Page 59 of LA Reign

I widen my eyes, gesturing towards Lucia.

“What?” Lucia says. “I’m pregnant, in case you hadn’t noticed. I already know about sex. Anyway, the school sent me some reading to do before I start next week, so I’m going to catch up on a bit of that.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” I say to her approvingly. One of the conditions of her staying with us was that she had to enroll in the local high school and attend all of her classes until she has the baby. She agreed to our request and seems happy going back to school and being able to act at least a little like a normal teenager again.

They both disappear into the house, and I follow on. I clear the plates and glasses. Magda would do it in the morning, but I’m still not quite used to letting another woman always clear up after me. And maybe, just possibly, delaying things a little. I’ve been desperate to be alone with Alejandro all evening, but now it’s here, I’m nervous. I consider loading the dishwasher, but decide that would be an excuse too far.

It’s time.

I walk up the stairs and into our bedroom. Alejandro is already here. He has his back to me, standing beside the bed, pulling off his shirt. As ever, I get a fluttering feeling in my stomach while I watch him tug off the shirt and toss it into the laundry hamper. The muscles in his back flex as he moves his hands to his belt, and I draw in a shaky breath.

Does he even know I’m here? He’s usually hyper-aware of such things, but this is not an ordinary night. I clear my throat and walk further into the room. All I want to do is wrap my arms around his waist, bury my face in his chest. Kiss him, hold him, and comfort him.

I walk further into the room. He turns his head slightly but stays silent.

“Are you okay?” I ask him simply.

His only response is a snort as he pulls his belt off and throws it onto the bed. Despite the atmosphere between us, I shiver when I recall the promise he made me about that belt earlier today.

I hesitantly walk towards him. I need to reach him, and the only way I know to do that right now is to go straight to the heart of the matter.

“Of course you’re not okay,” I say. “That was a stupid question. Your father’s in the hospital, and I know you must be upset about that last conversation you had with him. You know you can talk to me about it, don’t you?”

His head snaps up, and his eyes narrow. His nostrils flare in anger. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such rage on his face. “Alana! Don’t,” he growls.

I take a step back, my hand going to my chest. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t push me.”

“I’m not pushing you,” I reply. “I’m asking you a question. Talk to me, Alex, please!”

He shakes his head angrily. “There’s nothing to say. Leave it alone. You might not like the answers I give to your questions if you keep asking them.”

What? What does he mean? He is clearly holding on to something. Some resentment, some feeling that he’s trying to suppress and doing a terrible job of. Until I know what’s wrong, I can’t fix anything.

“Well I don’t like this either, Alejandro. Do you…do you blame me for what you said to your father?”

He turns around, his face a picture of fire and fury. “No,” he snarls. “I will never forgive myself if they are the last words I ever say to him, but that’s not your fault. He should never have said those things about you.”

I blink at him. “Then why does it feel like you’re so angry with me?”

“I’m not,” he barks as he continues undressing.

“It certainly feels like you are.”

He steps out of his suit pants and throws them onto the bed too. “Seriously? You really want to do this right now?”

“Yes.” I don’t, not really. But I also know that this is how marriages break. It’s through silence, through festering arguments and annoyances that hide in the dark, poisoning everything. This might end in a row, but at least it will all be out in the open. Then maybe we can start to move past it.

He scowls and then takes a few steps toward me. “Okay, Alana. If you really want to do this, then yes, I am pissed at you. If I hadn’t been chasing you across the fucking country, I would have been here in LA, and my father would have been with me.” His voice is a bitter crack, and a vein in his temple throbs.

I swallow as he towers over me, shaking with fury.

“And if he’d been with me, he wouldn’t have been driving around fucking LA alone. He wouldn’t have been shot. He wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed with half a dozen machines keeping him alive!” His words come out in a shout, and I take another step back from him. He’s a terrifying sight right now, but I fight desperately not to show my fear.

“I never asked you to come after me,” I say simply. “I told you I needed a few days. You knew I’d be back.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “No, I didn’t know that. And you didn’t tell me a thing. You sent a vaguely worded text message to Lucia. Who by the way didn’t see it for hours. You ran off like a spoiled child and left me to go fucking crazy wondering where the hell you were and if something had happened to you. If you were safe. If you’d left me. If I’d ever see you again. So no, you didn’t ask me to come after you—but what choice did I have? I should have been here, with him.”