Chapter 43
Sol
I rock in the chair Max put under the gazebo, watching him train with Xander, Drake, and Hector.
Setting my book down, I grab a water bottle from the mini fridge Max added for me.
Every time I glance at the men, a ball forms in my chest. It’s been two months since Leo passed.
I still find it hard to believe I’ll never see him again.
When I’m at the café, newly remodeled, I catch myself glancing at the doorway, praying he’ll walk in with his bright smile, ready to stock my books and inform me of what other bookstores are doing to improve sales. He was a good gossip friend.
My sister had been in town for Leo’s funeral.
I knew, deep down, my sister had feelings for him.
I had not known she had broken it off with her boyfriend when she arrived back in Paris.
She felt guilty for falling for Leo. I’m not sure if anything happened between them.
She understood Leo wasn’t ready for a relationship and might never be.
We all formed a friendship—a family based on the hardships we had endured.
In the last two months, we have all grown closer.
The day they lowered Leo’s casket into the ground, a weight like cement settled on my shoulders.
I only wished I had known him as long as Max and Xander had.
In the short months of getting to know him, I grew to love him as family, my best friend.
Leo kept his circle tight and small. At his services, it was only us.
Mrs. Debbie was there, her long, gray hair flowing, tears in her eyes, for the boy she loved dearly.
I wish the rest of the world could have met Leo.
The perfect, sweet smile that brightened the world.
His laugh gave you no choice but to giggle.
I will forever be grateful to him for protecting my babies’ lives.
I want the world to know who Leo Rubio was.
Max and I are going to create a scholarship in his name when the gym opens. For parents who can’t pay for their kids’ sports. It’s something Leo would have believed in.
“How are the feet?” Max jogs toward me.
I’m close to thirty-three weeks now, and every part of my body is swollen. I’m so ready for the twins to be born; they kick my ribs countless times. I pee every couple of minutes, and I’m tired all day, every day.
“Your Vicks foot massages are a game-changer, thanks to your dad’s recommendation.” It amazes me how Hector still remembers what he did for his wife when she was pregnant.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” His gentle fingers work my ankles. “I was thinking…we should get married this coming weekend. We all could use some happiness in our lives right now.”
He’s right. It’s been hard for all of us. We canceled all our plans. I had no energy mentally to deal with anything. My therapy sessions increased to twice a week for a while. Just this month, we went back to once every two weeks.
“And I would like you to be my wife before the twins arrive.”
My smile grows. “I’d like that. We all could use a celebration.”
He nods, then frowns at my disappointed expression. “What’s wrong?”
“My dress doesn’t fit me anymore.”
“Ah, don’t sweat it. You can get another or dress in anything you want.”
Stretchy clothes would be perfect.
“Whatever’s comfortable for you,” he adds.
“I’ll shop for a simple dress, but once my body is back to normal and I don’t have a chipmunk face, I’d like to get wedding photos.”
His laugh rumbles. “I love your chipmunk face.” He pinches my cheeks. “So cute.”
I roll my eyes playfully. Of course, he would say that. The man will do anything not to make me feel like a giant air balloon. My back has been killing me. Who am I kidding? My entire body aches. “How’s training going?”
Max wipes his face with the towel hanging on his shoulder. “Fucking brutal,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Hector, shouting encouraging words at Xander, who is dragging a tire.
“Damn,” I say.
“He has us do this once a week. His training is way more effective. I’ll give him that—he’s good.”
Hector has found his place. Training. He does it like it was his calling. He works at Max’s company, and I’ll say their relationship has improved. They laugh together. Hector has had no sign of relapsing. He attends all his meetings and continues to see his therapist. We are proud of him.
“He loves it.”
“He does.” Max chuckles. “A little too much. I think he enjoys torturing us.”
This is the most I’ve seen him laugh since Leo’s passing.
Max has always felt he has to carry the weight for both of us.
Although I told him he’s allowed to cry, scream, even.
He kissed my cheek and said, “I will, just not in front of you.” He was worried it would add stress to the pregnancy.
I heard him sniffle in the restroom and in the pool house.
I’d let him have his moment alone, then I’d silently sit on his lap and wrap my arms around his neck and hold him.
