“No, it’s not a game.” Setting my glass down, I cross my arms over my chest. I have no idea where he’s going with this, but he better get there, fast. “Why don’t you say what’s really on your mind. Did she say something to piss you off?”
“No.” His head snaps up. “That’s not it at all. She’s a cool chick, but…”
He pauses, probably trying to arrange his words in a way that won’t end with my fist in the middle of his face.
“She isn’t made for guys like us. She’s made for guys like that,” he says, pointing in the direction of the bar. “Guys who can afford to be members here. The kind with nine-to-five jobs who can give her two-point-five kids, a white picket fence, and a tire swing in the yard. A guy who will come home every night, a man who can provide a stable life.”
Fucking son of a bitch.
“We’re Ambrosis, Rex. Come on, think about this for a second. Forget everything you’re feeling, and fucking think about this.”
Pinching my lips into a tight line, I look away. I don’t need him to explain, and I don’t need to think about it. I get it. We’re tainted. As much as we want to be like those men—clean hands and a bright future—it’ll never happen. That’s not who we are. The blood in our veins is poison, and it all but assures our destiny.
I’ve tried to separate myself from that life—from my father’s life—but I’ll never be rid of it. The stigma of the Ambrosi name will follow me until the day I die.
Frustrated, I push off the desk and pace across my office. Goddamn Dante for giving voice to the concerns that have been running on repeat in the back of my head.
Tipping his head back, Dante takes the scotch in one gulp and sets the glass on my desk. “You and I, we’ve been around enough women to tell the difference between the good ones and the not-so-good ones. Some women are man-eaters, some are gold-diggers, and then there are women like Shae—perfect fucking angels we don’t touch. She’s on an entirely different scale, a scale we can’t even measure up to because whether we like it or not, we’ve already got blood on our hands, brother. And the way that girl looked at you just now? She’s all in, she’s for real, and if you’re not careful, she’s going to fall in love with your ass. Then one day she’ll expect the white picket fence and the tire swing and everything that comes along with it, and when you can’t give that to her, then what? Where does that leave her?”
Maybe I want all those things.
As soon as the thought passes through my head, I curse myself because it doesn’t matter what I want. That life isn’t in the cards for me.
“Listen,” he says, running a hand over his face. His eyes blaze with determination. “I’m not telling you to walk away from her. I just want you to realize what you’re getting in to—what sort of life you’re bringing her in to—because you know as well as I do that once she’s a part of this, there’s no turning back. She deserves to know. You need to think long and hard about what you want in this life, and if she’s in that picture, you need to come clean and tell her.”
Shit. He’s right. “I know.”
For the first time since I’ve allowed myself to want more with Shae, doubt settles heavy in my gut. I’ve somehow convinced myself to look past my last name, to concentrate on the man I’m trying to be instead of the man my father wants me to be, and somewhere along the way I started to believe we could make this work.
“Whatever you decide, just make sure it’s the right thing for both of you.”
Easier said than done, because Shae is what’s right for me. I can feel that deep in my bones. But what if I’m not right for her?
And if that isn’t
a punch to the gut, I don’t know what is.
Dante squeezes my shoulder. “I’m here if you need to talk. And whatever you decide, I’m behind you, brother.”
I give a noncommittal grunt as he lets himself out of my office.
After he leaves, I pace some more, trying to clear my thoughts. But it doesn’t work, so I drive home in a haze and pace there.
Three drinks later, my thoughts are still a jumbled mess. Adding alcohol to the mix probably wasn’t the best idea, but I’m going fucking crazy because every answer I come up with leads to walking away from Shae, and damn it, I don’t want to walk away from Shae.
But as much as I hate to agree with him, Dante might be right. I hate it when he’s right.
“Fuck,” I growl, shoving my fingers into my hair. Am I ready to walk away?
No.
Fuck no.
But do I have a choice?
I pour myself one more drink, only this time, as the amber liquid burns a path down my throat, my thoughts shift in a different direction, bringing on a healthy buzz and some much-needed clarity.
“JJ,” I yell.