Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
HAVOC
I glance across the table at Vortex. He’s been acting miserable all day, and it’s pissing me off. “What crawled up your ass?” I ask.
“Fucking drop it,” Vortex growls, stabbing his salad.
We’re in the employee break room, with Madeline at the other end of the table. She tenses at Vortex’s aggressive tone.
I glare at him. “Sheesh. Sorry. Didn’t you get enough yesterday to calm you down?”
“I told you to drop it!” Vortex says, following my gaze toward Madeline. He lowers his voice, but his tone is no less venomous as he adds, “Just because we’re both with Seven doesn’t mean we’re friends. It’s none of your goddamn business.”
Madeline abruptly stands up. “Okay. This is TMI for me.” She stops near the door. “But, just so you know, most of us already figured out that you’re all dating Seven.”
Of course they have. It’s not like we’ve done a good job hiding it.
I wait until Madeline’s out of the room before I turn my attention back to Vortex. “I don’t care if you’re my friend or not, dickwad. I care that you’re making it your business to spread the misery. ”
“I’m not—” Vortex makes an aggrieved sound. “What do you want, Havoc? You could walk away, you know.”
With how we’re both fucking Seven, and often work together, I did think we were… fine, not friends , but people who talked to each other. The other day at the pool had been a lot of fun. I haven’t been that relaxed in ages.
Maybe I am pissed off that he doesn’t want to share with me.
Before I can respond, my phone rings. It’s my mom’s ringtone, so I answer immediately—and in Spanish, so Vortex can’t eavesdrop.
“Hola, Mamá. What’s up?”
There’s a long silence.
“Mamá?” I ask, my bad mood ratcheting higher.
“Can you come home? Please?” my mother asks through sobs. “I need help.”
Fuck. My anger turns into worry. “Yes. I’ll be there in twenty—no, fifteen minutes. Stay on the line?—”
But she hangs up.
I curse, grab my jacket, and check for my car keys.
“What’s—” Vortex begins, but he must remember how thoroughly he’d shut me down when I’d tried to ask him what was wrong because he cuts himself off just as fast. “I’ll tell Caleb you had an emergency.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I jog all the way to my car, my heart beating faster and faster.
How bad is it that she’s calling me for help?
Is she going to be alive when I get there?
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I drive as fast as I can, cursing all the slow drivers and pedestrians and the fucking construction going on. It takes me longer than twenty minutes to get to my mom’s house. I don’t even bother locking the car before rushing into the small, single-story house.
The door’s already unlocked, which is a bad sign.
“Mamá!” I shout. “Where are you?”
I hear sobbing from the kitchen, and I make my way there .
My mother is on the floor next to the oven. Blood is trickling slowly down her face.
My vision goes hazy. “What happened?” I ask sharply, crouching down so I can look at her more closely. Her nose is bleeding, and her cheek has already started to darken into a bruise. “What did he do, Mamá?”
This is the part where she lies and tells me he hasn’t done anything.
That’s how it’s played out every other time she’s called me, no matter what the injury is.
“I…” The lie is right there on the tip of her tongue, and I’m preparing myself to fight with everything I have when she says, “I think I want to leave, mijo.”
My breath catches, and I think I misheard her.
I’m not going to look this gift horse in the mouth, though.
“Okay,” I say immediately. “Okay. I’ll pack up your things. Some clothes, money, your documents. Where are your passport and green card?”
She sobs lightly. “In a box under the bed. It’s all there. Your birth certificate too.”
I nod. “Okay. Can you get up? We’ll take only the essentials.”
She lets me help her up, and I dampen a few paper towels so I can wipe her face clean.
I don’t know when she started to look so much older, but the tears and redness in her cheeks don’t help.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I don’t have any money, Javi. I can’t pay you.”
“Mamá…” I shake my head. “I don’t need money from you. I just want you to be safe.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” she insists.
I’m so afraid that she’s going to change her mind if I let her stand here and ruminate, so I gently take her arm and start to lead her toward her bedroom. “Where’s your bag? I’ll start to pack for you. ”
She follows, feeling fragile and delicate beneath my touch. “In the closet. Javi, I can get it.”
“You focus on yourself right now,” I say, finding one of the unused suitcases in the closet. The only time we ever traveled anywhere was one Christmas, before the Step Asshole, when we’d gone to San Antonio to meet one of her cousins.
I wonder if I can reach out to her and get her to support my mom.
I open the suitcase and toss a few of her clothes. Then I reach under the bed and pull out a small container. It has my American birth certificate, her Mexican birth certificate, photocopies of my passport… but it doesn’t have her passport or her green card.
“Mamá,” I ask with dread. “Does Marcus know you keep the important stuff in here?”
“Of course, Javi,” she says. “Why—” Her voice goes high as she looks down into the container and says, “Oh.” A choked sob escapes her. “He’s not a bad man, Javi. He’s not. He makes mistakes, that’s all.”
“He is,” I counter, but I remember what Seven had said, how upset he’d been when I’d called my mother stupid for staying.
