Page 52

MARI

The ride back into town isn’t so bad.

It helps that Bass doesn’t talk much.

I study him from the corner of my eye. He glares at the road like he wants to destroy it, like he’s annoyed that it doesn’t bend to his will. He drives carefully, defensively, which is a surprise. I figured a man like him would be reckless and dangerous.

Instead, it’s five over the speed limit and no more. Plenty of room behind the cars in front. And always a turn signal.

“There’s nobody else around,” I mutter when he turns onto my family’s street and slows as he approaches my house. “You don’t need that every time.”

“When you enter into a position like mine, you learn that caution is important.” He talks like he’s lecturing a child, which is irritating. “Give the police reason to pull you over and they will take it.”

“Good to know.”

“Besides—” He parks the truck and kills the engine. He puts a hand on my knee. “I have precious cargo.”

“Hilarious.” I put my hand over his. I planned on shoving it away… but his fingers are warm and rough. There are scars on the backs of his knuckles. I frown, studying them. “How’d you get all these?”

He hesitates, looking at himself and quickly draws his hand away.

“Sorry,” I say, realizing I made him uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s an old memory.” He rubs his hand and stares out the window. “My father had novel ideas around punishment. At some point he decided that it wasn’t enough if he doled out the beatings. It was better if he got us to beat each other. But you know boys, they tend to fight back.”

“Your fists are scarred from punching your brothers? Because your dad made you?”

“He said it helped build character.”

“I’m so sorry. That’s horrible.”

“It was a long time ago.” He pushes open his door. “Some of the scars are more recent.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Instead of answering, I hurry to the side door, trying not to think about a young Bastiano hitting Nico in the mouth, both of them crying, or maybe Nico grinning bloodied and nasty, Bastiano’s knuckles broken and ruined.

“I’ll be fine,” I say before going inside. I put a hand on Bass’s chest. The touch is strangely comfortable and familiar. I like that I feel his heart under my fingers. “Do you mind waiting out here for a few minutes? Let me see Cruz first?”

“How about I visit with your father?”

“That works.”

We part ways, Bass disappearing into the den, and I take the steps up toward Cruz’s room.

It has only been a few days, but I miss him. We’ve been nearly inseparable for a while, especially when he was younger. Now that he’s a teen, Cruz wants more distance from his lame older sister, but he still manages to drop the cool act for long enough to be his normal self. We play Minecraft together, watch TV and movies, talk about new music. He’s always trying to get me to read more, and I’m always trying to get him to stop obsessing about soccer players.

I’m smiling when I reach his room, only to find it empty.

Which is a surprise. It’s Sunday so he doesn’t have school. I search around the rest of the house, but Cruz doesn’t turn up. When I pause to ask my mom, she acts like it’s crazy I’m in the house and admits she has no idea.

I corner Javi in the garage. He’s lifting weights. His tank top is drenched in sweat and he doesn’t look happy to see me. “Didn’t we get rid of you?” he asks, grunting as he hefts the bar onto the rack and sits up, wiping his hands on his shorts.

“Where’s Cruz? Did he go out?”

“No clue.” He squints at his hands. “What do you care?”

“I came home to see him. Mom says she doesn’t know where he is. Cruz isn’t driving on his own yet, so someone had to pick him up.”

“Typical Mom, no clue where her teenage son is.”