come out of her coma. But she’s not been the same since.
“Pinky told me he came by with your favorite ziti yesterday,” I say. “Enough to share with Dorra.”
Nothing but silence. I should be used to this by now, but it hasn't gotten any easier. It’s why Pinky has such a hard time coming by. It’s hard to see your ma like this, knowing it’ll never get better. Till one day you get a call to tell you she’s dead.
“I met a girl. Same one I told you about before.” I pull up my chair closer and take her hand in mine. “She’s got the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen. Irish girl, but you’d forgive her for it if you met her.”
Her hand is so frail. They can feed her enough to live, but not enough to give her the strength she used to have. Before her vigor was stolen from her.
“She’s got a kid, too. His name’s Ethan.” I turn from her and look out the window. “He’s a lot like Pinky was back in the day. He needs to toughen up a bit.”
“They moved in with me.” I laugh. “Can you believe it? We’re not even in a relationship. It’s complicated.”
I look back at her, passive eyes staring out. I don’t know why I’m here. It never does any good. Just makes me angry. But blood’s blood. And I ain’t gonna let my ma rot alone.
“Who knows what’ll happen though?” I sigh as I sit back down and spend the rest of my time here looking out the window with her in shared silence.
I pull my phone out of my pocket when it buzzes. It’s Pinky on the encrypted messaging app. He’s got the address I asked him for. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk away.
I pick up my pace and pat myself on my back, reassuring myself that my gun is tucked in its holster. Shouldn’t need it, but you never know. Every bit of common sense I got is telling me to go back home and cool off. Or go to Franky’s and drink myself stupid. But common sense can go fuck itself.
This coach’s been talking shit to Ethan, and now he lets his son get away with bullying him. I’ll show him what it’s like to fuck with a kid under my protection.
I keep thinking over how it all went down as I walk quickly down the sidewalk. Streets are still packed as they always are, but people know to get out of my way when they see me coming in a mood like this.
Did I do the right thing, telling Ethan to punch him back?
Did I do the right thing telling Pinky to do the same when he was a kid? Telling him he needed to stop crying and toughen up when dad put our ma into a coma? Did I do the right thing pulling him into this life of mine, because it’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to rely on?
I spit on the ground thinking about my
dad. Fuck that guy. I’m glad he’s dead.
My mind is racing. My anger is boiling over, and I could lash out in any direction. But I got a target. Someone I can focus it on.
Before I know it, I’m at his house. It’s a red brick townhouse with a nice little yard wrapped in a wrought-iron fence. Coach must do well for himself to afford a place like this.
I take the steps two at a time and rap my knuckles on the red painted door, then stuff my hands in my pockets so I don’t keep pounding on the door. No reason to scare him away before I have a chance to get my hands on him.
The door swings open, and a large man opens the door. He must be in his mid-thirties. He looks like he used to be an athlete judging by his build, but he’s let himself go. His hair’s receding in the back, and he’s making up for it with a thick beard up front.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“You Fred?” I ask.
“It depends who’s asking,” he says.
“I’m a friend of Ethan’s,” I say, stepping closer to the door.
He looks at me with suspicious eyes. “I don’t know an Ethan.”
“You sure?” I ask. “Little kid. About yea high? Light brown hair. One black eye.”
“I got nothing to say to you,” he says and tries to close the door, but I block it with my foot.
“I’m not done talking,” I say in a flat voice.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“What I want is for you to do your job and be a baseball coach,” I say.
“The fuck are you going on about?” he asks, trying to push the door shut again, but it doesn’t budge. “If you don’t get out of here, I’m going to call the cops.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask as my hand darts out, and I grab him by the neck of his shirt and pull him out of his house.
“Hey!” He tries to shove me back, but I put a fist in his stomach and he doubles over, coughing on the stoop to his house.
“What part of being a coach is telling a kid he’s fucking hopeless, huh?” I ask as I pull him up by the shoulders and put my knee in his stomach, doubling him over again.
I let his shoulders go and let him fall over onto the concrete, gasping for breath.
“What kind of coach just lets their own kid beat on a smaller one without stopping the fight?” I ask as I punch him in his kidney.
He cries out and clutches at his side. He’s gonna be pissing blood for a week if he’s lucky.
I stand over him, my pulse racing, clenching my fists. I could lose it at any second now. Take this way too far. I need to finish this now before it gets out of hand. It’s not just my life I’m risking anymore. If I end up in jail, Cat and Ethan won’t have any protection, and Harry could have his way with them.
I lean down and grab his collar and pull him up on his knees.
“You’re fucking crazy, man!” he shouts. “It’s not my fault your kid’s no good at baseball!”
“Shut the fuck up unless you want to suck your food through a straw for the next six months,” I say, pulling my fist back.
He flinches away from me and holds his hands up in surrender. “Stop. Stop. Please,” he says. “My kid’s in there.”
I look up at the door and I can see a boy staring back at me. He’s about a foot taller than Ethan. Maybe eight or nine years old. His eyes are wide open in terror, brimming with tears.
“You’re fucking lucky,” I spit at him. “You either quit tomorrow, or start treating every kid like they deserve.”
I push him back into his house. “You tell your kid to keep his hands off Ethan, and if I hear him tell me you said a single bad thing to him, I’m going to come back and get real ugly with you.”
I turn back off the sidewalk, grab the phone out of the hands of the onlooker recording the fight and walk down the street.
