form and I find I actually can’t think. I’ve had many friends who use. A whole ton of them. Some have OD’d and died. I tried crack once back in college and when I woke up on the edge of the roof of the Bellagio not even remembering how I got to Vegas, I vowed never to try shit like that again.
I nearly died and the experience was enough to deter me, and here is Dominic in front of me with all the signs he’s taking drugs.
“Tristan, why don’t you go back to your new plaything. Or something. I’m sure there is much you can busy yourself with.”
With that I lose it. I rush him and land a fist right in his face.
He goes crashing into the chest of drawers but he’s ready for me whether he’s high or not. He comes at me with a fist that connects with my jaw, but like him I’m a dirty motherfucker when it comes to fighting with my bare hands.
When we fight we don’t care that we’re brothers. I don’t care now because I’m fucking freaked out and panicked he’s taking shit. That fear and panic gives me strength and soon we’re on the ground giving blow for blow, but I manage to get on top of him and pin him to the ground.
“What the fuck are you doing, Dominic? You’re taking drugs,” I blurt.
“Man, fuck you. Get the fuck off me,” he roars, and I know what’s coming next.
We fought like this one time only. Just once and it was over foolishness. It was over my car. Back in high school he stole it, crashed it, and I gave him the beating of his life, but the man fought back, giving as much as he got.
He does that now as he drives his knee into my stomach and sends me flying over his head.
I tuck and roll right back on to my knees and in the corner of my eyes I see him pull something from his back pocket. I know what it is, that’s why I reach for my gun at the same time he gets his.
Suddenly we’re on our knees in a standoff holding guns at each other and that’s a testament of what the last eighteen months have done to us.
We don’t trust each other anymore.
If we can do this, that’s the only answer I can reason with for this situation.
Dominic doesn’t trust me, and I don’t trust him.
I look at him and I see the kid who used to follow me blindly. He’s only a year younger than me, but because he was the youngest, we always just saw him as the kid.
He’s not that now, hasn’t been for a while, and he’s no longer the glue that keeps us together.
“Kid…” I rasp, glaring at him. “Dom,” I try seeing if I can reach him the way Ma used to.
It doesn’t work. What works is me lowering my gun.
Candace runs up to the door and gasps when she sees Dominic pointing his gun at me.
“Dominic no,” she cries, and she runs to him.
It’s only then he lowers his arm and takes hold of her when she throws her arms around him.
I stand up and look at him kneeling there holding Candace and I wonder what would have happened if she didn’t come in.
“Dominic—” I say but he cuts me off.
“Get away from me,” he orders.
Now I’m looking at him properly and I can see the redness in his nose. But I do as he says and leave him because it’s best.
I walk out to the beach, my refuge, and gaze out to the sea. The rain never stopped falling yesterday, and it’s falling again today. A reminder we haven’t made it through the storm life has cast our way.
This has happened to us because of Andreas’ betrayal. Our brother set out to kill Massimo and he would have killed us all too, to get what he wanted.
Now I don’t know what to do.
Candace finds me a few hours later. She brings me a plate of cookies in her habitual way of trying to help.
I’m still sitting on the beach. She sits opposite me and puts the plate out to me to take.
I’m not hungry but I take a cookie to humor her. It’s funny I see her as a kid too.
I remember her doing the same after my mother’s funeral, except it was her mother that made them and sent them over to us; the D’Agostino boys.