Sweet Rome

“Shh… you don’t need to do this. Romeo, you’ve given me a reason to be happy. I haven’t been okay for such a long time. You’ve brought me back to life. Do you know that?”

Calming slightly, I confided, “They’re not good people, baby. I know you don’t believe me, but there is no way tonight is about anything other than asserting their power over me. It’s always about that.” I pressed my head into her neck. “They’re never going to let me go, never going to just let me be happy with you. They’ll do something; they always do something to ruin my life.”

That was true. Hindsight taught me that they had never, and I mean never, done anything but make my life hell. Tonight had to be bullshit; it had to be a setup. I quickly asked myself what was more important: repairing a f**ked-up relationship with my folks or being good with my girl?

There was no contest.

“We’re going home. We’re not doing this shit,” I stated, moving to unseat Molly from my lap.

“Yes, we are,” she insisted, refusal etched in her every muscle. I knew that was my girl putting her foot down and I knew she wouldn’t change her mind.

Fuck.

We were actually going to do this.

22

Two hours later…

Red-hot rage. That’s all I felt, all that was driving me, keeping me going, not oxygen or blood, just boiling hot rage.

My foot pressed on the gas and driving like a NASCAR pro, I headed for the cabin. I wouldn’t make it all the way home.

Focusing on the road, I had to drown out the sound of Molly whimpering beside me, or I was going to go back. For the first time in my life, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself… I’d kill them, f**king kill them both for what they’d done. Everyone had a breaking point—I’d just found mine.

The gravel crunched under the weight of the truck, the tires jerking from left to right as I wrestled the steering wheel for control down the old, bumpy driveway.

“Romeo…” Molly whispered from beside me and I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t see the expression that would accompany that desperate and grief-stricken voice.

“Not now. God! Just… be quiet…” I snapped, wincing at what she must be thinking of me. A pained cry ripped from her throat and she curled her body away from me, the crystal clip from her hair falling to the floor.

I was right to have been suspicious of the invite and my parents’ intentions in meeting my girl. The f**king vultures had circled us, lured us in, and then pounced. Hell, not pounced—ripped us apart until there was nothing left, shredding our dignity and stomping all over my girl’s already broken heart.

Spotting the cabin, I practically jumped out of the truck while it was still moving. The cramped space of the seats, too small, claustrophobia f**king choking me.

Barging through the cabin, my childhood place of salvation, I began kicking and lashing out at anything in sight, thinking back over every detail of tonight…

“Mother. Always a pleasure,” I said as she opened the door and immediately started on the fact that we were late.

“Shame the same can’t be said for you,” she’d bit back.

Gripping an old lamp, I lifted it off the floor and launched it against the wall, enjoying the sound of it smashing to smithereens.

“You kept us waiting on our invitation for dinner tonight, boy. Not acceptable!” my daddy had snarled the minute he saw us. I couldn’t f**king believe it. Where was the man who was telling me he wanted to build bridges? Where was the bastard olive branch? His smirk at my obvious shock said everything. He’d planned the whole thing to make me look like a fool; he’d lied to me yesterday in his study. They were going to tear Molly to pieces right in front of me. They were going to make her leave me.

The side table was next, and gripping one of the thin, fragile legs, I picked it up and slammed it to the floor.

“So, Molly, I suppose you’re aware of Romeo’s plans after college?” my momma asked Molly as we sat on the couch, my daddy glaring at me, smiling in victory when my eyes met his.

“With football?” Molly had asked, pulling my focus back on my momma. My parents’ laughter echoed around the huge room.

“Absolutely not! We’re talking about his duty to take over the family business,” my daddy said, moving closer from his place against the fire.

“Daddy,” I threatened, my voice low and harsh. Molly’s frightened eyes darted around the three of us, her hand gripping mine so tight it almost cut off the circulation in my fingers.