God. “How did you get my father to confess?”
“That’s where you held up your end of the bargain.” Remy got closer on the pretense of pouring a cup of coffee. “Say hi to Izzie Phillips for me.”
“That means what?”
“Are her tits as soft as they look? In another life I might’ve taken anything a woman threw at me if her skin was soft.”
“Son of a fucking bitch.”
“Since I’m not playing God, and all the players have free will, I can’t say I knew exactly what you’d do. I thought you or she would get the account shut down. I figured you’d get the money, not her pussy.” Remy paused, considered. “But hey, proof of the sex is all your father needed to give up coming for her.”
“Who took the pictures? Thora Whit at the hotel?”
“Thora’s one of the good ones, and no, she didn’t take the photos. You’re wrong about that. Since I don’t expose my resources, you’re not going to get a nice, clean Scooby-Doo mystery tie-up. For now, be grateful that Luca Tarantino’s under medical and police protection, and your godfather’s in custody. I say for now because it’s not over.” Remy finally took a foam cup and filled it with coffee. “You’d think these people have enough problems without having to drink shitty coffee in a place like this.”
As if he’d planned it, the moment Remy disappeared into a stairwell, security personnel came passing through. A moment later the stairwell door opened and a guy carrying a box labeled Lost & Found cut through the waiting room. At the top of the heap were a flannel shirt and an Angels baseball cap.
Milo got off his chair, went to the stairwell because he had to, but he found no one there and heard no footsteps above or below.
Going back to the waiting area, he met Jeremiah. “Thanks,” he said, reluctant to leave this place but resolving to accept that he could share this burden with his brother.
“Don’t come back here until you get some sleep,” Jeremiah said grimly. “Waverly’s willing to join the rotation.”
“She’d do that, after everything our father did to make hell for the Greers?”
“She forgives him.”
“Maybe it’s easier for her,” Milo said. “She didn’t love him.”
“Could be why.” Jeremiah clapped his back and gave him a brotherly push toward the exit. “Sleep first, then get back here.”
Milo knew he was weary but was as alert as ever as he took to the road. He should stop thinking about his phone, waiting for it to come alive with a text message or a phone call from Izzie. He’d tried to call her yesterday, when he’d been reeling with shock, but it had gone straight to voice mail. Without hearing her voice, he hadn’t known what the fuck to say.
By now she must know that Luca was in custody and in Las Vegas. But she hadn’t come near the psychiatric ward where he was being held and treated. If he didn’t know her the way he’d come to since finding her on the Seychelles on Valentine’s Day, he would be cynical enough to suspect that she was making money telling her story to the media. But he did know her, knew that she was empathetic and had a heart as vulnerable as anyone else’s.
And he hoped he hadn’t fucked beyond repair what they had together.
Milo didn’t call her. He didn’t drive to his condo and brainstorm what he’d say to persuade her. He drove to East Dune, parked in the lot, and went to her door.
Izzie opened it, leaned against the jamb, and blinked slowly at him.
“I called yesterday,” he said from the hall, wanting her to speak and give him the comfort of her voice. “It went straight to voice mail.”
“I must’ve been on the plane. I was in Illinois yesterday. I saw the news about Luca on TV.” She allowed him in with a nod and shut the door. “I picked up my keys and bag to go out the door and visit him, but I keep pulling back because I don’t know if I belong there or deserve to sit outside his room as if we were on good terms.”
“What he did to you, me, Jeremiah, the Greers, and everyone he affected with that gambling scheme—it should be unforgiveable. Does it make any of us wrong if we find out we’re in a place where forgiveness isn’t possible?”
“Neither of us should make that judgment against someone else, Milo. Forgive or forever blame—it’s an individual decision. But I…I went home. No, I went to the place that used to be my home. I saw my parents for who they are. They’re hard people motivated by something I don’t understand, and despite all the ways they both hurt me in the past, I went back there willing to forgive because it was my choice to try it.”
“Do you forgive them?”
“I can’t until they change.” Izzie abruptly pressed a fist to her mouth, and he immediately took her in his arms when she started to cry. “Remembering is one thing, but reliving it is—”
He eased her onto the sofa, and her head rested against his shoulder. “What the hell did they do to you, Izzie? The pills?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I guess your informant missed out on the worst two years of my life. When I was eighteen, my daddy started persuading me to ‘be friendly’ to men who could offer him a political edge. If I let them fuck me, they’d give him support or would sponsor him or, as of yesterday, head up his presidential campaign.” She sniffled. “They all used me. Afterward Daddy always said he loved me right before he told me to go take a shower.”
“I’m sorry, Izzie.” The words didn’t seem enough. If she could bear to let him go long enough for Milo to go to Illinois and put his fist in Roscoe Rayburn Phillips’s face, that might be a decent start. “Your parents should’ve loved you enough to protect you.”
“I don’t think they can love me. And I don’t think I should force them to fake it.” She sighed. “When I was twenty, I got away from Illinois. I busted Daddy for cheating. He’d been doing it for years—even during Comic-Con. The shirt I love so much? He’d bought it for some D-cup woman he was screwing and I took it.”
Milo took her hand. “Why do you keep that shirt?”
