“Why are you here A?” He asked, his voice sounding full of pain.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I couldn’t stay away,” I continued, taking a step closer to him. It was so easy to fall back into old patterns. I just had to reach out, wrap my arm around his neck, and pull him until his body was flush against mine.
“You need to stay away,” he stated, surprising me by not taking a retreating step back.
“Is that what you tell yourself? You need to stay away from me?” I asked, sincerely wanting to know the answer.
He shook his head a little.
“No, it’s not,” he exhaled sharply before continuing. “I tell myself you’re better off without me. That every lie I told you, every tear I made you cry was worth it because here you are, standing in front of me, free of my baggage and me. You’re still standing, A, you survived,” he smiled, a sadness showing on his handsome face. “All the hurt, all the pain, it’s all a part of the past now. I tell myself you’ve survived every fucking bad thing that has happened to us and I’m so proud of you.”
Tears well in my eyes and I looked away from him. He surprises me though, walking towards me and taking my hands in his, squeezing them gently.
“I said some pretty cruel shit to you, did some fucked up things, hoping you’d hate me,” he started, and I looked up at him.
“When are you going to realize I could never hate you?” I shook my head, biting on my lip, hoping I could stall my tears. He stared at me for a moment, releasing one of my hands to brush his knuckles along my cheek. I closed my eyes at his touch, savoring the moment. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt him touch me in such an intimate way.
“Baby, listen to me,” he whispered gruffly, forcing me to open my eyes. I blinked away the tears clouding my vision, letting them fall down my face. His hands went to work, wiping them away with his thumbs. “You need to move on, get on with your life,” he said leaning his forehead against mine. “You need to forget about me.”
A sobbed escaped me as I shook my head in defiance. He cradled my face, his hands holding my face still as his watering eyes pierced mine.
“Forget about me, A. Focus on that baby of yours,” his voice trailed off, and I lifted my hands to wrap my fingertips around his wrists, holding onto him for dear life. “Be the best mom you can be. Give that little boy the best life you can, keep him away from all this bad shit, raise him to be a man who can hold his head high.”
“Anthony …” I whimpered.
“I’ll always love you, A,” he admitted. “Until my dying day,” he vowed, his tears finally falling. “But we’re over baby and it’s time we both realize it.”
“What about you?” I managed through my sobs.
“What about me? I’m going to do the only thing I was ever any good at doing.”
“That’s not true,” I whispered, knowing he wasn’t being fair to himself. He sighed heavily, pulling away from me, his eyes trained on the coffee table. I looked in the same direction and saw the gun that rested on the center of the table. The tears stopped falling, and I told him the only truth I’ve ever known – he was better than this life.
“You’re good at loving me,” I closed the distance between us, wrapping my arm around his neck. “You’re so good at loving me.”
“Yeah, I am,” he agreed, his hand resting on my hip. “But that’s not enough, A. It’s not just you and me it’s that boy of yours too.”
I froze for a moment. “Is it because he’s not yours? That I had a baby by someone else?” I asked, holding my breath as I awaited his answer.
“Reese’s you could have a tribe full of kids for all I give a damn. I’d love them all simply because they were a part of you,” he reassured me as he shook his head. “When you told me you were pregnant with our baby, I remember thinking to myself how I had to get out of this mess. I wasn’t going to have my kid become a victim of this lifestyle. I would’ve searched high and low for an out, just so I could give our kid a shot at a decent life,” he looked down. “Your son deserves no different than our baby did.”
“Anthony…” I tried to find the words to reason with what he was saying.
“Don’t, A. You know better than anyone I’m right. Think about it, was growing up as Victor Pastore’s daughter all it was cracked up to be? Did you suffer because of the choices your father made?”