Switch

by Jennifer Ryder

  A loud ring followed by a buzzing on the kitchen bench draws me out of my daze. I wipe at my cheeks and sigh with relief when the familiar name comes up on the display.

  “Rocco.” I gasp into the phone. “Where are you?”

  “Is this Sophie?” a deep, gruff male voice asks.

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “Cactus. Rocco is here in my parlour, and he’s a bit under the weather. Can you come down and pick him up? I’ll text you the address.”

  Shit. He’s turned back to the bottle. It’s heartbreaking because he was doing so well, but I guess, under the weight of what happened to his brother, I can’t blame him. It’s hard to be strong when your world has turned to shit.

  “I’ll leave right away.”

  ****

  Fifteen minutes later, I run through the glass doors of the tattoo joint.

  “I’m looking for Cactus,” I say, breathless.

  Heavy work boots thud against the polished cement floor as a tall man with a bald head and a long grey beard walks up to the counter. He’s dressed in a black T-shirt and blue jeans. Black and red ink, in the form of a dragon, curls up the side of his neck. There’s almost no skin on either of his arms untouched.

  “Yeah, that’d be me. Sorry there, love. He mumbled your name and gave me his phone.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Passed out in the corner over there.” He points his inked finger towards a man that resembles more a heap of clothes tossed haphazardly in a chair.

  I rush over to him. “Rocco,” I mumble, as I pat the side of his face. His eyes flutter open, revealing how bloodshot they are.

  “Suds,” he breathes, and I choke on the stench of alcohol seeping out of him. I don’t know what he’s been drinking, but it’s a putrid concoction. My guess is he didn’t care what he was knocking back. How quickly he could feel numb was more important.

  Cactus makes him finish off a bottle of water and gives him another one for the road. He kindly helps me get Rocco into the front passenger seat of my car. I need to keep an eye on him. If he was to lie down on the back seat, my guess is he’d vomit everywhere. Neither of us need spew in our lives right now.

  When we get home, I help him up the stairs. Thankfully he’s moving better on his feet, and I’m not worried that he’ll collapse on me. He hasn’t said a single word since we got in my car, but then again, I haven’t pushed him for conversation either. He just stared through the windshield in a daze. I’m not about to reprimand him for drinking, because that won’t do a bloody thing. He’ll regret what he did eventually, but he doesn’t need me to bring it to his attention. I need to be here for him.

  I take him straight to the bathroom and turn on the shower. He puts the toilet seat down and sits. I unlace his boots and reef his T-shirt over his head. I help strip him down to his boxers and then guide him under the water. He winces and flattens his palms against the tiles, allowing the water to stream down his back.

  He pushes his underwear down and they land with a slap to the floor. “Having your eyes on me, I should be hard as fuckin’ stone,” he grumbles.

  “Stop thinking about your dick for one second, will you?” I tease, but my tone is soft, sad.

  He sweeps his fingers though is hair and soaps his upper body. The bubbles coat his ink before being washed down the ripples of his washboard stomach. I refuse to let my eyes roam any lower. Instead, I turn and grab my towel from the rack, because his is still lying on the floor from this morning. I hold the fluffy white rectangle of fabric out towards him. He shuts off the water and takes the towel, rubbing it down his face and then over his chest.

  “You know yesterday I was going through the motions. I was organising shit, but today it fuckin’ hit me. I was drowning … and the grog was all I could see to keep me afloat.”

  “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. You know I’m here, right? If you wanna talk or whatever?”

  Rocco steps onto the floor mat and wraps the towel low around his slim hips. He curls his hand around my neck and draws me close, wrapping his warm arms around me. With a gentle squeeze, he sighs in my ear. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  ****

  I make Rocco some buttered toast, and bring it to him on the lounge. He’s pale and shivering beneath my blanket.

  “You need to eat something,” I say, offering him the plate.

  “Thanks.” It takes him about two minutes to swallow a bite. At least he’s eating.