“I thought I could pretend we were happy then. We weren’t, though, and I didn’t get away until I got booted from college for defacing this art project that represented lies. All of these people had written their lies, and I thought I could do it. So I wrote out my lies, then backpedaled and covered the entire thing in black paint.”
“And after that—”
“You can figure that out. I got away from my parents so they couldn’t hurt me, but I just hurt myself. Yesterday, I said no and I left them. I started to forgive myself yesterday, because it was so damn clear that I’m changing. I’m okay with myself. And you—are you okay with me?”
Milo looked at her. Her tears, her sniffles, the way her mouth wavered because she fought so hard for composure—he loved it all. “I’d have to be, since I fucking love you.”
“Ha. You love fucking me.”
“That, too. But you need to register this, Izzie. I am in love with you.”
“Milo…I didn’t tell you all of this because I’m asking for love donations. We can forget you said it.”
“Then I’ll say it again and keep goddamn saying it until you can trust that I mean it. This is where I am, wanting you in my life.”
“So show me.” Izzie stood up and led him to her room. “I want to know what it’s like to be with a man who loves me.”
He nudged her backward onto the bed and climbed on top. Frenziedly, they pulled at each other’s clothes. He was prepared to stop if her emotions demanded it. She’d made that sacrifice for him and he accepted that sex between them wouldn’t always be perfection. It’d be paradise.
Paradise was imperfection. It was sharing a shopping list with somebody and having a good time in a market. It was about laughing and teasing and protection and getting each other.
It was everything he’d never had with Tabitha.
“I want to tell you something,” he said, helping her peel off her jeans. “You’re beauti
ful. You don’t believe it and now I understand why.”
“I can’t see what you see,” she said. “I see double-jointed legs and eyebrows that frown too much.”
“Hotter than hell,” he said, massaging her thighs, taking her underwear down those slim, hotter-than-hell legs. “I see a woman who’s not getting sex this time.”
“I’m not?” Izzie started to sit up and that put her in excellent position to be kissed hard.
“You’re going to be made love to.”
“Oh. Okay.” Searching his eyes, she grabbed his shoulders and held on as he entered her with a few deliberate thrusts.
Locked together, they moved slowly until sweat coated them both. When he withdrew, his cock glistened with her wetness.
Guiding her onto all fours, he got behind her and kissed her across the soft skin of her back. “Put your hands flat on the bed,” he commanded in a whisper, and when she did, he added, “Offer your sweet little ass to me.”
As she did, he licked her puckered flesh and breached her first with his thumbs and then with his cock.
“We established that I’m durable, didn’t we?” she said when he hesitated to move in her. “So trust me to take you, Milo. All of you. Love me like that.”
Loving her was good. It left them weak, exhausted, and so intoxicated that they lay together on top of the sheets, not exactly sure what had just happened but glad that it had. And it fulfilled them both so unexpectedly that Izzie forgot to run to the shower and Milo forgot that sleep didn’t come easy.
***
It was late when Izzie awoke next to Milo. They got up leisurely, enjoying these quiet minutes in a darkened room, showering together then dressing fast because the sooner they did that, the sooner they could stop and kiss because whatever they’d become felt right.
They separated outside her building, taking separate vehicles to the same destination.
The hospital where Luca was under close watch was a striking building gloriously illuminated at night. The landscaping was humble yet creative, and she admired the care taken to the topiaries. Professionals were recruited and trusted to bring this type of artistic blessing to commercial grounds all the time. Maybe, one day, she could be a professional and share her designs and visions with clients.
Someone—her someone—loved her. Anything was possible.
Izzie met Milo at the entrance and they joined his brother in the psychiatric ward’s waiting room. Two chairs were available, and when Milo made his choice, she had the option to step away and stand near the refreshments bar or sit between the two brothers. One loved her, the other didn’t particularly like her.
But that was the thing with families. Not everyone meshed, but somehow you found a way to fit together or you gravitated elsewhere.
Izzie sat on the vacant chair, and out of her periphery she saw Jeremiah shift his arm to offer the armrest between them.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, even though the single word felt inadequate. She propped her elbow up and silently sighed, content for this shard of a moment.
“Visitors for Luca Tarantino?”
The three glanced up in unison at a man who introduced himself as Doctor Gomez.
“Are you three his children?”
Milo and Jeremiah looked at her, and she felt her skin flush. “No,” she clarified. “They are. But I’m Luca’s ex-fiancée and I’m in love with his son Milo. May I visit him anyway?”
Orderlies crossing the space had a hitch in their step as they eavesdropped.
“What… Uh…” Doctor Gomez stammered. “Yeah. Yes, uh, you may see him.”
Izzie got up but knelt in front of Milo. “I love you. Okay? I don’t know if it’s a good thing for you, or if staying in Las Vegas is even the best decision for me, or if one of us is going to end up hurt because of it, but I do love you. It just seemed a lot like lying not to tell you.”
Before he could comment, she straightened and added, “Come with me to see your father.” A moment’s debate, then he followed her and the doctor to Luca’s visitation room.
It was a small, blank space, but not as sterile and stark-white as she’d seen on television and in films. The space was simply decorated with neutral tones of paint and windows set high on the walls.
