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He presses a kiss to the top of my head, his lips lingering there. “When you’re ready,” he murmurs, “when you feel like you’ve taken hold of your life again, I’ll be there to pick up all the pieces and help you mend yourself back together.”
We lie there in silence, the weight of his promise settling between us, binding us together even as we prepare to part.
A couple hours and a full stomach later, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Dion’s car.
I watch the streets blur past the window, a knot tightening in my chest with every mile that takes us closer to my estate. The sun is setting, casting long, golden shadows across the landscape, though the beauty of it is lost on me. I don’t want to leave Dion’s house. I’m safe there, almost like it’s my real home. I never feel that way in my own place anymore, where the air is thick with hostility and my reality presses down on me.
Dion’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel as he drives, glancing over at me with concern. I take a deep breath, trying to steady the unease bubbling inside me. “How are you doing?” Dion asks, breaking the silence.
I hesitate, my gaze fixed on the horizon. “Better,” I manage to say before looking over at him. “Still a bit out of it, but...better.” My head is clearer than it was yesterday—the drugs and alcohol are finally out of my system—but I can still feel the ghost of the hangover clutching at my temples, reminding me of my reckless choices.
He nods, his eyes shadowed, and I can tell he’s going over what happened in his head. I can still hear the raw panic in his voice when I came to, the terror as he held me, shaking me, pleading with me to wake up.
“You really scared me, Aria. You almost died in my arms.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I struggle to swallow it down. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He glances at me again, his grip tightening on the wheel. “My mama,” he begins, and I notice how his voice wavers. “She died of an overdose. I was five. Found her in her bedroom, cold and lifeless.”
The pain in his eyes slices through me. “Dion, I?—”
“Seeing you like that,” he continues, “it was like reliving that nightmare. I can’t lose you, Aria. Not like that. Not in the same way I lost her.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I blink them back, reaching out to touch his arm. “I never meant to put you through that. I’m sorry. I was just trying to escape...everything. For a while, at least.”
He covers my hand with his, squeezing gently. “I get it. But you have to find another way. Please. Not for me. You need to get better for yourself.”
The car falls silent, except for the thrum of the engine and the distant sounds of the city drawing nearer. I lean back in the seat, his words settling over me. The thought of leaving him, where I feel sheltered and cared for, fills me with dread. But I know he’s right. I can’t keep running from my problems this way.
After a moment, I find the courage to ask, “What about your father? What happened to him?”
Dion’s face tightens, a shadow crossing his eyes. “He was killed in a drive-by,” he says quietly. “Wrong place, wrong time. He was involved in some shady business, as all mob men are, and he was caught in the crossfire when a job took a bad turn.”
I nibble on my lip. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”
He nods, his jaw clenching. “His death was what led my mother to do what she did. She couldn’t handle it.”
A deep sadness fills me. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you. I’m so sorry she couldn’t be strong enough for you.”
Dion’s grip on the wheel loosens slightly, and he looks over at me with a mixture of pain and understanding. “She was broken, Aria. Just like you feel sometimes. But you don’t have to give up like she did.”
His words hit me hard, and tears brim in my eyes. I can empathize with his mother’s feelings, being in a situation where it seems like there’s no way out. But hearing Dion’s story has made me realize I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to cause that kind of pain to those who care about me.
We pull up to my estate and Dion parks the car. He turns to me, his expression softening, before reaching toward the back seat and holding out a small package.
“What’s this?” I ask, taking it from him.
“Open it,” he says quietly.
I tear off the wrapping and find a plain, black phone inside. “A phone?”
“It’s a burner,” he explains. “Only I have the number. Just in case Andrew is keeping an eye on your texts and calls. If you need anything, use this.”
I slip the phone into my pocket, feeling a newfound sense of security. “Okay, I will.”
“You can always come back to my place if you need to. You’re always welcome there.”
I nod, fighting back tears. “Thank you, Dion. For everything.”
