Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Julia slowed as she approached the trailer, then stopped. It looked exactly like it had on that night.
There were the same steps leading to the door that she’d stumbled up in her stilettos. Inside would be the darkened interior where his hands had groped her, where breath had been hot and reeking of alcohol in her face.
She glanced at Daniel beside her. Squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.
Tethered in the long grass, Tequila wagged her tail and whined. Daniel went and let her off. She came bounding towards Julia, skidding to a halt just before she collided with her legs.
Julia squatted down and submitted to her daily drool session.
While scratching the dog’s ears, she remembered it was Tequila who had saved her that night.
Her barking had alerted Daniel to what was happening in his trailer.
She felt a hot lump rise in the back of her throat.
She didn’t know why that was making her emotional, but it was.
Daniel came over and looked down at Tequila resting her heavy chin on Julia’s knees. “No le gusta nadie. Solo a ti.”
“What?”
“She doesn’t like anyone but you.”
Julia stood up and followed him to the trailer steps. She climbed them slowly, stopping on the threshold.
As she stared around the room, an icy hand of fear gripped her by the throat.
She’d seen this place so many times in her nightmares.
There was the wall he’d held her against, which she now saw was a wardrobe door.
The place where he’d held a hand over her mouth, stopping her from breathing.
Where she believed she was going to die.
Daniel was standing near the bed, watching her with an expression that seemed caught between sadness and tenderness and something else. Something much darker. He exhaled and said, “I can take you back home.”
She looked at him. He opened his arms, and she walked right into them. Instantly, the grip of fear receded.
“No,” she said into his chest. “I want to stay here. With you.”
With utmost care, he removed her clothing one piece at a time, treating her as gently as a delicate porcelain doll.
He discarded his own clothes and pulled her into bed next to him.
With his heavy arms, he embraced her and simply held her.
She dozed, and when she dreamed, it wasn’t about being paralyzed and in fear.
It was of Daniel, wrapping her in his warmth, his scent, his firm hands.
When she woke, it was to find him wide awake and watching her. Their heads sharing a pillow, foreheads touching.
“You okay?” he whispered.
She nodded. They kissed. She let him in, his tongue feeling more at home in her mouth than her own.
The kiss grew hotter and more urgent. He sat up and took a condom from the beer crate and put it on.
Then he sat up against the wall and pulled her onto his lap.
She braced her hands on the wall on either side of his head and slid down, taking him fully inside with a soft moan.
He gripped her hips and rocked her flush against him.
His mouth was on her neck, his tongue branding her skin with its heat.
Their bodies intertwined so seamlessly, it was hard to believe they served any other purpose than to be joined like this.
When she came, it was like coming apart and the only thing holding her together was him.
* * *
Sunlight pierced through the thin curtains, draping across her face.
Julia stirred but didn’t move, letting herself sink into the moment.
She thought about the last time she had woken up in Daniel’s trailer—how it had felt like clawing her way out of a nightmare, only to realize she was still trapped inside it.
This time, she felt like she had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming.
She turned her head toward him.
Daniel slept on his stomach, sprawled across the bed, taking up just as much space unconscious as he did awake.
One arm was flung over the sheets, the other tucked beneath the pillow.
The broad, muscular expanse of his back was half-covered by the crumpled sheet, his tanned skin smooth except for the faint scars and tattoos she was beginning to recognize as intimately as she knew her own reflection.
He was beautiful. Almost unbearably so.
She reached out and traced the scar on his temple, running her thumb lightly over the jagged line that disappeared into his dark hair. Then she smoothed her finger over the tiny cross tattooed on his cheekbone.
His lips curled into a lazy smile before he even opened his eyes. He made a low, sleepy sound and rolled onto his back, stretching, then lacing his hands behind his head. His dark eyes met hers, warm with amusement.
“Morning, bonita.”
She smiled back, propping herself up on her elbow. The trailer was dim, the air thick with the lingering scent of sleep, sex, and him.
Daniel made a satisfied sound and rolled toward her, reaching out.
She scooted back. “I gotta brush my teeth before you even think about kissing me.”