  Three knocks rap at the door.

  “Shit,” I mutter. “I forgot April and the guys were coming. Do you want me to tell them to go?”

  “Nah, I need to do this,” he says, and nods.

  I open the door and am hit with the smell of pizza and a flash of supportive smiles.

  “Hey, guys. Come in,” I say, adorning my bravest face as I show them to the dining table.

  Rocco gets up from the lounge and shakes Mac’s hand, giving him a gruff ‘g’day’.

  “Feelin’ any better, son?” Mac asks.

  Rocco doesn’t answer him, instead pulling Jones into a hug. He holds him for the longest time. April and Mac stare at the men embracing and then shoot questioning looks at me.

  “You okay, bud?” Jones asks, and holds him at arm’s length.

  A blank stare overtakes Rocco’s face. I take his hand and tug him towards the table.

  “Why don’t we all sit down?” I suggest.

  I sit beside Rocco and help April open the pizza boxes. I don’t give a shit about plates or serviettes. It’s not the time to be prim and proper about this shit. Everyone continues to look at Rocco, but he just stares at the array of cheesy carbohydrates in front of him.

  I wave my hands at the food. “Eat while it’s hot, guys,” I say, trying to break the tension, which is thick amongst us.

  Quietly, our visitors take a slice and eat. I reach for Rocco’s hand under the table and link his cool fingers with mine.

  “I need to take some time, Mac,” Rocco says, almost crushing my fingers as he speaks.

  “What for, son?” Mac asks, and then mauls his pizza crust.

  “My little brother is dead.”

  April gasps and clutches at her chest. Mac’s jaw drops open. Jones reaches beside him and grips Rocco’s shoulder. “Fuck,” Jones curses. “I’m sorry.”

  I watch on in admiration as Rocco tells our friends everything. He’s matter-of-fact, robotic even, as he tells them about his brother being in jail, how Vinnie got there in the first place, and the suspicious circumstances surrounding his death. He talks about losing his parents, his battle with alcohol, and how he’s trying to overcome his addiction. When he tells them he wants to be a better person it hits me like a thunderbolt right in the heart. There’s more to this man than simply tattoos and a foul mouth. There’s a big-arse heart inside, and I’m getting to see more of it every day. I just wish it wasn’t something as life altering as this that had exposed it.

  Rocco lays his troubles out on the table and doesn’t hold back. I guess he’s a man with nothing left to lose.

  I don’t let go of his hand for anything.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  ROCCO

  Wednesday

  Soph’s grip on my hand is unyielding as the middle-aged brunette behind the counter leads us up a flight of stairs to the viewing room.

  My body shakes as soon as I see the open coffin. I know I picked it out. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see it. Am I ready to see what lies inside? Will he look the same as he did a week ago?

  There are white chairs lined up in rows with a clear pathway down the middle to where the ornate timber box is on display.

  Soph’s closest arm slips around my waist. She helps me put one foot in front of the other until we’re standing right in front of the coffin.

  A lone tear slides down my cheek when I take in the form in front of me.

  “This wasn’t the way you were meant to meet him.”

  She tightens her grip on my han
d. “I know,” she whispers.

  “He would’ve loved you.” Because I kinda do.

  “I’m really not that loveable.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I growl.

  She leans forward to the casket and casts her eyes over his face, as if she’s taking in every minute detail.

  “I don’t want this to sound creepy at all, but he’s beautiful. Kind of like his big brother, but in his own unique way. I can tell that he was a beautiful person.”

  “He’s not so fuckin’ beautiful now,” I grumble.

  She nudges her shoulder against mine. “I know it’s not the same, because I don’t have any siblings, but when my grandmother passed away it was so hard to look at her when I went to the viewing. It didn’t look like her. When I touched her hand and her face, it didn’t feel like her.” Suds clears her throat and sniffs. “That’s how you have to look at him now. This body was just a vessel for his soul. He’s not with us anymore. You have to take comfort in the fact that he’s moved on to somewhere better.”

