20. Beatriz
Beatriz
*Earlier that day.*
I sit at my desk, the last bell of the day already ringing, but I can barely focus on the students filing out of the classroom. My hands linger on the stack of papers, but my mind is elsewhere, tangled in knots.
Two days. Two days of second-guessing, of replaying that conversation over and over in my head, each word echoing louder than the last. Alejandro, Andrea, my father… it’s all a mess I can’t untangle.
I was angry at myself for doubting. For letting that seed of doubt take root and start sprouting like some fucking weed in my mind.
I know them. I know them both. They wouldn’t do that to me.
But the voice keeps coming back—nagging, quiet but persistent.
And it always latches onto my insecurities.
My past boyfriends. The ones who had cheated, lied, and made me question everything I knew about love and trust.
I swallow hard, trying to push the thoughts away, but it’s like they’re glued to the back of my eyelids. I can’t unsee them. And I know that if I let it go too long, I’ll spiral, and I can’t do that.
But what if I’m wrong?
What if I’m blind? What if this time it’s real?
I shake my head.
No. No, I’m not doing this again. I don’t want to sit in this mess for another second.
I know what I have to do.
I grab my bag, my keys, and head to the door.
I need to talk to Andrea. I trust her more than anyone else in my life, and if there’s anyone who can help me sort through this mess in my head, it’s her.
I need her to tell me I’m not crazy. I need her to tell me this is all just a stupid misunderstanding.
The drive isn’t long—just a few minutes, but my thoughts spin in circles. What if Alejandro really was with Andrea and didn’t tell me?
No, I can’t think that.
He wouldn’t do that to me.
I have to trust him.
I have to trust us.
But still, that nagging doubt refuses to fade. When I pull into Andrea's driveway, I turn off the engine and sit there for a moment, my fingers flexing on the steering wheel. I’ve been here so many times before, but this time feels different.
I grab my bag, slam the car door behind me, and walk up to her front porch, but I stop when I see his car.
With my brows furrowed, wondering what he’s doing here, I use my spare key to unlock the door, barely registering the sound of my keys clinking in my hand before I see them.
I feel like I’m suffocating the second the door swings open.
“Andrea, I need to talk to you.”
Then I see it.
Alejandro. Andrea. Hugging.
They’re too close, too intimate. My voice catches in my throat, and my mind stumbles for a moment. The confusion hits first. The knot in my stomach tightens, twisting into a cold, suffocating ache.
What am I looking at?
I try to make sense of it, to reason with myself.
They’re just friends. It’s just a hug, right?
But my mind doesn’t want to listen to reason. It doesn't care that they've never been more than family to each other—at least, I hope they haven’t been.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think, staring at them for what feels like an eternity, all of it sinking deeper with each passing second.
The thought that’s been gnawing at the back of my mind for the last two days—that maybe there’s something between them, something I don’t know about, something hidden—suddenly blossoms into something real.
My heart cracks open. It’s too much, too fast. My vision blurs and I blink hard, trying to clear the tears that threaten to spill.
My chest tightens in a way I can’t describe. I can’t do anything except stand there, feeling like the floor is about to fall away from beneath me.
Andrea looks up then, and she sees me.
Her eyes widen, her arms dropping from Alejandro. She steps back, her face flushed with something I can’t pinpoint, but I know it’s not guilt. It’s surprise. Shock, maybe.
But then my focus shifts to Alejandro. His eyes are locked on mine, looking like he’s just realized the gravity of the situation.
His face pales, and I see the worry creep in.
He takes a step toward me, his mouth opening like he’s about to say something, but I can’t hear it.
I can’t hear anything except the pounding of my heart in my ears.
I can’t keep standing here.
Before I know it, I’ve turned on my heel, pushing my way past the front door, slamming it behind me.
“Bee!” I hear Alejandro call out, his voice desperate. But it’s too late. I’m already gone.
I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know how to stop this feeling. All I know is that I need to get out. Away. Somewhere.
I don’t make it far.
My heels hit the pavement fast, my bag bouncing against my side with each step, but it’s not enough to outrun the ache crawling up my throat.
“Bee—wait!”
Alejandro’s voice slices through the air behind me, ragged and too close. And then—his hand closes around my wrist.
I spin toward him on instinct, heart hammering, eyes wild. “Don’t touch me.”
He lets go instantly, hands up like I’ve burned him. “It’s not what you think.”
I laugh—sharp, brittle. “Really? Because I think I just walked in on you wrapped around my sister.”
