Beneath the Vine

by Lillian Bryant

  My father’s Lincoln town car was already running. My mother was in the front seat with her head down. It was the week of Thanksgiving and I should be thankful. I was alive, Gio was alive, and my cover was never blown. The fucker responsible for Bennett’s death died that night. Frank, Thomas and Charlie Bartolie were all behind bars. The raid on Bennett’s warehouse happened the night the hit was ordered, the events provoking the New York State office to react while they knew everyone implicated would be there. Sanchez was apprehended three days later; his organization falling like the Roman fucking Empire. Everyone gave evidence in hopes of a lesser sentence. Only the truly loyal were stupid and they’d do full-time. I should be thankful all these criminals were finally getting what they deserved, but I wasn’t.

  Bennett was dead. The only fucking thing I wanted, the one thing I tried to prevent… no, I wasn’t fucking thankful. I was slowly dying, too.

  The car ride home was strained. No one wanted to break the ice. Gio still quietly wept, dabbing at her tears with a Kleenex. Each time she broke down, I wanted to kiss her, make her feel something other than sadness, other than the heavy feeling we both had, but I didn’t. We both avoided each other with a seamlessly pretended indifference. I was waiting for her timer to expire. I was waiting for her to blow up, but the longer I waited, the deeper she turned back inside herself and the quicker the girl I loved disappeared.

  She was dutiful to me while I was in the hospital. She was at my side twenty-four/seven. I didn’t doubt her feelings for me, not once. But as each day passed, and the reality of everything set in, I had no idea how to continue. I loved her, but how could I be so selfish to want her to love me? How could I kiss her lips when they had belonged to him first? How could I make her mine when he would never feel the pleasure of a woman again? I swallowed down the bile in my throat and squeezed Gio’s hand gently.

  She exhaled a noisy breath and snuggled into my side. I draped my left arm around her. “This isn’t your fault.” She spoke so softly I couldn’t be sure she had meant for me to hear it.

  I didn’t reply, instead, I just kissed the top of her head. It was just like her to say something like that, but she was biased, and love… loved covered a multitude of sins.

  My childhood home seemed different as we walked through the front door, or maybe it was just me — maybe everything had changed.

  “I’ll put on some sauce. You hungry, Giovanna?” She didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Of course you are, sweetie, that was a silly question.” My mother smiled and cupped Gio’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re here for my son.” My mom’s eyes filled with tears and I heard Gio sniffle.

  “Me, too.” Gio’s words were watery, and my mom dropped her hand.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen once you’re settled.” My mother walked toward the kitchen only stopping to kiss my father on the cheek.

  “Your mom set up the guest room for you guys. Make yourself comfortable.” My dad patted me on the shoulder and gave me a small smile.

  He was a “suffer in silence” type. He loved Bennett like a son, as did my mother. They’d planned his wake and his funeral here in Manhattan. While I was in the hospital, they handled everything in my stead. He was so private; it would have pissed him off to have a stranger plan his funeral. I smirked for a second and then caught myself.

  “Follow me.” We moved up the stairs and passed my childhood bedroom. I continued down the hall to the guest room, but then realized Gio had stopped. “What are you doing?”

  “Is this your room?” She stood stock still and stared through the open door.

  “It is.”

  She took a few steps and hesitated in the doorway. A smile played at her lips, making mine pull up at the corners as well.

  “You really liked the Yankees.” She turned her head and smiled at me.

  I chuckled. “Yes.”

  She walked into my old room and I followed behind her. I watched as she ran her fingers across my dresser top. The walls were still covered in Yankees posters; my own high school baseball trophies still lined the shelves. It was a time capsule. She perused a bit and made her way to my nightstand. I heard a faint breath escape her lips as she picked up a frame from the side table. She held the frame in one hand and the other came to her lips. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Bennett.” She traced the figure in the picture with her finger.

  “World Series. We were seventeen. They won that year.” It was the hardest three sentences I’d ever spoken. My throat contracted, and I felt as if I couldn’t breathe.

