PAST
One Year Prior…
Paisley is 17. Saint is 35.
“My dad’s not home,” Paisley softly murmurs by the front door, her small fists gripping the doorframe so tightly, blotches of white smooth over her creamy skin. “He should be back any minute, though. He just went to the store.”
My brows furrow down at Alaric’s seventeen-year-old daughter, the same woman who thought she could rip a fucking cigarette out of my mouth and I’d just let it go. The same one who had the audacity to stop me while I was showing Anderson what happens when you mess with my business. But in this case, I’m forced to freaking let go. Paisley’s my best friend’s daughter. Innocent to this world of mine.
“I’ll wait inside then.”
“No,” she squeals when I proceed to take a step forward, shutting the door slightly ajar. Fortunately for me, my Italian leather biker boots are caught in the door. “No, you can’t come in.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad said I can’t allow anybody in unless he’s home. I know he said you’re an exception, but…”
“Don’t you remember what I always say about rules, kid?” I ask, taking this as the perfect moment to pull out my stash. I slip a cigarette into the center of my lips and pull out my lighter to get it going. “Rules fuckin’ suck. They’re illusions.”
Paisley seems almost mesmerized by the burning orange light whenever I take a drag. It’s as if her dark eyes glitter with rebellion, at the same time the flame brings her intrigue to life.
“Rules don’t suck, they are placed for a reason,” she says after the longest pause.
“Finally found your voice again, huh?” I smirk, a low rumble echoing in my throat when she crosses her arms over her chest as if that’s going to intimidate me. Nice try, kid. I’m gonna need a little more than that. “Took you a while, didn’t it?”
“Stop mocking me.”
“All right, all right. Listen, I’ll stop pissing you the fuck off if you let me in. I’ll wait for him inside. I gotta talk to him.”
“But Dad said—”
“Rules suck, kid.”
Paisley lets out a huff, glaring up at me before she opens the door to reveal her entire face. Sun-kissed skin, light freckles on her cheeks, dark waves wrapped in a messy bun like she doesn’t give a shit and I like it better that way. Paisley’s not a girl to swear. At least her hair can do it for her. She’s grown up so much in these past couple of years but is still the freaking strictest person I know.
I tell myself I better start freaking concentrating because all of a sudden Paisley has a notebook and a pen in her hands and is busy scribbling something down. My brows uptick in amusement as she bites her tongue, head down in concentration until she halts, pulls back the page to see it clearer, and nods to herself. Then, she thrusts the notepad up, inches to my chest. “Please sign at the bottom.”
Yep, this one’s going to be a Harvard fucking scholarship graduate.
“Sign at the bottom?” I ask.
“Mhmm.”
“What the hell am I signing?”
“A contract that states if you want to come inside, you need to promise you’ll be on your best behavior first. That means no smoking, no cursing and… no saying rules suck.”
“So basically, you want my three signature traits to fuck off, yeah?” My gaze flickers between the paper with her large cursive handwriting to her I’m not-backing-down expression between my drags. “Can’t sign something I don’t agree with, kid.”
“Then you can’t come inside.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at school anyway?”
“No, student-free day. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
A slow, crooked smirk rises on my lips. “I am working. I’m just currently on break.”
Paisley rolls her eyes. “Going around on your Harley all day with a death stick and beating people up is your job?”
“No. Fitness, maintaining both grit and resilience, and training people to be their best self is my job. Cigarettes, my Harley, and whiskey are just added bonuses… alongside iron fists. Sure, I’m suited to fight in the ring, but I can also protect people like you. Seeing you all in one piece has me thinking I’m doing a pretty good job of keeping people like you safe from a city full of corruption, guns, and false alibies. Which has me thinking, I haven’t heard one thank you.”
Paisley huffs and pushes the notebook into my chest. I chuckle and for a split second decide to give her the benefit of the doubt. Even though that doesn’t relate to nor define the kind of man I am at all. I don’t forgive. I don’t forget. And I certainly don’t give in to seventeen-year-old women.
