Sweet Rome (Sweet Home 1.5)

God, I loved this girl so damn much. As I stared at her, I felt the familiar sense of dread that had been plaguing me since I’d accepted this bastard invitation. I couldn’t lose her. I was non-negotiable on that, and no matter what my folks were up to, they would have to learn that too.

Jumping into the driver’s seat and pulling out onto the road, I looked over at Mol, who was fiddling with radio, head nodding along to Blake Shelton telling the world they could kiss his country ass, singing every line, her out-of-place English accent sounding completely wrong against his southern Oklahoma drawl. Snorting through my nose, I shook my head, earning a scowl from the wannabe Dolly Parton beside me.

“What?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

“Nothing. You just look all beautiful tonight and I’m having a real hard time focusing on the road.” It was true, maybe not what I was thinking right then, but she wouldn’t appreciate me ripping on her for her terrible singing.

She ran her hands down her dress, no longer singing, and began worrying her lip. “It’s so not me. Ally dressed me up like a bloody Barbie doll in all this designer stuff to make me look appropriate for your fancy parents—I look like I’m trying too hard. They’ll see right through me.” She let out a sigh and shook her head. “I guess I’m just worried they’ll hate me.” Flicking her eyes up at me nervously, she added, “Well, hate me more than they already do.”

That sentence alone just sliced through my heart. It was so friggin’ clear she didn’t want to go tonight, and it became more than apparent she was doing all this for me, sacrificing her pride for me.

I’d never felt more like a selfish ass.

For the next fifteen minutes, we didn’t speak.

I couldn’t.

Sensing my strange turn in mood, Mol scooted over to me, pressing in close, her leg hitching over mine. A wave of protectiveness took hold and I instructed, “I want you to listen to me, okay?” We needed to be prepared, make a plan in case this so-called “olive branch” was a huge load of crap.

Sitting up, those golden-brown eyes looked at me intently.

“They will probably pick on anything they can tonight, viciously. Whatever they say, don’t let it get to you. I’ll protect you. If you need to leave at any time, for whatever reason, we go—no ifs or buts. But promise me you won’t let them hurt you.”

Swallowing hard, she whispered, “I promise.”

Gripping her thigh, using the skin-on-skin contact to gain strength, I said, “Then why do I have a feeling I’m about to lose you?”

Without missing a beat, my girl made me pull over, and no sooner than I had parked on the graveled hard shoulder, she straddled my lap, saying sternly, “You will not lose me.”

I wanted to believe her so bad. But if this was all a setup, if my parents somehow got to her, she’d bail on me the first chance she got. Why would she stick around? Panic swelled at that thought.

Looking her dead in the eyes, I tried to tell her how much I loved her, but the anxiety was making me lose all sense. “I can’t, Mol. You mean so much to me. Do you know that? Do you realize how I feel about you? How much I need you? Because I do. I know I don’t say much about my feelings, but… but… I… I…” I love you. I f**king love you… But the words wouldn’t come, stuck in my throat, along with intense fear.

“Shh… you don’t need to do this. Romeo, you’ve given me a reason to be happy. I haven’t been okay for such a long time. You’ve brought me back to life. Do you know that?”

Calming slightly, I confided, “They’re not good people, baby. I know you don’t believe me, but there is no way tonight is about anything other than asserting their power over me. It’s always about that.” I pressed my head into her neck. “They’re never going to let me go, never going to just let me be happy with you. They’ll do something; they always do something to ruin my life.”

That was true. Hindsight taught me that they had never, and I mean never, done anything but make my life hell. Tonight had to be bullshit; it had to be a setup. I quickly asked myself what was more important: repairing a f**ked-up relationship with my folks or being good with my girl?

There was no contest.

“We’re going home. We’re not doing this shit,” I stated, moving to unseat Molly from my lap.

“Yes, we are,” she insisted, refusal etched in her every muscle. I knew that was my girl putting her foot down and I knew she wouldn’t change her mind.

Fuck.

We were actually going to do this.

22

Two hours later…

Red-hot rage. That’s all I felt, all that was driving me, keeping me going, not oxygen or blood, just boiling hot rage.

My foot pressed on the gas and driving like a NASCAR pro, I headed for the cabin. I wouldn’t make it all the way home.

Focusing on the road, I had to drown out the sound of Molly whimpering beside me, or I was going to go back. For the first time in my life, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself… I’d kill them, f**king kill them both for what they’d done. Everyone had a breaking point—I’d just found mine.

The gravel crunched under the weight of the truck, the tires jerking from left to right as I wrestled the steering wheel for control down the old, bumpy driveway.

“Romeo…” Molly whispered from beside me and I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t see the expression that would accompany that desperate and grief-stricken voice.