Beautiful Life: The Carpino Series Read online

  *****

  New Year’s Eve…

  Tony’s been home from the hospital for a little over a week. He was there for five days, at my workplace, hospitalized in the same building where I spend twelve hours at a time. But I haven’t seen him since the night he was shot and I spent the night with him when he was in ICU. I left the next morning when visiting hours started, I couldn’t stay another moment.

  I cried off and on all night as I watched him sleep, the pain meds keeping him out. Thinking of the what ifs was too much. Luckily, he was moved to a regular room later the next day before I got back for my next shift. I didn’t have to see him or any of his family again during his hospital stay.

  It’s been a rough time for all of the Carpinos, not just Tony. Gabby was kidnapped that awful day which is what led to Tony getting shot. It’s crazy, but twenty five years ago Gabby’s dad was an Assistant District Attorney and prosecuted an awful man for rape and murder. The man, Dwayne Pope, went to prison for twenty five years for his crime. Four years ago, he ordered his gang of thugs to mess with the steering on Gabby’s parents’ car which led to their death.

  The Carpinos just learned this information, although her uncles had their suspicions, they never told Gabby. She has had to come to terms with the fact her parents were murdered and their death was not an accident, reliving her tragedy all over again. Pope got out of prison a couple weeks ago and wanted more revenge for his time behind bars, going after Gabby. He kidnapped her, took her to the same place he raped and killed the girl twenty five years ago. Jude and his fellow FBI agents put it all together just in time, got to Gabby but not before a scary standoff. Jude shot and killed Pope and Tony jumped in front of Gabby, taking the bullet Pope meant for her.

  In typical fashion, the Carpinos have rallied around one of their own. Even if I wanted to see Tony (which I really really did), I probably wouldn’t have been able to squeeze into his hospital room for all the visitors. And if it was my place (which it’s not, but I really really wish it was), I would be worried about him not getting enough rest because of all those visitors. Now I’ve been worried because Gabby told me he insisted on going home to recuperate alone with no one to take care of him, but it can’t be me (even though I really really wanted it to be).

  No, it cannot be me. I sat with him all night in ICU even though I had already worked a twelve hour shift, I was freaking tired and he had his own nurse. I allowed myself to run my fingers through his hair, kiss him when he was asleep, stared at his then pale from the loss of blood but still beautiful olive skin that felt magical when it was wrapped around me. I said many prayers of thanks that night his life was spared as I cried.

  But most importantly, I made the decision I had nothing to offer him. He’s given to me over and over and over and I’ve taken it all. As I sat there in ICU for hours watching him sleep, I realized I had to make a clean break for his own good.

  My divorce isn’t final. My nightmares aren’t just dreams, they’re my reality. I’m a mess. I’m not blind to what Tony has been doing over the last few months, but I can’t have him. He deserves someone whole, not broken and weak. As he lay there sleeping in ICU recovering from a gunshot wound, I made the decision.

  Gabby told me how he asked for me when he was in the hospital. Jude even asked when I was going to see him. He called me. He texted me. But I’ve ignored it all. When he got out of the hospital the calling and texting increased. I try not to read the texts before deleting them and it crushes me to hear his voice before I have a chance to hit delete.

  I’ve been without him now for almost two weeks and I’m miserable again. I didn’t think I could be more miserable than I was before, but having something good and pure ripped from my life has been a whole new kind of miserable. And I’m exhausted because my dreams have slowly worked their way back into my subconscious, leaving me with the empty feeling all over again.

  I’ve also mentally started making plans to move out of Gabby’s house. Jude proposed to Gabby over Christmas. Well, not really proposed, but informed her they were getting married in a way only Jude could pull off from the way Gabby described it. She also told me he gave her three months to plan the wedding which she was in fits about. The venue she wants for the reception isn’t available until the end of May, which is unacceptable to Jude.

  But she got a call that they had a cancellation for the end of February giving her only two months to plan their wedding. She said absolutely not, she was booking the date in May. Jude went behind her back, called the venue, booked the February date and instructed them not to let Gabby cancel it since it was his booking. Strangely enough when Gabby called back, the May date was unavailable. They apologized and told her the earliest date they could offer was November. They further informed her since Jude booked the February date, she couldn’t cancel it. Gabby went ballistic and flew off the bride-to-be deep end.

  Jude had enough. He literally picked her up at the waist, flung her over his shoulder, turned and looked to me saying, “We’ll be right back,” while Gabby was shouting at him to put her down. I watched with a shocked face as he passed me and took her to their bedroom. Two minutes later, Jude walks out first wearing a half grin. Gabby follows looking resigned yet strangely content.

  Looking to me she says, “It’s really important to him. We’re getting married the end of February. Clear your calendar, you’re the maid of honor.” This all happened after Christmas and before Gabby and Jude left again for his cabin in the mountains.

  It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m here by myself. I haven’t seen Tony for two weeks. I’ve worked three twelve hour shifts each week, which would be great if I had something to do outside of work. Now I’m off for another three days which seriously sucks when you have no life. Although, I should be grateful for the boring life. I’ll take boring over my life with Preston any day.