I hand the notebook back to her. “Said I ain’t gonna sign it. Take it and draw on the back instead. Save the trees, help climate change, or wherever the fuck the world is heading toward nowadays.”
“Please.” Her deep-set gaze follows mine, a silent plea alongside her parted plump lips.
Paisley Reign’s a different type of girl from the rest. For some reason, she isn’t afraid to speak her mind with me, yet at the same time I get the feeling she recognizes when she oversteps. It’s evident in the way the paper shakes in her grip, and yet she attempts to have a poised, composed face. Tight jaw. Steady eyes. And now pierced-shut mouth…
But Paisley isn’t fooling me. I’ve been around people like her for too long not to call them out on their shit. Every single time I see Paisley, she evokes the devil in me, pissing me off beyond repair. This time is no different and this little contract she wrote up, it can go right back where she found it… hell.
In the midst of my thoughts, I flicker on my cigarette lighter and catch the edge of the paper with the allusive orange flame. Paisley’s eyes widen and she gasps out a large breath, covering her mouth as we witness the contact burning into a charcoal mess.
I can’t wipe the smirk off my face when she grumbles something under her breath and swings the door entirely open. I follow her in, but she bolts away down the hallway and stomps up the stairs in fury.
“Pointless rules get you nowhere, kid. Running doesn’t get you anywhere either. Remember that—” The thud of her bedroom door slamming shut cuts me off. I shake my head with a soft chuckle and settle onto the living room couch. “Remember that for next time.”
“What are we gonna do about this girl next door?” Nico asks beside me on my porch steps, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “What’s her name again? Ainsley?”
“No, Paisley.” I take a drag of my cigarette, burning my vision into the house next door and Paisley, who’s been by the parking strip digging up dirt with a pink shovel and planting seeds for the past half hour. “Paisley Reign. And I don’t fuckin’ know. All I do know is I don’t trust her to stay tight-lipped about last year. She’s already seen too much. Alaric would kill me if he knew his daughter witnessed me beating the shit out of Anderson last year.”
“Exactly. I’m not placing my fate in the hands of some sixteen-year-old who’s already got her own hands three feet into soil.”
Of course Nico Quivez—my ex-boxing-coach and co-partner at Fearless Fitness—is getting hotheaded about it. That’s the type of guy a man training boxing beasts like myself and MMA fighters in a thirty-square cage for the past twenty years becomes. One wrong word out of someone’s mouth and he’s ready to ruthlessly pounce. A man whose mind never stops ticking. A man whose good judgment and coaching were a major asset in my fighting career years ago.
“Paisley’s seventeen, Nico.”
“Sixteen, seventeen, same shit. She has no reason not to run to the police because you listened to me and warned Anderson of what happens when you fuck around with business. Who knows if she opens her mouth to her father, or worse, the police. We don’t need that shit.”
“She’s got a reason to stay quiet, trust me.”
“What is it?”
Alaric’s dark Jeep turns into the drive next door and Paisley glances up, waving at him.
Grinning, I crush the cigarette under my foot and nod toward the car. “We’re looking at it.”
“Gonna talk to Alaric about his daughter? Yeah, good fuckin’ luck.”
“None needed, Nico.”
On my way to her, my hands slide into my jean pockets. Paisley glances up when I pass her by the parking strip. The way her jaw ticks has me halting. I guess I can spend a couple of minutes with Miss Door-slammer.
Crouching down over Paisley’s array of garden tools, I pull out a light pink frilly blossom from the flower cluster already in bloom and twirl it between my thumb and pointer. Drawing it to my nose, I take in its sweet floral scent of… well, I have no freaking clue. I’m not a flower guy. Never have been, never can be, never will be. Fucking sue me.
“Great, just great!” Paisley glares up at me and lets out an agitated groan. “You’ve really done it this time!”
“What? I thought the whole thing about planting flowers was to pick them, no?”
“If you want them to die, yes. If you want to preserve their beauty, you stand back and watch.”
