“Yup.”

“I’m real happy for you.”

“Thanks,” I say, now shy. “Will you be okay?”

“I don’t plan on moving yet,” he grumbles.

“Do you want me to stay?” Because I will.

Those chocolate orbs regard me closely and then he blinks several times. “Nah, there’s shit I need to take care of.”

“I’ll be back home as soon as I can, but if you need me or anything just call, okay?”

“Go get ’em, Suds,” he says, and then rolls over and buries his head under his pillow.

I don’t blame him for wanting to shut out the world. The world just kicked him in the balls, and basically shoved life up his arse.

 

CHAPTER FORTY

ROCCO

“Cactus!” I call out as I stumble into the shop. The loud jingle of the electronic doorbell shrieks in my ears. “Whoa, that’s loud.” I cover my ears as the piercing sound rings out inside my skull. After scouring the shop, I finally set sights on the man I want. “I need new ink, my man. My brother’s name over my broken fuckin’ heart.”

He takes his sweet time rising from his swivel chair and shakes his head when he stands toe-to-toe with me. I grip his arm for balance.

“Mate, you know you can’t be under the influence.”

“My fucking brother just died … scratch that. He was fuckin’ murdered, so excuse fuckin’ me, but I’d like a tattoo.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he says, and strokes at his long grey beard. “V’s gone?”

“Yup. Gone.”

“Come on, then.” He leads me over to the familiar worn, red leather chair. I turn and slump into it. A bottle of cold water magically appears in my hand.

“Start drinking this and then I’ll consider it.” Cactus moves to the back corner of the shop, and talks to another one of the guys with his back to me.

I try to focus on the fat bloke next to me getting ink on his shoulder. My focus is shot to shit. I push my head back against the leather chair, but the spinning is too violent. I lean over and grab the bin beside me and hurl my guts up.

A large hand grips at my shoulder and takes the bin from my hand.

Fuck you, Vinnie. You’ve left me with nothing. All I have left is … “Soph,” I choke out.

I pull my phone out of my jeans pocket and thrust it in Cactus’s face.

****

SOPHIE

I rush in the front door at five-thirty and am met with silence.

“Rocco?” I call out, as I move from room to room. Anxiety grows inside me with each passing moment. It was a mammoth effort today to focus on my new position and not think of him. My mind was only half on the job today. Hopefully Julie didn’t notice.

Be positive.

He’s probably organising stuff. I’ll just call him and find out where he is.

I dial his number, but there’s no answer. I try again and again, and nothing.

Shit.

I shake off the dark thoughts that swirl in the back of my mind. He’s fine. Maybe he went out for some fresh air or something. I can’t panic every time he’s out of sight. He’s a grown boy. Who just had his world crushed.

Everyone will be here at seven. I was close to tears on the train to work thinking about calling Mac and Jones and April. Instead, I rang April and asked her to set it up. She asked me what was wrong. Did I think I could hide the quiver in my voice. In my bravest voice, I avoided her question and said I had to run. It’s not my place to say anything. This is something Rocco has to do.

I check the clock on the wall. I’m sure in the next ninety minutes he’ll be home and everything will be fine. He’d responded to my early text about them coming over, so he knows this evening’s plans.

As I empty the dishwasher and tidy up the kitchen, I focus on taking deep breaths, in through my nose and slowly out through my mouth. When Rocco walks through that door, I need to be calm, together.

I stack the papers on the dining table and put them in the top drawer of the dark timber sideboard lined up against the wall of the room. I pick up the crumpled tissues, which are sitting beside a …

Oh no.

I can’t hold back the tears that glide down my cheeks. It’s a worn version of the photo of Rocco and his brother, which is on the fridge. A heavy gold cross on a chain is sitting beside it. It looks the same as the one Vinnie is wearing in the picture.

Life can be so cruel.

A loud ring followed by a buzzing on the kitchen bench draws me out of my daze. I wipe at my cheeks and sigh with relief when the familiar name comes up on the display.

“Rocco.” I gasp into the phone. “Where are you?”

“Is this Sophie?” a deep, gruff male voice asks.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Cactus. Rocco is here in my parlour, and he’s a bit under the weather. Can you come down and pick him up? I’ll text you the address.”

Shit. He’s turned back to the bottle. It’s heartbreaking because he was doing so well, but I guess, under the weight of what happened to his brother, I can’t blame him. It’s hard to be strong when your world has turned to shit.

“I’ll leave right away.”

****

Fifteen minutes later, I run through the glass doors of the tattoo joint.

“I’m looking for Cactus,” I say, breathless.

Heavy work boots thud against the polished cement floor as a tall man with a bald head and a long grey beard walks up to the counter. He’s dressed in a black T-shirt and blue jeans. Black and red ink, in the form of a dragon, curls up the side of his neck. There’s almost no skin on either of his arms untouched.

“Yeah, that’d be me. Sorry there, love. He mumbled your name and gave me his phone.”

“Where is he?”

“Passed out in the corner over there.” He points his inked finger towards a man that resembles more a heap of clothes tossed haphazardly in a chair.

I rush over to him. “Rocco,” I mumble, as I pat the side of his face. His eyes flutter open, revealing how bloodshot they are.

“Suds,” he breathes, and I choke on the stench of alcohol seeping out of him. I don’t know what he’s been drinking, but it’s a putrid concoction. My guess is he didn’t care what he was knocking back. How quickly he could feel numb was more important.

Cactus makes him finish off a bottle of water and gives him another one for the road. He kindly helps me get Rocco into the front passenger seat of my car. I need to keep an eye on him. If he was to lie down on the back seat, my guess is he’d vomit everywhere. Neither of us need spew in our lives right now.

When we get home, I help him up the stairs. Thankfully he’s moving better on his feet, and I’m not worried that he’ll collapse on me. He hasn’t said a single word since we got in my car, but then again, I haven’t pushed him for conversation either. He just stared through the windshield in a daze. I’m not about to reprimand him for drinking, because that won’t do a bloody thing. He’ll regret what he did eventually, but he doesn’t need me to bring it to his attention. I need to be here for him.

I take him straight to the bathroom and turn on the shower. He puts the toilet seat down and sits. I unlace his boots and reef his T-shirt over his head. I help strip him down to his boxers and then guide him under the water. He winces and flattens his palms against the tiles, allowing the water to stream down his back.

He pushes his underwear down and they land with a slap to the floor. “Having your eyes on me, I should be hard as fuckin’ stone,” he grumbles.

“Stop thinking about your dick for one second, will you?” I tease, but my tone is soft, sad.

He sweeps his fingers though is hair and soaps his upper body. The bubbles coat his ink before being washed down the ripples of his washboard stomach. I refuse to let my eyes roam any lower. Instead, I turn and grab my towel from the rack, because his is still lying on the floor from this morning. I hold the fluffy white rectangle of fabric out towards him. He shuts off the water and takes the towel, rubbing it down his face and then over his chest.