Chapter 34 Elena
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
elena
Las Cruces, New Mexico
The thing about flying in a small plane with a cowboy you may or may not be falling in love with is that you feel everything.
Every bump in the sky.
Every glance that lingers too long.
Every truth you’re too scared to say out loud.
Other than giving me another flight lesson, Isaac doesn’t talk much on the way here, but he touches me every chance he gets.
We land just before lunch, the sun high and unforgiving.
Home sweet home.
I’m able to borrow a truck from a family friend working at the air strip.
By the time we get to my parents’ modest adobe house tucked off a dirt road, my nerves are frayed, and my heart is lodged somewhere between my ribs and throat.
I warn Isaac quickly. “I didn’t give them much notice and I didn’t tell them I was bringing anyone. If I had, it would’ve been a whole community production, and we’d never escape unscathed.”
“We leave whenever you say, spitfire. I’m just here for moral support.”
Before I can thank him, my mother opens the door wearing one of her fancier house dresses, rosary beads dangling from one hand like a weapon, and a pinched look that only deepens when she sees Isaac behind me.
“Estás flaca,” she says instead of hello. You’re too thin.
I brace for the rest.
She doesn't disappoint.
“Who is this?” she asks, narrowing her eyes like Isaac’s a stray dog I dragged home.
“This is Isaac. He—”
“Never mind who he is,” she snaps. “I told Diego you were coming. He’s on his way over.”
Well, fuck.
“Mamá,” I warn.
She turns and walks inside without another word.
Isaac lets out a slow breath behind me and mutters, “Friendly woman.”
My dad is in his recliner. Thin but swollen, breathing through his nose like every inhale costs him. But when I lean in for a hug, he squeezes me back.
“My girl,” he rasps. “You bring life into this house again.”
In more ways than you know.
“Hi, Papa.” I turn to face them both. “This is Isaac Logan. His family owns the ranch we’re filming the Welcome to Paradise show on. I told you about it.”
My father tries to stand, but Isaac stops him. Sits beside him and shakes his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
The act of kind thoughtfulness makes me want to kiss him here and now. But I refrain. Then take a deep breath and face both of my parents.
“So, I’m home because I have news.”
My mother scoffs. “Not for your father’s birthday then?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Papá. Beyond sorry that I missed it this year.”
He waves my regret away.
I inhale sharply when Isaac stands beside me. He places a hand on my lower back. Steadying me. Supporting me.
He gives me the strength I need. With my mom, it’s best to rip the band aid off. If I delay, later she’ll feel like I was mocking her by not coming out with it.
“I know you wanted to have dinner, Mamá, and I smell your amazing cooking from here. But Isaac and I,” I begin, mustering the closest thing to a smile I can manage in his direction. “We’re having a baby.”
For a moment, there is only silence. Blissful silence.
And then all hell breaks loose.
I knew this wasn’t going to go well.
I just didn’t expect the praying.
Or the wailing.
Or the actual rosary beads flying out of my mother’s hands like holy weapons.
In rapid-fire Spanish, my mom demands I repeat this.
“I’m pregnant,” I say again, voice steady even though I feel like I’ve been tossed into a hurricane.
There’s a beat of silence. Then my mother gasps like I’ve just told her I committed a felony.
“Ay Dios mío.” She crosses herself three times. “La vergüenza. The shame. Now Diego will never—”
“Mamá.” I cut her off, my voice cutting her deeply as my words are about to. “Diego and I are not a thing. We have never been a thing, and we will never be a thing. Maybe when Papá passes on, you can marry him, since you think he’s so wonderful. I hope you like missionary.”
Isaac stifles a snort from beside me. If I’m not mistaken, my father does too.
“You disrespect us, Elena!” she cries. “Always so selfish! You didn’t even give Diego a chance. And now—you’ve let some cowboy put a baby in you?!”
She spits out cowboy like a vulgar curse word.
Isaac shifts beside me, standing tall but quiet. Respectful. But I can feel the tension rolling off him, see the way his spine goes stiff.
“You, Mamá, disrespect me by not allowing me to make my own choices. I’m not a child anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”
My dad clears his throat. Still sitting. Still calm. “Let’s all take a breath,” he says, slow and gentle. “Mija, my strong-spirited girl.”
I brace myself for a speech about how I never can quite just be what they want.
But then he smiles. And not just any smile. The kind he used to give me when I brought home a perfect report card or stayed up to help with his dialysis machine when Mom had to work late.
“You are glowing. And nothing—nothing—makes me happier to see.”
Tears sting my eyes, unexpected and immediate.
“Gracias, Papá.”
He nods. “You will be a wonderful mother, Elena.”
Then his gaze shifts to Isaac.
And just like that, the warmth turns into a stare that could melt steel.
“You,” he says in a low voice. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”
Isaac’s brows raise. “Well, sir, I—”
“You have no ring. Are you planning to marry her? Provide for her? For your child? Or are you just passing through, leaving my daughter to clean up your mess?”
My mom wails again. “We should’ve taken her to church more often—”
“I plan to give her whatever her heart desires,” Isaac says, interrupting gently but firmly.
“I can only hope that’s me someday. I’ll take care of her in whatever way she needs and allows.
But I’ve seen firsthand how important her independence is to her and I admire and respect that very much.
Either way, I’ll still be there. I hope to be the kind of father my father was, steadfast and reliable.
