Let Me: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family Book 2) (22 page)

Sofia crouches in front of me. “Do you want me to hold it for you?” she asks, motioning to my cup.

I nod because I’m done talking. Thank God the questions from the police were few, and thank God Curran assured me they’d stay that way. Tía called Teo instead of the police. It’s just like her not to phone the police directly. Thankfully, Teo reached out to Curran and he took charge, assembling everyone my mother needed.

My mother . . . my mother is a sick woman.

My attention travels to my right, where my poor father sits in a metal chair, his head bowed and his focus on his clasped hands. I think he’s praying again, for my mother, for strength, and for heaven knows what else. God knows we need it all.

Finn tucks me against him when I cover my eyes with my hand. He probably thinks I’m going to cry. But even if I wanted to, I’m all out of tears.

No, crying is the last thing I want to do right now. I just can’t look at my father then. It’s too hard. Not only because he appears so worn, but because he seems so defeated.

When I wasn’t looking, my father became an old man, aging as a result of caring for the woman he promised forever. How could he know this woman would change so much, that she’d forget who we were, and that she’d inflict so much damage to herself and those she should most love?

“Sol,” Sofia says, quietly. “I know you don’t want to take anything, but the doctor on call says he can prescribe something if you need it.”

I lower my hand slowly. “I don’t want any meds.”

“I know you don’t, sweetie, and ordinarily I wouldn’t push you. But Sol, right now you’re not in a good place, and I’m worried.”

Sofia doesn’t like medication and avoids even ibuprofen at all costs. For her to insist I should take something, proves I look about as good as I feel. “I don’t want anything,” I repeat, adding to her concern by shuddering.

She watches me, but doesn’t say anything else, lifting her chin to face Finn. “How are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, his hand stroking my arm. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t sound fine. He hasn’t since he ran into my house. My body tenses when I see how pale he remains. Killian and Teo offered to get him something to eat, but like me, he declined.

“I thought she was okay,” Papi says.

We turn his way, but he doesn’t look up, choosing instead to talk at the floor. “She seemed in good spirits. Happy. When they called me into work early, I thought it would be a good way to make money―to remodel the kitchen for her. I thought, I thought . . .”

My father breaks down, weeping into his hands. Sofia rushes to his side, hugging him and whispering kind words in Spanish.

“He wasn’t gone long when I arrived,” Tía adds. “Five, maybe ten minutes.”

It’s not the first time they’ve told us as much, but their guilt over what happened causes them to repeat their stories. Mami was fine. Papi left. Tía walked in after paying the cab and found her. Mami wasn’t alone long. But it was long enough to carry out her plan, or should I say, the plan the voices came up with.

We glance up when the attending physician walks toward us. Teo stands to greet him, Killian just to his right. But it’s my mother’s treating psychiatrist that my attention skips to. “Mrs. Marieles is stable,” the doctor says. “Physically, she should make a full recovery.”

But not mentally
, he doesn’t add.  

“We’ll keep her here until we’re sure she’s safe to transfer.”

“Transfer her to a different unit?” Teo questions.

It’s what he asks, and what we expected. But the doctor’s tone leaves the impression that a different unit won’t be enough. He edges away allowing Dr. Franco to step forward. “I need to speak to you privately, Mr. Marieles,” he says to my father.

Papi shakes his head. “No. If you have something to say, please tell all of us. We are her family.”

“Very well,” Dr. Franco says, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “Flor’s mental health has deteriorated significantly. She’s not only a danger to herself, but to others. I’m recommending she be admitted to a psychiatric hospital.”

The knot twisting my stomach tightens further.

“For how long?” Papi asks, frowning as if he doesn’t understand him.

Dr. Franco meets my father square in the eye. “It may be permanent,” he says. “I’m sorry, Mr. Marieles, but your wife may never be well enough to return home . . .”

CHAPTER 23

Finn

I check my phone as I take the elevator down to the lobby, hoping Sol has called. It took a lot to convince her to come down to A.C.. And while she wouldn’t drive down with me, claiming she had to visit her mom, she still said she’d head down tonight if she could.