  I stood just behind her, my eyes finding Bennett’s in the picture. We were both so fucking floored that day. The Yanks had won; we were almost eighteen. We’d had the world at our fingertips. She set the picture back onto the nightstand before she turned to face me.

  “This isn’t your fault.” She repeated what she said in the car, but with more conviction.

  I wanted to believe her. “Gio, I—”

  “This isn’t your fault.” She stepped closer to me, our bodies just a few inches apart.

  “I heard you.”

  “No, you didn’t. Gage, I see it in your eyes. You can’t take the blame. You did—”

  “I’m the one that was supposed to protect him. I’m the one who was supposed to keep him safe.” I tried not to sound angry, but she didn’t get it.

  She took my face between the palms of her hands and the sensation of her touch nearly drowned me. The warmth, the familiar feeling — I hadn’t realized how much I needed it. “You did everything you could. It happened. It fucking happened, and you can’t change it. But you’re not the only one who lost him, you’re not the only one with guilt. With what-ifs.”

  I was being selfish.

  “I feel so alone, Gage. You’re here, but you’re not.”

  “You’re falling away, too. But when I look at you, it hurts, it hurts because how can I show you I love you, show you how much I need you when all I see in your eyes is regret?” The palm of my left hand rested against her wet cheek, and she leaned into the touch, her eyes shut and her shoulders shook with each quiet sob.

  “Kiss me.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was a request or an answer to my question, but I brought my lips to hers anyway. They trembled under my touch, but they gave way to the soft moment. The salt of her tears covered my lips as her mouth parted with a muted cry. I was kissing her, and she was crying. Crying harder than she had cried all week. She tangled her hand in my hair and pulled me in, intensifying the kiss. I thought of pulling away, her tears too much. The sadness, the anger, the pain… it was spilling between us, and she was clinging to me like I could make it all better, but I couldn’t.

  She moved her hand down my neck to my right shoulder and I winced, the wound was still sensitive. “Oh god, I’m sorry.” She flicked her gaze to me and her eyes widened. “You’re crying?”

  I wiped at my eyes and looked at the wetness on my fingertips in surprise. I was. “I’m not sure what to do. How do we keep going, Gio? How can we be together, when it all started with him?” I hated that I spoke the words aloud. I couldn’t lose her. She was all I had left, but I couldn’t be with her, love her, if I was something she was going to forever regret.

  “Is that how you really feel?” Her expression was wounded.

  “I refuse to be your regret, Gio.” My jaw tightened.

  “You’re not. I regret being angry at him, I regret how things ended between me and him. But, I don’t regret you.” She lifted up on her toes and kissed me again.

  I brought my hand to her waist and pulled her close. She didn’t regret me. “What you just said… I shouldn’t feel relief today… but I do. I can’t lose you, too.”

  “I’m right here.”

  I meant it.

  I was wrecked, and the wound of losing Bennett continuously bled with no end in sight. Almost losing both of them, it wasn’t something I ever wanted to relive. I pushed it all down, trying to be strong and brave, but each moment
Gage pulled away even further. My strength falling on deaf ears. He watched me constantly as if I was this fragile piece of glass and at any second the visible cracks I had endured would finally shatter me entirely, into tiny shards.

  Gage had been drifting away from me. Each tick of the clock his eyes dulled more, and today had been the worst of it. He’d barely spoken all day. But now, his eyes were open and vulnerable, the strength he always had… gone. However, at least now he was listening.

  “I don’t know how, Gage, but I know as long as we have each other to lean on, we might make it through this.” I didn’t want to think it, but I was a realist. This relationship had started with an unusual foundation and grew into something beautiful. But, it hadn’t been that long and our love was still new, and this tragic beginning could sink us before we ever had a chance.

  He leaned down and brought his mouth to mine. He kissed me tentatively, but when I parted my lips, his tongue swept along mine and his taste flooded my senses. His strong grip tangled the hair at the nape of my neck, and it was the first sign of Gage I had seen all week. He pulled away and left me bit winded. It should feel wrong, the warmth that he poured into me, but right now it was exactly what I needed. What he needed.

