Friends & Forever by J.M. Darhower Read Free Book Online

today , Haven had said.
    Sure, that had been meant for the tiniest DeMarcos , but like Carmine said: when Haven spoke, he
sure as fuck tried to listen.
    "Don't you look chipper,"
Dom said sarcastically, punching his arm when he wordlessly strode by.
"What's got you so sunshiny today?"
    Before Carmine could respond, Tess
chimed in. "Sobriety. I thought he was insufferable as a drunk, but sober?
He's perpetually PMSing ."
    Carmine opened his mouth to take a
swipe back at her when Haven interjected. "Be nice. It's been one of those
days."
    One
of those days .
    Haven didn't elaborate, but they all
knew what she meant. One of those days where Carmine's sleep had been plagued
with nightmares and his waking hours hadn't been much better. The numbness, the
feelings of guilt, his insides taut like a coil. It's been years, but memories
still haunted him, triggered unexpectedly out of nowhere.
    PTSD, the doctors said. Watching a
parent die violently is traumatic. Carmine had been the lucky fucker to go
through that shit twice . As a kid, it left him frozen, unresponsive and
guilt-stricken. As an adult, well...
    Yeah, sometimes sobriety really fucking sucked.
    They started talking again while
Carmine slipped away, heading for the back yard where the kids had disappeared.
He spotted his nephew right away, hiking a football behind him at nobody. Vincent .
Tough shoes to fill, Carmine thought. He wondered how the boy would feel about
the name when he grew up and came to the realization that his grandfather had
been a hell of a lot more than just a small town doctor.
    Carmine strolled over, snatching up
the ball when the boy threw it between his legs. He palmed the football, his
fingers settling between the laces and resting against the worn brown leather.
A strange sense of ease settled over him. Man, it had been years since he
played, but the familiarity was striking, like riding a bike.
    Vinnie stood up straight and turned
toward him. "Can you throw, Uncle Carmine?"
    Carmine laughed under his breath.
"I think so."
    Vinnie's eyes lit up, and he stood
there with his hands out, waiting as Carmine backed up. He threw the ball,
watching the perfect spiral as it sailed across the yard, straight to the
little boy. Vinnie tried to catch it, getting his hands around it, but his grip
slipped, the ball tumbling into the grass. The boy snatched it right up, though,
and reared back, throwing it with all his might. It wobbled horribly but came
right toward Carmine. He didn't even have to move to catch it.
    "Wow!" Vinnie said, eyes
widening. "You're good!"
    Carmine smiled, only responding with
a slight shrug of the shoulder, before throwing the ball again. They tossed it
back and forth for a few minutes before a squeal echoed through the yard.
Carmine looked around instinctively, seeking out the source, his eyes falling
on the little pink form hanging from a tree branch. Un-fucking-believable .
    "Get down before you break
something," Carmine said, catching the ball when Vinnie threw it again.
"You hurt yourself and your mother's liable to hurt me ."
    The little girl listened without
hesitation, letting go of the tree branch and dropping to the ground, falling
right on her ass. Carmine winced, tossing the ball back to Vinnie, as she
picked herself right back up, showing no signs of distress. She ran straight
for them, her princess gown fucking filthy, already torn, the matching tiara long gone. The hair her mother had tormented over all goddamn
afternoon, curling and fixing, was now destroyed, frizzy and bushy and fifty
shades of fucked up.
    What else did he expect, though, from
a child that carried his genes? The girl never stood a chance. Rowdiness
was encoded in her DNA. Only three years old and she was already a tiny terror,
fearless and reckless. She wasn't a bad kid. No, not at all. But she had a spirit that couldn't be broken, a wildness that couldn't be
tamed. The girl was strong-willed and passionate.
    And Carmine fucking loved it.
    He'd been