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I stood outside the grand house, glaring at the massive porch where a swing rocked gently in the subtle breeze. It had two stories and comprised mostly of pale grey and blue stones. The windows were all new, the shutters a dark blue-grey color. White latticework decorated the covered porch. Though they weren’t easily seen, I knew at least a dozen cameras were positioned just the front of the house. It had been Vanessa’s—my mother’s—dream home.
Romero, my stepfather, had purchased it for her only two years before she passed away.
Addiction.
He had been good to her. So had I—or so I’d thought—although not good enough to make her stop, apparently.
Taking a long draw from my cigarette, I let the smoke fill my lungs, hoping it would help stave off my nerves.
“Stop being a pussy. It’s Daddy Warbucks, but sexier.” Arie bumped my shoulder playfully. “Women would kill to live in the same house as him.” My best friend’s tone—as well as her small obsession with him—told me that she was one of those women.
“Not me,” I grumbled.
Because the man inside the big house filled with memories I just wanted to forget was more than my mother’s husband. When I was younger, I’d idolized him. Considered him my savior even as he trained my preadolescent body until I thought my bones would break.
He saw the broken little girl—bullied, forgotten by her own mother—and turned her into a fighter.
Now here I was, tail between my legs, running back to him. Defeated. Broke. Hungry. So fucking sick of this world and the cruelties within it. I would have fought until my heart gave out, but as Arie had put it, my pride was a wound that would heal. Starving or being murdered on the streets was irreparable.
The heat from the smoldering tip of the cigarette against my lips forced me to toss it at my feet and ground my old, tattered combat boot on it. Smoking was a nervous habit, and one I couldn’t afford, but Arie let me bum off her whenever we were together. She’d done a lot to care for me these past two years, though I’d insisted she not help me at all.
Suddenly, the front door opened, and the man I both dreaded and longed to see stepped out onto the porch. My heart fluttered like I was back to being a little girl with a silly crush. I smothered the sensation, reminding myself that this man was not my friend. He was a means to an end.
Swallowing hard, I forced myself not to inspect the larger, harsher build he now sported. He wore his usual dark suit that accented his bronze skin. His dark eyes were fixed on me and we stared at each other for what felt like too long to be sane.
Arie practically swooned beside me, fanning herself, though it was barely eighty degrees.
“Julietta,” Romero said, so quietly I almost missed it.
I ran a hand through my hair and cocked a hip to one side. “Can we come in?”
His gaze flashed with something like anger or hurt, but it vanished before I could make it out. “You don’t have to ask, cariña.”
I gripped the strap of my bag slung over one shoulder as though it might ground me. My eyes fixated on the ground, then at each wooden step, then over the porch.
His heat and scent mingled in the air when I passed, making my grasp tighten. “Need any help?” he asked.
“Nope,” I replied at the same time Arie said, “There’s two more boxes in the backseat of my car.”
I kept walking, hearing Arie say, “You’re looking extraordinary, Mr. Vazquez.”
Gag.
I rolled my eyes, reaching back to pull away my flirtatious friend by her upper arm since she still held a box filled with my belongings. Romero’s silky chuckle followed me, and my stomach dipped.
Marching through the foyer, the living room, and then up the stairs that led to my old room, I tried to ignore how everything looked much the same. Like my mother still lived here and could walk out of the kitchen, stirring a tall glass of iced tea.
I picked up my pace down the hall and stopped in front of a familiar door, then reached out and turned the handle.
My heart thudded behind my ribs as the door swung open, a slight creak of the hinges greeting me. I don’t know why I’d expected to see the room packed up and empty. Maybe it was because I’d sworn to Romero that I wouldn’t return.
But seeing my bed made and the room clean—free of dust—jarred me.
Arie peered around the door frame. “Wow, it looks exactly how I remember it.” She paused, cocking her head to the side. “Maybe a little cleaner.”
If she hadn’t had a box in her arms, I’d have elbowed her.
We had started to unpack the box when Romero appeared in the doorway carrying the other two. He sat them on the floor right inside the door, then straightened.