  “I missed you.” His smile was sad, but I’d take it.

  “Me, too.” I laced my hand with his. “So, where’s this guest room?”

  “Just down the hall.”

  The room was decorated in pale greens and shades of crème. The bed and dresser were the only pieces of furniture in the room. There was a door just to the right of the bed that I assumed was a bathroom. The place was really nice. He’d told me his father was a lawyer and a bit about his life growing up, but seeing it firsthand made me feel closer to him. I was in his personal bubble. I was becoming a part of his history.

  “I’ll go get our things. Did you want a shower before dinner?” he asked.

  “That sounds like a good plan.” I was glad it was just us four. I hated those after funeral parties. It always felt so stifling and weird having to feed the masses when all you wanted was to cry in your own little corner.

  “I’ll be right back.” He gave me another smile, each one a small victory.

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  He paused, his eyes drifting to the bathroom door and then back to me. He looked as if he was calculating something and I wanted to smile, but I didn’t. “Okay.”

  He left the room and I exhaled. We needed our physical love just as much as the emotional. It was how we were. All of us. Gage and Bennett taught me that. I never knew how much I could physically need another person until them.

  The bathroom was small. There was a bathtub with a shower head and the curtain was plastic with large flowers on it. I turned the water on and the pipes creaked and groaned in the walls. My hands loosened the side braid I had my hair in and I kicked off my black heels. Lifting my dress, I peeled off my wretched pantyhose with an appreciative sigh. I unzipped the zipper that ran along my side and lifted my gray dress over my head. When Gage entered the bathroom, I was standing in just my underwear and bra.

  His nostrils flared and the muscle in his jaw ticked as he stepped toward me, leaving little space between us. I removed his sling with ease and he groaned with relief. I helped him undress completely, and then I did the same. The tension was almost too hard to take.

  His bandages were gone now. He had a medium sized incision on his shoulder and a smaller one on his thigh. His movements were stiff, but he got around on his own with little help. We were both naked, in more ways than one, standing in the steamy bathroom. Neither one of us moving, both of us watching each other, our eyes taking in what we had missed.

  “Get in.” His tone was deep, and it sent a pool of heat to my belly.

  I pulled the curtain back and stepped in holding it for him as he did the same.

  The water was that perfect combination of warmth and pressure. Gage’s large body pressed against mine. He placed his hand on my waist, his stare just for me, as all the tension between us evaporated into the steam.

  “Your touch, it’s the only thing that grounds me.” It was the truth, in all of this mess. He was my safe line.

  The rise and fall of his chest accelerated. “You’re the only thing that feels real. It’s everything else I can’t fucking wrap my head around.”

  “Then don’t. I need you, Gage. I need to know you still feel me.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and lifted onto my tiptoes, my lips capturing his. I wanted him; I wanted us to forget today, even if it was only for a few minutes, hours — seconds. This wound would always be here, but with time, with him, with love — it could heal. And maybe, if we were both lucky, eventually, there would be days the pain of it, the ghost him, would no longer be a constant ache, but just a phantom of a touch.

  He pulled away from my kiss and turned my body so I was no longer facing him. He skated his left hand down the curve of my back and I leaned forward letting the spray of the shower run along my spine as I rested my hand on the wall in front of me.

  He slid inside of me with ease, and I breathed a small sigh. “I still feel you, Gio.”

  Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. Gage loved me, it wasn’t something I ever could doubt. But, Gage always wanted to do the right thing, and if he thought being with me was wrong, he wouldn’t hesitate to walk away from me — from us.

  We moved together slowly, savoring each other, cherishing the feel of the other. It didn’t matter how many times I’d been with Gage or in what capacity, in this moment, he was making love to me. Showing me we would make it through this. One breath at a time.