A couple of weeks ago, Nessa showed up at our house.
She apologized for everything that happened.
She knew about Carlos forcing me to leave Max.
At the time, she said she felt he was right.
Max didn’t let her inside. He doesn’t trust her, and neither did I.
She also knew about the other woman. And about Daniel being related to Carlos.
Max sent her away and told her never to come back.
Hopefully, she keeps her distance. I didn’t feel sorry for her. I wanted to. I just couldn’t.
“So, I want to tell you something. Do you have time? Or I can wait.”
“I always have time for you, sunshine.” He pulls a chair out and sits, giving me his undivided attention.
“So…” I pull out an envelope from under my book. “I received this a week after Leo passed. I just didn’t want to open it.”
He nods, understanding.
I had been waiting for the DNA report from Ancestry to arrive when my heart was ripped out of me once again. It has been hard to grieve so many losses. “I also opened my account online to view my family tree, but I was waiting until I felt ready after losing… Leo.”
“We can read it together,” he says eagerly.
After opening the envelope, I see that I’m sixty percent Mexican, ten percent Italian, and some other small percentages of different ethnicities. It’s a start to finding my identity. One I’ve been waiting for.
“That’s interesting.” Max takes the paper and reads it. “You know. I want to apologize.”
I pick up my iPad from the small table beside me. “For what?” I ask, typing in the website.
He sighs, shoulders dropping. “Everything’s been so chaotic lately. I wanted to be by your side through all this—helping you piece together your memories, helping you learn more about your family—but we kept getting pulled away.” When I glance up, I catch his gaze. “Carlos fucked our lives up.”
Carlos took so much from us—Leo. One thing he didn’t take from us is the love we all have for one another.
“You’ve been there when it counted,” I tell him, my voice softening.
“Just having you nearby has been enough. Healing doesn’t happen overnight…
but I’m making progress.” The twins tumble inside me, and I smooth my hand over the curve of my stomach.
“These little ones are my saving grace. This pregnancy came exactly when we needed something to hope for.”
His large palms run along my belly. A smile so wide always happens when they move like crazy, kicking and pushing on my ribs. “Perfect timing.”
The doctor said we might have to do a C-section at 38 weeks if one of the babies doesn’t turn.
Max scoots his chair closer to me so he can view the screen sitting on my belly.
I’m amazed. Photos of my mother on her wedding announcement from the local paper, high school photos, one of her winning the best loaf bread competition.
She even made it on the paper. She’s so young, like maybe late twenties, I think.
A memory surfaces. My mom worked at the grocery store bakery for some time.
I do remember that she was excited to start a new job at a bakery in town.
She was always baking at home. Trying to perfect a new bread recipe.
I was her taste tester. I don’t recall the rest. Maybe in time, the other pieces will come together.
I always thought I got my love for baking from my adoptive mom before I knew I was adopted, but it turns out it was from my birth mom.
I find more information about my dad. Then my grandmother. I click on family members. Aunts, uncles, and cousins.
“She looks a lot like you.” Max points to a woman who lives in California. She’s four years older than me. It seems she’s related to my mom’s older brother. I don’t recall if I’ve met him. I’m sure I might have.
“She does,” I say, my voice coming out shaky, catching on the words.
Max’s thumb brushes away the wetness tracking down my cheek.
These days, everything makes me cry—blame the twins.
But this feeling in my chest isn’t just hormones.
Learning about my parents, their history—it’s like finding missing puzzle pieces I didn’t know were lost. For the first time, each detail feels like recovering a fragment of a shattered mirror, slowly revealing the reflection of who I truly am and where I come from.
It’s definitely a start. “Should I send her a message?”
“You should.” He plants a kiss on my hairline. “She might just respond. It’s incredible what you can find.”
Indeed, it is. I’d seen commercials in the past before knowing I was adopted. Just imagine if I did send in my DNA, and my whole truth came out. It has made me wonder if they would have told me the truth. I shake my head. Stop overthinking.
“I’ll give you space to write to them.”
I nod, kiss his cheek, and he saunters to the guys, while I, with a nervous hand write to my relatives.