“Don’t fucking bother taking another step, Jules!” he shouts after me, taking three more strides and then stopping so close I smell the stale booze and cigarette smoke saturating his clothes; the bar’s signature scents. It doesn’t bother me; everyone stinks the same at closing time.
“What? Why?” But I know why. I feel his determination to kick me out.
“Why? You’ve been late five times in five days! You expect me to let that shit fly?” His fist smacks the wall beside his head. It’s a deliberate attempt to intimidate me and it might have worked if I hadn’t already had the night from hell.
“Listen, Cue-ball, it’s not my fault—”
“You walk in over an hour late and have the balls to tell me it’s not your fault? Get your shit from my office and get the fuck out. I’ll pay you for tonight because your dad’s going to kick your arse, but that’s it.” He folds his arms across his chest as if that’s the end of the matter, but he made a mistake mentioning my dad. I’m pissed. I going home to a beating—the cherry on my shitty cake.
“Damn it! Carlo, you know how he’ll be…he’s already looking for an excuse—”
“Not my problem, kid.”
“No, you’re right, I’m not your problem. My dad’s drinking isn’t your problem. My mum’s bruises aren’t your problem. The twins and my sister going hungry isn’t your problem. You know about all of it, but you turn a blind eye becausewe aren’t your problem.” Carlo takes a step back. He looks offended, but the way his eyes dart away confirms his guilt.
“But, see, I think you enjoy it,” I continue. “You know what he does and you let it slide. Is that a part of your plan? Get my mum to take her fill and then snap; finally leave him, is that it? Will you be waiting with open arms and arnica cream for the bruises, huh?”Carlo’s cheeks flush, the red even daring to creep over his shiny bald head. I know he holds a torch for my mum. That’s the reason I got the job. Throwing it in his face is a mistake, but if I’m fired anyway, I might as well tell him a few home truths. I’m so tired of keeping my mouth shut. My passivity is exhausting.
He stares at the floor, but his jaw flexes dangerously. I refuse to give him the chance to argue back.
“I’ve seen the way you look at her, but I think you’re wasting your time. She must love him more than anyone else in the world. More than youorme.” I’m all bile and spite, but I deliver my truth like a viper bite; swift and full of venom.
His guilt-edged glower shoots up to meet mine. “Why would you even say that?”
“Because how else could she stand by and watch him slap me around without leaving? If she won’t leave him for me, then why would she leave him for you?” It’s true and I know I say it to hurt him, but I don’t expect my voice to break or words to come out on a pitiful whisper.
Carlo reaches out, his stiff expression softens and his hand raises into the air as if to cup my face, but before he steps forward and makes contact, he drops it and sighs long and hard.
I don’t want his sympathy, anyway.
“Forget it,” I grunt, picking at my jeans and staring at anything other than his face. “I know it’s not true. She’d never let him hurt the kids and I stand up to him. I bring trouble down on myself. She does what she can to protect me. I know that.” I shake my head, but a part of me believes what I’ve said. If it were me and my kids, I would get them the hell away from a man like my father, no matter what I had to do to escape. It was something I never understood about my mum.
Carlo exhales a breath in a rumbling growl. “I don’t condone what he does, kid. Lord knows, I’ve repeatedly tried to talk your mum into leaving him, but she won’t hear of it—”
“Because you only wanther. You want to save her, Carlo, butyou’ve never once considered the rest of us. She won’t leave her kids. At least, understand that. I mean, I know you’ve never wantedmearound, but they are babies. They’ll learn to love you so damn fast. I don’t have to be a part of that if you don’t want me,” I add.
His expression pinches again. “That’s not—”
“Don’t lie to me. Mum begged you to hire me. I’m not stupid,” I snap. It’s the truth. Both my parents told me often enough. Dad likes to hold it over me, but Mum figures if I grasp how tentative my position is, then I’ll work harder to keep it—and I do—but there’s only so much I can do. There are only so many tasks I can accomplish in a day, and getting to the bar on time after five a.m. starts and six-hour shifts atButchers & Bakers, then college lectures, seminars, all the chores I do for Mum, caring for the kids, and fending off my dad—with exhaustion and hunger and desperation dogging my steps the entire way—well, it’s just impossible.
“You’ve never wanted me here. You’ve always hated that I know how you feel about my mum.” Stepping forward, keeping my eyes trained on his, and fixing my expression into a mask of confidence, I make sure he knows I’m not afraid of him. “And you hate that I see the truth; that she would rather live with an abusive bastard than with you.”
“Mind what you say!” His hand flies up with his finger extended. It hovers close to my nose. Energy and heat surge from him. I fight the urge to flinch with how quickly he shifts from concern to fury.
“Or what? You’ll sack me? Hit me?” Too late. The boot or a fist. I know them both well. “I can take whatever you throw at me. Especially after the night I’ve just had.”
He drops his hand, shakes his head, and grumbles, “Fuck. You’re so much like your—”
“I am nothing like him!” My spittle flies and hits Carlo’s cheek.
“I meant your mother,” he retorts. His wide pupils fix upon mine and hold my gaze. The connection is uncomfortable. Stubbornness and confusion swirl through me. Carlo is scary whenpissed, but I understand fear. It’s my long-time companion. It isn’t fear that draws my interest in Carlo’s words, it’s curiosity. I already knew Carlo and Mum had history together, but something in his tone implies their history delves much deeper than just old acquaintances.
“What do you mean?”
“She was a fighter, too. She was mouthy and stubborn and fucking beautiful.” If I held any doubts about how Carlo feels for my mum, he dashes them. He loves her. His whole demeanour softens, his face and body relax, his eyes look left and fill with swirls of light and shadows as though remembering how she was when they were young. I see his expression fill with the hope of youth and then watch as that hope drains away once more. He sniffs a lungful of air through his nose and breathes out a deep sigh. “Before your dad. Before he broke her,” he concludes, and I sink into the air of defeat that surrounds him.
I stare at Carlo. His grisly dark brows lift from their constant furrow, the wrinkles around his eyes smooth and reveal that he would have been striking when he was younger. He is still an attractive man with his blue-green eyes and thick lips, but his tattoos, beard, and bulk make him appear intimidating. That and hisdon’t fuck with meattitude.
I take a second to structure my thoughts into a question. “So, you knew her before Dad did?”