“If” she could. It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s better than her original “no”. It gave me hope, maybe things between us aren’t as bad as I think, and maybe we just need time. But I’m not so sure.

I shove my phone in my back pocket. No new messages from her, no texts, not even an email. I cross my arms and lean against the elevator wall, trying not to react when a young couple who can’t seem to keep their hands off each other steps on.

These two with how happy they seem, that used to be me and Sol. Things were so good between us until they weren’t.

I don’t want to think about losing Sol, and I don’t want to keep reliving that day we found her mom. But I can’t shake the thoughts no matter how hard I try.

Sol was supposed to be here hours ago so we could catch the fights together. Like me and Kill figured, Sumar got the title bout against the champ. He brought the drama and the hype to get fans talking and helped sell out the arena.

The champ beat his ass tonight three minutes into the first round, proving Sumar wasn’t ready to take him on. So who’s next in line for the belt? Me, if I can win my fight next month against the number two guy who challenged me.

Kill gave me the news earlier. I should have been out of my mind. It’s what I’ve worked for. But the combination of finding Sol’s mother almost dead, and the distance between me and Sol sent me back down that dark path I thought was finally behind me. So instead of losing my shit, it took all I had just to fist bump Kill, the images of Flor’s suicide attempt erasing any joy I could feel.

I step out of the elevator. We’re at a different hotel than we were in last time. Still, it feels weird being in A.C. without Sol. What’s stranger, though, is what’s happened to us.

The woman in front of me jumps when her boyfriend or whoever grabs her ass. She shoves him away, laughing. I scoot around  them, unable to watch. They remind me too much of what I no longer have.

Damn, wasn’t it just a few weeks back that me and my girl were practically inseparable? How the hell did we go from doing everything together to nothing at all? I suppose I could handle our time apart better if this was all about her mom―her needing to deal with what happened, needing to spend more time with her family, and maybe needing therapy of her own. But I can’t shake the feeling she’s cutting me loose.

Ever since we found her mom, it’s like there’s this wedge shoved between us, forcing us apart. It doesn’t matter that I tried to help or spare Sol from it. The way she’s acting toward me, how distant she is, I feel like she blames me for what happened. I’ve tried talking to her about it, but she’s barely speaking to me. And even though what happened occurred in her home, she hasn’t spent the night with me since her mother was committed.

I know what she saw messed her up. It messed me up, too. The blood, the violence―I don’t know, it tripped me up worse than anything in the octagon ever has. I spoke to Mason about it, and how it’s unearthed a shitload of memories I’ve tried to forget. He prescribed anti-anxiety and anti-depressant medication, a double whammy that hasn’t done anything. I made the mistake of telling Sol I was on meds. If I didn’t think she could look more upset, she proved me wrong.

I hurry across the lobby, glancing toward the restaurant where I’m supposed to meet Kill and Sofia when my phone rings.

Killian’s face flashes across the screen. “Hey, Kill,” I say.

“Finn, it’s Sofia.”

“I’m coming. You already inside?”

“No. I’m so sorry,” she whispers. I hear noise in the background, but it’s like she’s tucked away in some corner or in another room. “We’re still at the arena dealing with what happened.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, slowing my steps.

“You haven’t heard?”

Oh, this can’t be good. I stop a few feet from the entrance to the restaurant. “No . . . What happened?”

She pauses. “Ruban tested positive for steroids.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No,” she says. “The opposing camp suspected he was doping, and demanded a test following his win. It came back positive. Killian completely lost it on him. Gosh, Finn. Here’s a guy with so much natural talent, and someone we’ve spent months helping, and he does this. Killian is livid and dealing with the press now.”

Son of a bitch. We recruited Ruban out of Drexel and have been training him to be the next Bantam weight champion and
this
is what he pulls? “I want him off our team. He had his chance and he blew it.”

“Killian says the same thing. I guess you both can meet with him on Monday and give him the news.” She sighs. “It’s not pretty down here. It might be a while so get something to eat without us.”

“All right,” I say.

She doesn’t disconnect right away and neither do I. “Is something wrong?” she asks.

I don’t want to sound like a pussy, but I’m hoping Sofia knows something I don’t. “Have you heard from Sol?” I ask.

