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The rosary my mother hung from my rearview mirror spins as I turn my wheel toward the shoulder and slam my foot against the gas pedal. The engine revs as it switches gears, and my tires squeal.
My heart lodges itself in my throat as the other vehicle veers to the right and blocks my clear path.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Pendejo:Dick.
Time seems to speed up as our two cars collide. My headlight shatters and metal crunches as the front of my car smashes into the rear bumper of the other. I’m propelled forward, only to be shoved in the opposite direction as my seat belt locks in place.
Thankfully, the airbags don’t deploy, although my relief is short-lived as whatever spark of hope I had of making it to Nico’s show fizzles out, leaving me with nothing but a desire to yell at the reckless driver.
Take five.The memory of my dad’s voice pulls at the invisible strings wrapped around my heart until the tightness seems unbearable. I can picture him clearly as he helped me calm down from another night terror, one deep breath at a time.
I never thought I would be using the same strategy twenty-five years later, but here I am, with my eyes screwed shut as I force myself to count my breaths until the chest pain lessens and I’m no longer vibrating with rage.
I’m hit with an early October breeze as I walk toward the other car. The driver is hunched over the wheel, her dark, shoulder-length hair obstructing my view of her face.
I reach out to tap on the window, but a high-pitched shriek coming out of the car’s speakers stops me. “Don’t worry! I’m on my way!” The call cuts out after two beeps.
The woman’s panicked breathing becomes more obvious with each rapid rise and fall of her back.
“Hey.” I knock my fist against the window when she doesn’t acknowledge me. “Are you okay?”
She lifts a trembling finger to the glass while keeping herhead down. “One second.” Her voice wavers.
My stomach muscles clench. “Do you need an ambulance?”
“No! I’m fine!” Her head snaps in my direction.
Vete a la chingada.
“Julian?” My name leaves Dahlia Muñoz’s parted pink lips in a hoarse whisper.
It’s been years since I heard Dahlia say my name in that soft voice of hers, and it hits harder than a sledgehammer to the chest.
The last time I saw her was at Nico’s baptism eight years ago when we became his godparents. We both put on a happy face for our families, but the tension and awkward silence between us nearly choked me, especially since we hadn’t spoken since my dad’s funeral a year and a half prior.
She stayed at Stanford all year round, including the summer break, while I kept my distance because I was a coward.
A coward who was blindsided when she showed up with Oliver, my ex-roommate and her new boyfriend. I didn’t think they would become friends, let alone a couple, although it makes sense given Oliver’s jabs about my crush on Dahlia and the way he looked at her despite knowing how I felt.
Since the baptism, we have both done an outstanding job of avoiding each other—or at least wehaduntil she ruined all our efforts with tonight’s surprise visit.
“Dahlia.” An intense need to escape overwhelms me as her eyes slide over me.
Vete a la chingada:Get the fuck out of here.
I hide my shock as she exits the car with her head held high despite the mascara running down her cheeks and the slight trembling of her chin. Dahlia has only cried twice in the thirty years I’ve known her—once when she broke her arm trying to beat me in a tree-climbing contest and the other while at her father’s funeral.
Like the tide with the moon, I’m unable to resist Dahlia’s gravitational pull as my gaze follows the length of her body.
The plain white T-shirt she wears complements her golden skin and wavy brown hair, while her ripped jeans appear more fashionable than functional with how her knees pop out of the large, gaping holes. Her curves perfectly balance out her sharp cheekbones and pointed chin, creating the best combination of soft and sultry.
The base of my neck tingles, and I look up to find Dahlia’s red, puffy eyes narrowed at me. Her ruined makeup doesn’t detract from her beauty, although the dark circles underneath her eyes have me speaking before my brain catches up.
“Your face is a mess.”
Pinche estúpido.Unlike my mom and cousin, I’m not a people person, and it clearly shows.