Before he could catch her, she slipped out of bed, scooping up her camisole and panties from the floor. She pulled them on as she grabbed her makeup bag and disappeared into the tiny bathroom.
She rinsed her face, then brushed her teeth with the spare toothbrush she had stashed in her bag. When she came out, he brushed past her, taking his turn.
While he was in the bathroom, she wandered into the little kitchenette.
Opening the cupboard, she found the sum total of his dishware: one mug, a couple of glasses, one bowl, one plate.
His pantry was even more depressing—a jar of instant coffee, an unopened box of Rice Krispies.
She checked the fridge. A carton of juice. A six-pack of Sol Cerveza.
Clearly, he ate most of his meals at Martín’s.
What he lacked in human food, though, he made up for in dog food. A full twenty-five pound sack of chow sat in the corner, like Tequila was the only one around here getting three square meals a day.
Daniel came up behind her, sliding an arm around her waist and tugging her back against him. His other hand pushed her hair aside, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below her ear.
“I gotta go to work soon,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. “But I was kinda hoping we could go back to bed for a bit.”
She smiled over her shoulder. “And how am I getting home?”
His mouth skimmed lower, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses down her neck. “I’ll take you home. Unless…” He grazed her skin with his teeth, then soothed the spot with his tongue.
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Unless…?”
His lips found the shell of her ear. “Unless you wanna stay here. Forever.”
She laughed softly. “Stay here? Forever? With you and your one bowl and your one box of Rice Krispies?” She reached out, pulled open a drawer, and laughed again. “And your one spoon.”
His hands flattened against her stomach, smoothing over her skin. “We can share.”
She chuckled, and he squeezed her tighter. The heat of his bare chest seeped into her back.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or serious,” she murmured.
She angled her head, trying to catch his expression—just like she had the day before, when he told her he loved her.
He smiled against her skin. Then his hand slid down the front of her panties.
She gasped, gripping the counter.
His voice was rough in her ear. “Can I please fuck you now?”
Later, as they lay tangled together, skin damp, hearts still racing, he propped himself up on his elbow.
He brushed his palm against her cheek, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. His dark eyes searched hers, something unreadable in them. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said—
“I wasn’t joking.”
* * *
Daniel legs swung over the edge of the lumpy mattress and sat up, pushing the tangled blankets away. Julia came up behind him and ran her hand over the tattoo on his biceps, the Death-like figure in a black robe and a red crown. “So, what’s with the skeleton?”
“It’s not a skeleton,” he said. “Es la Santa Muerte.”
“What’s that?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Not what. Who. La Huesuda. The Bony Lady.”
She looked more closely at it. “The Bony Lady?”
“Sí. My mom had a shrine to her in our garden. Lit the candle every night. White for thanks. Gold for money. Red for love. Black for protection.”
If he closed his eyes, he could see the painted stone statue of La Huesuda in the far corner of the courtyard of their house in Torreo?n. Her head was bowed, her bony hands strung with rosary beads and clasped in supplication. Like a skeletal Virgin Mary.
He said, “We had a statue of her. Sebastián used to be terrified of it. He thought she was like Death, you know. Like how the Grim Reaper is to Americans. He thought she was coming to take his soul in the night. But my mom told him, no, she’s not like that for us.
Para nosotros, ella es la Nin?a Bonita, la sen?ora que nos mantendra? a salvo.
” He looked at her, at the puzzled expression on her beautiful face.
“For us she is the Pretty Girl, the lady who will keep us safe.”
He could hear the hollowness in his voice as he spoke. He never talked about his mom. Not even to Sebastián, who was too young to remember much of their life in Coahuila.
But when he closed his eyes, he could see all of it.
He could see his old house, blue with white shutters.
His mama? under the jacaranda tree, sweeping up the violet flowers in the spring.
He could see old Sen?or Go?mez shuffled out of the house next door, yelling at him for using his wall for football practice on Sunday mornings.
He could see the outdoor bathroom in the tin shed, which got so hot in the summer that the water in the toilet bowl steamed.
She reached out and trailed fingers over the image of an old, bearded man on his shoulder blade. “Who’s this guy, then?”
“St Jude.” He smiled back at her. “Patron saint of lost causes.”