I put the container inside the suitcase and go for the Step Asshole’s bedside drawer. I toss out the underwear and socks, and I find a fifty dollar bill but no passports. Frustrated, I start rummaging in the back of all the drawers.
That piece of shit knows that my mother is screwed without those documents.
I still remember waiting in the USCIS office with her while she nervously clutched her documents. She and the asshole had done separate interviews and proved they were properly married before they finally issued her the permanent residency. That day, I’d wondered if my instinctive dislike of Marcus had been irrational. After all, he’d paid for the whole procedure and ensured she could stay in the country with me.
Nope. My gut feelings about him had been right .
“Where else could he hide your documents?” I ask her. “You have to help me look. We need to find them and get out of here.”
“Maybe I should stay,” she hedges. “I’ll talk to him when he gets home.”
She’s too close to leaving for me to give up this easily. “Where would he have hidden them, Mamá?” I ask her, trying to keep my impatience from my voice.
“I don’t know, Javi. I must’ve misplaced them.” She sounds so tired.
So small.
So afraid.
“You didn’t misplace them,” I say fiercely. “You go look in my old room. I’ll check the living room and the kitchen.”
I don’t know what I’ll do if the green card isn’t in the house. She won’t leave without it. She can’t leave without it.
“I’ll look,” she says. She turns for the door, and I get another glimpse of the bruise forming on her cheek.
My hands clench into fists at my sides, but I force them to relax before she can see it.
I wish Seven was here to talk to her. He would know what to say to make her listen.
I stride out of the room, going to the living room. I start opening drawers and looking through the bookshelves, taking the books out one by one and flipping through them in the hopes that her passport or green card will fall out.
I’m heading for the kitchen when the door opens.
With dread, I turn to see the Step Asshole walking in. He’s holding a massive bouquet of flowers, as well as a box of chocolates.
His expression sours when he sees me. “What the hell are you doing here, boy?”
I sneer at him. “I’m picking my mother up. We’re leaving.”
“Javi? I can’t—” My mother turns the corner, and she freezes when she sees Step Asshole standing there. “Marcus. ”
“Where is her green card?” I ask, taking several steps in his direction.
“Javi, no!” she says, hurrying to grab my arm and pull me back.
“Sofía’s green card?” Marcus looks at her. “I put her documents in the safety deposit box at the bank, remember? For safekeeping. You lose things all the time.”
“I must’ve forgotten,” she says. She smiles, though it’s so obviously forced that I want to scream at her to stop playing along with him. “See, Javi? It’s fine. You know my memory is terrible.”
“You remember poetry you had to memorize in elementary school,” I point out. “Your memory is fine. This piece of shit?—”
“Hey!” Marcus barks. “I won’t tolerate that kind of language under my roof.” He holds the bouquet out. “You want this or not, Sofía?”
My mother takes a step around me, and the world slows down as I see this play out the way it always does. She’s going to take the flowers and forgive him, then pretend none of this ever happened.
How many more times is she going to do this before she finally leaves him?
I’d done more research after Seven had flipped out on me.
Seven times . That’s the average. I know it, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t be the case. I don’t know how many times I can watch her gather up her courage only to have her self-worth crumble in the wake of his pathetic attempts to “make things better.”
“I’m sorry I bothered you, Javi,” she tells me as she takes the flowers. “I was only being silly. It was an accident, that’s all.”
Marcus looks around the living room. “Christ, you made a fucking mess of the place. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back.”
“You really shouldn’t have,” I sneer.
“Javi…” My mother trails off, looking between the two of us. “Maybe it would be best if you left for now. You can come over for dinner tomorrow.”
“I was going to take you on a date tomorrow,” the Step Asshole says immediately .
“The day after tomorrow,” she amends.
My hatred for him only grows. “I think I’m busy that night,” I snap at her.
She recoils from me, looking tiny as her shoulders slump. “All right, mijo. Tell me when you’re free, then.”
Shit. I’m fucking this up.
I look at Marcus. He’s older than I am, but he hits the gym. I could still take him though. I was evenly matched with Vortex, and Marcus is no Vortex.
I could wrap my hands around his neck and choke the life out of him.
But if I kill him, I don’t know how I’d get my mother’s green card back. I don’t know what will happen to her if I’m investigated.
I make a frustrated sound and kick the coffee table. It scoots several inches forward, but the damage is unsatisfying.
“Get out of here,” Marcus barks. “I don’t need a violent bastard like you in the house.”
“I’m going,” I growl back. Before I leave, I turn to my mother. In Spanish, I say, “You aren’t alone. I am here for you. If you ever need me?—”
“Just fucking get out,” Marcus shouts.
My mother flinches, clinging to the flowers for dear life. “I love you, Javi,” she calls out after me.
In English.
I storm out and slam the door as I get into my car.
If I go back to the casino now, I’m going to do something I regret.
So I pull out of the driveway and start driving away.
I have no clue where I’m going, but I know I can’t let anyone else see me like this.
I can’t let Seven see me cry.