Behind the Tears (Behind the Lives) (2 page)

“Sorry.”

Shaking her head, she drove into the driveway and parked on the grass next to Dante’s car, conscious not to block in Ash’s Chevy. The three-bedroom weatherboard house was shrouded in darkness, the street-lights on their road few and far between.

She got out of the car, and ran around to help Dante. She steered him inside the house and switched on the light. Her landscape paintings lined the lounge and adjoining dining-room walls, along with photos and a finely detailed portrait that Ash had drawn of his son, who he’d fathered at the age of sixteen, the little boy no longer living with him.

As Dante fumbled to get his boots off, she headed for her bedroom, surprised to find it locked. She knocked on the door. “Ash, lemme in.” No one answered. “Ash, open up.” Still no answer. She knocked again, now getting annoyed.

Dante brushed past her. She followed him to his room. He pulled off his jacket and threw it across his desk, the black singlet left behind showing off his inked skin. Māori tattoos with Croatian influences covered both biceps, the swirl of colours accentuating his muscular arms and captivating Beth’s attention. He fell onto the bed, breaking the spell.

Beth picked up his jacket and slipped it onto the back of his desk chair, smoothing it down. “Do ya know why Ash is angry at me? He’s locked me out.”

“I thought that wuz pretty obvious.”

“Well,
obviously
, it’s not.”

He grunted and sat up, giving her a filthy look, all sign of his earlier friendliness washed away. “Some girlfriend you are. You complain ’bout Ash not paying you enough attention, but you don’t even remember its Chaz’s parole hearing tomorrow.”

Beth inwardly cursed at the mention of Dante and Ash’s stepfather. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten, but then again, the art gallery had been so busy the last couple of days that she’d barely had enough time to breathe, let alone think. “I took tomorrow off, so I didn’t completely forget,” she said, feeling bad.

“Good, cos he’ll need all your support if Chaz gets parole.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do to stop your stepfather from gettin’ out?”

“I’m goin’ to the hearing to give it a damn good try.”

“I didn’t think they allowed victims to attend that sort of thing.”

Dante winced. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“A victim.”

“But, you are, and so is Ash. And what your stepfather did to your—”

“Don’t say it.”

...mother.
Beth sat down next to Dante. “I wish Ash would talk to me more about what happened. I’ve been with him for a while now, yet all I know is that your stepfather beat you guys up and stabbed—”

“Shut up!”

Beth flinched, shocked by his sudden outburst. “I’m not rude to you, so don’t be rude to me.”

He moved his face up to hers, his breath reminding her that he was drunk. “What a load of bull. You called me a slut yesterday. I consider that rude.”

“I never called you that.”

“Liar, you were on the phone to your bro. I heard everything you said. You told him I wuz a slut, then complained ’bout me bringing women home. Well, it’s none of your bloody biz what I do—or
who
I do.”

More than embarrassed, she went to leave.

He grabbed her arm as she stood. “Why don’t you like me?”

Surprised by his question, she pulled her arm free. “I don’t dislike you,”
far from it. I wouldn’t go out of my way to pick you up if I didn’t like you. I wouldn’t worry about you getting hurt all of the time, or feel sick when you bring horrible women home who aren’t good enough for you.
She bit her lip to stop herself from saying it out loud.

“Bollocks, you can be a right bitch at times.”

She jerked back, feeling like he’d struck her. “Why’re you being so horrible? You were all nice before.”

He stood up. “I’m sick of being judged, plus you’re always sticking your nose into things that don’t concern you.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“I can talk to you however I please, considering this is my room.”

“And you wonder why I get annoyed with you?”

“I rarely say boo to you, yet you’re always giving me disapproving looks. So fire away, hit me with what you really think, Miss Prim and Proper.”

“Okay, you asked for it.” Beyond annoyed, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You constantly call me to get you out of jail, you’re always gettin’ drunk or high, and worse, I don’t know whether I’m gonna find some woman goin’ through my stuff. You won’t keep your hands to yourself, and you don’t ever think about consequences, you just do what you want, then everyone’s s’posed to forgive you cos you’re Dante, the—” she made quote marks with her fingers. “—‘loveable rogue.’ Well, I don’t think you’re loveable, you’re just an arsehole.”

Dante stared back at her with wide eyes. She didn’t know how a tough guy covered with tattoos could look like a puppy dog that had just been kicked, but right now he was making her feel guilty for her outburst.

Beth lifted her chin. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s true. I feel like kicking you sometimes you annoy me so much.”

“You do kick me sometimes.”

“Only when you get too handsy.”

“No other chick complains.”

“Cos they’re pro’bly sluts, like you.”

The two of them glared at each other for what seemed like ages, then a slow smile crept across Dante’s face. He undid his leather pants and pushed them down to his feet, his green underwear flashing at her to run. But she was too shocked to move.

He grabbed his crotch. “You better close your big mouth, before I decide to fill it.”

“Dante! What’s wrong with you?”

“You!” He kicked his pants off, aiming them at her feet.

She stepped back, then spun around as he dropped his underwear. He walked past and grabbed the door handle, wearing only his singlet and socks. “The slut needs to wank, so unless you’re gonna gimme a helping hand, I suggest you leave.”

With her cheeks on fire, she took off out of his room. She ran into the lounge and closed the door, horrified with what Dante had done. She didn’t know why he had to be so in her face. She hadn’t meant for him to overhear her conversation, she’d just been so mad at him that day, after she’d found a female in the bathroom trying on her makeup. And it wasn’t like what she said wasn’t true, because almost every weekend he brought a different woman home, sometimes even more than one. She knew she shouldn’t judge him, but how could she not when he did things like that. And the noises that came from his room... Ugh! Calling him a slut was being polite.

