by Bethany-Kris
“Why not?”
“Because of the way people look at me after—you can see it in their eyes. Crazy. You know, my family doesn’t even use that word to me. Crazy, I mean. It’s been pretty much banned in the context of saying it to me like it’s a slur, or whatever.”
“Yeah, I get that. I mean, before someone would have said bipolar and I would have thought, high and low. You know what I mean? Up and down constantly. I didn’t really know much about it at all.”
“Rapid cycling,” John said.
Siena’s brow dipped. “Pardon?”
“When someone goes from high emotions to low emotions like it’s a roller coaster on a regular basis, it’s called rapid cycling. It’s actually more common in women than men. I mean, I have high and low moments, but I don’t rapid cycle, and I fall more in spells of one or the other.”
“Like a long bout of being high.”
“Or a long bout of being low,” he said, nodding. “Yeah, like that. My first episode came when I was thirteen. I never went into full blown mania back then, but the shit I did was sketchy. I was all over the place, and it was … a bad time for my family.”
“Probably would be. You would have been, what, just going into puberty?”
“Just after, yeah,” he confirmed quietly. “I went back and forth from what they call a hypomania to depression, and then back again. A cycle, but for a long spell with each, and not a quick up and down. Nobody thought something was wrong up in here.”
He pointed to his head, and shrugged, adding, “Everybody just thought I was difficult, and a little too wild for my own good. It always felt like I was bulletproof. Nothing was ever going to hurt me, and I could do anything I wanted. And then it would change—I would be shattered glass. Broken with sharp edges, and cutting everyone who came too close.”
“That’s what it feels like?”
John laughed darkly, but sobered quickly. “No, only sometimes. Bipolar feels like … everything all at once. It doesn’t give me time to process one thing before something else decides to wreck me. Mania is all of that, but times ten or more.”
“I’m sure that word scares people, right?”
“Mania?”
She nodded.
John scratched at the underside of his jaw. “It’s a good word for it, though. Manic—because that’s what it’s like. You just go, and go. The more you do, the better you feel. Sometimes my mania manifested physically. Things like fighting or sex. Sometimes it focuses on the shit around me. People I don’t trust, or my work. It’s a lot. It’s everything. It’s—”
“I get it,” she interjected softly.
He frowned. “Then when the mania breaks, the cycle hits its peak before it goes way low.”
“Depression?”
“Yeah.” John sighed, and dragged a hand through his hair. “But I never went into full blown mania until I was seventeen. I disappeared for three weeks, and showed up in an ER. I had no idea how I got there, and I had so many different drugs in my system that I could have been a pharmacy. It was bad.”
“But that’s when you finally got diagnosed?”
“Around then, yeah. I found out after that there was someone else in my family history with the same disorder, so it showed a genetic link, too.”
“Who was that?”
“She would have been my biological grandmother—my father’s real mother. I’m named after my dad’s father, actually. Johnathan Grovatti. Lina was my father’s real mother. She was Johnathan’s mistress, though, so a lot of stuff about her was destroyed after she was killed. It took some digging by my father to find the information on her.”
“I’m sorry.”
John smiled. “Don’t be. I was in the height of mania when I went at my cousin three years ago—the whole shit that got me put away.”
Siena’s brow furrowed. “But if you were sick, then—”
“People can’t know,” John interrupted firmly. “Not in this life. Something like bipolar just makes me a fucking target, or worse, a stain on my family. So, I chose to go to prison instead of getting my disorder put on public record for anybody to know about.”
Why wouldn’t he look at her while he talked?
It bothered Siena in a way she couldn’t explain.
“John.”
He still kept staring at anything but her.
“John, look at me,” Siena pressed.
He did.
She found pain there.
And fear.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she said.
John swallowed hard. “I would understand if—”
“I don’t ever want you to leave. Not because of this. Okay?”
He didn’t answer.
She didn’t back down.
“Okay, John?”
Finally, he said, “Yeah, okay.”
Siena moved closer until she could reach out and touch him. First, it was just her fingertips gliding up his taut arm. His muscles felt like fucking rocks under her touch. Then, she went higher to stroke the cut line of his jaw. Those hazel eyes of his never left her face, but his wariness remained.
“It’s not an all the time thing,” he said. “I’ve gone years without an episode as long as I keep up on my meds, and everything else. Don’t think that—”
“You owe me nothing,” she said, wanting to stop him from going further if he didn’t want to. “Not anything, John. Not an explanation, nothing.”
“It’s a lot to take in, though. I know that.”
“No, it’s you. It’s just another part of who you are, and nothing else. Don’t be ashamed, John. Not with me.”
John’s gaze drifted over her face, and he gave her a little smile. “You’re something else, Siena Calabrese.”
“I’m pretty boring, actually.”
“That’s impossible. You can’t be boring when you’re amazing.”