  I should think about getting a dog. I guess I should get an apartment first. I’ve decided I need to be moved out of here by the end of January. Gabby is going to fight me on this, but my divorce should be final by then and they need their own space starting their lives together.

  I just poured myself a glass of wine, made myself a plate of snacks and Mia and I are heading downstairs for more Sex in the City. By ourselves.

  That’s when my phone beeps with a text.

  “Shit,” I mutter to myself.

  I try and tell myself not to read it, but like always I’m weak and read it quickly before I delete it even though I tell myself not to. But this one gets my attention and I can’t make myself delete it.

  Tony – I don’t feel good.

  I’m sure he’s by himself. I don’t think he’s supposed to drive for another couple of days. I tell myself it’s the nurse in me that wants to know what’s wrong with him, not the depressing real-life me that misses him.

  Me – How don’t you feel good?

  Tony – I think I have a fever and my incision is swollen.

  Tony – And red.

  That’s not good. It sounds like he has an infection. It really isn’t good if he’s waited so long it’s swollen and red.

  Me – It could be infected, you should go to the hospital.

  Tony – Can you look at it first? I’m tired. Don’t want to go if I don’t need to.

  I sigh and look at my phone, hesitating.

  Tony – I’d appreciate it.

  Shit. I can’t tell him no because I’m worried he won’t go if he needs to go.

  Me – Fine. I’ll be there in fifteen.

  Tony – The front door will be open.

  “Great,” I mutter. I look over and ask my closest companion, “You want to go for a ride, Mia?”

  Mia starts dancing around like crazy. I have to get my shoes and a sweatshirt since I was all settled in for the night, but Mia and I can make a quick trip before settling into my wine. Besides, she loves car rides. Hopefully she’ll take my mind off how hard it’s going to be to see Tony.

  Chapter 6 - It’s a New Yearr />
  I pull into his drive. I’ve only been here once with Gabby over a year ago. Tony lives about ten minutes from Gabby in a newer subdivision. His home is a story and a half with cream stone and neutral trim. The front door is arched, distressed and stained dark with a tiny little window at the top crisscrossed with heavy decorative iron bars. I press the fancy lever and knock as I open it while calling out, “Tony?”

  “In here,” he yells from somewhere deep in the house.

  Clearly having been here before, Mia shoots inside to find someone new to love and pet her. I move in slower, taking in his relatively largish house. It looks different at night. All the woodwork is off white, but the staircase is stained the same rich dark color as the floors with iron spindles and curves as it ascends up to the second floor. I move over the distressed wood floors through the foyer past an empty room with a great oblong chandelier. The room is empty, but will evidently be a dining room someday.

  Opposite the dining room is his home office with extra tall dark French doors that houses a desk with a sleek chair behind it, a laptop and is a mess with papers. Tony obviously works from home. But what catches my eye is the very cool, very oversized piece of art on the wall in back of his desk. It’s a blueprint of a motorcycle in dark grey with blue tints. I try not to think about how this room represents him. A young, up and coming attorney, yet still embracing what he loves in life. I don’t know how I could forget Tony had a motorcycle, but then again, it hasn’t been motorcycle weather. I can’t let myself think about Tony on a bike. Or even worse, me on Tony’s bike pressed up against Tony. I don’t need anything else to add to my list of things I’m missing out on. The past two weeks have been miserable enough.

  Tony has a great house, he must be doing well at the firm. He’s only twenty nine, not quite a year older than me. I make my way into the great room where lamps are turned on here and there, the light low glowing off the walls. I can’t tell what color the walls are but they aren’t cream, white, grey or beige. Whatever they are, they’re light and work perfectly with the dark browns, blues and greys he has everywhere.

  I hesitantly walk further into his house, dreading seeing him because I know it’s going to hurt like hell. I move toward the great room with a clean lined leather sofa, two club chairs on one side in smoky blue facing a white love seat. This is all focused around one of the thinnest and oversized televisions I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something because Preston really liked his electronics. It’s hung on the wall above an industrial looking metal console table with old rustic wood inlaid in the metal.

  I turn to look through to the kitchen and there he is.

  He’s standing behind a big rectangular island in an old t-shirt that looks as if it has been washed a million times and reads “Washburn Law”. His jeans are just as worn but I can tell even from where I’m standing they fit him perfectly. His hair is messier than normal, his skin tone healthy again, just as olive and beautiful as I remember with his eyes just as bright and almost black.

  He looks good, too good. So good it hurts, worse than I ever imagined from not seeing him for two weeks. He takes my breath away. The last time I saw him he was lying in ICU, had just been shot, underwent major surgery and had an organ removed. Standing in front of me now full of life, looking like his old self is almost painful. A pain that feels like a knife in my core, twisting and ripping through me, an excruciating reminder of how much I’ve missed him.

  I shouldn’t have come.

  I should’ve just called him an ambulance.

  “Gem,” he states, his voice rough.

  I close my eyes, because that hurts, too. I need to get this done and go. Get away from him.

  My voice sounds small when I say as I move closer, “Let me see your incision, Tony. You might need antibiotics.”

  “I don’t need antibiotics.”