  Fifteen Months Later

  Nerves had my hand shaking, the fingerboard felt hard to navigate for the first time in my life. The notes were off and the bow slipped in my sweaty grip. I growled under my breath and stopped, wiping my hands on my pajama pants. I took an exaggerated breath, placed my fingers against the strings again, set my bow, and closed my eyes.

  I let the music trickle through my limbs, let the deep vibration tingle through my veins as each note finally made itself known. Tomorrow was a big day; I couldn’t get this wrong. This song. I had planned to play it tomorrow night, to honor him, to give him a voice when he could no longer speak. It meant something, meant more than any other song I had ever played. My eyes began to brim with tears and I almost slipped. I almost let the note fall, but instead I owned the feeling and played harder. My body moved with each note, the motion in sync with each beat, each breath, and each impression. I imagined he could hear it. I imagined his eyes on me, his smile, and how the touch of his gaze was all it took to light me.

  My breath hitched as Gage’s warm palm encircled my shoulder and his thumb stroked under the strap of my tank top. He let me finish the song, and when I opened my eyes, my cheeks felt hot as the cool tears stained a path along the skin. Gage’s breath tickled my neck as he trailed soft kisses along the curve.

  “He would’ve love that. Song for Zula, it’s a good choice, Gio.” His deep voice swelled in my stomach, and the butterflies scattered and took flight.

  I dipped my head. “I can’t help but think of him every time I hear it, of all of us.”

  “It fits.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  It did fit. We were all ruined by love, we all got a personal look at how love could damage, burn, and bleed through you. It took us hostage, made us victims and almost made us forget why we’d ever wanted to love in the first place.

  “Come back to bed, it’s still early.” He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. The slight beard Gage had grown had become my favorite sensation.

  “Okay.”

  I stood, and before I had a chance, Gage lifted the cello from my hands and placed it into the case. I laid the bow in its designated spot and clicked the case closed.

  His arms enveloped me as I faced him. He was too attractive. He’d grown his hair a bit longer and let his beard fill in; it was sexy and it suited him. I draped my a
rms around his waist as well and brought my ear to his chest. His heart was beating an even, slow pace. I closed my eyes and tried to remember how we ever thought being apart was a good idea.

  After Bennett’s funeral we tried to make things work. It was touch and go, and then, eventually, it was just go. Gage had put in for a part-time desk job and was working all the time trying to keep Monterosso Winery afloat. He said he had to keep Bennett’s memory alive, and at first, I thought it was a great idea, but the more he was gone, the more he started to pull away. Or maybe I just pulled away. Neither of us could really shoulder all of the blame. Our hearts had been shattered and being together, but apart, made it worse. Our relationship had come to a standstill, and I’d had to make the choice to cut him loose.

  Three months. Three long, awful months. We let ourselves crumble, we tore out our own hearts, we mourned Bennett, we mourned the loss of “us” and we did it alone. Gage wouldn’t really talk about our time apart. He just focused on our future and I let him. It was how he coped. I love him with everything that I am and I refuse to ever let him go again. In parting, we both realized that we were dying, too, and even though we weren’t lying in the dirt with Bennett, we were still ghosts. Our lives had stopped the minute I’d told Gage I was done.

  “What are you thinking about? Are you nervous for tomorrow?” His mouth moved against my hair as he spoke. He placed a light kiss to the top of my head, and I felt his lips spread into a smile.

  “I’m not nervous to marry you.” The conviction in my tone was palpable and he moved a few inches from our embrace to look me in the eye. “I’m nervous to play for him. I’ve been sort of torturing myself these past few days. It has to be perfect.”

  He chuckled. “It will be, and if it’s not, that’s okay because he wasn’t perfect, you’re not perfect, and I’m sure as fuck not perfect.”

  Gage was flawless, honorable, loving — everything a woman could want. When he showed up on my doorstep three months after we had broken up, he looked like shit. He was disheveled and tired. He looked as if he hadn’t slept one night in the ninety plus days he’d been gone. Seeing Gage like that, seeing him reduced to ashes… the memory was still so vivid.