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“Well Rumor from West Hollywood. If you were caller twenty, how loud would you scream?”
“Pretty fucking loud. I need a vacation like I need my next breath. Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t cuss on the radio, that’s gotta be a no-no.”
“It definitely is, but we’re not live, so I’ll let you slide. Now, get ready to scream.”
“Congratulations Rumor, you are caller number twenty. Pack your bags because you’re heading to Puerto Vallarta for the weekend.”
The scream that forces its way out of me is bordering on embarrassing, but I wasn’t lying when I said I needed a vacation. For the last few weeks, my soul has been begging for the solace I find in exploring nature. I usually don’t go more than a month without getting off the grid and grounding myself in some alone time, but I’ve had back to back clients at the gallery demanding attention.
After getting all the details of my prize, I shoot off a text to the group chat between me and my babes.
Rumor
BITCHES!!! Guess what? I won a trip to Puerto Vallarta this weekend to celebrate Cinco De Mayo! Who’s coming over tomorrow morning for mimosas and packing?
My phone chimes repeatedly a bubble of excited laughter builds in my throat. I can always count on my girls to be supportive in every fashion.
Scarlett
Mimosas you say? I’ll be there. Congrats you lucky bitch.
* * *
Lucy
No alcohol for me, but I’ll swing by. You’re so damn lucky with those radio contests. Remember the Britney Spears tix you won a few years back? That was fun!
* * *
Jesse
I have to open the shop so I can’t, but bring me back a sexy cabana boy, or girl, you know my type.
Harper doesn’t respond, but I’m not surprised, she’s probably passed out in bed already. Besides, she has work tomorrow, and nothing gets in the way of her coding—not even the gnarly hangover she’s bound to have in the morning. I respond to the girls and toss my phone on the passenger seat. The smile stretching across my face is huge. I probably look like a cheery psycho, but fuck if I care. This weekend is going to be unforgettable, I can already feel it.
Sun. Tequila. The beach. And my camera, what could go wrong?
“Do you know what time it is?” I growl into my phone, blindly sweeping my hand over the top of my nightstand searching for my glasses. Where the hell are they? I know I set them here last night after I finished the brief.
“Sorry Dante, I know it’s early. I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important, man.”
“Spit it out, Manny. Why the fuck are you calling me before dawn?”
“It’s your father,” he begins and my hand falters, knocking the empty tequila tumbler onto the wood floor, and shattering it. Fuck.
“He’s okay. Well not okay, but not, not okay. He had an accident and well…”
“What. Happened?” I grind out.
“He broke his leg. So you see, he’s okay, but he’s also not. The imbécil wouldn’t let me clean out one of the stills for him and he fell from the ladder. You know how he is, always has to do things himself. Terco. I was doing inventory when I heard him yelling from the back of the cellar and rushed him to the hospital. They’re operating on him right now.
“Fucking hell.” I swipe my hand through my hair and down my face, letting it drop limply beside me.
“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. His leg was twisted at this weird angle that I can’t unsee. How soon can you be here?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask absentmindedly as I flip my comforter back and finally find my glasses. Why the hell are they in bed with me? I never fall asleep with them on.
“Well, with your father unable to work for who knows how long, and Juan on vacation—his wife just had their fourth bebita—we need help. You know your old man wouldn’t allow just anyone to step in. Tiene que ser tú, Dante.”
