My mom...and Vicente? She has a crush on him? "What the fuck! Ew! Since when?"
Noely laughs, sending her eyes for a spin. "She's not dead, Benni. She's allowed to be happy again. It hasn’t been too long anyway, maybe a few weeks. Nothing serious yet."
A few weeks? Wow... I mean, I agree that she’s allowed to be happy—and she should be—but, why am I just finding out about this? "That’s so..."
"Weird?” she finishes for me, humming in agreement. “I know. She hadn’t looked at a single man after Dad, and then, all of a sudden, boom. She really does seem happy, though, and it might be a good way for her to stop worrying about you.”
My face melts in pure dismay, head falling to one side. "Oh my God, you too?"
"Sorry, hermana...” she pats my shoulder on her way around me, “but he’s got a point. It's exhausting listening to her bitch."
"Do you guys realize that it could literally be so much worse?” Setting my mug down, I follow her out of the kitchen. “Like, I could actually be a crackhead or a whore on the corner. I know what I'm doing, bringing home that money for all of…"
The way she stops dead in her tracks stalls the words on the tip of my tongue. Her brown eyes, ones far kinder than my brother’s, meet me from over her shoulder. "Not everything is about the money, Benita…remember that. He only gets on you about this shit ‘cause he loves you and doesn’t wanna see you trapped in a cage. None of us do."
And then she’s gone.
I stand there staring at the ghost of her form, her words playing on repeat. I know my brother loves me. Hell, I love him fiercely, too, but the righteous big brother act drives me up the wall when he hasn’t made—and still doesn’t make—all the right decisions. The only difference between him and me is he’s never gotten caught.
Trudging back into the kitchen, I swipe my mug off the counter and down what’s left. It’s cold, but I don't have time to warm it up. It’s almost eleven, and I still need to make the drive out to the port.
I still need to come to a final decision, too.
The thought vibrates my throat with a frustrated groan, and as I’m setting out to wash my mug, I see another one appear in the sink and feel soft lips press to my cheek.
Tommy.
“No seas cabeza dura.” Don’t be hardheaded. “I’m just trying to save you, Benni Bear before it’s too late.”
“I don’t need to be saved,” I mutter, “but I love you, too, Tommy.”
♫ Bad Things - MGK & Camila Cabello
Ten minutes later, I’m on the road, braving the busy Sunday streets rather than hopping on the highway. A bad idea on my part, that’s for sure. I shouldn’t have gone this way. It’s taking longer than necessary to get to my destination, but I needed these red lights, needed the time to finally dissect and pick apart my current situation—layer by layer—and come to a decision.
Because this is it.
Ángel’s leaving in just a few hours’ time, and he wants an answer.
At this point, my biggest fear isn’t even caving against rationality and taking the risk—it’s how he’ll respond if I don’t give him the answer he wants to hear. He could choose to end this entirely, and while I truly don’t think that we’re ready to jump into something more just yet, the thought of losing him altogether makes my insides hurt.
Because you want him, that little voice in my head whispers.
I do. I know I do, but that doesn’t negate the fact that I probably shouldn’t. It also doesn’t negate the fact that he could prove both my mom and all of my reservations wrong by turning out to be everything I want.
Everything I need.
I guess that’s how taking risks work, right? It’s a gamble either way.
The sunny Miami scenery blurs past me as I make my way closer and closer to the port, catching more of the green lights than not. All the while, I weigh out my options, give myself a mental list of pros and cons to consider. The problem? There’s plenty in both columns, evenly balancing out the proverbial scale. With each mile, I grow more and more frustrated—more anxious. A resolution just seems improbable, and yet, half a mile away from the warehouse, it finally hits me.
Middle ground.
Compromise.
A happy medium without tipping said scale.
And I’ve got just the thing...I think. The minute I park in my usual spot, I’m yanking my phone from my purse and dialing Ángel’s number. Whether or not he can meet me before he leaves will determine when I’m gonna lay it on him.
He answers after only the third ring.
“Mami, you okay?” The smooth timbre of his voice assaults me almost as hard as it does in person, pebbling my skin with goose bumps.
“I’m fine, just pulling up to the warehouse. I have a question for you…”
“Dimelo.” Tell me.
“Do you have time to meet me before you take off tonight?” My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I wait for him to respond.
“I will always have time for you, muñeca, even on my busiest days.”
This man… There goes my heart melting again, lips spreading into a grin. “I’ll tell you where to meet me when I wrap up here.”
“Whenever, wherever, I’ll be there,” he assures me. “You’re not gonna tell me to fuck off, though, right?”
Despite the fact he can’t see me, I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Are you gonna make my whole fucking day and tell me you’re leaving with me?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see, papi. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Me: Dania Beach. I’ll be by the pier.
I sent that text over twenty minutes ago. No reply has come through yet, but it’s still early…three o’clock. Ángel told me he could be held up as late as five.
That’s fine. I can wait. The business was taken care of without issue, and I have nowhere else to be right now.
Except here.
So what’s my plan, you ask?
I'm going to let him leave...but I'll be following him in just a few days’ time. I don't know where he's going, but I’m sure my reasoning will provide me a destination. At least, if he meant all he’s said, then it will.
Set aside the fact a girl could use a teensy vacation, it's the perfect way to test these unknown waters he supposedly wants me to charter beside him. Just him and me, a chance for me to see who he is, what he does, and if there’s really a place for me in his life.
As scary as that sounds, I have to do it. I’ll drive myself crazy with the whys and what-ifs if I don’t.
But what happens if it works out, if it’s good and it feels right? What if he actually lets me in? What am I supposed to do then? I can’t just up and leave Miami. My mom would have a fit.
It’s too early to be thinking about all that, I know, but I can’t seem to put those thoughts to rest, no matter how hard I try. I’m blaming it on him and that fucking devil dick of his. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d drill the concept into me. Oh, he drilled it all right, sunk those dark, delicious claws deep into my starving soul and pounded me to hell and back until I screamed it into existence. Mrs. Moreno from downstairs had to have heard it all, probably prayed at least five rosaries as the exorcism above threatened to cave in her ceiling.