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Ariana turned her head away and pursed her lips in a sullen pout.

“Where is he?” he yelled directly into her face, causing her to flinch in shock.

“He … We … Our grandmother died. We’ve been in Mexico City for the past two weeks.”

“Are you kidding me? Don’t bullshit me!”

“Dios mío! It’s the truth, you paranoid freak!” Tears welled up in Ariana’s eyes. “She had … What do you call it …? Cáncer de páncreas! I couldn’t even say goodbye to her. Everything happened so quickly!”

Leaf squinted his eyes in confusion. The fling with Ariana hadn’t lasted long, but he knew she was probably the worst actress and liar he had ever met. She couldn’t fabricate a story like that, and her tears seemed genuine despite her tough exterior.

Focus, Leaf, he admonished himself. This could be the key to finding Diego.

“And why are you here and Diego isn’t?”

“I have appointments too,” she snapped at him. “Diego will be back tomorrow or the day after. And now let me go! You’re hurting me!”

At that moment, Leaf was suddenly torn away from her. Stumbling, he fell back against his car.

“What’s this? Let the lady be, damn it!”

It was the old man from earlier, hands on his hips, standing like a bulldog in front of him—although he was even smaller than Ariana.

“Don’t you dare interfere!” Leaf snarled, straightening up again.

Ariana bent down to pick up her phone and wiped a tear from her face.

“I’m sorry … about your grandmother,” Leaf apologized, each word confusing him even more than he already was.

But for a brief moment, there was peace between them, as Ariana nodded gratefully. “Me too.”

She was referring to Milo, and Leaf could hear the genuineness in her voice. Plus, she read the tabloids often enough to know that Leaf had lost a close friend and was grieving too. Her honesty even touched something in Leaf, something that made him sad and reminded him that there were much more important things than Diego. Without another word, he got into the car and drove off.

Damn! What just happened there?

29

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Lost

Tristan let the door fall shut behind him and waited in the hallway outside Milo’s room. He still felt that emptiness, which shouldn’t be there.

Milo’s stuff is still here.

Why can’t he also be here?

The time with José had drained Tristan. On the drive here, Tristan had briefly considered stopping by Leaf’s place, but he needed a break from everything. He was tired of dwelling on problems that sucked the life out of him like leeches. Maybe José was right; focusing on what he could control might help him feel better. But right now, he didn’t want to control anything.

Since his return from Vegas, Tristan had strived for normalcy, pretending he had checked off all the bad things—under control, left behind, and ahead. He even tried to downplay them. He didn’t expect a bright future where everyone rejoiced and eagerly anticipated the upcoming tour. Any future would do, not a glamorous one dusted with gold. All he wanted was to avoid collapsing and falling apart.

But it seemed he wasn’t far from that right now.

His heart raced with memories lurking, tension gathering over him like a dark cloud, tearing him apart from within.

Like a ghost, he slipped into the kitchen, rummaged through the cabinets, and searched for relief.

“Stay away from it, Mingan,” he heard his brother’s voice in the back of his mind again. “I know you hardly drink anything, but once you start, you can’t stop. That’s not good.”