Don't Need You: A Brother's Best Friend Romance (We Shouldn't Book 3) Page 3

  My ex-boyfriend snarls, and my body starts to shut down. I know this face. He’s about six drinks deep, and he’s about to get very, very angry. This ugly grimace is one he reserves only for me, behind closed doors.

  Tears threaten to fill my eyes, but I won’t let them. I’ve cried enough, and I know it only fuels the monster inside him.

  “Leave, Angelo.” My voice is as hard as I can manage.

  Angelo stops walking, pulling himself up to his full height in the middle of my apartment. “So that’s it, then? Ten years together and you’ll let one little mistake come between us?”

  One little mistake? I want to scream. I want to punch him. I want to hurl something at his ugly fucking head—but all I can do is stand here and tremble.

  It wasn’t one mistake. It was a ten-year campaign to chip away at my self-esteem. He’d call me ugly when I wore no makeup and call me a whore when I did. He’d pinch the fat around my hips and tell me I wasn’t worth a damn. He’d get jealous when I went out with my friends until I was afraid to go out at all. Day by day, Angelo ruined me. He made me feel worthless until I didn’t even know myself anymore.

  Blamed the miscarriage on me. Called me a failure.

  But in public? Mr. Affectionate. Model boyfriend. My mother’s favorite.

  Yeah, I want to kiss that waitress and give her a fucking award. At least I have an explanation when people ask me why, oh why would I ever want to break up with Angelo Berretti? He’s such a fucking catch.

  His fist tightens, and I reach behind me, needing to grab something. To put some item—anything—between my fear and his wrath. My fingers curl around a lamp. Angelo watches the movement and scoffs. His eyebrow arches, challenging me.

  I dare you to use it, his eyes say. Fire burns black inside him, and part of my frozen body melts. I curl my fingers around the lamp and clutch it in front of me, bending my knees as I take a protective stance. My muscles tighten, ready to pounce.

  Angelo watches. Assesses. Probes the distance between us with his alcohol-laced stare.

  After a long moment, he scoffs. Angelo gives me his back and walks toward the door.

  Two more steps and I’ll be safe. He’ll be gone. My knuckles are white around the lamp. I can’t feel my fingers. My breath is shallow as my vision narrows.

  One more step. He’s almost at the door. I can almost relax.

  But Angelo gives me one parting shot. He roars, reaching back to smack the box of cannolis I’d left on the table. It flies against the opposite wall, sending cream and pastry flying. The box lands on my yoga mat, ruining my candles and incense burners.

  He glances over his shoulder, giving me a cruel smirk.

  The symbolism isn’t lost on me. I started meditating and doing yoga about a year ago. It was through that simple act of self-love and betterment that I was able to gather the courage to actually break up with the monster when I got the chance. Now, he’s in my apartment, shitting on the very thing that helped me leave him. Lovely.

  Angelo grunts, then wrenches the door open and stalks out. I wait a second, drop the lamp, and rush behind him and turn the lock. I slide the little chain across, too, even though I know it wouldn’t stop him. Turning to lean against the wall, I drop my head in my hands and let out a low sob.

  I can’t deal with this anymore.

  I broke up with Angelo over six months ago—much to my family’s dismay. They’ve been pushing me to take him back, and they don’t understand why I won’t.

  I told my mother about Angelo’s anger. About his fits. About the four fist-sized holes in my drywall.

  Her response?

  He’s a man, Serena. Your father was angry, too. It’s normal. I turned out fine and our marriage survived. Your father would want this for you.

  Her words made me want to cry and scream and tear my hair out, but all I could do was stare. If you think you turned out fine after that much abuse, you’re probably not fine at all—especially if you’re pushing your own daughter to endure the same fate. It’s like once my father died, my mother just blanked out the past and only remembered the whitewashed version of him.

  Model citizen. Small business owner.

  As I lean against the wall, adrenaline quickly fading from my bloodstream, I feel like crumpling into a ball. Angelo’s not a man. He’s a dog. He never treated me right, from the moment we started dating to the moment I found out about the waitress. I can pretend that things changed when I got pregnant, but the truth is, he always had a mean streak. He just stopped hiding it after I lost the baby.

