Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Daniel rattled the wrought-iron bars of the security gate, then stumbled backward into the gravel parking lot. It was past midnight. Martín’s restaurant was shuttered, dark, and silent.
He tipped his head back, eyes searching the second-floor windows. “?Sebastián! ?órale!”
A minute later, a shadow moved behind the glass. Then the sound of locks clicking open—first one, then two chains sliding free. The door creaked, and Sebastián appeared in the dim hallway, arms crossed. He eyed Daniel from head to toe. “Estás pedo, güey.”
Daniel was drunk. He lifted the bottle of bourbon by its neck and shrugged. “Getting there.”
Sebastián didn’t move. Another figure appeared behind him—taller, older than Sebastián, younger than Daniel. He was pulling on a t-shirt as he stepped into the light.
Daniel watched as Sebastián turned toward him, and they shared a brief kiss before the guy headed out the door and jogged down the steps. He passed Daniel with an unreadable glance before disappearing across the lot.
Daniel turned back, raising an eyebrow. “That Caleb?”
Sebastián nodded.
Daniel snorted and gave his brother a playful shove. “He come to get his book back?”
Sebastián just looked him up and down. “I take it you and Julia are over.”
Daniel rubbed a hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Mierda.”
Three days had passed since that morning in his trailer, and each one had been progressively worse.
He let the door bang shut behind him and climbed the stairs, trailing after his brother.
When they reached the room, he uncapped the bottle and took another swig before slumping to the floor beneath the window.
The bourbon burned warm and cheap down his throat.
He held the bottle out, and Sebastián took it, hesitating only a second before drinking.
Daniel fished a joint from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers. He planned on getting so drunk and so high that he wouldn’t have to feel anything, not until tomorrow at least.
Before he could light it, Sebastián muttered, “You know Martín freaks when you smoke in here.”
Daniel exhaled sharply and shoved the joint back into his pocket. He leaned his head against the windowsill. “I always knew I was gonna fuck this up.”
Sebastián didn’t say anything. Just took another sip of bourbon, grimacing like he regretted it.
The silence stretched between them. A streetlamp outside cast slanted gold light through the threadbare curtains, illuminating one side of Sebastián’s face.
Daniel stared at the bottle in his hands.
“You remember when we finally got to LA? After that fucking bus ride from Tucson?” He took another drink.
“I had to give the driver Dad’s Rolex and two of Mom’s gold necklaces just to get us on board.
Fare was probably forty bucks, but he saw two unaccompanied Mexican kids and figured he could take us for a fucking ride. ”
Sebastián stayed quiet.
Daniel let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “And when we finally got here, we had nowhere to sleep, so I stole that car from the bus terminal.”
Sebastián’s voice was quiet. “I don’t remember any of that.”
“You were, what, four? Still crying for Mom and Dad every night.” Daniel turned the bottle in his hands. “So, I told you this was how people in America lived. That everyone slept in their cars so they could wake up someplace new every day.”
He glanced at his brother, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “But you called bullshit on me right away. Told me people here don’t live in their cars. They live in houses, same as people in México. And that’s when I knew—shit, this kid is gonna be way smarter than me one day.”
Sebastián’s face was unreadable, but his voice was thinner than before when he said, “I remember you singing ‘Macochi Pitentzin’ to me when I couldn’t sleep.”
Daniel smiled. “You remember that?”
Sebastián nodded.
“You remember Mamá singing it to you?”
A pause. Then, quietly, “Maybe.”
Daniel exhaled. Took another drink. Passed the bottle back. This time, Sebastián didn’t wince as he swallowed.
“Then we ran out of gas,” Daniel continued.
“So, I dumped the car and was in the middle of lifting us another one when this huge guy comes running out of a tattoo shop across the street. He had an aluminum bat, and was shouting like a crazy motherfucker. I froze. Thought, this is it. This is how I die.”
Sebastián listened, silent.
“But he didn’t hit me,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “Just grabbed me by the scruff and told me that if I was gonna steal cars, I needed to learn how to do a better fucking job of it.” He reached across, taking the bottle back. “And that’s how we met Terry.”
Neither of them spoke for a long time after that. They just drank together in silence.
After a while, Daniel stretched his legs out and said, “You know how I told you that once the ‘Cuda was finished, and I had enough saved up, we’d be outta here?”
Sebastián stared at him. “We’re leaving?”
Daniel nodded.
“All of it?”
By which he meant the gang. The drugs. Terry.
“All of it,” Daniel said. “For good this time.”
Sebastián was quiet. Then: “When?”
“Not tomorrow.” Daniel looked down at the empty bottle. “But soon. Real soon.”
Sebastián didn’t respond right away. Then he turned and met Daniel’s eyes. “What about Julia?”
Daniel squeezed his fingers against his temples. The thought of never seeing Julia again hit him in the chest like a physical blow.
He forced himself to his feet. It was harder than expected, and he had to grip the windowsill for balance. “I told you,” he slurred. “It’s over.”
He was halfway to the door when Sebastián called after him.
“?Y a dónde vamos a ir, Dani?”