I smirk, continuing to swirl the pinkish flower around. “What are these flowers called?”
“Geraniums. Why?”
“Was gonna say they look like a pain in the ass to maintain to me.”
“You’re terrible, you know that, right?”
“Sure do.”
“Good,” Paisley grumbles and goes back to planting new seeds.
I nod over her work. “Yeah, keep digging, kid.”
I turn around and look over at Nico, who nods toward the girl with knitted brows. I raise my hands up with a shrug before jogging up Alaric’s driveway and throw the flower I’ve already forgotten the name of aside.
Sporting a white polo shirt and dark slacks, Alaric’s in the midst of taking out two bags of groceries from his car’s trunk when he glances my way. Smirking, his brows rise in amusement. “What you looking at, Sainty boy?”
“Nothing.” I laugh, shrugging casually. “I just love how you switch from doctor to ‘let’s go to Vegas’ in two-point-five seconds.”
My best friend grins. “It’s called Clark Kent-ing the shit out of life. Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Oh, I’m already there, man. Guess you just gotta catch up to be in the race.”
“Fucker.” Alaric shakes his head in laughter. “God, I love how you’re acting all smart now, but we’ll just forget last year after the Sawyer versus Jenson match in Vegas where you drank the whole liquor store and I had to freaking carry you home like you were a newborn. The way I was running to prevent my back from breaking and you know—dying—that’s being in the race.”
“Thanks for having my back and not reopening the Vegas vault.”
“Welcome. We say the same shit every year, and then right about this time, fly back to Vegas to get our asses kicked. Have I mentioned that I love being your best friend?”
“Many times.” I laugh. “Good thing we actually don’t live in Vegas.”
“Yeah, I thank God every day for that one.”
“Sure you do.”
“I really do.” Alaric chuckles as he gets the last of the grocery bags and sets them down on the concrete garage floor. “Oh, while you’re here, I was going to ask if you wanted to stick around for dinner. Paisley’s making her signature chicken and rice. I know how much you like it. What do you say?”
“Would love to, but I have Nico back at mine. Promised the fucker I’ll go to one of the matches he’s coaching tonight. Somebody had the audacity to say MMA is for the big dogs, while boxing is for the Chihuahuas.”
“Did you tell him to fuck off?”
“Fuck off? I was going to show him the mark chihuahuas make.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“His niece is watching the game. That was his defense. Didn’t want her to worry about a black eye.”
“Shit. Where the fuck did Nico’s balls go?”
I smirk. “Was wondering the same thing. Apparently big dogs get neutered first.”
Alaric throws his head back in laugher, resting a hand on his chest. “Fuck, that was a good one. I love it, man.”
My own chuckle rumbles up my throat. “Shame I didn’t tell him that one yet.”
“Real shame. Anyway, I’ll catch you later then. When you pass by Paisley, can you tell her to come in soon so we can start dinner ’cause I’m getting a beer the second I walk in, yeah?”
“Sure thing.” Glancing over my shoulder, I don’t expect Paisley to be staring at me. She’s a good ten feet away and I mockingly wave at her. She rolls her eyes at my smirk and turns back to the flowers unamused, yet I keep on staring. “So, what college degree is she interested in? Journalism? Landscape architect? Flower arranging? Professional eye roller?”
Alaric bursts out in laughter. “I have no clue, but she still fucking hates you, man.”
“Well aware of that fact. I learned today that you’re apparently not supposed to pull out flowers. They’re purely there for observation. Who knew?”
“God, I think my daughter’s going to be the death of you.”
“She already is.”
“Trust me when I say it’s better this way. She doesn’t need to be around guys like you. God forbid she wants to be when she’s older. I’d kill any guy who looks at her for a second too long.”
Nico’s voice comes ringing in my ear. I need to make sure what Paisley witnessed last year wasn’t repeated to anyone. If she’s spreading any word that I’m exacting my own type of revenge to men who double-cross me… well, I’m fucked.
“Does Paisley talk to you much?” I ask.
“Rarely.”
