Page 74 of Read With Your Heart

“I didn’t bring you with me to follow Lena because we both know Lena is a handful, and I didn’t want you mixed up in her drama.” Leon chuckles, and I believe Lys might agree. “She’s eighteen, and I need to let her make her own decisions.”

There’s a heavy pause before Leon continues.

“I’m not Mami and Papi. I’ll never be a good enough substitute for them, but I want you to know I’m here for you. It will be good here.”

“I like it here,” Lys interjects, almost as if to reassure her brother.

“I like it here, too.”

“Will you get back together with Tricia?” Lys hesitates, and my head falls back against the wall where I’m listening in on this conversation.

“I’m trying my damnedest, but she needs my patience. I have a lot to prove to her.”

More silence follows his admission, and my heart feels heavy in my chest.

“I made some promises I need to keep. I need to do better by her, but I want to promise this to you as well. It will never happen again. I mean it. I won’t shut down like I did and disappear like I have in the past. I’m here for you—for Tricia and you, hermanita.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. I reflect on the fact that sometimes someone can say it will never happen again and actually mean it. Perhaps, Leon does.

+ + +

Emily calls me a few days after Leon returns and asks me to meet her at a new place just south on Elk Lake City, off the highway. The Unsalted Mermaid. I’ve heard it’s a nice restaurant, romantic even, but I have never been here. I’d hoped Leon and I could go sometime. Maybe have real, out-in-public dates, but I’m so uncertain of my future. Trent hasn’t budged on the divorce papers and has been strangely quiet during the long days when his brother was at my house and Leon was absent.

I’m looking forward to hanging out with Emily. I need someone to talk to, someone to help me sort out my feelings for Leon. Someone to help me as I flip from disappointment to yearning, hating to loving, dismissing to missing him like crazy, and especially when I know he’s back. He’s so close. I just need to reach out to him, and I imagine he’d return to me. But do I trust him not to hurt me? Do I believe he won’t let this happen again? Is my heart really safe with him?

I’ve gotten out of my car but turn back to grab my phone, which I’d tossed on the passenger seat. I parked on the side of restaurant instead of the front lot, finding a spot up against the building. When I turn around again, a large, familiar body blocks me from stepping away from my Honda.

“I just want to talk.” His voice sounds rough and a bit slurred.

“We have nothing left to say to each other, Trent.” I glare at him, unable to fully see him with the parking lot light behind him. His head is haloed in light, but he’s no angel, and I don’t know how he knew I’d be here.

“You back with him?” he questions. I don’t know how Trent would know Leon is back in town, but that isn’t my concern.

“That’s none of your business,” I state, taking a step to the left. Trent shifts with me.

“You fucking him?”

My mouth falls open. “That is just . . .” None of his damn business. The truth is, we aren’t. We’d only spent one night together before everything went to hell, but I’ll admit nothing to Trent, who I consider my ex-husband—signed papers or not. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near my home.”

“Your home is with me.”

I snort. “We never had a home, Trent. You had a bachelor pad with your wife living in it.” My dad hated the cabin, and he thought I should convince Trent to move out. He even offered to give us money for a down payment on a house somewhere else, somewhere closer to my parents where my dad could keep an eye on Trent.

I’m sorry, Daddy. It didn’t happen how you wanted.

Get away from him, I hear his voice in my head.

I shift right and Trent follows, stepping closer to me.

“Trent, get out of my way.”

“Got a date?” He sways a bit and the words sound thick on his tongue. I’m not answering him. I should tell him I’m meeting Emily in order not to provoke him.

“Just sign the papers already,” I demand, and Trent shakes his head.

“No can do, muchacha.” He smiles at his weak attempt at a Latino accent. I’m not impressed. Instead, I fake left, pivot right, and slam into him when his arms wrap around my waist. The scent of him overwhelms me. Sweaty male. Dirty wool. Alcohol.

“Trent,” I hiss, my hands coming to the forearms locked around my waist. He lifts me off my feet and carries me around my car where I see his truck in the dark recesses of the lot. I kick my legs wildly. “Trent, put me down.”