  With an unsteady hand I reach for his face, and lightly press my fingertips to his temple. The stark reality of the chill of his skin hits me like an electric shock, taking me back to the sterile surroundings of the morgue. I trail my fingers down the length of his jaw and then lean down and kiss his cool forehead.

  All strength in my upper body wanes. I slump over the casket and weep for him. There’s no holding back. I fucked up. He paid the price.

  “I’m sorry, V. It’s my fault,” I choke out, my voice breaking. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

  A hand smooths over my upper back as my shoulders heave with each sob. Tears fall relentlessly into the black suit that I picked out for V, a suit Mamma adored on him. It’s been hanging in my closet since he went inside.

  “I’m here,” Suds whispers, and kisses my cheek.

  Her sweet ramblings are the only thing keeping me sane.

  ****

  The wind is bitter and cold, just like my heart on this dark day. Rogue petals from the arrangement of white roses flutter away as if they have wings.

  “For as much as it has pleased almighty God to take out of this world the soul of Vincent De Luca, we therefore commit his body to the ground,” Father Michael says, his voice calm and sincere. The tall man in the black suit presses something on the cage the coffin is resting on and then stands aside, clasping his hands in front of him. The ornate timber box is gently lowered into the ground, taking a part of my battered heart and soul with it.

  “Earth to earth … ashes to ashes … dust to dust, searching for that blessed hope when the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God, and the dead in Christ shall rise first. Then we, which are alive and remain, shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so shall we ever be with the Lord, and comfort one another with these words.”

  Suds, my rock, is at my side. Mac and April and Jones are behind me. This is my family now.

  Life can be over.

  Just like that.

  Goodbye, brother. ’Til we meet again.

  ****

  SOPHIE

  April and I gather in the kitchen to make another round of teas and coffees. I still haven’t got rid of the chill in my bones from the cemetery.

  Mac and Jones and Rocco are watching some GoPro footage on the flat-screen TV. Any distraction from the ceremony today is certainly welcome by everyone.

  “Are you still planning on moving out?” April asks in a quiet voice.

  I let out a loud sigh and consider her question, which has been taunting me for days anyway. After the win in Vegas and Fuckface taking the bank off my back, there’s nothing financially holding me back.

  “Up until a few days ago, I was. I was going to start looking at places online, but—”

  “He needs you, Soph,” she says, placing her hand on my shoulder.

  “I know.” I busy myself spooning sugar and instant coffee into the mugs. “I think a part of me wants to stay for more than that. I dunno.”

  “Really?” she asks, her voice a higher pitch.

  “He’s a good friend.”

  April shakes her head and purses her lips. She’s not buying it. Shit. I turn to the lounge room and make sure all the boys are together and preoccupied.

  “Something happened between us,” I say quietly in her ear. “The night he found out about his brother.”

  She grips both my shoulders. “You slept together?” she whisper-growls, her steely grey eyes drilling me for an answer.

  I turn to the males in the room once more. All eyes are still focused on the big screen. Phew.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Don’t get technical on me, McKenna.”

  “The problem is, I don’t know what he’s thinking, let alone what I’m thinking. We get each other. We’ve been through some shit together, and it’s brought us close. We have something. I just don’t know what the hell you call it and if it has a future.”

  “I’m sure time will tell.”

  I pull her into a hug. “Thanks for being here today. Rocco might not be able to say it, but you all mean the world to him.”

  “I’d say by the way he looks at you, you’re the whole damn universe.”

  He really looks at me like that?

  “Can I ask you something?” she asks, her voice serious now.

  “Of course.”

  “He worked the stud, didn’t he?” She waggles her eyebrows up and down, just like Jones does, and then bites down on her lip.

  A smile stretches across my face for the first time in days. “He worked it, alright.”

