“You’re good at this,” I compliment him. You’d make a good dad. Wait, why am I thinking that?

“What? Putting on Band-Aids? I’ve had to patch up worse than this.”

With great care, he inspects my hands and gives them the same treatment, except he uses smaller Band-Aids this time. “Your hands aren’t quite as bad. I think you’ll live.”

“That’s great news, Dr De Luca,” I tease.

“Isn’t it?” He winks at me and starts packing up the kit.

“I’m sorry I can’t afford to pay your rent,” I blurt out.

He shakes his head and mumbles something I don’t quite catch. Something like ‘I know a way’? The wicked look that casts over his face is every bit cheeky, and I know what he’s thinking.

“And don’t even think about sexual favours,” I warn him, with an erect finger aimed at his face.

“Promise. I wasn’t. You’ll engage in them because you want to, not because you’re obliged to.”

“Very funny.”

“Like I said before, I don’t give a shit about rent. It’s not an issue for me. I’m just glad you weren’t seriously hurt.”

Aw, look at Rocco being all sweet. It appears he does care about someone other than himself, and he was fine about the rent problem. Money mustn’t be an issue for him.

“You and me both.”

“Can you cook?” he asks.

“Nope,” I proudly admit. “You’ve seen the extent of my culinary capabilities. Green jelly and two-minute noodles. Oh, and don’t forget popcorn. I’m a legend when it comes to microwaving that stuff.”

“Yes, you are,” he says through a deep chuckle. “What if I showed you how to cook a few things? Think you could handle it?”

The eggs he cooked the other day were incredible, but I get the feeling he’s hiding more talent in this area.

“You can cook, huh?”

“I’m not just a pretty face.”

No, you’re not.

“Why do you want to teach me?” I ask, curious to know what his angle is.

His brows bunch together and he smooths one hand across his chest. He gazes into my eyes, then turns and packs up the first-aid kit. “Because noodles aren’t my thing.”

I don’t buy it. That conflicted look he just gave me tells me there’s more to this.

I reach out and place my hand on his forearm. “Tell me why,” I say in a soft voice and stare into his dark eyes.

Rocco puts down the kit and lets out a long breath through his parted lips. “I wanna get back into cooking. I like it, okay? But there’s no point putting in the effort for just one person, and I thought …”

A grin stretches across my cheeks as I realise that he’s actually serious, and sharing something of himself.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” he says, pointing his finger at me. “You need to eat better, too.”

I nod. “You’re right. I do. Teach me about food, oh wise one, and I’ll try not to burn the place down.”

Rocco laughs and pats the top of my head. “That’d be a good start.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ROCCO

“Is there something you don’t eat?” I ask her as I gather a few things from the fridge.

“I’ll eat pretty much anything. Except broad beans. I hate those. My mother used to shove them down my throat, but I never liked them.”

“Ha. Me too.”

As I slice some mushrooms, wielding my butcher-style knife as if I’m a professional chef, Soph watches me with keen interest.

“These don’t look like normal mushrooms,” she says.

“These stumpy looking ones are porcini and the flatter ones are portobello,” I say, pointing to each of them with my knife.

She nods.

The chopped vegetables sizzle when they hit the heated olive oil in the pan. I add some garlic and toss. It doesn’t take long for the aroma to fill the kitchen.

“Hmm, they smell amazing,” Suds coos.

The chopped tomatoes and chilli are chucked in next, and I scatter them with a good couple of grinds of salt and pepper. I add dried pasta to a pot of salted boiling water.

“My mamma would have had me make my own pappardelle pasta, but I’m too hungry to muck around with that tonight.”

“You’re shitting me. You can make your own pasta?”

I look at the cupboard above the fridge and point to it. “I’ve got mamma’s old pasta maker stashed up there.” Maybe one day soon I can get it out and give it a whirl. I have someone to cook for. I totally should. By the time V gets out, I’ll be cooking like mamma and I used to when I was a boy.

“How come you were all dressed up today?” I’ve been keen to ask her since she stumbled in the door.

“I was doing something I should have done a long time ago.”

“And what’s that?”

“Starting to get my shit together.”

“And how’d it go?”

“I might be put forward for a job, just had to send a reference through. With any luck, I should hear something in the next week.”

His mouth pulls into a smirk. “Good work.”

“You know I have you to thank,” she says. I’m stumped to think what I could have done.

“For what exactly?”

“Kicking my arse the other morning.”

“Yeah, right.” I rub my hand over the back of my neck. I really was an arsehole to her that day. “Sorry ’bout that.”

“Don’t be. I needed it.”

I drain the pasta and toss it with the vegetables. When the pasta is mixed through, I dust it with a handful of grated Parmesan cheese.

There aren’t too many words over dinner. We’re both too busy eating. I have to admit, though, it was nice to actually sit and eat with someone. And to not be getting pissed at the same time. Something about simple human contact. Not being alone. It makes me think of V, which is probably why I don’t have much to say. It also makes me wanna drink when I try and imagine his life inside … his living hell.

While I clean up the kitchen, Suds makes some calls, cancelling her cards and stuff. What a pain in the arse that’d be. Later, I turn on the lights and we move to the lounge room. Instead of sitting on separate couches we sit on the same one. It doesn’t feel weird at all. After blood and showers and nudity, I think we’re both past that.

I don’t even take in what we’re watching. It’s just a series of colours and flashes on a screen.

Suds shuffles beside me and lifts her legs and places them over my lap, as she did that night.

Ever so softly, she runs the backs of her fingers down my temple and places her hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” Her voice is laden with worry.

Inside my head, all I hear is no.

“Fine,” I grunt out.

“Uh-huh,” she mutters. “Just as I thought.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suds curls her fingers over my closest hand, which is now resting just above her knee. I’ve got the shakes. Bad. I know it, and she knows it. My skin is clammy, and I feel like shit. I’m the picture of a man who wants a drink.

“Listen, I know I’m not really in the position to be asking favours, but will you let me take you somewhere?”

“What, like now?”

“No, not tonight, but maybe tomorrow.”

“Am I gonna like it?” I have a feeling it won’t be nude chicks jelly-wrestling …

“Time will tell, but I promise you, it’ll be good for you.”

Good for me? Is she gonna make me see a doctor?

“If that’s the case, then you’re not really selling me on it. Wanna give me a hint?”

“Nope. It’s better this way.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s all I’m getting out of you, isn’t it?”

“Yup.”

Looks like I’m waiting to see what tomorrow brings.

I sink back into the lounge and put my foot up on the coffee table, pushing the paper aside. “Hey, I almost forgot. Jones gave me some mail to pass on to you.” I jut my chin towards the envelopes sticking out from under the newspaper.

“I kinda wished you’d somehow lost them on the way home.”

“Sorry. Just doin’ as I was asked.”

“Thanks,” she grumbles. “I was gonna re-direct my mail from April’s, but figured I’d organise that when I have my own place sorted.”