  How many waitresses have there been? He’d be gone until two, three in the morning. If I dared to ask where he’d been, I’d get his hand squeezing around my arm so hard it’d leave finger-shaped bruises for days. The stench of alcohol would be heavy on his breath, and his eyes would be black. Not brown. Not the pale hazel color they were in a certain kind of sunlight.

  Pure, midnight black.

  But my family sees the prominent business man. They see the future husband. They see my three sisters—two older, one younger—all married with kids.

  Me?

  I’m an old maid who can’t even hold down a boyfriend who was supposedly devoted to her since high school.

  But I straighten myself up and wipe my palms over my cheeks. I think of my new job. My new start. My new roommate.

  Yes, I’m running away.

  Can you blame me?

  About two months ago, I got an email from a recruiter saying Woodvale Elementary was looking for a new teacher for the rest of the year, since one of theirs was going on maternity leave. When I read the email, I felt hopeful for the first time in months. Years.

  Angelo never wanted me to work. He said he could look after me, but I think it was just another way to keep me small.

  Woodvale Elementary was my first real lifeline. A new job, a fresh start…that meant everything to me. It still does.

  The best part? The recruiter told me there was a chance to get a full-time position in the fall, all going well. Full time! It doesn’t even matter that I hadn’t taught in years. My qualifications are still up to date, and Woodvale Elementary is looking to take on lots of new staff.

  Things could work out.

  I’d never even heard of Woodvale before that email. I had to look up the town online. I saw pictures of lush, green trees. The Pacific Ocean. Sailboats moored at a marina. Golf courses.

  Most importantly, I saw the distance between here and there. Between me and Angelo. The Pacific Northwest is not somewhere I thought I’d end up—but it’s a three-thousand-mile plane ride away, and Angelo’s afraid of flying.

  And when Robbie told me his copilot was from that very same town?

  Fate. Kismet. Destiny.

  It has to be.

  It’s a sign from God, or the Universe, or whatever deity is looking down on me, urging me to go. Flee. Put as much distance between me and my violent ex-boyfriend as possible.

  So, you can understand how much is hanging on this move. How much it matters that Kit lets me stay with him. How upset I am that Robbie didn’t even mention it.

  I jump when someone knocks on my door.

  “Serena!” My sister’s voice is muffled through the thick door. “Are you ready? We have to go.”

  Turning the lock and sliding the chain again, I open the door to see my youngest sister standing there.

  “Hi, Sofia.” My eyes dart down the hallway, but there’s no sign of Angelo. I half expect to see him lurking in a corner, watching.

  “Let’s go. Mom’s waiting. Did you pick up the cannolis from the bakery?”

  I glance at the crumpled box beside me. Sofia follows my gaze and lets out a gasp. “What happened?”

  “They, uh…they fell.” I cringe. How many times have I lied for him?

  Sofia clicks her tongue, arching an eyebrow. “It’s fine. I thought you might have forgotten, so got some on the way here. I figured it was better to be safe.”

  My cheeks burn, and I want to te
ll my sister that I’m not the failure she thinks I am. I’m distracted. I’ve been excited about leaving and I’ve already started packing my stuff to put in a storage locker.

  Oh—and I’ve been dealing with the unwelcome appearance of my family’s idea of a perfect match for me. I’m surprised my sister didn’t see Angelo outside and invite him over for Thanksgiving dinner.

  Hastily cleaning up the ruined cannolis, I stuff them back in the box and hover over the garbage can. Changing my mind, I stick them in the fridge. They might look ruined, but I bet they’ll still taste good when I open the fridge at midnight tonight.

  I grab my purse and lock the door behind me. When we get downstairs her car is idling in front of my apartment. I greet her husband, Daniel, with a kiss on each cheek and get in the back of her minivan. She has two kids, and I touch each baby’s head on my way to the very back seat. My heart feels calmer already. The fear that gripped my stomach only moments ago starts to melt away. A dull warmth returns to my extremities, and I’m able to move my fingers more freely.

