“Eat, baby girl. You have all the time in the world to prove that you’re not a closeted romantic.”
It’s ten p.m. by the time we make it back to our building, and she looks exhausted. More than, and I know things are weighing heavy on her mind—the truths being uncovered are cutting deep, but she’s not alone and I’ll gladly bear the brunt of her pain. Of her madness.
Moreover, when I told her tonight she wasn’t alone, I meant it.
The good. The bad. The insanity.
I want it all.
To help her welcome the rage I see simmering beneath the surface and embrace every emotion tearing her apart. Because if she doesn’t, it will consume her. Eat her from the inside out, and I’ll be fucked before I let that happen.
Moving to this country, I never expected to meet a woman like her. To care as deeply as I do.
But I do. This heartbroken woman I’ll put back together owns me.
Our eyes meet once I’m parked. Her gaze is questioning while mine is expectant, needing her to ask. “It’s late, Javi.”
“It is.”
“Then why don’t you use one of my parking spaces? The owner could come back and—”
“Hush.” Getting out, I come around to her side and pull her out the second the door is open. Then, we’re chest to chest and lips hovering; her scent embeds itself into my DNA while those sinful lips match my grin, a tiny coquettish smirk that says everything we don’t.
We are crazy.
She’s my person.
Insanity feels right.
Mariah leans in closer and pecks my lips once. “Are you going to walk me up or stay?”
Goose bumps arise where my fingers touch her warm skin, rubbing soothing circles on her hip where the dress she wore has a small cutout. “It’s getting harder and harder to leave each night.”
“Then don’t.”
“That’s a very tempting offer.” My fingers tighten on her hip, and she giggles. “A dangerous one.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“That word shouldn’t exist in your vocabulary.”
Mariah shrugs, her smile fading a bit. “The world is an ugly place.”
“And yet, you’re the beauty in mine.” At my words, heat rises to her cheeks, and her eyelids flutter closed. “You’re making letting you walk a near impossibility.”
“Then let me take you home tonight. Let me wake up with you in my arms tomorrow.”
“Yes.” With the tip of two fingers, she pushes me back and makes the move to slip back into my car, but I press the key fob, locking the door. Her gaze is questioning, but instead of voicing them, she simply places her hand in mine and waits. “Ready when you are.”
“Thank you.” No further words are exchanged as I pull us inside and head straight toward the elevator. I can feel her stare, wondering why I’m pressing the number two floors down from hers as we ascend, and then more so when it dings a minute later when reaching our destination.
She’s compliant, though. Putting things together without any signs of outward rage.
And when I stop at the number that reads 1522 down the hall and to the left of the elevator, the hand not holding mine smacks my arm. “Why doesn’t this surprise me.”
Not a question, and I don’t treat it as such either. Instead, I smile down at her. “Because you believe in fate as much as I do.”
Cheeky little criminal arches a brow, lip twitching. “Do I? Or are you just my stalker?”
“Yes, you—” I’m cut off by a phone ringing inside my pocket, and I freeze. No one in this country knows this number, and those who do in Colombia would only use it if something went wrong.
“Javi, are you okay?”
“Take my keys and make yourself comfortable. I need to take this.” Whatever she sees in my face has Mariah nodding and letting us in, not mentioning or questioning my sudden change in demeanor. “I’ll be right back.”
There’s a balcony across the living room, and I don’t pause my steps until the door is wide open and I’m leaning against the veranda, hitting the redial button. It rings twice and I hear the commotion, the yells in the background of anger and pain.
“Hola? Javier?” I’ve never heard my cousin sound anything but in control, but right now, he’s angry—hurting—and dread fills my bones.
“Alejandro, what’s going—”
“Primo, I need you back on a plane tonight. Your mom—”
“What happened?” I hiss through clenched teeth, my grip so tight on the plastic in my hand it groans. “Just spit it out.”
“I’m sorry.” I can just make out the words my aunt screams, and my world crumbles. Blinding pain overtakes my chest and the phone slips, landing on the floor a second before I feel Mariah wrap her warm arms around me. Holding me as the words I heard set in.
“Talk to me. What’s wrong, baby?” Any other day the term of endearment would’ve made me smile—call out the beauty beside me—but I don’t. Can’t.
Instead, I repeat the four words that help her understand.
“My mother’s been shot.”
19
HE’S BEEN GONE seventy-two hours, and I miss him. It’s a foreign feeling, this urgency that pushes me out of bed at eight a.m. on a Sunday and toward my closet with only one goal in mind...
Go to him.
Javier needs me. I know he does.
I can feel it. This oppressive force sitting atop my chest that demands I comply and follow my heart.
It’s been there since yesterday’s phone call. His news broke my heart. His sadness nearly bowled me over as the longing to hold him grew with each hurt-filled word out of his mouth.
“Javi, baby? How are you? How’s your—”
“She passed early this morning of complications from a blood clot in her lungs.” His words are monotone, lifeless, and tears prick at my eyes. I can feel his pain as if it were my own. “She’s resting now, Muñeca, and that’s all that matters. I’m just sad she never got to meet you and love…” Javier pauses, and I can hear the shuddering breath escape him, the near desperate sigh he allows to slip through. “I’ll call you later. We’re heading to the funeral home now and then meeting with—”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“I miss you, beautiful.”
The second the line disconnected, I was hit with every emotion in the span of seconds. From anger to sadness to despair to giddiness at him missing me, and then loss. Javier’s mother is dead, and it tore me in two for different reasons: selfishness and understanding.
Selfishness because I’ll never meet the woman that made him who he is today.
Understanding because I’ve been where he is now with someone I loved deeply.
My grandmother was taken from us out of pure selfishness, a hit gone wrong against Malcolm’s dad not knowing that the passenger in the car was old and here for a simple visit.
One bullet and my Mimi was gone, leaving us here to grieve and later demand the blood of every person involved. From the financial institution’s owner—a competitor trying to force us to sell—to the hired shooter: they paid with their lives and that piece-of-shit company.