I can almost picture her knitting her brows. “No. Isn’t she there with you?”

“No. She hasn’t shown and she hasn’t called.”

There’s some shuffling on the other end before she answers again. “She’s not herself, Finn.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I mutter. The thing is, I’m not myself either, which is one of the many reasons I need her here with me. As it is, another image of her mother lying on the floor flashes across my mind.

I step away from the clear glass doors leading into the restaurant when the hostess struts forward and opens the one on the right side. She motions me in with a tilt of her head. I lean my back against one of the large pillars, averting my gaze from hers when she smiles.

I caught her eyeing me earlier when I came in following the fights, checking me out like she wanted a bite. But based on that grin she’s flashing me, she’s wants more than a nibble now.

“You don’t sound good, Finn,” Sofia says.

My hand drags across my face as yet another image of Sol’s mom pops in my head, this one of her laughing as she’s carried out on a stretcher and placed in the back of the ambulance.

“Finn?” Sofia says again.

Her voice draws me back to reality. I’ve been doing that a lot lately―zoning out just like I used to. Only this time the memories I see revolve around Flor . . . and what happened to me when I was a kid. It should scare me, worry me― and it does― but given what’s happened, I can’t say I’m surprised.

“Finn? Are you okay?” Sofia presses.

“I’m fine,” I tell her, because it beats telling her I can’t shake the image of her psychotic aunt, or that I keep looking down on my arms expecting them to be covered in blood. I don’t want to admit how I still picture the way Sol cried against me―how shitty I felt when I couldn’t ease her pain. I also don’t tell her how bad the experience fucked me up―how I keep dreaming about it, except that in my dreams, I’m the one lying on that floor.

“I’m fine,” I repeat, before I realize I already said it.

“I don’t think you are,” she says. “Look, maybe I can get away―”

“No. Stay with Kill,” I insist. “You said so yourself he’s pissed. You’re the only one he’s going to want to talk to after this whole thing wraps up.” And probably the only one who can calm his ass.

“Finn,” she starts to say.

“You worry too much,” I say, forcing a smile like she can somehow see me. “I’ll be fine.”

I say it because I need to and disconnect. Too bad I don’t believe it. Like I mentioned, every time I close my eyes I relive every detail of the day―the look on Tía’s face when she told me what she found, how the floor felt against my feet as I raced into the house, and Sol’s screams. Shit, her
screams
. I remember them down to pitch and length. I didn’t understand all her words―not with how fast she was speaking in Spanish. But her pain? I felt that loud and clear.

What it comes down to is that as much as it hurt me, it hurt her a thousand times worse. My pain isn’t the same. I’m not going to pretend like it is. But the pain I do feel is something I don’t need. It claws at my insides, exposing my wounds and spilling my bad memories. All of them. Especially the ones I’ve spent a lifetime beating down.

Come on, why don’t you trust me?
the voice of that bastard says.
You’re hurting my feelings.

My thumb passes over the screen of my phone as I ram my eyes closed. “No . . . not now,” I mutter.

Come on. Just come in for a little while. I have plenty of toys you can play with . . .

Before I can think, I’m already headed in the direction of the bar. But each step brings another shitty memory: My father yelling at me and my brothers to clean the house as he heads out to see his mistress. My mother crying as she holds me, promising me that I’ll be all right. The agony I felt the first time I had my nose broken. And the look on Angus’s face when he told me Papa was dead. The memories fade in and out like winds of a wicked storm as I slip onto the stool, but it ends with the one I can’t stomach the most. The one of the door slamming shut and trapping me inside that monster’s house.

“What are you having?” the bartender asks.

“Beer―non-alcoholic,” I add quickly.

I think I’m okay. No booze is a good start. But if so, what am I doing sitting here? And if it’s a step forward, why won’t these memories stop?

I reach for my phone again, skimming through the pictures. I stop at the first selfie Sol took of us. I tried to be all cocky about it. After all, there I was with this hot young woman pressed against me. But the way she looked into the camera wasn’t like she was showing off the famous Philly boy holding her. She was just, I don’t know,
happy
to be in
my
arms.