When she was calm enough, she went back into the passage and knocked on her bedroom door, hoping Ash wasn’t going to make her sleep in the spare room. Shuffling sounded on the other side, then the door pulled open. She entered the room as Ash got back into bed. After shutting the door, she undressed and slipped under the covers, cuddling against his bare back. She didn’t want to tell him about what Dante had done, plus he had much more important things on his mind, things she wished he’d confide in her about.

“I’m sorry I forgot ’bout the parole hearing, but at least I didn’t forget to take tomorrow off. We can do whatever you want...” She hesitated. “Or we could stay home, and you can tell me more about what happened with your stepfather. It might help to talk about it, cos I know it’s been bothering you lately. You’ve been yelling in your sleep again.”

His body tensed.

“C’mon, Ash, please don’t keep me in the dark. Half the time, I only learn things by accident, like when Dante let slip ’bout your suicide attempt. I know it happened a long time ago, but I wish you had told me, not him.”

“We’ve already been over this,” he said, sounding more exasperated than angry. “And I’m tired.”

Tired of me?
Upset, she removed her arm from around his waist and turned over, wishing he needed her like Dante seemed to. Even though Dante had been a right beep tonight, at least he didn’t ignore her. Sometimes she wondered whether Ash even loved her.

Dante’s earlier words came to mind,
‘I do love you.’

“I love you too,” she whispered.
I love you both.

2

Dante

Saturday

Dante walked gingerly along the corridor that led to the parole hearing, wincing as he pushed through a crowd of noisy people. Every shove and shout reverberated up the back of his neck, reaching through to punch the shit out of his brain. Having had so many hangovers, he would’ve thought he could cope with them better, but no, experience didn’t weaken the effect of a pounding headache.

He veered into the men’s toilets, his mouth drier than a used up whore. He stopped in front of a hand-basin and bent over to drink from the tap. When his thirst was satisfied, he glanced up, stopping when he saw his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot with dark rings shadowing them, making him look way older than twenty-three. He’d only intended on a few drinks last night, enough to take the edge of things, but what he intended was never related to what he did.

He splashed water over his face, getting some on his good suit. He swore and wiped at it, then gave up, resigned that today was going to be crap no matter what he did. He headed out of the men’s and cut across the corridor, stopping in front of a policewoman, who was blocking the entrance to the courtroom.

“I’m here for Chaz... I mean Charles Greenwood’s parole hearing,” Dante said, looking down at the paper in her hand, assuming it was a list. “I’m Dante Rata, his stepson.”

The policewoman checked the paper then opened the door, indicating for Dante to enter. He headed inside, surprised by how empty the courtroom was. Except for two policemen standing in front of a glass barrier, the public gallery was unoccupied.

Dante stopped in the middle of the aisle, and looked through the glass. On the other side, three people sat behind a long table, their suits and airs of importance suggesting they were the parole board. A voice caught his attention, someone calling out Ash’s name. Dante’s gaze shifted to a box on the parole board’s left, where a blond man in handcuffs stood with a guard. It took Dante a few seconds to realise the man in prison greys was his stepfather. Of course he knew Chaz was attending, but to actually see the man—a remote memory from his childhood—was still a shock, something that didn’t feel real.

Chaz’s gaze bore into Dante, his expression almost happy. A scar ran down his right cheek, while two teardrop tats sat under his left eye. Dante stared at the tattoos, their meaning sickening him. They had been forced upon his stepfather by fellow inmates to mark him as a paedophile—an old New Zealand meaning, and something that Dante wouldn’t have known if Ash hadn’t told him. Since he was a fan of the rapper Li’l Wayne, he’d only heard of the American definitions, one of them symbolising the loss of a loved one through violence. And because he’d lost his mother, he’d wanted to get them done, but luckily he’d told Ash, his brother stopping him from making one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

The middle-aged woman seated at the long table spoke into a microphone, “Please take a seat, the parole hearing will commence now.”

Dante took the first chair on his left, using his hand to lower himself down. Although he felt revulsion, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the man who’d caused so much pain for his family.

The woman, who he assumed must be the judge, resumed talking, “As you’ve been informed, it is unusual for victims and offenders to attend a parole hearing at the same time, but due to the request made by the Rata family and agreed to by Mr. Greenwood, we have decided to allow the proceedings to go forth in this manner. However, there are certain rules to adhere to, the main one, as stipulated in the information provided, is that no one is to interrupt this hearing, otherwise they will be escorted from the room. Now, let’s proceed.” She focused on Chaz. “Charles Andrew Greenwood, in the time you’ve served, do you feel you’ve been rehabilitated?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I...” Chaz’s gaze shifted back to Dante. “I’m truly sorry for what I did to my family. I’ve regretted it every day since that night. Not cos I was imprisoned, but cos I hurt the people I love.”

Dante cursed under his breath, willing himself to stay seated. His stepfather didn’t love his family otherwise he wouldn’t have torn them apart.

The door behind Dante opened and closed, but he kept his eyes fixed on Chaz, wishing he could bash down the barrier and attack the sick bastard. He’d yank him out of the box and kick him on the floor, not stopping until ribs popped and cracked, then he’d take a knife and stab him like Chaz had done to his mother. No, he wouldn’t just stab him, he’d gut him, making it as painful as possible, and drawing it out so his stepfather could understand a fraction of the pain he’d caused his family.

As though he could read Dante’s mind, Chaz’s expression tensed. “I never meant to harm anyone, and especially not you, Ash.”

“I’m not Ash, you sick fuck!” Dante snapped, unable to hold back at the mention of his brother.

The judge leaned into the microphone. “Sir, please do not reply to any comments unless the parole board asks you.”