“I’m not judging you–at all, baby–but how did you get so far behind financially?”
I sag. “A car t-boned mine last fall. I ended up in the hospital with a concussion and knee surgery. I couldn’t work for weeks, and I didn’t have health insurance, so the hospital bills cost me thirty grand.”
“Ah. That’s why you get so nervous in the car?”
I exhale. “Yeah. I couldn’t afford to buy a new car, and so I guess I didn’t get back on the horse soon enough because now I can’t stand to be in one.”
“Sounds like PTSD. I know someone who can help you release that pretty quickly, if you want.”
I look up at him, trying to gauge whether he’s serious.
He shrugs. “What? I’ve had shit I had to work through.”
I lean up on my elbow and trail my nails through the hair on his chest. “You did?” I want to know more about this man. I know he said the Family business is off-limits as a topic, but I’d take any crumbs about him or his personal life. He’s a total mystery to me.
“Yeah.” He looks up at the ceiling. He’s quiet so long I think that’s all he’s going to say, but then he says, “My dad was gunned down in front of me when I was sixteen.”
I silence my gasp, hold my breath to give him the space to share more.
“I, uh, had to take care of the situation myself.”
My heart pounds in my chest, aching for his teenage self, thrown into battle at such a young age. “Do you mean…” I hesitate because I know he gets edgy about questions. I never want him to think I’m an informer or that I would turn on him with information I have.
He nods. “I took care of his killer.”
That’s what I thought he meant. I hold in the sob that chokes my throat for him.
“So I became a made man at sixteen.”
Made man.My mind shuffles through the mafia lore I’ve learned from television and movies. They become made men after killing someone, I think.
“Yeah, that’s traumatic.” I try to make my voice sound light, but it catches a little.
Bobby pulls my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers. “I thought I was fine. Became the man of the house, took care of the family. The don put me to work and made me rich. I thought I was a man, so I married young. For years afterward, I was twitchy—if a door banged open, I’d draw my gun, that kind of thing. And then it got worse, I developed this weird thing about blood. Every time I saw it, I went into fight or flight. Not great for a guy in my line of work.” His rueful smile twists my heart.
“No.” I keep my voice soft.
“I was a dick about it–I didn’t want anyone to know. I’m an alpha male–we don’t show weakness, you know? And then one day, one of my girls had a bloody nose, and I just…blacked out. My wife–ex-wife now–said I drew a gun. Not on them, but in front of them, like I was trying to protect them from something. Either way, it was dangerous and unforgivable. That’s when I finally admitted I needed help.”
“Bobby,” I whisper, stunned.
He blinks. “I can’t believe I just told you that story. There’s only one person in the world besides my ex-wife and kids who knows it, and that was the therapist I saw for it.”
I try to ignore the trickle of pleasure that gives me. That he shared such a personal story with me. That it’s not something he shares with every girl he’s had in this apartment. “Thank you. I’m honored,” I murmur.
His lips tick up, and he kisses my forehead. “So anyway, the therapy I did was fast and effective. It’s not like some lie-on-a-couch-and-whine-shit. It’s called EMDR, have you heard of it?”
I shake my head.
“I don’t really know how it works, but basically you move your eyes left and right while you tell the story of what happened, and it erases all the automatic physical responses that get triggered by the trauma. It’s a nervous system reset.”
I find this apparently open-minded side to him unexpected. He certainly doesn’t appear to be the soy protein shake and wheatgrass kind of guy.
“For me, it just took one session–that was it. Do you want to see her?”
“She’s not another ex-girlfriend of yours, right?” I don’t know why I ask it, maybe the mention of his ex. Maybe I’m starting to feel territorial about this guy–which is definitely a problem since he made it clear we’re not dating.
“Nope. Not an ex-girlfriend. And I’m sorry about Stacy. She’s having a hard time letting go. If her crazy continues and catches the notice of the organization, I’m gonna have a hard time protecting her.”