  I stop immediately across the island from him and frown, “But it could be infected. That’s what it sounded like from your text.”

  “It kills me,” he says low but strange and I realize he hasn’t moved. He’s standing stalk still, his body ridged, as if he’s trying to control himself.

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  “Kills me,” he repeats, but not as softly this time. “It kills me you took yourself away from me. I was shot, Leigh, and you took yourself away from me.”

  I pull in a breath because I deserve that. I say on my exhale, “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” he repeats, raising his voice.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I thought it was for the best. You had your family.”

  “Two weeks, Leigh. You didn’t come to me. Wouldn’t answer my calls. Not even a fucking text,” he bites out angrily.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat, but I can hardly hear by own voice this time. My heart is starting to pound in my chest, I’m not used to Tony being angry. For months he’s been nothing but sweet, kind and gentle. But not anymore. He’s pissed and it’s all directed at me.

  “I was shot, but you know what? That wasn’t the worst part. Do you want to know what was more painful than a bullet to my gut?” he asks leaning forward, putting emphasis on his words with his body as well as his voice. “That I’m only ten minutes away from you and I have no fucking idea if you’re okay. If you’re dreaming. Dreaming dreams that haunt you, Leigh. I saw it in your eyes every time you had one and I came to you. But you took yourself away from me in every way.” He raises his voice even further, piercing through his big quiet house and yells while slamming his hand to the counter in front of him, “For two fucking weeks, I don’t know if you’re okay!”

  I feel my chest rising with my labored breathing and pounding heart. I’ve got to get out of here. Escape. He can’t do this. He needs someone better, someone who can be normal and he can be happy with. I’ll never be able to be that for him.

  “I know what you’re doing, but I can’t be with you, Tony,” I say.

  “Why the hell not?” he yells.

  “I’m not good for you.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of what’s good for me.”

  “No. You deserve someone who isn’t broken and a mess like me.”

  “Why are you broken?” he demands.

  “You know why I’m broken,” I whisper.

  “What do you dream about?” he pushes, raising his voice again, his tone even more insistent.

  “This can’t happen,” I mutter and start to move backwards, turning toward the door where I came from.

  But Tony’s quicker, surprising me after just having surgery and moves between me and foyer. He steps in close, keeping up all his intensity challenging me, “What haunts you?”

  “I’ve got to go,” I start to panic. I try and sidestep him, but he moves in front of me.

  Lifting his hands up to the sides of my neck and holding me firmly in place, he demands, “Tell me.”

  “Please let me go,” I hear my own voice small, pained and fearful.

  He doesn’t let me go or move away. I feel myself trembling in his hands. It’s been months but my body is trained, telling me to go into terror mode. Sliding his hands up into my hair holding the sides of my head firmly, he brings his face to mine and says in a guttural intense voice, “I will never hurt you, Leigh.”

  “Let me go,” I plead, feeling the tears in my eyes.

  “Never. I am not him. I will always handle you with care,” his intensity continues.

  “Please,” I beg and grab onto his forearms to pull away.

  Still holding me firmly, his almost black eyes sear into mine while he keeps on, “Why do you wake up whimpering? Almost crying?”

  “Tony,” is all I can manage.

  “Why won’t you let yourself be happy?” he keeps at me.

  No, no. I start shaking my head quickly in his hands. “Please stop,” I beg and realize my tears are spilling over my eyes, down my cheeks.

  “Tell me what you dream, Leigh,” he demands again.

  The word comes o
ut as a squeak as I’m still shaking my head in his hands, “No.”

  He doesn’t let up, he raises his voice even more and asks, “Why do you think you’re broken?”

  Not being able to take another second, I scream, “Because it’s my fault!” I feel the tears pouring down my face. “It’s my fault. I killed my baby!”

  I feel my legs give out and crumple to the floor, Tony grabbing me as best he can coming down with me. My crying is out of control and I feel his arms come around me as he fits me between his bent legs, pulling me tight to his chest.

  My body shakes with sobs as my nightmare spills from my lips, “I was lonely and wanted something to love, just one thing good in my life so I went off the pill without him knowing. He would come at me for sex and take what he wanted, when he wanted it. I knew I could get pregnant. I did it knowing he was cheating on me, that he would hit me, emotionally drain me. But I did it anyway because I was selfish, I was lonely, but really I was just weak. I needed something good, everything was bad. He was so angry when I told him I was pregnant and he showed me just how angry he was and I lost my baby. But it’s my fault. I might as well have killed it myself…”

  He pulls me in tighter and tries to shush me with his lips against my hair, but I fist my hands in his shirt and go on between my sobs, “What was I thinking? Bringing a child into that? Who would do that? I was so stupid, it’s all my fault,” I’ve lost it. Saying it out loud is too much. Tony puts a hand to the back of my head and stuffs my face in his neck, rocking me back and forth still shushing my cries.

  Softly, he asks, “Is that what you dream?”

  I nod against his chest unable to stop crying, “I feel the pain. Every time, I feel it like it’s real. There’s blood everywhere and I swear I can touch it. But the noise is the worst, it’s a baby crying and it’s earsplitting, I can’t take it.”

  “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he whispers against my hair.