“Keep sweet talking me, John.”
His grin deepened. “So, that’s it, then? I thought this conversation would end far differently than it did.”
A part of her heart broke for him.
How many people stigmatized something he had no control over? How many had hurt him with ignorant words, and ignorant minds?
She would not be one of them.
Ever.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Siena said.
John stroked his thumb over her cheekbone. “You might be the only person I do trust right now, donna.”
“I promise you always can.”
“I might need a reminder. Just a warning.”
Siena nodded. “Okay.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE BLONDE, tattooed woman to open the front door of Andino’s brownstone was not who John expected to see. Tall and willowy, her smile came off soft and welcoming. John had only met the woman in passing a handful of times. None of them had been very deep meetings, and Andino didn’t actively welcome his family around the girl.
“Johnathan, right?” she asked.
John could see why this woman would have caught his cousin’s attention. She had a pretty face, and by all accounts the first impression was a unique one. She could certainly draw attention to herself. It was whether or not that attention was good that could be the problem for Andino, given his … status in la famiglia.
John nodded. “It is. And you’re Haven.”
“I am.” The blue-eyed woman glanced at the woman standing beside John. “He didn’t say you were going to bring someone with you.”
Siena stayed close to John’s side even when Haven stuck out a hand to shake. She did offer her own hand, though. “Nice to meet you. I’m Siena. You’re Andino’s wife?”
John stiffened.
Haven gave a bitter laugh, and waved a hand. “No, see, I’m not appropriate enough to be a wife, Siena. I’m just … something.”
“Ouch,” Siena murmured.
Still, she didn’t bat an eye.
Haven smirked. “It’s a work in progress.”
Oka
y.
That was enough of that.
“Come in,” Haven said, stepping back from the door and widening it further. “John, Andino is upstairs in his office.”
“I’ll be okay down here,” Siena told him.
John hadn’t even thought to leave her downstairs. “You sure, love?”
Siena shrugged, and smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
He dropped a quick kiss to her mouth, and left her standing in the hallway with Haven. Upstairs, he found Andino’s office door open.
John stepped up to the doorway, and rapped on the doorjamb with two knuckles. Andino didn’t even look up from his paperwork.
“You finally came around to see me, huh?” Andino asked.
“You finally decided to pull the underboss card and make me come see you,” John replied dryly.
Andino glanced up with an indifferent gaze, and a posture that screamed what’s it to you? His cousin had always been a complex person. Much like John, but without the mental illness to add to his different issues.
“Had you given me a choice, I still would have come over eventually,” John said.
He was trying to forgive Andino, after all. Actually talking to his cousin would factor in there at some point.
“When would that have been?” Andino asked.
“Eventually.”
“I sped it up, John. One of the perks of being the family underboss—nobody gets to ignore my ass.”
John chuckled. “Yeah, lucky you.”
Andino’s amusement faded fast. “Well, the luck is debatable. Sit, John.”
“I would rather stand.”
“Why, are you going to fuck off if I say something you don’t like?”
John tried to let that statement brush off his shoulders, but it was damn hard. “I see Haven is downstairs. Siena is chatting with her.”
Andino’s gaze narrowed. “You brought her here?”
“I was with her when you called. I promised to spend the day with her since all I do is work my fucking ass off. I owe her time every once and a while, don’t I?”
“Sure, John, but you know how they feel about—”
“I imagine, the same way they feel about Haven, no?”
Andino tensed, and his broad shoulders stiffened. “Point taken.”
“Yet, she’s here, I noticed.”
“You sound like a broken record.”
“Give me something to give a shit about, cousin. It’s been weeks, and all I’ve wanted to do is break your face. So yeah, give me something right now.”
Andino glanced up, and cleared his throat. “Maybe I’m taking a page out of your playbook.”
“Which is what?”
“Doing what I want.”
John laughed. “That’s not going to be an easy road.”
Andino smirked. “No, definitely not. I didn’t want to pull the underboss card to get you here, John. Honestly. I know you think I’m a fucking jackass right now, but I was fine with letting you come to me when you were ready.”
“That so?”
“You felt like I crossed a line, and I get that.”
John bristled. “You did cross a fucking line, man.”
“They already had somebody watching you, John. I was approached because Dante had a guy trailing you, and he thought I might know something.”
Instantly, John found the closest chair, and sat his ass down. He felt like that was going to be needed for whatever Andino might tell him next.
Andino leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers. “So yeah, Dante and your father came to me asking about the Calabrese, and whatever else. I thought if I tried to explain that Siena was really just a random encounter you had then they would leave it alone.”
Anger simmered in John’s gut.
Hot, heavy, and poisoned.
Somehow, he hid it.
“You didn’t think to give me a fucking heads up that they were trailing me like that?” John asked. “And why the fuck can’t they just trust me?”