Good.
“Nothing out of the ordinary lately?”
Alaric shakes his head with a slight shrug. “No, she’s not the type of girl who speaks a lot. She keeps to herself and out of trouble. Total opposite to me, right?”
“She doesn’t keep to herself around me.”
“True. She speaks her mind with you. I think her mom not being around a lot affects her. Paisley never vocalizes it, but I see it. You know how it is. Everybody at school probably talks about theirs, whether it be good or bad memories… and instead, she doesn’t have any of those stories of her own. After the divorce, Faye told me she was fucking off to Spain to be with some rich bastard and hasn’t contacted Paisley and me since.”
“Shit, I didn’t know that part. I’m sorry, man.”
“Yeah, it’s fucked up. I mean, I don’t give a shit about it, but it’s not fair on Paisley. She never hears from her mother. No birthday messages. No Christmas cards. No nothing. It’s as if she doesn’t exist, and I know that’s bound to hurt at some point. But what can I do? Paisley was close to my mom, her nana June, so when she passed three years ago, she really needed family to rely on. There wasn’t any. Her mother, Faye, was long gone, and I was busy working overtime to distract myself.”
“Does she have a couple friends at least?”
“No, doesn’t have any close cousins or friends. So Paisley started with these flowers and poetry and hasn’t spent a single day without them. It’s a good habit, but I can’t help but think she’s wasting available time where she could be out socializing, you know.”
I knew about Alaric’s dramas with his former girlfriend and Paisley’s mom in the past, but never to this depth, especially never spoken about the long-term effects it has on Paisley. From the day we met, Alaric and I have been super tight. I’m an only child, so he’s like the brother I’ve never had. I can tell him anything and he’ll keep it safe, just like all the shit I’ve told him about my past. I know he has a lot on his plate and that being a single father isn’t easy. I just think sometimes he doesn’t give himself enough credit. He’s doing incredible. Far much more incredible than I would be in his position.
Glancing back over at Paisley, I watch as she drops a few seeds into another dug-up hole. But then I look at her, like really look at her, and notice the frown on her lips. How she reaches up with her dirty glove and sweeps underneath her eye, almost as if she’s stopping tears from flowing.
Swallowing down, I pull Alaric into a brief side hug. “You’ve both been through a lot, man. But at least Paisley has you. You’re taking care of her and you’re here for her. Continue being there for her. Even when she says she doesn’t need you and pushes you away, be there.”
“I will, but I just feel at times what I do is not enough,” he admits, his voice breaking at the last word. “I feel like Paisley suffers in silence and doesn’t let me in. I’m the closest person to her and yet… I can’t help her. You get what I mean?”
Alaric doesn’t know how close he’s hit home. I massage the lump in my throat and nod. We’re silent for a few moments and I shift my eyes to the sky outside the garage on this clear, sunny day.
I clear my throat. “I don’t know how it would help, seeing as Paisley hates my guts, but anything I can do to help, you know I’m just one house away.”
“That means more than you know, Saint. Thank you for that and for listening.”
“Anytime. I better go now, or else Nico will bust my balls. See you tomorrow, yeah?”
Alaric smiles softly, playfully slapping my back. “Yeah, see you then, man.”
I squeeze his shoulders and smile back. “You’ve got this, brother. Be brave for her.”
“I will.”
I give him a curt nod and jog down his driveway, knowing that somewhere deep inside me I’ll remember the words he told me. Those of himself. Those of Paisley. They came from a place of raw emotion and hurt, and who am I to challenge Paisley now that I know the truth about why she’s so uptight, yet vulnerably timid?
Who the fuck am I to do that?
Paisley doesn’t have anybody, and on the outside looking in, it could appear like I’m losing my damn mind and someone’s unscrewed my balls, but I… I feel sorry for her. I really do. I need to leave her the fuck alone. The bickering and constant back and forth tension-filled conversation—it needs to stop. It’s not fair for us to venture any deeper into spiraling hate.