  She play-punches me in the shoulder. “I knew there was something goin’ on with you two in Vegas.”

  There was, but how far will it go?

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  SOPHIE

  Thursday—one month later

  “Thirty-four days,” I announce as I nudge Rocco in bed next me.

  It should be weird that we’ve slept in the same bed since Vinnie died, but it’s not. We haven’t kissed since that sad night, and there’s been no hanky-panky either. Our friendship has taken a front-row seat, and I don’t think either of us want to ruin that.

  “Yep,” he says, and throws the sheet back, scratching at his bare stomach. “Another day sober.”

  Rocco has been strong in his battle against the bottle, and we haven’t missed a single AA meeting. He’s been throwing himself into his work. He’s keeping it together, and I couldn’t be prouder of him. Every day it’s as if he has that little bit of extra zest for life, but I’m not disillusioned into thinking he’s back in one piece.

  “What the hell do you wear to a game of golf and not look like a dick?” he asks as he tosses a couple of shirts onto his unmade bed.

  “You’re asking the wrong person. I hate golf with a passion.” That was Fuckface’s game.

  “If my best mate wasn’t getting married in two days, there’s no way I’d be going anywhere near the green. But you know, big Carl Jones always gets what he wants.”

  “I’m sure if you wear a collared T-shirt and a good pair of jeans you’ll be okay.”

  “It’ll have to be okay, because that’s the best I’ve got.”

  He digs at the back of his cupboard, and slips on a navy, collared shirt, which I’ve never seen on him before. Next, he steps into a pair of dark blue jeans. Surely that’ll be acceptable?

  “When are you meeting up with the girls?” he asks as he straightens his collar, and tucks the gold cross inside.

  “After work I’ll go straight to the hotel. Tomorrow is a full day of waxing and primping and preening.”

  “Sounds horrific,” he says, through a chuckle.

  “It’s my job as badarse bridesmaid to ensure everything is perfect.”

  “I’m sure it will be,” he says, with a wink. He puts on a pair of black skater sneakers, and scoops up his keys from the be
dside table.

  “I’ll see you at the altar, then.” I straighten my pyjamas as I get out of bed and pull the covers up in a half-arsed effort to make the bed.

  “I’ll be there waitin’,” he says and walks from the room, a swagger in his step. The heavy front door closes a moment later.

  In the silence of the apartment, I take a quick shower and get dressed for work.

  Rocco seemed fine this morning, but I can’t keep using him as an excuse. I need to start making some headway of my own. I’ve been taking charge in my new job, loving every liberating minute of it, but there are two things hanging over me. Two things that have to be done for me to really be in charge of my future.

  ****

  On my way into work, I call Vicky on hands-free.

  “Hi, Sophie,” she says, excited as ever when she answers the phone.

  “Hey, Vicky. Sorry it’s taken me a while to return your call. The last few weeks have been tough.”

  “Don’t apologise. I heard about Rocco’s brother. Please tell him I’m thinking of him, too.”

  Aw, that’s sweet. “That’s nice of you. I will.”

  “Now, I’ve read through the documents you sent and made contact with bank. I’ve got communications with the bank confirming that the loan has been completely paid off, with all processing fees paid. You’re no longer liable, Sophie.” Her voice is all business with a hint of her trademark bubbliness.

  “I can’t tell you how fuckin’ relieved I am to hear that. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m so happy this has all worked out. You’re getting your life back.”

  It’s not about getting it back; it’s about starting fresh.

  “Thanks, babe. If I can ever repay the favour, just say the word.”

  “I will.”

  Once I park my car near my work building, I flip through my bag for his business card. His name mocks me as my eyes cast over the pompous gold font. Time to call Fuckface and say goodbye for the last time.

  “Greg. It’s Sophie.” I hope the reluctance in my voice doesn’t come across as obvious as it feels.

  “Ah, Sophie. Well, hello darling. I didn’t think it’d take you this long, but you were always going to call.”