She exhales loudly. “Mijo, you need to keep doing the exercises the physical therapist told you to do. What if something happens at work and you can’t defend yourself?”
I want to argue, but she has a point. I can’t afford for my shoulder to get locked up in an altercation. Not that I’m anticipating anything happening, the crime rate is very low throughout the county.
“I know. I’ve been slacking lately, but I’ll get back into the routine.”
I know she hates that I’m in law enforcement, and she hates it more now after what happened. It’s part of why I decided to relocate somewhere smaller, a small part, but it still factored in. The bigger reason can’t seem to stand the sight of me. I can’t fix the house, and I can’t fix the past. I’m fucked.
“Mijo, are you still there?”
She was speaking and I was too buried in my thoughts. “Sorry, yeah, I’m here. What were you saying?”
The other end of the phone is quiet, a silent eye roll passing between the line. “I was saying that I talked to your brother, and I guess they’re trying for a baby.”
Now my eyes roll. Adrian has been married for five minutes. Not only that, they met less than two months ago. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s already trying to get her pregnant. He saidwhen you know you know, and even though I get it, I still think it’s too fast.
“What am I supposed to say to that? Thanks for telling me they’re having lots of sex, I guess.”
She makes a disgusted sound. “Ay, why would you say it like that?”
She’s probably twisting the gold cross around her neck, too Catholic for such crude conversation.
I snicker. “Sorry ‘amá.”
The noise of a vehicle approaching makes me pause. The only traffic I get is from delivery drivers. I flick my wrist, checking my watch. It’s seven in the morning—way too early for something like that.
“I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
We say our goodbyes, and I slip on a hoodie and sneakers. Whoever it is, they weren’t invited.
CHAPTER 10
Dominc
PUTRID FLORAL SMELL
PRESENT
There’s a woman on my porch.
My door creaks open, the sound grating like nails on a chalkboard. I make a mental note to grab some WD-40 the next time I’m in town. But the thought disappears the moment I see who’s standing in front of me.
What the hell?
“Morales?”
“Hi!” she replies, a little too friendly. Noticing my expression, her smile drops as her eyes sweep over me. “Did I wake you up?”
I drag a hand down my face. “Uh…no. I’m just confused why you’re here.”
It’s my day off and I also have no recollection of telling Morales, or anyone at work, where I live.
“Can I come in?” she asks, while brushing past me.
I remain still, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. “Sure, come right in.” I can’t help the sarcasm in my voice.
She walks ahead of me, admiring the disaster. “Didn’t take you for a DIY guy.”
A noncommittal grunt is my only response. It’s not that I dislike Morales, exactly, but I don’t like her enough to invite her over or socialize with her outside of work. I have nothing against a woman in law enforcement—I know it’s still very much a good ol’ boys’ club—but boundaries need to be maintained when working with the opposite sex. People talk, and the last thing I need is a rumor going around that Morales and I are gettingtoo friendly.