We’re neighbors, I’m her father’s best friend, she’s eighteen years younger. I need to tone this shit down. Because now that I know Paisley’s hurting, I won’t be able to deal with myself if she got caught in the crossfire of the scorching war in my mind. I can’t let anything happen to innocent people who deserve more than the path life has callously given them.
Paisley catches my gaze as I pass her by the parking strip. “Dad said dinner’s soon.”
“Okay, thanks. What were you and my dad talking about?”
“Nothing you haven’t heard before.”
“You seem pensive. What are you thinking about?”
“Just that if you get stuck on the past too much, you drown in a pit of burning flames.”
Paisley’s gaze narrows and she places her hand by her brows, blocking the sunlight as those honey-brown eyes dive deep into my soul. “Thought you didn’t have a heart to begin with…”
“True. I don’t.” Slowly, my smirk turns into a frown. “But the heat hurts just the same.”
I should leave.
I should continue walking back to my house, but I don’t. Something stops me. Something beyond my control. I turn toward Paisley’s father’s garage just as it begins to close. I catch a glimpse of Alaric stepping into the house through the garage access, head in his hands.
Glancing at my own home, it seems as though Nico has ventured back inside. My gaze flickers down to Paisley on the ground, who’s working her magic with the flowers, but I don’t need to make my presence further known as Paisley’s eyes haven’t left me once.
“Are you coming over for dinner again?”
“Not tonight, no.” I nod toward the pink flowers again, avoiding her stare because I know it’s bound to unlock another question if I don’t change the topic soon. “What are those flowers called again?”
“Geraniums.”
“Right, geraniums. Well, I didn’t mean to pull it out, kid. Those flowers must mean something special to you. Didn’t mean to disrespect what you stand for.”
Paisley’s brows rise a fraction. “Are you… are you apologizing?”
Her comment draws a smile to my lips. “Maybe.”
“Wow.” She genuinely gasps. “And to respond to your previous comment about maintaining geraniums being a pain in the… well, you know, geraniums are perfectly easy to maintain. You just need to water them accordantly, speak to them, and not unnecessarily rip them out.”
“What the fuck, did you just say speak to them?”
“Yes, speak to them. Stop swearing.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Do you read to your flowers too?”
Paisley rolls her eyes and turns back to her work, but not before a small hint of a smile crawls its way up her lips. She may never admit it, perhaps didn’t even notice she did it at all or that I would pick up on it, but I did. I’ve seen it all, but this is something I thought I’d never see. Witnessing a smile come out of Paisley Reign, the one girl in this city I was beginning to think was born with the defect to smile. I mean, yeah, I’m one to talk, but Paisley smiling because of me? So fuckin’ rare that if I hadn’t seen it, I would have pinned the world ending before I saw a fraction of her upturned lips.
“Hold up. You actually do read to them, don’t you?” I smirk.
“No… well, not novels anyway.”
“What do you read to them then?”
She’s silent for a second before she says, “Poetry.”
“Don’t worry,” I murmur. “Your secret’s safe with me, kid.”
Paisley looks up at me with flushed cheeks. “What secret?” She bites down on her lip, squinting as the sun moves into her eyeline, illuminating her honey browns. “I don’t have any secrets.”
“Yeah, you do. You’re a flower nerd and you know it.”
Paisley laughs brightly, a cute snort escaping her, and I can’t help but smile. “Am not!”
“Don’t get so defensive, the government hasn’t made it illegal… yet.”
“Go away, Saint,” she says with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on her lips.
I smile. “Not until you read me a stanza from your favorite poem.”
“Never.”
“Come on, Pais. One stanza and I’ll leave you to keep on diggin’.”
Paisley looks away and begins to shake her head before halting. The beautiful smile on her lips transforms into a slight frown as she pulls off her grimy, vibrant pink gloves and sets them to the side, one on top of the other. If it were me, I would have thrown them to the side, but not Paisley—she’s precise, organized, and my greatest nightmare living right next door.
