Old Flame Dante’s Story (Morelli Family 8)

My stomach plummeted, a new horror gripping me. “Oh, my God. Where is Isabella?”

“Isabella is fine.”

Mateo’s voice was rough, raw in a way I’d never heard it before. My heart split for him. Without wasting another second, I went over and slid down the wall beside him, curling my legs behind me so my body was facing him. I had no idea what to say. What could I say in that moment that would even matter?

I didn’t know, so I touched his thigh, wanting to offer comfort but without even a clue as to how. He turned his head and met my gaze. I knew my eyes were full of sympathy. His were full of loneliness that wasn’t entirely new, and it broke my heart.

“I’m so sorry, Mateo. I didn’t think… I didn’t think things were this bad. I didn’t think she would… I’m so sorry.”

Then he looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Why did she hate me so much?”

Words stuck in my throat. Even if I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn’t give it to him. Not in the wake of such a tragedy. Instead, I offered, “She didn’t hate you.”

“She fucking hated me,” he stated, not as generous with the line between truth and lie as I was being. “She’s the one who chased me. She’s the one who…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with, but I gave her everything. I gave her fucking everything. Why wasn’t it enough?”

Instead of offering useless words, I closed the distance between us and hugged him. After a moment, I finally managed, “This was not your fault, Mateo.”

He laughed shortly, the sound devoid of humor. “Yes, it was.”

“No,” I insisted, shaking my head. I felt him finally give in to the hug, felt his strong arms slide around my waist to return it. My stomach dropped immediately.

Grieving or not, I probably should have known better than to hug him. Mateo’s touch can’t feel platonic. Even in the throes of deep grief, his arms locking around me that way felt shamefully intimate, reminiscent of a time when the embrace had been intimate. The way he drew me against his hard body and pulled me close… his masculine scent, his singeing heat.

Comfort wasn’t the need I felt from him in that moment, and I wasn’t sure he was thinking clearly enough to register that I couldn’t be less available to offer him that kind of comfort. Mateo would never make a move on me on an ordinary day, but it was no ordinary day. I knew we were different people, and I was aware his grief may come out differently than mine would.

I swallowed, pulling back to signal I was ready to break the hug, but his arm remained locked around me, holding me firmly in place. With his other hand, he brushed a stray lock of dark hair off my face, a surprisingly tender gesture, coming from him.

Feeling the need to shift his focus back to Beth, I told him, “She loved you, Mateo.”

When my words registered, his tone went cold. “She fucked someone else.”

My eyes widened in disbelief. “What? No. No way. That’s… there’s no way.”

He nodded, a humorless smile crossing his lips. “She did it just to hurt me. It wasn’t love or lust, it was… She wanted to hurt me more than she already was with her fucking distance. She wanted to rip my fucking heart out. I guess at least she got what she wanted.”

That time the sting behind my eyes caused real tears to well up. They didn’t fall, but I definitely felt moisture flooding my eyes. That actually did sound like something Beth would do at her worst. She had it in her to be selfish and vindictive.

The idea of his already damaged heart being ripped out made me want to cry, and I forgot why it was a bad idea to hug him. What else was I supposed to do when one of the strongest men I knew was hurting so much?

I didn’t know what to say, so I just rested my head on his shoulder and held onto him, hoping it would help in ways my words couldn’t. “You didn’t deserve this,” I told him softly. “I know you loved her, but you deserve better than someone who would do this to you.”

It was a brave thing to say at all, let alone with her death so fresh. He could have snapped at me, protective of her memory. It was fine for him to air those issues, but maybe it wasn’t okay for me to comment on them.

I know some people feel it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, but I’m more concerned with the living. With the people left behind to deal with the loss, to try to make sense of it all. I figured I would rather comfort a grieving man who was still alive than lie about the virtues of the dead girl who broke his heart.