Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
The warmth of her son faded as Demyan slid out of her embrace. “Night, Ma.”
“Night, baby.”
Anton moved out of the way as Demyan passed, stepping into the bedroom and closing the door behind his son. Turning to Viviana, he cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk now?”
“Not really.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate, because I’m dying to hear you speak.”
The safe zone for them had always been behind closed doors, after all.
“What am I supposed to do, just turn cheek?”
“I guess,” Anton replied. “Whether you want to admit it or not, it is smarter that he learns from me and the quicker, the better. His interest is far too healthy and if I don’t begin to indulge him, he’s going to seek it out on his own like he already did. I need for him to be safe, Vine, even at his age now. I need to reassure myself that he understands the weight he possesses when he holds a weapon.”
“I know,” Viviana murmured.
“It’s not about grooming him, baby. It’s me making sure my son respects the things he’s surrounded by and teaching him that for now, it is a last resort. When it comes time for him to use one, I want him to know he did everything right. I don’t want him second guessing his instincts or his choices. Please understand.”
“I do, in a way. It doesn’t make it easier for me.”
Anton offered her a smile, saying, “You know, you’re the only one he lets call him that, now.”
“Hmm, what?”
“Baby. To everyone else, he’s not a baby. To you only, he still is, even in his own mind.”
Viviana released a shaky sigh.
“I can’t take him away from you, Vine,” Anton said softly. “He won’t let me.”
Too Young
Foreword: Too Young takes place years after The Score ended. It was a particular scene that wouldn’t leave me alone, and the title fell in along with it, regardless of whether or not it fit the scene. A dog will die in this outtake, humanely, of course, but some may want that warning.
Anton leaned his back into the brick wall, sighing. Rubbing at the ache in his forehead did absolutely fucking nothing for the headache pounding like a million little bastard drummers. He dialed the familiar phone number of his home and waited for his wife to pick up. The moment she did, he said seven words he never wanted to.
“I have to put Rocco to sleep.”
“So, there’s nothing that can be done?” Viviana asked softly.
Even though his wife couldn’t see it, Anton shook his head. “Nothing. I asked, repeatedly. The longer we continue to let him struggle on, the more severe the episodes will be until there comes a time when he won’t get himself out of one.”
Anton knew it probably hurt Viviana like nothing else to hear it, but he continued on. “Meaning, he’ll likely die feeling like he’s being suffocated instead of peacefully in his sleep. Besides that, he’s in pain and he’s confused. He’s doing well to remember which direction his dog door is after he has one of his fits. Pretty soon he’ll stop trying to find it altogether. I need to let them put him down, baby. For his sake, I have to.”
Rocco, at almost thirteen-years-old, had finally reached the end of his life. Anton had to admit, he thought the pup wouldn’t last the first five years after the bomb, what with the constant pain, his corrective surgeries, and so on. But, the dog proved him wrong. Then, he didn’t think he’d survive the fourth and fifth surgeries to his hips to correct the dysplasia when he was nine without losing control over his bowels and bladder—a common issue with older animals that go through a surgery of that nature. Again, Anton was proven wrong by his ever faithful companion.
Anton shouldn’t have been surprised. Rocco was, as he’d always been, stubborn right down to the bottom of his heart and loyal like nobody knew. That animal wasn’t going anywhere until he was good and fucking ready to go.
A dull pain cracked in Anton’s chest.
Rocco didn’t have the choice but be ready to go, now.
The pup’s mind was going a little more every month and had been slowly decreasing for the past year with no signs of improvement. In the last sixty days, he’d suffered eight major seizures that had literally almost choked him to death. Medications weren’t helping. After Rocco’s episode earlier, where after he seized he fell down the stairs to the underground floor, Anton couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t watch that dog suffer. Viviana called Anton at his club, crying and terrified the pup hurt himself. It was then Anton knew.
There was no respect in the dog’s distress. It didn’t matter how much he and his wife loved and was grateful for the dog; it didn’t make a difference how adored he was by the kids. Anton couldn’t let those things cloud his judgement. Rocco deserved respect and peace at the end of his life.