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It was true enough. Once my hair was washed and dried and I’d caught sight of myself in the mirror, I had that thought, too. With my dark eyes and black hair, I could be a Santos. My complexion was still a bit lighter than Miguel’s, but that could be written off due to my mother’s genetics.
Honestly? I hated it. I didn’t want to look like Miguel, but I couldn’t be cooped up in that house any longer, and I didn’t trust the world to step foot outside while still looking like myself.
Damian decided to change the subject off my hair, “You nervous about meeting with him?”
No, my stomach was in knots and the skin on my arms itched for fun.
Luckily, I was able to keep that smart comment to myself and say, “I don’t know how it’s going to go, Damian. I don’t know if he’s been worried about me, if he even cares that I—”
I stopped rambling when Damian reached across the center console and set a hand on my leg. He didn’t squeeze my leg; he just set it there, a calming presence.
Ironic, given the man that hand was attached to.
“The boy cares,” Damian told me. “He could’ve killed you, you know. That’s what you gotta keep reminding yourself.”
“So, he’s supposed to get props because he aimed slightly lower than he should’ve? He still shot me. It hurt like hell. How could you do something like that to someone you care about?” I had to stop myself from saying from someone you love; I didn’t know if anything Zander had told me in the past was true.
What if it was all a lie?
“Your ex-daddy probably wanted him to kill you,” Damian reminded me, as if I needed any more reminders of that night and the logic behind it. Nothing could make it any better, trust me. I’d talked in circles in my head ever since finding out Damian had seen Zander’s face under the hood that night.
“I just… how can I trust anything he says?”
“Give him a chance to show his true colors, baby girl. I bet that one’s been fighting feelings for you for years. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him, neither.” Damian pulled his hand off my leg, and I instantly felt the loss.
Since that day I’d crossed the line with him—you know, the day I used his hand to get off—neither of us had spoken a word about it. It was almost like it hadn’t happened.
But it did happen, and sometimes I couldn’t stop myself from remembering how his black eyes had twinkled with lust when he’d looked at me, like he wanted to devour me whole. The Damian that apparently liked to watch and listen.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” Damian was busy saying, totally unaware of the turn my mind had taken. “You got your steel, right?”
He meant my gun. My ivory gun. I did have it, tucked in the high waistband of my black leggings. I nodded.
“And I got mine. I won’t be far from you, so if something does go wrong, I’ll be right there.” He shot me a lopsided smirk, not the kind of expression you’d imagine a gang leader to wear, but man, that smirk did things to me. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you again. I told you I’ll take care of you. That was a promise.”
Damian did tell me that, and I guess a part of me never truly believed him. But now I was thankful he was with me, that he’d come with me and would be watching over me from afar.
The park wasn’t in Cypress, nor was it too close to the house. A respectable forty minutes away, it was far enough from both Cypress and the house that Zander would never know where we were staying.
And he wouldn’t, not until I knew whether or not I could trust him.
When we arrived at the park, I saw Zander’s car parked in one of the corner spots, beneath a tree, shielding it from the sun, and my stomach twisted and churned, a reminder of just how anxious I was.
Which was dumb. I shouldn’t be anxious to see Zander. He’d shot me. He had a hell of a lot of explaining to do.
At the same time, though, I missed him.
“Would you look at that?” Damian asked as he pulled us into a parking spot. “Ya boy’s here.”
Midday at the park on the weekend, and the park was semi-crowded. The playground was full of young kids having fun, their parents either standing nearby or sitting on the benches near the area lined with wood chips.
Damian gestured to a small pond on the left, where a walkway curled around the water. A few benches were littered here and there. Zander was sitting on one by his lonesome. Even though his back was to us, Damian had recognized him.
“He’s early,” Damian remarked, whipping his head in my direction. “You want to go now? Or you wanna wait here and make him squirm some?”
He probably wanted me to stay and make Zander squirm, but sitting there, staring at Zander from afar while wrestling with the anxiety of knowing I’d have to talk to him, did not sound like a fun time on my part.
So I said, “I just want to get it over with. Wish me luck.”
