16. Alejandro #2
Is this the real reason he had me break up with Beatriz? Because he thought I cheated on his daughter with her sister?
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I say quietly, but the words feel weak against the force of his anger.
He’s not going to listen to me. He won’t change his mind.
“I’ve had enough of your excuses,” he spits. “I don’t want to hear another word. Leave. All you will ever be in this house is the gardener’s son.”
The finality in his voice stings, unforgiving. He doesn’t wait for me to say anything else. He slams the door in my face.
The sound of it reverberates in my chest as I stand there, frozen. It feels like the door closing on everything—on Beatriz, on us, on the life I thought we could have.
I stand there for a moment longer, anger and confusion swirling inside me, but I don’t go back. I turn and walk away, the conversation settling on my shoulders like a hundred-pound weight.
As I drive away, I feel the familiar sting of rejection, of being nothing more than a reminder of my past. I feel like I’m that same teenager again—chasing something I’ll never have.
And with that feeling heavy in my chest, I head straight to the bar.
I keep my eyes fixed on the amber liquid in front of me, watching it swirl in my glass as if it’s going to do anything but make me more miserable. My thoughts are a mess. The conversation with Mr. Ayala is replaying over and over, his words circling like vultures, picking at my insides.
I take another drink, and the burn only dulls the ache for a moment. It doesn’t erase the sting of his words. The way he looked at me, like I was nothing. The gardener’s son—always.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I glance at the screen. Beatriz.
The familiar ache in my chest flares up again. I didn’t mean to make her worry, but I know she will. She always does.
I answer, but my words slur more than I’d like them to. “Hey, Bee…”
“Alejandro?” Her voice cuts through the fog, sharp and concerned. “Have you been drinking?”
I try to sound nonchalant. “Yeah... just a little. No big deal, carino.”
Her tone shifts, a mixture of disbelief and worry. “Where are you?”
“Bar by the docks,” I mumble, rubbing my face, fighting the dizziness. “I’ll be okay.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know she won’t buy it. I can already feel her glare, even through the phone. “Stay there. I’m coming.”
Her words hit me like a lifeline. I feel a rush of relief at the sound of her voice, at the fact that she’s coming. But I can’t shake the guilt. I shouldn’t have let it get this far. I shouldn’t be here, drowning in my own mess.
I hang up and sit back in my chair, the alcohol swimming in my veins.
My thoughts are a tangled mess—Beatriz’s father’s rejection, the bitter sting of the past, the pain I can’t shake.
I’m still here, still trying to prove that I’m not just the gardener’s son.
I’m still trying to show her father that I’m worthy of her.
The minutes tick by slowly. I don’t even know what time it is anymore.
The bartender finally sets the glass down in front of me with a raised brow. "That’s it, man," he says. "You’ve had enough. Gotta cut you off."
I nod lazily, but before I can make a move, I hear the door open, and there she is.
She walks over to me, her eyes scanning me, concern obvious in the lines of her face.
Without a word, she helps me to my feet, her touch grounding me in a way that I can’t explain. I stumble slightly, but she’s there, steady, her hand on my arm as she leads me toward the door.
“Let’s get you to your car,” she says softly.
I let her guide me, my steps unsteady. The cold night air hits my face, the faint smell of saltwater and humidity wrapping around me as we make our way to my car. She opens my passenger door for me, helping me into the seat. It’s the last place I want to be right now, but I don’t argue.
I can barely keep my eyes open, but she’s there, still waiting, still patient with me.
“Talk to me, Alejandro,” she says, her voice quiet but firm, the kind of tone I can never argue with.
I try to steady myself, but the alcohol makes everything feel like it’s spinning.
“It’s your father,” I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
“I went to see him today. I thought... I thought if I could get his blessing, maybe it would make things easier. Maybe it would make everything better for us.”
Her hand reaches for mine, squeezing it gently. She’s silent for a moment, letting me speak, and then asks softly, “The last time I saw you this drunk was at your father’s memorial. You only drink like this when you’re hurting. So... what happened?”
I remember that day. The pain, the grief, and then her, like a light in the darkness just out of reach. She wouldn't look at me, came, paid her respects, and left.
I look away, feeling the confession pressing down on me like a ton of bricks.
It’s too much, too heavy to just let go.
“He told me I wasn’t good enough for you,” I say, my voice tight with the truth of it.
“He said I’d never be. That I’m still just the gardener’s son.
And that I... that I wasn’t worthy of you. ”
Beatriz’s eyes soften, but I can see the hurt there, too. “Alejandro, you shouldn’t have gone. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.”
“But it does, Bee.” My voice is rough. “It matters more than you know. You don’t understand. It matters so much that it made me leave you the first time.”
She turns toward me, her hand on my face now, gently cupping my jaw. “What do you mean?”
I try to pull back, to backtrack, but it’s too late. “What I mean is that he threatened my father’s business. He threatened to ruin everything. The house—the business. He made me choose between you and my father.”
Her hand trembles as she listens, and her face hardens, a mixture of disbelief and sadness crossing her features. “That’s why you left? Because of him? Because of what he said?”
I nod, my throat tight. “He told me if I didn’t leave you, he’d make sure my father lost everything he’d worked for. That he'd blacklist his business. My dad would default on his loan and we'd lose the house on top of everything. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Beatriz closes her eyes briefly. And when she opens them again, there’s no anger—just a quiet, painful sadness. “You should’ve come to me, Alejandro. I could’ve tried to stop him. I could’ve—”
“No,” I cut her off, the words coming out too harsh. “You couldn’t. You would’ve felt too guilty if you couldn’t stop him. You would’ve blamed yourself. And my father would’ve lost everything. I couldn’t let that happen.”
She lets out a long sigh, her shoulders sagging as she absorbs my words. “I understand why you did it. But... I wish you would’ve told me. You should’ve trusted me.” She leans over, her forehead resting gently against mine. “I hate that he did this to us. To you.”
I close my eyes, the weight of the moment feeling too heavy to carry on my own. “I’m sorry, Bee.”
I choke on the emotions in my throat, trying my best not to let the years worth of pain stream from my eyes.
She doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, she rounds the hood, adjusts the seat, and starts my car, pulling out of the parking lot. The ride back to my house is quiet with everything sitting heavily in the air between us.
When we reach my home, she helps me upstairs to my room, guiding me to my bed. As I lay down, my head spinning, she pulls the covers over me and sits beside me.
I turn my head to look at her, the overwhelming exhaustion creeping in. “I don’t deserve you, Bee.”
She smiles softly, brushing my hair back from my forehead. “You don’t have to be perfect, Alejandro. I just need you to be here. And I need you to let me in, too.”
I close my eyes, the exhaustion finally claiming me. As she sits beside me, I let her hold my hand, feeling the warmth of her touch.
For the first time today, it feels like maybe... maybe everything will be okay. But I'm an idiot who can't read situations right, and this is no different.