I’m not going anywhere, sir. And I’ll never consider my child a mess to clean up. ”
My mom’s jaw drops. She literally clutches her chest.
My dad nods once in approval.
Meanwhile, I am fucking floored. I gape at Isaac, wishing I’d recorded everything he just said so I could play it again a million times.
Just as it seems like the atmosphere is becoming breathable, Diego shows up.
Because of course he does.
He lets himself in like he lives here and stands just inside the kitchen entryway, arms crossed, button-down shirt too crisp, cologne heavy in the air. Cloying and restrictive.
“Elena.” He nods to my parents before pinning me with a punitive stare. “You didn’t return my texts.”
I inhale sharply. “I’ve been busy.”
He smirks. “So I heard. It seems congratulations are in order.”
But he doesn’t offer them. His stare takes on a possessive edge I don’t like and Isaac moves closer.
Diego leans casually against the wall, his large frame dwarfing my parent’s small home. “Would’ve been nice to get a heads up that you’d be in town.”
“She doesn’t owe you anything,” Isaac says from beside me. Calmly but with an edge.
Diego’s eyes flick to him, dismissive. Then back to me. “I just wanted to talk.”
“And if she wanted to talk, you’d know.” Isaac steps forward. “Have you ever known her not to talk if she had something to say?”
Diego’s eyes plead with mine. “Please, Elena. Five minutes. I just want to—”
“I’m pregnant, Diego,” I blurt because I’m out of patience and energy to protect everyone else’s feelings. “As you overheard. The baby belongs to Isaac,” I say, contemplating admitting that I’m beginning to feel like I do, too.
Diego pulls a disgusted face. “Christ Almighty, Elena.” He sizes Isaac up then and appears to find him lacking. “This is what you want?”
“This is none of your business,” I retort.
“My business,” Diego huffs out almost like he’s laughing. “I’ve known you all my life, Elena. You are always my business.”
“This is where you walk away, friend,” Isaac says, voice still steady and even. “You’re not what she’s choosing right now. If for any reason you ever are, I’ll respect that. But until then, you need to respect this. And her.”
Isaac angles his body so he’s between me and Diego.
There’s a lot of emotions and testosterone filling my parents’ cramped living room.
Whatever else it is, Isaac Logan and I are having a baby. We’re going to be a family in our own way. Maybe not the way my family would like or in the chronological order they’d prefer. But our child won’t be any less loved because of it.
My entire life, I’ve taken the brunt of whatever my family and Diego dished out. Alone. Having Isaac here is like having a human shield, or at the very least, a teammate who has my back. It’s a nice feeling, one I can’t help but appreciate.
Without thinking, I slip my hand into Isaac’s large warm one. He gives me a gentle squeeze that would make me smile if not for the circumstances.
Diego tilts his head like he’s been challenged and is contemplating making a scene. But then he looks at me and I give him the most pleading glance I can manage. I’ve had enough drama for one day and I’m tired. Feels like I’m always tired lately.
Diego’s stare drops to my hand in Isaac’s and he takes a step backward. Accepting this for what it is. Finally.
My mother, not so much.
She scoffs loudly. “You think this is real? This baby, this—whatever this is between the two of you? Acting isn’t a career and playing house isn’t a marriage.
What you do for a living, it’s a hobby for people who want attention.
It doesn’t last when your looks fade. You’re having a baby, mija.
Do you have any idea what that will do to your body? ”
I open my mouth to argue that plenty of actresses have children and successful careers, but Isaac beats me to it.
His voice is louder, deeper than before. Thunder rumbling through the house.
“I’ve heard about all of this nonsense that I’m going to listen to.
With all due respect, ma’am, your daughter is a beautiful, brilliant, and resilient young woman.
She’s built a career she’s proud of, and I’m proud to know her, to have the privilege of raising a child with her.
If you can’t be supportive of her when she needs it, then that’s a damn shame,” he says, voice dropping lower.
“Because this woman is stronger than anyone I know. She doesn’t ask for help.
She doesn’t even want to take it when it’s offered.
And I won’t stand here and let anyone—especially the people who claim to love her—tear that down or take any of what she’s accomplished away from her. ”
Silence drops like a hammer.
Even Diego doesn’t dare speak.
My father clears his throat. “I am very proud of you, mija” he says, his voice gravelly.
And just like that, I’m five years old again, craving that one line like oxygen.
The visit doesn’t last long after that. Diego excuses himself to make a work call. My father hugs me. My mother pouts on the couch, sniffling like she’s the wounded one.
What’s broken between us can’t be fixed in a day.
But when we leave to board Isaac’s plane, my mother’s face softens long enough to hand me a casserole dish, so we at least have dinner on the flight home.
She mutters something about herbs and prenatal vitamins, and I hug her despite the hurt between us.
She hugs me back so that’s a start.
The return flight to Montana is quiet. Sky bathed in sherbet pinks and purple hues, the hum of the engine steady. Like the man beside me.
He doesn’t say anything derogatory about my family.
Doesn’t brag about putting anyone in their place.
Doesn’t gloat or make jokes. Doesn’t poke fun at my family or our culture or even give me a hard time when I admit that I did, in fact, hook up with Diego one disastrous time.
He just flies me home like I’m precious cargo.
And it’s then that I realize, the place I consider home has changed.