When It Falls Apart (The D'Angelos, #1)(28)

“Thank you. Tell your mother and Chloe I’ll be home soon.”

Luca smiled. “I’ll do that. Do drive safely.”

“Luca?” His name was a warning.

“Fine, drive like a crazy person then.”

She laughed. “I’ll do that.”

He hung up the phone with a grin.

She was growing on him, this Brooke who he didn’t want to like.

Luca turned to find Chloe staring at him through the doorway to his room.

“She’s okay?”

“Yes. She wanted me to tell you she’d be back tonight or tomorrow.”

“I’ll let Mama know.”

“Good. Now get out of here so I can have some peace before Franny gets home from school.”



“I’m a p-prisoner.”

“They’re medical tests, Dad. Shit happens.”

“You said three days.”

Brooke spoke with her dad through the Bluetooth over the car speakers as she drove through traffic on her way back to San Diego. He had called to complain about something she couldn’t do anything about. Which added another layer of crap to her already shitty day.

“It’s barely been three days. And they have to get all your results back. This is a challenge for everyone. Try and be patient. I bet they have it by tomorrow.” She wouldn’t bet much, but she had to tell him something to appease him.

“I . . . I . . . Have you s-sold the condo?”

She knew where this was going. “I’m in escrow.” Which wasn’t going well, and they were likely going to fall out and start over with a backup offer, hence the bad day and the long three before it filled with inspections and repairs. All in an effort to get as much money as she could out of the place. She was exhausted and falling behind in her job. In order to concentrate and refocus, she needed to get out of Upland and turn her lens to her work. Losing her job was not an option.

“Can you stop it?” her dad asked.

“That isn’t going to happen.” She hit the brakes as traffic did what it did in Southern California. As the car slowed, her heart rate sped up. The conversation was making her blood pressure surge, she felt it with every beat of her heart. Her father’s normal easygoing nature was hit or miss since the stroke, and obviously it was missing the mark today.

“I’m not, not liking it. Here.”

The sun was setting, putting the glare directly on her face.

“Dad. I can’t talk about this right now. I’m driving. Traffic is a bitch. If you’re up in an hour, call me. Or I’ll talk with you tomorrow. I bet they have your test results by then and you’ll feel better.”

For a moment the line was silent. Then she heard her dad yawn. “Fine.”

Taillights turned red and the line went dead.

The music she’d been listening to came back onto the radio, and Brooke brought the car to a complete stop.

She felt tears swell and forced them back.

Forty minutes later she pulled into her parking space and released a deep breath.

Outside the car, the noise of Little Italy was bouncing off the street. It helped her find the smile that her father had managed to remove from her lips.

Unlike the time before, none of the D’Angelo men were watching, and she wrestled with her own boxes one at a time for six trips up and down the stairs.

By the time she was done, she was out of breath and happily fatigued after the long drive. And as much as she wanted to drop on the sofa, she had to go back out and find a grocery store.

Her phone didn’t ring, thank God.

The corner grocery was small but had the essentials. She filled her cart and did her best to haul it all up the stairs in one go. But it took two.

No sooner had she closed the door behind her than she heard a knock.

By the time she opened it, the person who had knocked was gone, and a bag sat on her doorstep with a note stapled to it.

Brooke could tell without looking inside that it was something from the kitchen downstairs.

She nudged the door closed with her hip and took the bag to the small kitchen table while reading the note.

In case you’re hungry.

Welcome home.

L

The note stared at her . . . or was she staring at the note? Either way, Brooke stood there for what felt like an hour.

Luca must have been watching for her. Considering his initial welcome, or inquisition, this gesture gave her a sense that maybe he wasn’t completely against her being there.

Smiling, Brooke quickly put away her groceries before washing her hands and removing a proper plate and utensils to eat her meal.

Two bites in of the cheesy shelled pasta delight with some kind of crumbly beef mixture and Brooke retrieved the unopened bottle of wine the D’Angelos had brought up the first night.

A simple pull of the cork and a pour and she felt as if she’d taken a slice of Italy and placed it in her living room.

The noise from the restaurant and the streets below drifted in through the open sliding door that led to the roof terrace. She closed her eyes at the simple pleasure of eating a meal she didn’t have to cook herself while sitting in her own chosen space.

Two breaths later and she forced her eyes to open and acknowledged just how bone tired she was.

The pace was killing her. Like right after her father’s stroke, she had a hard time finding any balance in her life, she was right back on the hamster wheel, and every opportunity to jump off the damn thing was met with an obstacle that only moved the momentum higher.