Andino shook his head. “I get the intentions were good, or that’s how Dante meant for it to be, but I warned him then that he was crossing a line with you. That kind of shit messes with your head.”
John looked away.
Fuck yeah, it messed with him.
“I should have let you know, John,” Andino said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t.”
John glanced back at his cousin. “They’re never going to feel like I can handle this business without somebody babysitting my every move. It puts me on edge like nothing else. I fucking hate it, Andi.”
“It won’t be like that forever, John.”
“Really?” John scoffed. “I’ve gone years without a major episode. I do everything they want me to do, and they still pulled this kind of shit on me.”
Andino nodded. “I know, but it won’t be forever, John. Trust me on that. I’ll fucking make sure of it, man.”
Now, he kind of felt bad for threatening his cousin.
Andino was good like that, though.
He knew John.
“Anyway,” Andino said, hitting the desk with his palms, “the reason I had to pull the underboss card is because now, I am the one babysitting you.”
Instantly, John’s defenses were back in a blink. “Excuse me?”
“The boss wants me to keep an eye on you. Seems you’re dodging your father, the boss, and even my dad.”
“You know what they did,” John said.
Andino waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter, John.”
“It does fucking matter.”
“How’s work?”
Just like that, Andino changed the subject.
John’s irritation settled for the moment. “Work is work. I’ve got my crew handled. Money is coming in just fine. All the Calabrese work is going fine, as it should.”
“Good,” Andino said.
Confusion fluttered through John, and he eyed his cousin curiously. “That’s it? Good.”
“Yeah, why?”
“You’re not going to push and question me on every fucking aspect of everything I do?”
“Nope,” Andino said. “If you say shit is on the up and up with you, then that’s what it is, John.”
He didn’t know how to take that statement. No one ever simply took John at his word, and left it.
Then again, this was Andino.
His best friend.
Something clicked in John’s head. “I see what you did there.”
Andino smiled. “Did you?”
“I’m bipolar, but not crazy or stupid.”
“I would never call you those things, anyway.”
“I know.”
“And I’m not going to treat you like the rest of the men in this family do a lot of the time,” Andino said, giving his cousin a look. “I just want to make sure you’re handling whatever you need to handle. Probation, work, and therapy. Anything else—who you’re fucking, or the rest of that—is none of my goddamn business.”
John cleared his throat. “You sure on that?”
Andino pointed to the ceiling, but kept his gaze on John. “As sure as the sky is blue, man.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Give them something, and they’ll back off.”
“But not about her,” John countered. “Not on Siena, Andi. They won’t back off a bit.”
“You’re really messed up on this woman, huh?”
John smirked. “How’s that Haven thing working out for you?”
Andino returned his grin. “Yeah, I get it, John.”
“But yeah,” he added quieter, “I am, Andi.”
“I guess nothing else matters, then.”
No.
Not at all.
This entire meeting had not gone the way John expected it to at all. It wasn’t a bad thing, but he had come here prepared for a war with Andino.
His cousin made peace.
Funny how that worked.
• • •
“You missed two a
ppointments, and rescheduled three others,” Amelia said.
John kept checking his watch because the goddamn time was not passing fast enough for him. “Busy, that’s all.”
The therapist tapped the tip of her pen against the pad of paper. It drew John’s attention back to her for the moment. “Part of your probation involves therapy, Johnathan. Once a week, or more if I say it’s needed.”
“My probation says I need to attend therapy,” he countered, “not that it needs to be with you.”
And he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about his current therapist. She had a habit of fucking with his meds—leading him to screw with his own meds to counteract the way it messed with him physically and emotionally.
He felt like her test subject a lot of the time, and that didn’t make for a good patient and doctor relationship. Regardless of how often he spoke up to say the new med regime she wanted to try wasn’t working, or whatever else was the case, she consistently pushed him to continue on with it.
Like it would change.
Like the fog would lift.
Like it was helping.
None of it helped.
Ever.
He had done just fine using only Lithium and therapy while in prison, and then adding an antidepressant or antianxiety with a mood stabilizer when he needed it. His doctor, while in lockup, had allowed John to only use the medications needed to treat him at whatever point in his cycle he was currently at.
It worked.
He liked it that way.
Too many medications made him feel like he was constantly in a bubble. It wore him down, and made him tired. Too many medications mixed together reacted badly with his brain chemistry, and he knew it.
This bitch thought he needed all of them at once, or a change of dose when one didn’t work to her satisfaction. He wasn’t sure if she thought that he didn’t understand his disorder, or if she believed she had a better handle on it. Whatever it was, John didn’t like the way she handled his medication, therapy, or otherwise.
“Have you found someone else for your weekly therapy?” Amelia asked. “I would be more than happy to send your file over.”
John kept his expression blank. He only needed to get through this goddamn appointment to satisfy his probation office, after all. Nothing more.
“Not yet,” he settled on saying.