“Bee,” he says again, voice low and urgent. “Please. Remember what you promised me.”
I stare at him, stunned.
“You said you wouldn’t run,” he goes on, eyes locked on mine. “That you’d listen first. At the club, when you met Camila. Remember?”
And I do.
My throat tightens.
I want to stay angry. I want to hold onto it because it feels safer than letting myself trust. But I remember what happened when I didn’t—how Camila answering his phone spun me out when the truth was nothing like I’d imagined. I hurt him then. And I told myself I’d do better next time.
This is supposed to be next time.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Why were you with her?”
He pauses. Hesitates. And that hesitation—just a second too long—is a knife.
My stomach sinks as he stays quiet, fearing the worst.
I turn, but this time, I don’t run. I just walk. Like someone who doesn’t want to know the answer.
But before I make it past the porch, Andrea suddenly appears in front of me, grabbing both my hands.
“Bee, look at me.”
I do, barely.
She glances back at Alejandro over her shoulder. “Go,” she says, voice calm but final. “I’ve got this.”
I don’t resist.
I don’t have the energy to.
I feel hollow. Like something inside me cracked open and everything important leaked out.
Andrea leads me inside, and I let her.
I don’t know what Alejandro’s face looks like when he turns away.
But I felt it before I walked off—the fear in his eyes.
And I can’t help but wonder… is he afraid I’ll find out something I wasn’t supposed to?
Or is he just terrified I’m already gone?
Andrea pulls me inside and doesn’t say anything right away. No lectures. No judgments. Just quiet. She leads me to the kitchen like it’s any other Friday and not the moment my heart cracked in two.
The kettle’s already on. I hear the soft hiss of it warming. She sets a mug in front of me—té de manzanilla, the kind Mami used to brew at times like these—and sits across from me like we’re about to talk about anything but this.
“You gonna ask me,” she says, finally breaking the silence, “or should I just start talking?”
I stare down at my tea. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m thinking.”
Andrea doesn’t sigh like she’s annoyed. It’s quieter than that, like she understands too well. “That’s fine. I know what I saw on your face.”
I don’t say anything. She doesn’t need me to.
“He was here,” she starts, voice even, “because he wanted to know if I knew what Papi thought about him. About me and him.” I glance up. “Which, judging by the way you looked at us earlier, I’m guessing Papi told you about it. When?”
“A couple days ago,” I murmur. “When I went to talk to him about Alejandro.”
Her mouth falls open slightly. Her brows pull together. “Oh my gosh, Beatriz. Pero por Dios! You did that alone?”
I give a shrug, but it’s weak. My hands are still wrapped around the mug, but they’re not shaking anymore.
“You should’ve told me,” she says, eyes glinting, full of some blurry mix of sadness and pride. “I would’ve gone with you. Maybe we could’ve straightened it out. But you—” She shakes her head, smiling softly. “I’m proud of you. For standing up to him. That’s not easy.”
“Didn’t matter. He wouldn’t listen.”
“He never does,” she agrees, then leans forward, her voice sharper now. “But we’ll make him. Eventually. First—” she pauses, fingers tightening around her mug. “First, I need you to listen.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. Her grip is warm. Steady.
“Nothing happened between me and Alejandro. Not now. Not then. Te lo juro. I swear on Mami’s name.”
I believe her. I do. But part of me still flinches. Not because I think she’s lying. But because I hate that I even questioned her.
“I can tell you the truth until I’m blue in the face,” she says, squeezing my hand, “but until you decide to believe it, it’s not going to matter.
You have to let these insecurities go, Beatriz.
Ya, basta. It’s enough. I love you, hermanita.
But you’re about to ruin this with Alejandro.
And I know how much you love him—how long you’ve loved him.
Just let it go, B. Trust in him. In me.”
That part hits the hardest. The way she says it. The way it feels.
I let the silence hang between us. The tea’s cooled. My chest still feels raw, but the sting is starting to fade. I think about the way Alejandro looks at me. The way he reaches for me is like an instinct, like he can’t help it.
“I believe you,” I say quietly. “I know you’re right. And I’m sorry I doubted you. That wasn’t fair.”
“Damn right.” Her mouth lifts in a proud smirk. “But it’s not just me you owe an apology to.”
I laugh under my breath. She’s not wrong.
“He loves you,” she says. “And right now, he’s freaking out. Hard. Go find him. Tell him lo siento. Then kiss him stupid.”