She turned an incredulous stare at him. “Because I declined the opportunity to fall into a relationship doomed to end in infidelity and murder?”
His lips twitched. “No, dummy,” he parroted her. “Because you find a reason to push away every guy who chooses you.”
Alessa blinked. “Chooses me.”
Al met her stare. “Sooner or later, they’re gonna stop. You’re gonna get a reputation. And I know that sounds harsh, but it’s the world we live in.” He took another gulp of his drink. “You already intimidate a lot of the guys in the family, with the rep you’re building professionally. No one’s really used to a woman who can handle what you can.” He held up his free hand as if to ward off an attack. “Don’t get me wrong, I respect the hell out of your work. I’m so damn proud of my kid sister, and I don’t mind saying she could kick my ass any day of the week. But a woman who can kick ass like you do isn’t what a lot of the guys around here look for, so it narrows your field. That’s all I mean.”
Alessa chugged the rest of her beer and slammed the can onto the coffee table. “Choose me,” she repeated. “Why thehellshould I be worried about whether or not some man and his egochoosesme?” She shoved to her feet. “You said it yourself. I’m strong on my own. I don’t need a man to choose me. I need a fuckingpartner, and maybe if he’s worth it,I’llchoosehim.”
Al groaned, rolling his eyes and letting his head fall back as she stomped toward the kitchen. His voice trailed after her. “Lessa, you know what I’m saying! You know how this works!”
She had known, of course. But in the moment, she’d been so caught off-guard by her brother’s words she couldn’t hear his point. Then she’d set it aside, pushed it from her mind. It hadn’t been a priority. A few short months later, nothing at all had seemed like a priority anymore.
She’d forgotten all about that conversation … until Rocco dragged it forward.
Alessa licked her lips and set her half-empty coffee mug back on the island top. “Could you … repeat that?”
Rocco arched a brow. He’d clearly noticed her odd response. “The whole speech?”
She felt her lips twitch. “No. Just”—she looked up at him, the words sticking in her throat—“that last part.”
His expression softened and he reached out again, trailing his thumb along the underside of her lip. “You are my choice, Alessa. And if you tell me no one’s chosen you, or made you a fucking priority, in your past, I’m going to lose my shit.”
She smiled, a strange bubble of laughter building up in her chest even as her eyes began to burn. Or was that her chest that was burning? “No,” she said, doing her best to hold the weird surge of emotion at bay. “It’s not that. It’s just… Last November, I think, I’d gone on this really horrible date. First date, last date kind of horrible. And then I crashed over at my brother’s apartment to vent about it after because that’s what we did when our dates went bad.”
Rocco pulled out the seat beside hers and sat down, his eyes never leaving her face.
She felt her throat swell, threatening, and she fought through it. “And Al mentioned how he was worried, because apparently I scare people, including a lot of otherwise potential romantic partners. Except what he said was that if I kept being so picky, eventually no one would ‘choose me’.” She dragged in a breath and fought to hold her smile. “In the moment, I got all mad about it. I’ve worked hard to prove I don’t need to be protected. I don’t need some guy swooping in and ‘choosing me,’ that kind of thing. I heard it like an insult, even though I knew Al was really just saying he didn’t want me to chase away a good guy.”
Her voice had started to shake, she realized. But Rocco’s hand was already there, wiping the tear from her cheek.
It struck her, only then, that that was the first time she’d mentioned Al to him. That was the first time she’d mentioned a brother at all. And she’d come right out with his name to someone who’d never known him.
For as much as the thought hurt, it also felt … nice. It was nice to talk about a memory of Al that wasn’t tainted. Or, at least, was as un-tainted as any could be.
“For the record,” Rocco said, his tone gentled, “I’m glad you didn’t let those idiotic assholes choose you. You’re mine. I’d have had to break a lot of rules if they tried to keep you from me.”
This time she did laugh. The sound was watery and abrupt, but freeing, like she was releasing something she’d held inside for too long.
Rocco smiled and continued. “And I would like to hear more about your brother, when you’re comfortable with that.” He paused at her gasp. “I assume he’s … connected to whatever it is that’s haunting you so badly. I’m not pushing for that. But I want you to know that anything you want to share, anything you feel like talking about, I’m happy to listen. Good, bad, ugly, infuriating—whatever it is.” He moved his hand to rest over her thigh. “No pressure, no guilt. Okay?”
Alessa laid a hand on top of his and gripped it tight. “You deduced all that … from this one conversation?”
His smile turned melancholic. “I understand grief,” he said quietly. “Yesterday, you indicated having at least one sibling. It sounded like a slip. But when you talk about your past, you’regenerally careful to only specify your parents. It could’ve been nothing, or any number of things, but the pain I saw in you this morning—that was grief. That wasn’t hard-life shit. So, I just added all of that with this conversation.”
Her brow pinched for a single moment at his words. She didn’t remember slipping in the diner, and on reflex she wanted to challenge his points. But it was possible she’d said the wrong thing. Why would he make that up?
Instead, she drew a breath. “You were young when you lost your mother, weren’t you?” She’d done some basic background before jumping on the plane, of course. Nothing intense. And it had been more focused around his father, whom she’d thought she’d be dealing with.
Rocco inclined his head. “Thirteen.”
She squeezed his hand. She remembered being so afraid of losing her father when he’d taken those bullets, and so grateful he’d survived. So she imagined the pain she had feared then was somewhat comparable to the pain Rocco had been forced to live. And she could offer only one thing in return to his raw admission. “It’s been … about four months. Since Al was killed.”
Rocco lifted her hand, kissing her knuckles. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I’m never going towantto,” she admitted. “It hurts, more than any injury.” She heard her voice crack again. She felt her throat try to close. She clung tighter to his hand and breathed through it. “The thing—the relevant thing—is that that’s why I freaked out the other day. I wasn’t with him when he was hit, but I saw the wreckage of his car. I saw what they’d done tohim. And I have a real good understanding of how one plus one adds up.”
His face strained, like he heard the poor humor in her words but couldn’t laugh at it. “And your mind re-created the scenario so many times, you’ve given yourself a trauma you didn’tactuallyexperience.”
