“You know yesterday I was going through the motions. I was organising shit, but today it fuckin’ hit me. I was drowning … and the grog was all I could see to keep me afloat.”

“I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. You know I’m here, right? If you wanna talk or whatever?”

Rocco steps onto the floor mat and wraps the towel low around his slim hips. He curls his hand around my neck and draws me close, wrapping his warm arms around me. With a gentle squeeze, he sighs in my ear. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

****

I make Rocco some buttered toast, and bring it to him on the lounge. He’s pale and shivering beneath my blanket.

“You need to eat something,” I say, offering him the plate.

“Thanks.” It takes him about two minutes to swallow a bite. At least he’s eating.

Three knocks rap at the door.

“Shit,” I mutter. “I forgot April and the guys were coming. Do you want me to tell them to go?”

“Nah, I need to do this,” he says, and nods.

I open the door and am hit with the smell of pizza and a flash of supportive smiles.

“Hey, guys. Come in,” I say, adorning my bravest face as I show them to the dining table.

Rocco gets up from the lounge and shakes Mac’s hand, giving him a gruff ‘g’day’.

“Feelin’ any better, son?” Mac asks.

Rocco doesn’t answer him, instead pulling Jones into a hug. He holds him for the longest time. April and Mac stare at the men embracing and then shoot questioning looks at me.

“You okay, bud?” Jones asks, and holds him at arm’s length.

A blank stare overtakes Rocco’s face. I take his hand and tug him towards the table.

“Why don’t we all sit down?” I suggest.

I sit beside Rocco and help April open the pizza boxes. I don’t give a shit about plates or serviettes. It’s not the time to be prim and proper about this shit. Everyone continues to look at Rocco, but he just stares at the array of cheesy carbohydrates in front of him.

I wave my hands at the food. “Eat while it’s hot, guys,” I say, trying to break the tension, which is thick amongst us.

Quietly, our visitors take a slice and eat. I reach for Rocco’s hand under the table and link his cool fingers with mine.

“I need to take some time, Mac,” Rocco says, almost crushing my fingers as he speaks.

“What for, son?” Mac asks, and then mauls his pizza crust.

“My little brother is dead.”

April gasps and clutches at her chest. Mac’s jaw drops open. Jones reaches beside him and grips Rocco’s shoulder. “Fuck,” Jones curses. “I’m sorry.”

I watch on in admiration as Rocco tells our friends everything. He’s matter-of-fact, robotic even, as he tells them about his brother being in jail, how Vinnie got there in the first place, and the suspicious circumstances surrounding his death. He talks about losing his parents, his battle with alcohol, and how he’s trying to overcome his addiction. When he tells them he wants to be a better person it hits me like a thunderbolt right in the heart. There’s more to this man than simply tattoos and a foul mouth. There’s a big-arse heart inside, and I’m getting to see more of it every day. I just wish it wasn’t something as life altering as this that had exposed it.

Rocco lays his troubles out on the table and doesn’t hold back. I guess he’s a man with nothing left to lose.

I don’t let go of his hand for anything.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

ROCCO

Wednesday

Soph’s grip on my hand is unyielding as the middle-aged brunette behind the counter leads us up a flight of stairs to the viewing room.

My body shakes as soon as I see the open coffin. I know I picked it out. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see it. Am I ready to see what lies inside? Will he look the same as he did a week ago?

There are white chairs lined up in rows with a clear pathway down the middle to where the ornate timber box is on display.

Soph’s closest arm slips around my waist. She helps me put one foot in front of the other until we’re standing right in front of the coffin.

A lone tear slides down my cheek when I take in the form in front of me.

“This wasn’t the way you were meant to meet him.”

She tightens her grip on my hand. “I know,” she whispers.

“He would’ve loved you.” Because I kinda do.

“I’m really not that loveable.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I growl.

She leans forward to the casket and casts her eyes over his face, as if she’s taking in every minute detail.

“I don’t want this to sound creepy at all, but he’s beautiful. Kind of like his big brother, but in his own unique way. I can tell that he was a beautiful person.”

“He’s not so fuckin’ beautiful now,” I grumble.

She nudges her shoulder against mine. “I know it’s not the same, because I don’t have any siblings, but when my grandmother passed away it was so hard to look at her when I went to the viewing. It didn’t look like her. When I touched her hand and her face, it didn’t feel like her.” Suds clears her throat and sniffs. “That’s how you have to look at him now. This body was just a vessel for his soul. He’s not with us anymore. You have to take comfort in the fact that he’s moved on to somewhere better.”

With an unsteady hand I reach for his face, and lightly press my fingertips to his temple. The stark reality of the chill of his skin hits me like an electric shock, taking me back to the sterile surroundings of the morgue. I trail my fingers down the length of his jaw and then lean down and kiss his cool forehead.

All strength in my upper body wanes. I slump over the casket and weep for him. There’s no holding back. I fucked up. He paid the price.

“I’m sorry, V. It’s my fault,” I choke out, my voice breaking. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

A hand smooths over my upper back as my shoulders heave with each sob. Tears fall relentlessly into the black suit that I picked out for V, a suit Mamma adored on him. It’s been hanging in my closet since he went inside.

“I’m here,” Suds whispers, and kisses my cheek.

Her sweet ramblings are the only thing keeping me sane.

****

The wind is bitter and cold, just like my heart on this dark day. Rogue petals from the arrangement of white roses flutter away as if they have wings.

“For as much as it has pleased almighty God to take out of this world the soul of Vincent De Luca, we therefore commit his body to the ground,” Father Michael says, his voice calm and sincere. The tall man in the black suit presses something on the cage the coffin is resting on and then stands aside, clasping his hands in front of him. The ornate timber box is gently lowered into the ground, taking a part of my battered heart and soul with it.

“Earth to earth … ashes to ashes … dust to dust, searching for that blessed hope when the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God, and the dead in Christ shall rise first. Then we, which are alive and remain, shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so shall we ever be with the Lord, and comfort one another with these words.”

Suds, my rock, is at my side. Mac and April and Jones are behind me. This is my family now.

Life can be over.

Just like that.

Goodbye, brother. ’Til we meet again.

****

SOPHIE

April and I gather in the kitchen to make another round of teas and coffees. I still haven’t got rid of the chill in my bones from the cemetery.

Mac and Jones and Rocco are watching some GoPro footage on the flat-screen TV. Any distraction from the ceremony today is certainly welcome by everyone.

“Are you still planning on moving out?” April asks in a quiet voice.