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She glanced at her father, then to the shotgun lying next to the tree, and her eyes widened with horror. “Oh, please tell me you didn’t.”
Her father pointed Foster’s way and went into a heated explanation in Spanish. Cela snapped back at him with just as fiery of a response.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Foster said, not wanting to cause problems for her with her family. “It was my fault. I came down here to see you, then decided not to bother you. I’m sure it looked suspicious.”
She swiveled her attention his way. “I’ll deal with you in a second. And I don’t care what you looked like, he doesn’t get to threaten people with a gun.” She looked back to her father. “What if he had been a real criminal, Papá? He could’ve hurt you.”
“I can handle myself,” her father said petulantly.
“And so can I!” She looked to the heavens. “When are any of you going to get that through your heads? What were you doing? Waiting for me to get home tonight?”
Her father’s gaze flicked away.
“Oh my God, seriously? I’m twenty-three years old. What would have happened if I’d brought my date home? Would you have banged on the door and pointed a gun at him, too?”
Foster’s jaw clenched at even the mention of her date going home with her.
Her father didn’t answer, which was answer enough. She turned her head Foster’s way again, cheeks flushed with anger. “For God’s sake, get him out of those handcuffs, Will. He’s not some criminal.”
Will didn’t look pleased with the order, but he complied. Foster watched Cela as the cop went to work on the cuffs. She was so beautiful standing there, cheeks pink, eyes wild. As his gaze drifted downward over the clothes she’d put on for bed and her bare legs, he caught sight of a glint of silver in the glare of the streetlight. His anklet. Even after everything, she was wearing his gift. Something turned over inside him. He lifted his gaze to hers, and he knew she was aware of what he’d seen. Heartbreak sat there heavy in her eyes, taking the breath from his chest.
Foster rolled his wrists once they were out of the cuffs and stepped onto the sidewalk but didn’t take his eyes off Cela. Behind her, he could see other neighbors drifting out now, gawking. And a lady he assumed to be her mother was standing out on the porch of the house directly across from Cela’s. He shook his head. “I’m really sorry about all this.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, why? all over her face, then sighed. “Come on.”
Before he could ask her what she meant, she spun on her heel, walked around to the passenger side of Pike’s car, and opened the door.
“Marcela, you can’t mean to go somewhere with this man,” her father sputtered as he moved forward. “It’s past midnight and look how you’re dressed.”
She glanced down at her T-shirt and boxers and laughed mirthlessly. Foster had a feeling she was thinking, If you only knew. “Good night, Papá.”
She climbed in the car and slammed the door. Dr. Medina sent Foster a touch-my-daughter-and-die glare his way, but Foster wasn’t going to wait around for the man to grab his shotgun again. He snagged the car registration off the top of the hood and pulled open his door. “Sorry for the trouble.”
Without waiting for a response, he got into the car and shut the door. He gripped the wheel, still trying to process how he’d gone from saying good-bye to Cela for good to having her in his car. He turned her way. “What now, angel?”
“Just drive,” she said, staring out the front window.
“Yes, ma’am.”
THIRTY-SIX
I must be hallucinating. That was my first thought as I rode away from my shotgun-wielding father and realized I was now sitting next to Foster—Foster, who lived hours away from here and hadn’t spoken to me in over a month. Maybe someone had slipped something into my drink at the bar, and I was now passed out in the parking lot of the Rusty Wheel.
“So, you’re here,” I said, showing my penchant for brilliant conversation starters. Not that one really knew how to start a conversation when you found your ex-boyfriend being arrested in your front yard.
He gave me a sidelong glance, as if he were half-worried I’d come to my senses and jump out of the moving vehicle. “I am.”
“And my father almost shot you,” I said, going down the list of things I needed to establish before processing anything else.
“Well, I don’t think he would’ve really shot me. But yes, he threatened me with a gun, which I can respect—he thought I was a danger to you.”
I turned to him then, allowing myself to fully drink in his presence there. God, even my imagination hadn’t done him justice. He looked tired and his stubble was way past five o’clock, but every muscle fiber in me seemed to strain toward him, wanting to wrap myself around him. But that’s not who we were to each other anymore.
I glanced away, staring out at the reflective yellow line at the center of the road. “Are you a danger to me?”
“Cela.” He said my name with an ache in it.
“No, I’m serious,” I said, pulling my self-preservation armor around me, locking out the part of me that only wanted to remember the good stuff, the part that didn’t want to remember how mean he’d been the last time I’d seen him, how much he’d hurt me. “Why are you here? What were you doing on my street at midnight?”