Paisley dusts down her floral print yellow sundress and muddy knees before standing up before me. The distant sounds of rumbling car engines and children laughing in nearby front yards drown out at the look in her eyes. At how they’re such perfect almonds and look into mine so deeply she has me gripped. It’s like I’m the only one who can save her from a stare so potently rich of tales nobody ever dared to unravel or hear from her.
Standing before me isn’t Paisley Reign the cigarette snatcher, crime stopper, or wildflower… it’s simply her.
The depths of her pain will be laid out in the next word she speaks, in the poetic rhythm of her voice, in the very poet she chooses. You learn a lot about a person by their favorite line of poetry… and Paisley has unraveled me from the first day. How she shifts from timid to sweet to fierce. How she’s so mature for her age. How she managed to seep through all the cracks in my soul and somehow, we’ve gone from flowers to poetry.
Nobody knows this. The boys would give me shit about it and to be honest, I’ve never needed to bring it up, but I know a thing or two about poets. The best of them turn madly insane by the time they reach thirty, with every stain of ink a representation of all the tears burning inside them like a lethal flame.
They keep their agony inside.
Slow river their anger across the page until they’re drowning in a sea of nothingness.
Some of them don’t make it to publish their work. The audience—the protagonists of their own destiny—seeps in the pain of the words and translates them to relate in their life. It’s funny how people collect poetry like little pockets of hope and have faith in pulling somebody up from the deep end, but little do they know they’ve been refusing the anchor the entire time.
“Do you want me to…” Paisley swallows thickly in a fit of nerves. Nerves. This is what I don’t understand about her, the push and pull of who she really is. “Do you want me to tell you who it’s by first?”
“No, let me guess who after you say it.”
“You know poetry?”
“I know a thing or two.”
“Oh… I didn’t know that.” She clears her throat as if she’s preparing herself for the performance of her life. Her eyes are all over the place, from my boots to her hands to my eyes. “Okay. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Paisley nods softly, keeping her head on my worn-out bikie boots, her voice even lower as she begins. “I’ve… I’ve looked for…” She shakes her head and turns away from me, her long, rich chocolate waves covering her face. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out, her voice so low I barely catch her words. “I can’t say it. Not today.”
I furrow my brows. “Everything okay?”
“Mmhmmm.”
“You know when somebody responds mmhmmm, it usually means yes, but I don’t think that’s the case here.”
“Promise I’m okay, Saint,” she whispers, but her tone gives it all away.
She’s not okay.
“Paisley?”
“You can go. I’ll be okay.”
Go, Lisconti. She told you to go.
Turn the fuck around and get inside your house.
NOW.
I shake my head with a sigh and curse at the small fucking part of me that wants to help her. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But I feel like I owe her something. I was the one to bring up the poetry and it seems as though it’s exactly what set her off… but why?
Reaching out my hand, my fingers wrap around the soft cotton of her left wrist that’s covered by her long-sleeved sundress. Paisley jerks her head to my hand at the action and just as I anticipated, I fall witness to the big tears rolling down her cheeks. It’s crazy how the stiff tension between us for two years straight breaks away right in this moment.
I don’t know for how long, or even the true reason why it does, but I know it’s the right thing to do. It’s as if our past fights, our past misunderstandings, our past troubles don’t matter anymore.
Nothing else matters when my hand slips from her wrist.
Nothing else matters as my thumb slowly wipes her tears away.
Nothing else matters but those anguished doe eyes that find their way back up to mine.
Paisley isn’t my opponent. She’s a seventeen-year-old with nowhere to go and no one to call home.
“Geraniums!” she blurts out suddenly, her glassy eyes snapping to mine as my thumb falls from her face. “Geraniums are one of the most popular greenhouse plants. They were first discovered in 1576 in Southern Europe. Versatile. They’re a very versatile flower and can be utilized for cakes, teas, and other things like compresses. They love the sun and prefer damp but well-draining soil.”
I arch a brow at the outburst of information. Huh?
“Something tells me that wasn’t the poem.”
