Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(87)
A firm hand landed on my shoulder.
Austin.
“You okay, man?” he asked, no longer pissed, just worried.
Shit. This was Austin, my best damn friend. I sagged and shook my head no. “She’ll come back,” he assured me.
I met his eyes, then Cass’s and Lexi’s. “Look, about before—”
Austin grasped my face in both of his hands, interrupting me mid-sentence. “Don’t apologize. Just get the hell out of here and get your shit together. We got a championship to bring back, and you need to be in top form.” He planted a typical Sicilian kiss to my forehead.
Stepping back, I ran down the stairs, past all of Mol’s sorority sisters watching me in pity, and out into the crisp winter air, making my way straight over to the Mustang.
Ally joined me seconds later and in silence, we drove to my frat house, I gathered some clothes, rang my coach, and we hit the road.
Destination: Birmingham.
30
“Rome, we’re here,” I heard Ally say from beside me as the roaring engine of the Mustang grew to a stop. At first I was disorientated, but then I remembered… everything… and that excruciating pain that had subsided, if only for a short time during sleep, stabbed back into my chest with vengeance.
Taking a deep breath and opening the passenger door, I smiled at Aunt Alita, who was running from the small country cottage, arms spread, tears running down her face, shouting, “Rome, mia Rome! Viene aqui, viene aqui!”
Smashing against my chest and squeezing her arms around my waist, my tiny Spanish aunt cried into my shirt. The lump in my throat expanded with her over-the-top affection. It was how a mother should be—nurturing, protective, loving—and that thought sliced my heart more. Even though unborn, Molly had been all those things to our child.
Pulling back, Aunt Alita asked, “My darling, are you okay?” in her heavily accented tongue. “Ay dios mio! Such a tragedy. May the Lord strike down your parents for such cruelty!”
My uncle stepped onto the small porch, pulling my attention, a sympathetic frown on his face—his face that looked too similar to my father’s to bring any comfort.
“Mama! Leave him be,” Ally said, rolling her eyes in my direction, ushering her mother away and into the house.
With a deep breath, I walked to my uncle, stiffening as he laid his hands on my shoulders. He immediately lifted his palms into the air. “Sorry, son. I forget how much your daddy and I look alike.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m just not used to people touching me, that’s all. And yeah, you do look so much like him at times it’s uncanny.”
Uncle Gabe smiled sadly. “Though nothing alike, I hope?” Placing his hand on the back of my head, he pulled me close. “That man is evil, Rome. I knew he wasn’t a good man. Hell, even growing up, he was an ass, but for both your momma and daddy to do what they have lately… Well, I could never have believed them capable of such behavior.”
Letting out a humorless laugh, I said, “Yeah, well, I’m sure Charles Manson’s family thought the same about him too. Some folks are just born to be bad and no one can stop them.”
Uncle Gabe’s brown eyes glistened, a tortured expression on his face. “I should’ve done more for you, took you away from it all… fought for you harder. I’ve let you down.” There was a pause in his breathing before he whispered, “I failed you so bad, son.”
Shifting out of his embrace, I replied, “No, you didn’t. My bastard parents keep getting away with this shit, everyone blaming themselves for their actions. But no one’s to blame but them. For reasons only they will ever know, they take enjoyment in destroying people, people they should’ve loved.”
Uncle Gabe’s eyes dipped, and putting his arm around my shoulder, he guided me into the small house, revealing, “Well, it seems karma may have caught up with them at long last.”
Stopping dead, I asked quickly, “What are you talking about?”
Walking ahead into the front room, my uncle pointed to the TV. “It’s all over the news. Hell, it’s everywhere…”
Heart pounding, I raced into the room where Ally and Aunt Alita where already sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the screen.
Ally went to say something, but the images on the news almost brought me to my knees, and she stayed silent.
Breaking News: Tide Star QB’s Girlfriend Miscarries Amidst Prince Oil Money Laundering Scandal
My exhausted mind raced to take in all the images. They showed Molly on a gurney being ushered into the back of an ambulance, with me holding tightly onto her hand, her dress and my white suit covered in blood.
The reporter spoke in depth about the incident and the breaking story of how my momma assaulted Molly at the hospital and how she’d been arrested for assault. Next, a preview of tomorrow’s paper covered the screen, with that same f*cking image, and the anchors went on to talk about the night of the dinner and how Molly had miscarried later on. It infuriated me that they didn’t even know to mention how she’d changed my f*cking life, how she’d been brutally robbed of being the best f*cking mother on Earth, and how she was the most important person in the world to me.
The next image was of my father in handcuffs, being taken from his home. The usual arrogant sneer was on his face, unchanged, as the police pushed him into the squad car. The camera switched back to the anchors, who went on to discuss the massive amount of money my father had been laundering from his own company’s profits to cover what looked like some corrupt off-shore investments. They were suspecting that my father owed a set of dubious people a lot of money and that he’d drained his share of Prince Oil’s profits over the last year—the only share left in the black belonging to Martin Blair, who had yet to make a statement.