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Dante let himself into the apartment his parents owned at 15 Central Park West, using the ornate key his mother had given him. They bought the sleek, multi-million-dollar apartment a couple months ago when Dante’s younger brother, Damien, had been placed in a supervised living group home for individuals on the autism spectrum. It was supposed to help Damien make a transition to independent living and learn how to deal with his very different brain and abilities. A high functioning adult, it was thought he could learn to live on his own in the six months housed here. Either that or live with other high functioning “Aspies,” the term used for those with Asperger’s syndrome.
His father had been none too sorry to house his youngest elsewhere, while his mother, no doubt, had been heartbroken. Dante still felt mixed, wanting nothing more than to have his brother live somewhere safe and supportive, but knowing his mother longed to keep him close.
“Anyone here?” he called into the vast space. He trekked to the floor to high-ceiling windows of the living room, staring out at Central Park. The other end of the apartment, the dining area, had sweeping views of the city.
“Dante, is that you?” his mother called. She sashayed into the room, all elegant lines and angles, dressed in a stylish designer outfit, even though she’d probably been home all day. Her dark hair had been swept up into a sleek chignon, accenting her high cheekbones. In her earlier days, Carmen Vega had been a model. Now? She volunteered at various organizations and did fundraisers. It kept her busy, kept her involved and ensured her happiness since her marriage to his father seemed to be an empty shell.
“Hey, Ma.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“When did you get here? You were on the West Coast, sí, amado hijo?” Calling him “beloved son,” his mother, born and raised in Venezuela, still slipped her native tongue into the conversation.
“Gia and I arrived yesterday, the other guys will get here tomorrow.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Our agent booked Gia and the guys at the Gansevoort. I’m staying at my place.”
“How exciting about your concert at the Garden,” his mother enthused.
“Yeah, I’ll say. It’s kind of...” He shook his head and bit his lip.
“What were you going to say? Daunting? Terrifying?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Dante,” his mother soothed. “I know you don’t like the trappings of stardom.”
“Not one bit.”
“But I also know how much your music means to you.”
He glanced at her, then flicked his gaze toward the green park below. “Yeah. Well. I still see myself as the kid who played the dives in Brooklyn to a handful of drunk, half-baked listeners.” When he’d walked away from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, another huge failure in his father’s mind, he ran as far as Brooklyn, living a subhuman, street rat existence for a short time, trying hard to rid himself of his status as the rich fuck Richard Vega’s kid.
But he couldn’t escape his talent and the success that went along with it. So he learned to love the welcome appreciation and endure the unasked for attention and gossip. “Oh, sure, there are perks. I like the access it gives me to places most people never dream of seeing. But it ruins people. Gia’s on her way to becoming a bona fide alcoholic if she hasn’t yet arrived. The strain of success is really getting to her.”
His mother tsked.
“How about you? What’s occupying your days?” He swiftly diverted the subject, not wanting to dwell on the many ways success and money destroyed people. The look his mother gave him let him know she both understood and wouldn’t push him to bear his heart’s secrets. Little did she know the strain of what really happened on the night no one spoke of, or the depth of lies he carried.
“Oh, I’ve been so busy with the Children’s Hospital Gala event. We’re raising funds for the children’s cancer ward this year. The pictures of some of the children simply tear at one’s heart.” She pressed her palm against her chest, her eyes growing moist.
“Ma,” he said affectionately. “You always were a softy. And dad? What new empire has he conquered?” His mouth worked into a crisp, thin line.
“Dante,” his mother said in a disapproving tone. “Your father is a hard-working man.”
“Yeah, I know. But, Dad can also be a plain old hard-ass.” Dante’s jaw set in a rigid block. His father, owner and Chairman of the Board at his high-end company on Wall Street, Vega, International, poured himself into the world of acquisitions and mergers, leaving little room for family time.
When he did assume the role of paterfamilias, he did it with the same ironclad rules and shark-like strategy he used at his job. In other words, not much warmth. And he could never tell what his dad thought of him and his brother. He hoped now that he had a name for himself, his father could find something to be proud of - specifically his income. But Dante always thought spawning a kid who’d been oxygen deprived in the birth canal—namely, his brother—served as a personal, regrettable failure in his father’s steel-gray eyes. “Heard from Damien lately? How’s he doing in the group home?”
“You can ask him yourself. He caught a bus here. He’s in the den playing that adventure video game you gave him. He loves those things.”
“Yeah, my friend Zander hooked me up. His company, EXcape, had some video games created for one of their outdoor competitions as promotional pieces.”
“Why don’t you go see him? I know he’d love to say hello.”
Dante nodded and headed for the entertainment room. He spied his brother, completely absorbed in the EXcape’s Global Domination game. Without a word, Dante picked up a controller, threw his leg over the back of the couch where Damien sat, and slid into position. “Hey, Dami,” he said, eyes glued on the huge, animated screen before him.
“Dant!” his brother said, eyes never leaving the game display.
“Two players. Let’s go.” When Damien obliged, Dante quickly got into the action, his thumbs and fingers flying.
