Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(88)

And then it hit me. The marriage. My arranged marriage to Shelly would’ve given him access to Martin Blair’s money as per the agreement the two of them had made. The bastard! The Princes of Alabama would’ve been penniless without it… ruined.

Money. It was always about f*cking money!

Launching to my feet, I made a move for the door, but a hand on my shoulder held me back. I struggled to get away.

“Woah! Rome, calm down, son!” Uncle Gabe protested, backing away. Ally and Aunt Alita, all wide-eyed and nervous as they watched me fall apart.

Gripping my hair in anger, I let out a loud scream and left the room, apologizing over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I just… I need to get out of here… I need air…”

Bursting out into the cold night, I kicked over anything in my path: the grill, chairs, Christ, every neatly potted plant I could see, and rammed my left fist against the large stone wall surrounding the yard, numb to the skin ripping apart at the impact.

All the shit I’d been put through this year was because my daddy was in debt up to his f*cking eyeballs? My girl and my unborn angel destroyed because of my parents’ f*cking greed! I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take any more pain or disappointment. I was drowning, f*cking drowning in misery.

Throwing myself down on a lawn chair, I pulled out my cell. Molly would still be in the air as she flew the hell away from me and the fall of the Prince Empire, but I had to call. I needed to hear her voice; it was the only thing, bar her touch, that calmed me.

Dialing her number, my heart flipped when her voicemail message immediately played:

Hi! You’ve reached Molly. Sorry I can’t answer the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number after the tone, I’ll get back to you when I can.

Ending the call, I dialed the number again… and again… head lowering and heart cracking with every English-accented, “Hi!”

After the fifth time of letting the message play out, I finally spoke:

“Mol. There’s a story in the paper. It’s about us… about losing our angel. Christ, Mol, there’s a picture of you. It’s breaking my heart and you’re not here. My momma has been arrested for assault; my daddy has been arrested for money laundering. Please, call me. Tell me where you’re at. It’s all f*cked up. I’m going crazy without you. I love you. Come back to me.”

I hung on the line until it went dead, then succumbed to all the pain ripping me apart and, no longer able to stave them off, let out the wracking sobs. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the shaking of my body. I was completely falling apart.

Seconds later, I felt an arm wrap around my shoulder and I automatically flinched and moved to get up. Strong arms pushed me to stay seated, and as I looked up through my fallen hair and blurry eyes, Uncle Gabe pulled me to his chest, patting my head soothingly. “It’s okay, son, let it all out. Don’t fight it.”

Giving in and taking comfort in his support, I gripped to his shirt, confiding, “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be without her. What am I going to do? What if she never comes back for me?”

My uncle’s strained and hoarse voice replied, “Shh, son. It’ll be okay. None of this was your fault. Losing your baby should not be on your conscience.”

Anger fused in my veins and I snapped, “It was, though. It was all my fault!” My face was wet with too many tears and, giving up the last of my resistance, I sagged and said brokenly, “Everybody leaves me. Nobody ever has faith in me. I’m never enough… I’m never f*ckin’ enough… What is it that makes everybody leave me…? What is it that makes them not love me enough to save me too?”

My uncle tightened me in his hold and then moved before me to grip my cheeks. “You are enough! It’s not your fault, you hear me?”

My head shook in disagreement and my eyes closed, but the f*cking stream of tears just wouldn’t stop… anger and grief now the only emotions I had left.





31





I woke with a start, sitting up in bed, sweating, panting, and my cock so damn hard in my boxers. My hand felt beside me, searching for Mol, but the spot to my left was empty. Oh, yeah. She’d gone, and it was my third night at my uncle’s place… alone.

I looked around the unfamiliar room, my eyes catching sight of the clock beside me—three in the morning. Shit. My thoughts were immediately on my girl, knowing she’d already be awake and going about her day in Oxford.

Was she missing me? Wanting to come back home?

Falling back onto the mattress, I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut, but the replay of images from my dream was a slow torture, a temptation—I’d broken from my sleep way too soon. I wanted the memory of making love to my girl to seem real, wanted to feel once again what it was like to be inside her, chest to chest, rocking together, hands intertwined… lost in her… saved by her.

Closing my eyes, my memories slammed into me like a f*cking truck, but I embraced them. I wanted to remember…



“Romeo, what are you doing? The party… you’ve just won the SEC Championship, you should be with the team…” Molly panted into my hair as I held her against the wall of my room. As soon as the door slammed to a close, I began pushing down her panties.