Page 130 of Made in Love and Blood

“What, help me?”

“No, tell you the truth.”

He took a second; thought about it. “Yeah, someone needs to.”

“Don’t say I didn’t give you the choice. You know, a while back, I told Frankie something about her co-dependency with you.”

His head cocked sideways, hand dropping. “Excuse me?”

“In the hospital, after the accident.”

He just shook his head, eyes widening while his expression screamed what does that matter?

“I don’t even think she took it to heart. And if she did, she probably didn’t care. You’re her best friend. You are the king of fort-building, Sunday treats after church, and the only person she always knew would still tell her she was loved, no matter what.”

“Are you trying to make a point here?”

“Two, actually,” she returned, smiling sweetly.

His irritation with her spiked.

“One—you’ve got a bit of your own co-dependency that I think you should leave at the door where she’s concerned, too. You always knew that you were all she had at the end of the day, and you treated her accordingly. You need her to need you, Salvatore. Because if she doesn’t, then doesn’t that mean you failed, too?”

He blinked, his mouth opening to...do nothing, apparently. Sal said nothing.

“Now say that back to yourself and hear how it sounds. I need her to need me. Say it.”

“Given the circumstances of our life, I think that’s unfair.”

“I don’t. Two things can be true. You can say you’ve fostered this trauma-induced bond between the two of you, and that the circumstances that brought you to it existed. They are both true. It still doesn’t make what you’re doing right, especially if you, as the adult between you, can recognize it while she’ll still have a chance to develop a sense of self away from it and you. Maybe she won’t listen to me, because she can’t hear it through the sound of her own thoughts, but you might.”

The muscles in his jaw twitched.

“And now it kind of feels like you’re trying to pick a fight,” he uttered.

“Two,” Carina said never missing a beat, “is really going to piss you off, lover.”

He practically glowered now.

“History is staring you in the face every time you look at Nico. You see me, you see yourself, you see Delilah and the things you never got to have. You see Giorgio, and the man you never wanted to be. All that history stares back when he looks at you. It’s probably a punch to the gut to know that Frankie doesn’t see any of those things at all. So, now this child you’ve made your entire life is slowly becoming that same thing for the someone you can’t even wrap your own feelings around. How are you supposed to begin to understand hers where he’s concerned? You haven’t even unpacked your own.”

“I don’t want to talk anymore.”

She snorted softly. “Right, of course you don’t. But here’s the thing, and it’s the important bit, so you should probably let me get to it: they don’t know any of this. The real reason you’re so scared, everything that came before them, and what life could look like if you weren’t standing between them and the bullet...they don’t know. And maybe they shouldn’t, that’s probably not for me to say.”

He pushed the chair back from the desk, done with the conversation. Except he didn’t stand, because Carina pointed one French-tipped nail at him that kept him rooted to the spot.

“Don’t you move,” she warned him.

“It feels a lot like you’re saying I’m not healthy or good for my daughter, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t help what you hear, Sal. I’m not the one projecting.”

“I’m starting to think all that therapy you did a few years ago—”

“You’re just mad that you paid to make me self aware enough that I’m the looking glass you hate to see coming sometimes, baby.”

His foot tapped a beat to the floor. “Are you just mad at me that I didn’t come to bed?”