As Dante’s character tried to push through the scene, Damien quickly obliterated it. “I win!” he shouted, tossing his control on the couch.
“You did,” Dante said, following suit. He reached to give his brother a hug, adding a playful head rub with his knuckles, across Damien’s military short hair. Personal grooming wasn’t high on his brother’s list, so his hair remained perpetually short. He usually had to be coached to shower and shave each day. The group home seemed to be doing its job since his brother didn’t have that three-day unwashed smell. In fact, he smelled kind of nice, like some minty man soap.
Damien returned the hug in a quick, brief manner, and got to his feet. He began pacing in front of the couch.
Dante eyed him warily, hoping he wasn’t going where he thought he might go.
“Where’s Madeline? I want to see Madeline.”
“Madeline’s gone, buddy,” Dante said, blowing out a long, pained breath. And he has to go there. It was bad enough she’d gone. Worse still, it came from Damien’s constant fixation on one of the more painful periods of his life.
His little brother’s behavior had always been off, thanks to the oxygen deprivation, but two years ago he suffered a severe blow to the head and had lost much of his ability to recall current events. A long, jagged scar snaked across his forehead, puckering the skin in testimony. That, on top of Madeline’s departure from the world, had sucked, hard.
Thankfully, Dante lost himself in Marked Love, managing to barely crawl out of the pit of grief he found himself in, locking away his love for her in some secret cavern vault.
“Where’d she go? The store? Let’s wait for her by the front door. We can scare her.”
“No, we don’t want to scare her, Dami. Let’s let her go. How’s the new home working out?” he asked, using his practiced redirect skills.
Damien’s gaze shot toward Dante then ricocheted away. “I have a roommate. His name’s Sam. Sam likes me.”
“What’s not to like? You’re a good guy. I like you, too.”
Damien laughed. “You love me, brother. I love you, too.”
“It’s a good thing because we’re stuck with each other, aren’t we?”
“We’re not stuck. Siamese twins are stuck. We’re close.” Damien smiled.
“Good point.” Dante returned the smile. “You’re a smart guy.”
“You’re the smartest,” Damien said, coming to a halt in front of Dante. “And the coolest.”
Dante eyed Damien’s gaunt body and perpetually hunched shoulders. “You’re pretty cool yourself, kid.” Dante adored his brother, skinny and misshapen or not. He’d grown up defending him from public ridicule, spending time with him whenever he could.
Although highly brain damaged, Damien possessed a great deal of intelligence. It might not seem obvious to those who didn’t understand the way his brain worked, or the simple sense he made out of the complex.
“Want to play again? You might not be so lucky this time,” Dante said.
“Yeah. I’ll win.” Damien plopped on the couch, picked up the controller and launched the game.
Dante used the game distraction to approach a new topic with his brother. “So you remember when I was in high school in my senior year?”
“Yes, Dant, I was a kid. In the fifth grade. At Sister of Angels school. We wore uniforms. You kept the bullies away.” His recall of events before his head injury was remarkably detailed.
Dante gave him a sidelong glance. “Right. I did. So remember that girl Kennedy?”
“The one you were sad over all the time? Yeah, I remember,” he said, fingers moving quickly.
“I wasn’t sad,” Dante said, maneuvering his player.
“What do you call it? You seemed sad.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I was sad I didn’t get to see her more.”
“You talked about her to me all the time. Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy.” His brother’s mouth pursed tight.
“Well, guess what? I saw her today.”
“Oh, brother. Now I have to hear about her again. What’s Madeline going to say?”
“Madeline’s gone, buddy. She’s gone far, far away.”
“She’ll be back. She loves you. She probably went away to deal with her problem.”
Dante swallowed hard, blinking back a couple errant tears. “So, Kennedy works with tigers. Real live tigers.”
“Tigers are cool.”
“That’s right, Damien, tigers are cool. They’re also scary. I watched her today in the pen with a tiger, and she managed to calm it down.”
“That’s way cool. Tigers get shot all the time.”
“You would know. You’re an Animal Planet addict.”
“I love Animal Planet. But I’m not an addict. Madeline was an addict. But I loved her.”
Dante’s breath caught in his throat. “Let’s not talk about Madeline. Let’s talk about Kennedy, okay?”
“She’s going to be pissed at you. If you talk to her about Kennedy, she’ll be mad.” His brother’s movements were deft and proficient as he maneuvered through the game. “You’re about to be dead, Dant. Kaboom!” Having wiped out Dante’s character again, he tossed the control on the sofa once more and got to his feet. “Let’s get a snack. I need food to get ready to hear about Kennedy every day. Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy.”
“What makes you think you’ll have to hear about Kennedy again?”
“It’s in your voice.” Damien made an exaggerated eye roll. “You can never fool me the way you fool other people.”
“Not with you, buddy. And I hope you’re right.”
“About what? Madeline being mad?”
“No, about me talking about Kennedy. This time, I don’t want to be sad about her. I want to make her mine.”