“Where?” Daniel turned back, his voice quiet but certain. “Nos vamos a casa, hermanito.”
We’re gonna go find someplace we can finally call home.
* * *
Everything was perfect. The bride looked beautiful in bespoke Dior, her six-foot train of handmade French lace trailing behind her down the rose petal-strewn aisle of the huge marque.
The groomsmen all looked handsome in their tailored suits, the groom wiping away a tear as his bride approached.
Proudly watching from the front row, the mother-of-the-bride wore a custom Versace gown, while the stepfather-of-the-bride looked regal in his kilt.
Five hundred impeccably dressed guests filled the remaining marquee space.
A string-quartet played Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling In Love”.
Julia stood stiffly on the dais, clutching her bouquet of pink roses to her chest and trying very hard not to cry. It was only when Natalie was gazing lovingly into Carter’s eyes and saying “I do” that she couldn’t hold back the dam any longer.
She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of a tissue, hoping everyone would just assume they were tears of joy.
The main thing was to not ruin her makeup.
It had taken two hours to apply and if she wasn’t careful, it would be dripping off her chin before the ceremony was even over.
Her mother was already eying her from her seat in a way that seemed to say, pull yourself together.
The wedding had cost a small fortune—actually, quite a big one— and no one wanted it ruined by one bawling bridesmaid.
Finally, they signed the papers, and the ceremony ended.
The reception was being held in the house, with a live band performing in the newly renovated gazebo.
Julia made a beeline for the champagne table.
She hardly ever drank alcohol. After that boozy night out in the city that had ended so disastrously, she’d quit the stuff altogether.
She was now reevaluating that decision. Double-fisting flutes of Dom Perignon, she looked around for a quiet spot where she could get drunk in peace.
Her studio seemed like the perfect place.
She could curl up on the couch and cry properly, without worrying about her makeup.
That was all she had been doing these past three days, anyway.
Sleeping in his sweatshirt and crying in her studio.
Stirring only when she heard a loud car engine.
Then, when realizing that it wasn’t the ’Cuda, sinking back down into her depression.
She wished now that she’d never found out what she had about him. That she’d never gone prying into his things. Gone opening boxes in her mind that she’d vowed to keep sealed shut. Her ignorance had been bliss. And now she could never get it back.
Gripping her glasses, she started making her way out to the pool area.
But it was like being stuck in one of those video games where obstacles kept popping up to block your path.
Distant family members kept accosting her, telling her how beautiful she and her sister looked.
Complete strangers came up to her, feeling it was their sudden duty to inform her that one day she, too, would get to walk down the aisle in a big white dress.
A photographer stopped her to take her photo, which she wished she’d refused.
She didn’t want Natalie’s wedding album to contain a snap of her standing there with smeared mascara and holding two empty champagne flutes like a lush.
A groomsman intercepted her and tried to start a conversation. He might have been flirting with her, but she wasn’t paying enough attention to be sure.
By that point, both her glasses now being empty, she realized she need the bathroom. Glad for the excuse to get away from the groomsman, she diverted her course to one of the downstairs guest bathrooms.
She bent over the sink, washing her hands, when a wave of crippling pain hit her again.
She missed Daniel more than she thought she could miss anyone.
And it hurt, physically. It ached in her bones.
Even her skin hurt; it was like all those pheromones had soured into neurotoxins and were now poisoning her from the inside out.
She wondered if he had been thinking about her as much as she’d been thinking about him. Or if he’d moved on already. He’d told her he loved her. But then, she knew nothing about love. Except that she sucked at it.
She turned off the tap and stood there, head bowed over the sink, tears dripping off the end of her nose.
The bathroom door opened, and someone came in.
“Oh, excuse me,” said a woman’s voice.
Julia straightened, hiding her tear-stained face. “I’m all done here now.”
She didn’t want to go back out there looking like this, but now she’d have to. She grabbed her clutch bag and tried to leave, but the woman was blocking her way. In her hand was a pack of tissues.
“Weddings always get me going,” she said.
Julia forced a smile and took the offered tissue.
The woman put the pack back into her leather satchel bag. “Although, I feel like those ain’t happy tears.”
Julia swallowed but said nothing. With the tissue, she dabbed her face and studied the woman more closely.
She was Black, fiftyish, with short graying hair.
Her attire was not exactly wedding appropriate.
She had on a crumpled jacket, a white shirt with a faint pink stain on the right side and black pants.
The leather satchel on her hip. She looked like she was on her way to a very boring business meeting.
“Boyfriend trouble?” she said.
Julia continued to say nothing. A feeling of uneasiness crept over her. There was something not quite right about this woman.
She seemed to sense Julia’s disquiet and smiled.
“My name’s Belinda,” she said, pulling something out of her satchel.
“I’m a Special Agent with the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration.
” She held open a leather wallet containing an ID that confirmed that fact.
“And if you don’t mind, Julia, I’d like to have a little chat with you. ”
“With me?” Julia shook her head. “Why?”
That small smile again. “It’s about your boyfriend.”