He yells after me, asking for his phone back. I oblige him after smashing it against the sidewalk and stomping it for good measure till it’s in pieces. Fucking cameras everywhere. No respect anymore for two grown ass men taking care of business without some asshole trying to upload it to YouTube.
As I walk down the street, my mind keeps flashing back to the kid watching me pound the shit out of his dad. He’s not much different from Ethan. Just a kid, caught up in his dad being an asshole. I almost lost control there. I could have put him in the hospital if I kept going. Or he could have ended up dead. He’s the fucking kid’s coach. How the hell would I explain what happened to him?
Fuck.
I need to get ahold of myself. I don’t even know who I’m mad at. Am I mad at the coach for mocking Ethan? Or at his son for beating up on him? Or at myself, for telling him to fight, telling him to be more like me? The way I did to Pinky?
When did life get so complicated?
Chapter Fourteen
Caitlyn
It’s another awkward morning. We’ve had a silent truce in the apartment since I yelled at him. He hasn’t been interfering in my business, and I haven't been interfering in his.
Rocco comes home late most nights and wakes up late in the morning, just in time to come out before we leave. He offered to drive Ethan to day camp the day after we fought, but I told him no and he hasn’t asked again since.
I felt really bad about it when I found the box for a booster seat in the hallway closet. But I’m still so mad at him.
Ethan looks up from the couch as he hears Rocco coming out of his bedroom.
“Morning, Mr. Rocco,” he says.
Rocco nods, but stays silent. He took my warning not to talk with Ethan seriously. He hasn’t said a word since. One look at Ethan’s disappointed face, and I know I was wrong to demand that. I did it in anger, but now I’m hurting Ethan, too.
I just wish I could go back to the way things were. But I don’t even know which life I want. Do I want my unhappy marriage with Harry? A father who couldn’t be bothered to spend time with his own son? Or do I want the fantasy life I've had since moving in with Rocco? Where I could pretend I was living a normal life, but every second outside, I’d always look around in suspicion, wondering if Harry was following me. Or one of his friends. Waiting to take me and Ethan away.
I don’t know. All I know is that this isn’t working.
“Rocco,” I say, saying his name aloud for the first time in what feels like forever.
He looks up at me as he’s putting on his shoes to leave, a protein shake in hand.
“Can we talk?” I ask softly.
He looks between me and the door. Then his eyes fall on Ethan, looking back at him.
“Sure, sweetheart,” he says.
I didn’t think I’d miss him calling me that, but I really do. It’s good to hear him talking the way he used to.
I take his arm and pull him aside into my room so we don’t have to talk in front of Ethan. I sit down on the bed and pat my hand on the bed next to me. He ignores my offer to sit and stands there with his arms crossed, staring at me with his deep, black eyes.
“I think I went too far in asking you not to speak with Ethan.” I speak quickly so I can get the words out before I change my mind.
I hope I’m doing the right thing. All I know is Ethan likes Rocco, and the way things are currently is hurting him. Even though he’s not willing to talk to me about it.
Rocco stares at me in silence. I can see the turmoil in his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this is bothering him just as much as it’s bothering me.
“I shouldn’t have told him to punch that kid in the face,” Rocco finally says in a low voice.
“Thank you for saying that,” I say. That pit of anxiety in my chest starts to loosen up, and I feel like I can breathe easy again. “I know you meant well by it.”
He nods. “The way I grew up, if you didn’t stand up for yourself, you’d never get off the ground,” he says. “That’s how I raised my brother. I had to toughen him up to make sure he’d survive on his own when I’m no longer around.”
I look into his eyes and see a
sea of hurt hidden inside, searching for someone to understand his pain. He must have lived his whole life thinking it could be taken from him at any moment.
“What happened with you two?” I ask. “Why did you have to raise him as a kid?”
I’m worried that I’m digging too much again, but I feel like he wants someone he can talk to. Someone who’s not like him. Someone who wouldn’t think he’s weak just because he feels pain like the rest of us.
“It’s a long story,” he says, turning his shoulders toward the door. “You don’t have time for it.”
I take his rough hand in mine and tug him down next to me. “Just know I’m here to listen if you ever want to talk about it.”
He nods. “I shouldn’t have tried to toughen up Ethan. The world needs more kids like him, and less people like me. It’s too late for Pinky. But it’s not too late for your kid.”
I reach up and wrap my arms around him and give him a tight hug. After a moment he wraps his big arms around me and squeezes me back. God, I wish I could just stay wrapped up in his arms forever. I hadn't realized how much I’d missed him holding me. I feel so protected in his embrace. Like nothing can go wrong while he’s holding me.
“Mommy!” Ethan says, peeking through the door, a little smile playing on his face. “We’re going to be late.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, smiling back at him. “Rocco’s going to give us a ride.”
“Really, Mr. Rocco?” he asks, his blue eyes twinkling with happiness.
“Yeah, kiddo,” Rocco says with a big smile. “Make sure you got all your things.”
Rocco stands up, and I stand with him. As we head into the living room, I look up at Rocco. “Why’s your brother’s nickname Pinky anyway?”
Hearing Rocco laugh brings a surge of happiness into my heart. “That’s a long story,” he says with a playful grin. “And not a story I can tell around the kid.”
“Maybe some other time then.” I smile at him.
“Yeah.” He takes my hand in his stopping me. “Tell you what, why don’t you let me take you out somewhere. To make things up to you?"