Luca sat at a table, his hair a youthful black but his face that of an old and tired man. “Milo,” he said, lifting his arms up as if to embrace his son.
“No contact,” a stern voice warned. Two uniformed police officers hovered close and a nurse stationed at each of the four corners of the visitation room. A high-profile patient who was connected to NFL scandal and had given a confession that had landed a ruthless casino owner in custody got the psyche ward star treatment.
“Jeremiah’s here, too,” Milo said to his father as he and Izzie sat across from Luca. “Look, your attorneys resigned. You need representation. We—we—Shit, Dad, we started to think you were dead and then we find out that you tried to kill yourself.”
“When it happened, I thought of you and Jeremiah and I wanted to see my boys. It was already done but I wanted to live, for you and your brother. Do you hate me?”
Izzie turned slightly toward Milo. What would he say? Hate made severing a complicated relationship easier.
“I don’t hate you, Dad. You’re sick, you need help, and you need to answer for the hell you and Antony brought down. But I love you, if that makes a fucking difference.”
Luca nodded and his mouth stayed shut in a firm line. When he lifted his head as Milo rose from the table to leave the visitation room, his eyes were rimmed in red. “So, Izzie Phillips. If you knew then what you know now, would you have still accepted my ring?”
“What would be the point of answering that, Luca?” When he appeared crestfallen, she approached her response from a different angle. “I’m not proud of the reasons I took your ring, but I’m not sorry I met you. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but because of you I met your son Milo. I love him. He loves me.”
“You’re fucking my boy.”
“Yes, but we mean more to each other than that.”
“You’ll take his ring?”
“He hasn’t offered one. I don’t want a diamond. I want more out of a relationship than that. A home or a sense of belonging—things like that.” Izzie openly studied his thickly bandaged arms, and it hurt her square in the chest to think of him parting flesh and vein and tendons to escape what he’d done. “Luca?”
“Yes, Izzie.”
“It gets better, if you let it. And I forgive you.”
When Izzie returned to her seat in the waiting room, she saw Milo walking toward the stairwell with an intimidating goliath of a man. “What’s J.T. Greer doing here?” she asked Jeremiah, who remained seated even though Milo said they had agreed to visit this place in shifts.
“His exact words, ‘In times of personal crisis, I like to focus on business. Let’s talk business. It won’t take long,’” Jeremiah relayed, leaning forward to prop his forearms on his thighs. “I was about to go, but I’m staying to find out what the hell he wants.”
“Still excited to be marrying into the Greer family?” she murmured discreetly.
“Ask Waverly if she’s excited to be marrying into the Tarantino family. Thing is, I don’t think of it that way. I’m marrying Waverly and only Waverly.”
Izzie smiled and she thought for a flicker of a second that he smiled back.
True enough, in a Las Vegas minute Milo was heading back their way.
“What did J.T. want?” Jeremiah demanded without preamble.
“To offer me a job. There’s a weakness in offensive coordinating. He wants a meeting at the stadium this week. I didn’t say yes or no.”
Izzie didn’t mind that his brother assailed him with hushed questions; she was speechless. J.T. Greer had offered a Tarantino a job within his franchise? Jeremiah had resigned from his athletic trainer position after his first camp under Greer leadership—but that pr
obably had everything to do with him screwing his colleague Waverly.
What kind of business strategy were the Greers trying to put into place?
Izzie didn’t ignore the thought that if Milo accepted the position, he’d be staying in Las Vegas. As for her, she couldn’t go home again, as her friend Toya had, but could she stay in this city where she had no chance of shaking off her past mistakes?
Could she really walk away from the man she loved if it meant escaping her old self?
***
Luca missed Anne. He missed the moments in which he could be certain she was near, could hear her voice and know that he was loved. The love of a patient and resilient woman who accepted support when she needed it was a miracle among life’s tragedies.
Yet, he didn’t miss the consequences of being visited by his wife. Today he’d seen his sons and though their heartbreak was still evident on their stoic faces, he was at peace beyond the deep throbbing pain of his wounds.
“One more visitor,” a guard told him when he started to push back from the table.
Settling back in the seat, he froze as J.T. Greer was escorted into the room. J.T., with his frost-blue eyes and hard, angry expression, was a giant in size and power, who could pulverize with his fists or with a business move—Luca had realized that. Still, he’d crafted lies against the man out of desperation.
Why weren’t the guards protecting him? Why had they allowed J.T. to enter this room, when the papers and internet detailed the bad blood between them? Why did everyone want to see him hurt, when losing his wife had hurt worse than any physical pain could?
“Guard, you want to escort him out?” Luca said when J.T. was next to the table. “Fuck, I need help. Guard!”
“Calm down, Luca Tarantino,” J.T. said in a dry Texas drawl, as if he had all of eternity to do what he’d come here to do. “I’m not here to harm you. You’re under protection.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Wise man. You’re not totally gone up here.” J.T. tapped his temple. “I have something for you. It’s a privilege and I’ll be taking it back when I leave. We’re just going to have a conversation now.”
The Hook: The End Game Series (Book 4) Page 19