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“You remember?”
“Of course, I remember.”
I remember everything. Like her crushing my heat, like me needing to walk to save her even though she probably didn’t deserve it.
Sure, I lied to do it. But she knew me. She should have seen it for what it all fucking was. For her, I lied and took heat to save her asshole father, lied to her so she wouldn’t look at Daddy differently . . .
But I also sent her a note explaining things were complicated, but I didn’t do it. A note she ignored.
Worse fucking thing? I shouldn’t have needed a note or anything. She should have stood up for me, knowing me. But she didn’t.
This was all a long time ago, ten fucking years, and it’s hard to hate someone sweet like Nadia.
She was young, and I was wild. I had shares in every fucking self-preservation mechanism there ever was.
I go to my bag and open it, rummaging through.
There’s forgiveness andforgiveness, and I’m not there for that bigger, older one, but I can do the adult one, privately, and forgive us both for being young. And move on.
I’m not staying. She’s not leaving.
It’s history. The future. The truth.
And I’m getting tangled on the path.
I’m here for two reasons. One, help Nadia, and two, find out if the reaches of El Cabeza are here, along with Lowlanders or Lowlander affiliates on the down low, like I suspect.
“Tequila and lime?” I ask.
For the first time since I’ve seen her, real happiness crosses her face. “You remembered. No one ever does.”
“They give you margaritas?”
“When I go out,” she says absently, looking about her, gaze falling on the essays. Then to me. “Teaching takes up a lot of time. Well, it did.” She frowns.
“Did?”
“Kitchen’s still in the same place.”
I go through, and that hasn’t changed much. The fridge is new, and that’s about it. I pull down glasses, grab some ice and the citrus squeezer. I make the drinks, they’re very much what it says on the damn tin. Tequila, lime juice. There’s a touch of salt flakes and brown sugar too.
“Here.” She takes it with a murmur of thanks. I stand, drink I don’t want in my hand, feet planted apart as I study her like I’m looking for clues. “Did?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Nadia’s gaze slides to her drink. “Something I need to sort.” She straightens her shoulders and glances up. “Jay’s the important thing. I don’t know what to do. And I feel like such a pathetic loser saying that.”
I suck in a breath.
What I want to say is you’re not that. At all.
“Lemme guess, your selfish ass of a brother dumped him on you again and he’s acting out?” I studied her again. “Fell in with the wrong crowd?”
Bingo.
Nadia’s face twists like she’s going to cry, but she doesn’t. “There’re gangs—”
“There have always been gangs.”
“Don’t look at me like I’m some self-appointed princess and you’re a peasant, Fernandez. That’s your fairy tale, not mine.”
