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Chapter Thirteen
Malcolm
I have surgery before Christmas to put a screw in my knee. It’s supposed to prove for faster recovery and easier movement when I’m fully healed, but it sets me back a few days and makes it hard to follow up with Nala, to go find her and get out…whatever it is I need to get out so we can clear the air.
I could have lied to her, or given her the truth that was even harder—that not only had she been too young, I had been too fucked up to let myself really love her. The way I’d felt about her was stronger than anything I’d ever felt for anyone else. All I could think of when I saw her was that she couldn’t be mine, because somehow, I came from a man who had no trouble hitting women and children; a man who had no trouble calling his seven-year-old son a useless pussy before delivering him a backhand instead of a birthday present.
The thought that any of that had existed in me had scared me enough that I was willing to make both of us suffer if it meant that was the only way I ever hurt her.
Now, I’m not sure if I saved her, or if I fucked up. And having a bum fucking leg isn’t making my discovery process any easier. Christ, what I wouldn’t give to be able to walk, to piss like a man, standing up, without fear of falling over.
“You ever gonna heal?”
Teo plops down on the couch next to me, handing me a beer. I raise my brow and take it.
“Your mom know you’re giving me this?”
He rolls his eyes, sipping from his soda. “Aunt Isa told me to bring it to you. And then she said to tell you to stop scowling. It’s Christmas.”
Swallowing back some brew, I nod and lift my eyes to the large kitchen, where the Rojas women are all talking and moving in some kind of synchronized kitchen dance, while Hunter’s mom and sister sit at the counter, tearing up vegetables and putting them into a large bowl. I catch Isa’s eye and incline my chin, lifting the bottle in cheers. She lifts her own, drinking deeply before snapping something in Spanish at her sister Valentina.
I’ve gotten to know the Rojas clan pretty well in the past weeks, since they’re the ones who are coming to see me, along with Nala’s mom, and Rose. It was Isa who got me from the hospital, and it was Reece who was sitting with me at home when I woke up, a steaming cup of pretty water that tasted like dirt ready to be drunk down. I had a second to be embarrassed when I realized she was in my room, sitting in the overstuffed chair in the corner, her daughter’s portrait to her left.
Excuses were tripping over themselves in my head, my pain-addled brain working to make sense of them, but Reece was unlike the mothers I had known. One look at her face told me she wasn’t shocked by the presence of her daughter’s portrait in my bedroom. The only comment she made was to say, “You should tell her.”
“Tried. She isn’t really having it.”
That got a smile from her, and felt like another kick to my gut since it was exactly like Nala’s. “Men, always thinking actions say as much as words. If your actions make you out to be an asshole, you need to try the words, too.”
There was no more talk about Nala, only about my level of pain, and what I needed to eat and drink to heal. A big believer in stones and power of the universe, I was showered in positive energy and crystals for all sorts of things; a colored stone for emotional healing and protection, another for open lines of communication. In three hours she pressed twice as many crystals on me, and fed me three times as many cups of tea.
And I felt better.
She never even bothered with pain pills, just some natural oils in the tea that made it smell and taste even funkier.
But they did the trick; my leg was down from a piercing pain to a light throb within a day. My heart, well, that’s still aching. Because no matter how much everyone else comes to my house and fills it with noise and laughter and food, the person I need the most hasn’t.
Since tonight is Christmas Eve, and the same night Hunter gets home from tour, I’m at Isa and Hunter’s house, yet again in the presence of the Rojas/Jackson family, watching television and keeping one eye on the hallway that leads to the front door, in case a certain blonde and her mother show up.
“Video games?” Teo’s voice is hopeful. I look at the screen, barely registering the score of the basketball game. “No one likes the NBA anyway.”
“Spoken like a true soccer fan.” Felipe plops down on my other side, but not before flicking on the PlayStation and handing me and Teo controllers. “FIFA?”
I shake my head. “Tiger Woods Golf. It may be the world’s favorite sport, but it’s sure as shit not mine.” Teo laughs, a small belly giggle, and I wince. “Sorry.”
“Aunt Isa says bad words all of the time.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
The three of us settle in, quickly falling into a rhythm that’s become both familiar and comfortable. Felipe speaks at me in Spanish when he’s angry, and Teo translates for me, steadily kicking both of our asses.
When Felipe’s phone rings, the screen lighting up and flashing a picture of a gorgeous blonde in braided pigtails, a soccer jersey, and not much else, I raise my brow at him.
He silences it, turning it face down, and then slides his eyes toward me.
“I don’t know if I would have the strength to silence her, whoever she was.” My words are light, but his smile is heavy.
“Yeah, well, I won’t be the only call she makes tonight.”