“No, not the poem. Whenever I’m stressed, I say as much as I know about a flower. You… probably think it’s weird.”
“No, not weird at all,” I assure with a genuine smile. “Just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”
“Why are you being nice?”
“I’m being nice?”
Paisley gives me a side-eye and shoots me a small grin. “Yeah, nice.”
“Guess I woke up on the right side of the bed, kid.”
“You didn’t. You pulled out one of the flowers from the root. That’s definitely not waking up on the right side of the bed.”
“Ah, right. All right, I just feel like it then.”
“Well, it feels… strange.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Thanks for having faith in me, kid.”
“Is your real name Saint?” she asks after the longest time.
A warm smile breaks on my lips because out of all the things she could have asked me, this is what she aspires to unravel. “No, well, technically yes, but my real name… it’s…” I clear my throat, yet the burning knot remains. “It’s Santo.”
“Why Saint then?”
“Fighters are typically susceptible to nicknames. Mine was Saint, and it just stuck. Santo is also Saint in Italian.”
Paisley nods twice as if she gets it. Sniffling, she wipes away her tears. “But you’re no saint.”
Anyone else who said that to me would already be six feet under, but with her, I find myself laughing. “Ironic, isn’t it? Don’t want to get into too much, but they call me that because I’m the opposite. But it’s better the devil you know than the devil you don’t, right?”
Again, Paisley nods. But this time, I’m not too sure she understands it.
“Sorry I couldn’t say the poem. Tomorrow just isn’t a good day for me and so today… it’s hard. The poem… it’s mine and I wrote it about somebody I loved.” She shakes her head to herself with a deep sigh. “Still love. Tomorrow… it’ll be three years since my nana died.”
And just like that I find out my why.
Fuck. Paisley has it freaking hard.
“Sorry to hear that. I know what it feels like to lose somebody you love. Keep that poem to yourself, kid. Maybe one day I’ll be mad enough to want to hear it.”
“I don’t think it’s any good. Haven’t performed it to anybody, not even my father.”
“The flowers listened.”
“And what good does that do?” She shrugs, as if it all doesn’t matter, but it does.
“Well, they’re still alive, aren’t they?” I chuckle and when silence greets me, my expression falls. I turn to leave but just like before, something stops me in my tracks. I come back, rubbing my stubbled jaw twice over. “You know, Paisley, sometimes it’s not about having a lot of people around. Sometimes it’s just having that one person who makes everything feel okay and them filling the void of what a hundred people would.”
“I like that, but there’s only one problem.”
“Go on.”
“What do you do when that one person goes away?”
I know what she means and what she’s opposing, but I give her another response anyway. “They’ll come back eventually.”
Paisley shakes her head adamantly. “No,” she whispers and gestures up to the clouds up above. “What do you do when the only person you have leaves you?”
“I think it’s about keeping their memory alive in all that you do.”
“Yes, but there must be more than that.”
I frown and look down. “Don’t know, Pais. Haven’t figured that part out yet myself.”
“Neither have I.”
I smile softly at those sad eyes and turn around, prepared to return home, when I hear the faintest call.
“Santo?”
I spin around, acknowledging how Paisley called me by my first name, but don’t dare show what it does to me. I smooth my clenched jaw and let go of the tension in my broad shoulders, as well as my fists that have balled in my pockets.
After everything that happened, only two people call me by my real name.
Two.
“Yeah?”
Paisley looks up at me and a painfully hopeful smile rises on her lips. “Just let me know when you’ve figured it out, okay? I could really use the answer.”
I stare at her for the longest time, wondering when the hell we got on civil ground. Something tells me it won’t be like this again, always this peaceful, that soon we’ll return to the fighting, but for now, right in this moment, understanding paves its way to acceptance.
I give Paisley a curt nod, keeping my eyes on her five-foot-three frame as I walk backward. At my gate, I shoot her the faintest smile before turning around into my front porch and losing sight of her, but never of the promise I vow to make her.
I will, I tell myself. At whatever costs, I’ll find it out for the both of us, kid.
