I had no choice.
This was my mother. My mother. The woman who stayed with me, who kept me in the face of every odd, who provided for me and supported me and believed in me and loved me.
I couldn’t leave her to fend for herself.
It didn’t matter if Giana would never understand, if no one would. This was the choice I had to make not only as a man, but as a son.
She depended on me.
And unlike my father, I wouldn’t let her down.
No matter the pain and hell it would cause me.
Giana
I had entirely too much hair to be whipping it around in such a passionate show of head banging, but I didn’t care.
My curls bounced and flew around me as I danced and sang to Lizzo on the Friday night before our home game against the Hawks, glasses sliding down the bridge of my nose with every pump of my hips. The spatula in my hand was the microphone, the fuzzy socks on my feet serving as perfect twirling material when I sashayed from the stove to the sink to drain the angel hair pasta.
My phone buzzed with the number that automatically rang when someone hit the button next to my apartment number outside, letting me know Clay was here. I tapped the code to let him in and felt my smile growing wider without me even willing it to. I texted him right after.
Door’s unlocked.
The homemade vodka sauce I’d put together bubbled precariously on the stove, so I turned the heat down before bending to check on the cheesy garlic bread toasting in the oven. The sausage was already done, covered in foil in the microwave to keep it warm. My entire apartment smelled like an Italian heaven, and my stomach grumbled just as my front door slowly creaked open.
Clay didn’t even stand a chance of a normal greeting, not before I skipped over to him and grabbed his wrists, pulling him the rest of the way through the door and kicking it closed with my foot behind us.
I mouthed the words to the song just as my favorite part came on, and I even made a little hang ten gesture with my hand as I pretended it was a shot I was throwing back in time with the lyrics. The beat was intoxicating, and I pulled Clay to the middle of my living room floor, doing a little spin under his hand before I let him go altogether and turned around just in time to drop it down in a twerk for him.
He should have laughed.
He should have been dancing with me, being a silly fool like we always were together.
At the very least, he should have had his hands on me after that twerk situation, because I knew my ass looked good in these sweatpants.
Instead, he watched me with a long, expressionless face, his eyes far off and distant.
And my heart bottomed out at the sight.
“Shit,” I said, running over to my phone to pause the song and pull the vodka sauce off the burner. I took the bread out of the oven before rushing back to him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen at practice?” My eyes shot open wider when I thought of the next possibility. “Oh God, are you hurt? Did you get injured?”
I grabbed him by the arms, taking in the full length of him in search of anything that might be bandaged or bleeding. When I didn’t find anything, I let my gaze find his again.
And the misery staring back at me stole my next breath.
“Clay…” I warned. “What is it? You’re scaring me.”
I saw every ounce of effort he put into trying to keep his face straight, into trying to remain emotionless. But slowly, little by little, he gave himself away. His eyebrows bent, nostrils flaring, bottom lip quivering just once before he blew out a breath and pulled out of my grip.
I stood there in his absence, feeling the cool wind of him brushing past me. When I turned, he was facing the kitchen, his back to me, hands clasped on top of his head as his back muscles flexed with every haggard breath.
“Clay,” I tried, fear prickling my nerves.
He stood there silent for so long, I almost said his name again. But then finally, his hands fell to his side, and he pulled his shoulders back, holding his chin high as he turned to face me once more.
“It’s over, G.”
I frowned, confusion sparring with the anxiety niggling at my belly. “What’s over?”
His throat constricted. “Us.”
I laughed. It was automatic, even as I frowned and shook my head and felt tears burning behind my eyes. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. What are you talking about?”
When he didn’t answer, all laughter ceased.
“Clay, what are you saying right now? What are you… What…”
Everything I tried to ask was cut off by the absolute refusal of me to accept what he was saying. I shook my head, over and over, crossing my arms over myself as I stared at him and took in all the pain he was clearly feeling.