  “What are all those boxes in your apartment for? Are you moving?”

  My heart clenches.

  Did I mention I haven’t told my family about the move, yet?

  Only Robbie knows. The rest of them? They’d rather see me put an apron on and pop out half a dozen kids with Angelo. I’ve told them I got a job in another town, but I haven’t told them which town. I don’t want word getting back to my ex, but I hate lying to my family.

  “Yeah,” I say weakly, hoping Sofia will accept my lack of explanation. She gets into the passenger seat as Daniel checks on the babies in the rearview mirror, and we head to our mother’s house.

  When we get there, greetings take a few minutes. My mother, my nonna, my sisters, their husbands, and all eight of my nieces and nephews. Oh, and a few uncles, aunts, cousins, and second cousins for good measure.

  Just the immediate family for pre-Thanksgiving dinner, of course. I sweep my eyes around the room, finally letting my lips curl into a smile.

  Everyone’s talking over each other, shoving food and drinks in each other’s hands, and my heart slows down a little bit more. I’m safe here, even though they don’t understand about Angelo. This is my family.

  “The cannolis?” my mother asks me, eyebrows arched.

  “She dropped them,” Sofia says. “Here, I got some on the way. I’ll put them in the fridge.”

  “Thank you, honey.” Mom chucks Sofia’s cheek, then throws me a disappointed glance.

  Guilt worms its way through my stomach. I look around the room. “Where’s Robbie? I thought they’d be here before me.”

  And Kit?

  “He’s coming,” my mother says, throwing a tea towel over her shoulder as she heads back into the kitchen.

  I follow my mother and grandmother into the kitchen. On the way in, they both touch their fingers to their lips and then to a picture of my late grandfather, then do the same to a picture of my father.

  “Where’s Angelo?” Nonna asks, using a spoon to taste something from a pot of simmering deliciousness.

  “We broke up, Nonna,” I say, trying not to let the frustration seep into my voice.

  She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Why? He’s a good man, Serena. You shouldn’t turn your back on him. When I met Matteo, I knew I’d be with him until the end. We were only fifteen.” Her razor-sharp eyes drill into mine, and I try not to squirm under her gaze.

  Before I can answer, though, two of my nephews come crashing into my legs. They’re screaming and laughing as they chase each other. I pick both squealing boys up and haul them through the kitchen, saying a silent thank you for saving me from another uncomfortable conversation.

  Carrying them out the back door, my nephews laugh as I jostle them in my arms, and their sisters trail behind me, giggling. As soon as I get outside, the bite of the November cold rips through my body, chilling me to my core—but I’m used to it. Cold is my constant companion. We go running through a big pile of leaves and I put the kids down, crunching my feet through the fallen foliage.

  Tommy, the five-year-old, throws a handful of leaves at me while Anna, the seven-year-old, stuffs another handful down my back. I scream, laughing, and spin around to tackle her in the pile of leaves.

  Gently, of course. I’d never hurt the kids. I take my responsibilities as the cool aunt very seriously.

  Before too long, I’m puffed. My nephews and nieces are still laughing and screaming as I try to catch my breath. One of them lands on my stomach and I let out a low oof. I might not be as indestructible as I once thought.

  I pick myself up off the ground just as the back door opens.

  “Serena! Come say hello to your brother.” My mother turns around without waiting for me to answer. I throw a glance at the kids, leaving them to play in the leaves.

  All thoughts of Angelo are gone from my head, and I straighten my shirt as I head toward the house. If Robbie is here, that means Kit will be, too.

  This is my chance to give a decent second impression.

  As I open the back door and step through, I know it’s the beginning of a new chapter of my life.

  One without fear from Angelo. One where I stand on my own two feet. One where I have a job and a life. And who knows? I might even meet a guy in Woodvale.

  In a few weeks, after New Year’s Day, I’ll be flying across the country and starting fresh.

  I just hope I have somewhere to live when I get there.

  3

  Kit

  Robbie wasn’t lying when he told me this would be chaos. The moment we walk in the door, it’s a rapid-fire introduction of about twenty names, all of which I immediately forget.

  One name I haven’t forgotten, though, is Serena’s.

  As soon as I catch a glimpse of her in the living room, my heart thumps and my breath gets shallower.

  She has her back to us, and I almost want to laugh. Her deep chestnut hair is a wild mess with half a dozen leaves stuck in it. Her cardigan is full of grass, and there’s a long dirt stain along the side of her jeans.

  If Robbie’s family is a hurricane, she’s the eye of the storm. Everything around her is wild. Unpredictable. Chaos.

  Serena, though?

  Calm. In her element.

  Totally hot.

  She’s the opposite of everything I’ve ever been attracted to. I shouldn’t even be attracted to her at all. She’s going to be living with me, for one. And she’s Robbie’s twin sister. And I’m pretty sure any one of these Soprano-looking uncles would rip my head off if I went near her.

  But then, Serena turns to face Robbie and me, and my stomach does a funny kind of flip. It clenches tight and releases, and the only person in the room I can look at is her.

  Her lips—pink, juicy, and curved in a warm smile. Her eyes are deep brown, and they shine when she opens her arms toward her twin.

  She’s gorgeous. Drop dead. Gut clenching. Cock hardening.

  Messy as hell, and probably not my idea of a good roommate, but for a moment, I don’t care. All I see is the way her shirt clings to her curves. How her wild hair frames her face, falling down to her mid-back. How her brightness draws a smile from almost everyone in the room.

  She has energy. I can feel it from here, and I missed it when she drove away. I’ve spent all of twenty minutes in her presence, and I’m already hooked.

  Serena Russo is a tornado, and I’m about to be torn to shreds.

  Robbie grins, wrapping his arms around her and spinning her in a circle. She laughs, and a few leaves go fluttering to the floor.

  Turning toward me, Robbie gives me an encouraging smile. “Let’s try this again. Forget the airport even happened. Kit, this is Serena. Serena, Kit.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” she says, her voice breathy. It rattles through me, sending heat rushing down my spine.

  I clear my throat. “Same.”

  She extends a hand, and I hardly even notice the grass stain on her palm. When
my fingers slide against her skin, a jolt of warmth flows to the pit of my stomach.

  Her eyes spark, and it feels like we share a secret.

  Which, I guess, we do.

  The fact that she’s going to be living with me, for one. Or that she’s moving away at all.

  Serena’s lips tug, and she dips her chin. “Robbie tells me you used to fly planes for a skydiving business.”

  “Funny, because he hasn’t told me a thing about you.”

  I don’t mean for my voice to be so gravelly. I don’t want my pants to feel tight, and I definitely don’t want to feel this deep, gnawing attraction to my friend’s twin sister.

  Yet, here we are.

  Robbie clears his throat, shifting his gaze between me and his sister. I pull my hand away. Mercifully, a gaggle of children come running up to us. The bits of dried leaves stuck to their clothing tell me they were probably playing with Serena.

  That hypothesis is reinforced when one little girl, seven or eight years old, grabs her aunt by the hand and drags her away.

  “Hi, Robbie,” the little girl says over her shoulder, pulling Serena away.

  “Hi, Nicole,” Robbie replies, grinning.

  Someone shoves a beer into one of my hands and a plate full of appetizers into the other. I’m led over to a couch and lovingly interrogated, and I try to ignore the urge to look at the door through which Serena disappeared.

  As Robbie’s family ask me a thousand and one questions, kids filter through the room, and laughter bounces off every wall, I almost feel at home.

  I’ve never had a big family. Growing up, it was just me and my mom. She was sick—bipolar—so my dad took me to live with him when I was a young teen. From then on it was me, my half-sister Esme, my dad, and my new stepmom. No cousins. No aunts. No grandparents.

  I’ve craved this kind of thing since I was a kid. Always wanted to have people around, big family dinners, holidays with plenty of kids running through our legs. This organized chaos is new—but it’s nice. It makes my heart tug in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.