Chapter 17
RAUL
Ever since my birthday, I've been dodging Olivia.
Is it intentional? Maybe. There haven't been many jobs offered, and with peak tourism season winding down, Dad and I have been busy running instead. Still, tonight I've got security at her bar as the main bouncer. I'll be posted up at the front door, so hopefully I won't even see her.
She's sent me a few texts. I haven't had the mental capacity to answer any of them.
Nothing happened after my birthday, but I still felt my wall crack. I can't bring myself to let her in after that. She got too close, too fast, and I wasn't ready for it.
If she saw the real me, would she leave too?
The only ones who have ever stayed are blood.
What reason would she have?
She'd have a million reasons to leave.
She doesn't know about the drugs. She doesn't know about the trailer I call home. She doesn't know about my mother, or the way my family is small but completely bound together by things I don't know how to explain. And she can't know.
I promised myself I'd keep the bubble around Olivia intact. That way, when I'm with her, I can pretend for a little while that my life isn't a complete shit show.
But fuck, does she keep pushing against those boundaries.
I pull into the lot outside the bar later that night and cut the engine.
The music from inside is already bleeding through the walls, a dull thump under the buzz of streetlights.
I sit there for a second longer than I should, staring at the front doors, bracing myself for a night of pretending I don't know her.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Olivia.
I stare at her name for a beat, then shove the phone back without answering.
By the time I step out of the car and head toward the entrance, my face is set in the blank look I've been wearing for days.
If I keep the distance, maybe I can keep the damage from showing.
After checking in and getting into position, I accidentally glance inside the club.
Her eyes find me almost immediately, and for one stupid second it feels like she burns straight through me from across the room.
Fuck.
Olivia is breathtaking.
The overhead light catches in her dark red hair and turns it nearly to fire, bright and alive against all that shadow. She doesn't look angry. She doesn't look hurt. She doesn't look like anything I can name.
And that's what wrecks me.
Her face is too calm. Too unreadable. It makes my skin prickle, like I've already done something wrong and just haven't figured out what it is yet.
I force my eyes back to the door, to the line of people waiting to get in, to the job I'm supposed to be doing. But it's too late. Her stare lingers. I can feel it on the back of my neck like a hand I don't know how to shake.
The night drags on like that.
People come and go. I check IDs, scan wristbands, send a few too-drunk assholes away with a hard look and a word. The music pounds through the walls, bass vibrating up through my boots, but none of it drowns her out.
Every time the door swings open, I brace myself.
Every time it doesn't, I'm still thinking about her.
Halfway through the shift, the line thins out for a minute, and I catch another glance inside. She's pouring a drink, head bent over the bar, but then she looks up like she knows I'm there. Our eyes lock again, longer this time.
No smile. No wave. Just that same steady look I can't figure out.
My stomach twists.
I look away first.
By the time last call hits, the crowd is thinning, and the air feels heavy with the kind of tension that sticks to your skin. I'm wiping down the doorframe, pretending to be busy, when the front door opens from the inside.
It's her.
Olivia steps out with a glass of water in her hand, her apron untied now, hair a little messy from the night. She stops a few feet away, close enough that I can smell her perfume mixed with the faint tang of spilled liquor.
"Hey," she says.
Her voice is quiet but clear, cutting through the noise from inside like it was made for me.
"Hey."
She takes a sip of water, eyes never leaving mine. "You've been avoiding me."
It's not a question.
I open my mouth to deny it, then close it again. There's no point. She knows.
"Yeah," I say finally. "Maybe."
She nods once, like she expected that answer. "Why?"
The word lands heavier than it should.
I shift my weight, glancing at the door like it might save me. "Been busy."
"Mm." She doesn't buy it. "Busy enough not to text back?"
I swallow.
She waits.
"It's not…" I start, then stop. "It's complicated."
Her expression doesn't change, but something flickers behind her eyes. Hurt, maybe. Or disappointment. I can't tell which is worse.
"Complicated how? Was it the gift I got you? Did I do too much?" she asks.
I drag a hand through my hair, looking anywhere but at her. "Jesus! No. Just… stuff. Family stuff. Work stuff."
"Stuff," she repeats, voice flat.
"Yeah."
She studies me for a long beat, then takes another sip of water. "Okay."
That's it. No fight. No push. Just okay.
But the way she says it feels like a door closing.
She turns to go back inside, but pauses with her hand on the door. "If you ever want to uncomplicate it, you know where to find me."
Then she's gone.
I stand there staring at the door long after it swings shut, the weight of her words settling heavy in my chest.
My shift wraps up, but I can't make myself leave just yet.
I sit in my car in the parking lot, windows cracked, watching the bar's door. I just want to make sure she gets to her car safe. I don't know why I feel this pull to protect her, but it's there, sharp and insistent. I'd do more than protect her if she let me, but no one else needs to know that.
My breath catches when she finally steps out.
She's with two other girls, and relief hits me so hard it almost makes me dizzy. She's safe.
I watch her climb into that little yellow Beetle, then peel out of the lot before she can spot me. I'm fucking exhausted from staying on edge all night.
The trailer's warm buzzing glow welcomes me when I pull up.
Dad's gone for the night on some out-of-town run, so it's just me.
I strip off the button-up and slacks immediately, pulling on my old dark gray sweatpants instead.
They used to hang loose on me, but now they fit snug.
I need to get back to mornings with Diego, jogging or lifting before the day starts.
No shirt tonight. The AC hasn't caught up with the heat yet anyway.
A cold beer and the gray futon are calling my name. A few hours of mindless TV before bed sounds perfect. I crack the beer open, drop onto the futon, and flick on a random channel.
Then someone knocks on the door.
My hand goes to the pistol in the drawer next to me on instinct.
"Who is it?" I shout.
No answer. Just another soft knock.
My pulse kicks up. Nobody shows up here unannounced. Nobody knows about this place except Dad's guys and family, and Diego would've just walked in with his key. What if it's trouble for Dad? What if he's in deep?
I tuck the gun into the waistband of my sweats and crack the door open.
My heart slams to a stop.
"Olivia?"
She stands there in the porch light, offering a small, almost apologetic smile.
"How did you —"
"AirTag with a magnet under your car." She holds it up like a white flag.
"Why?"
"I need answers, Raul." Her eyes flick past me into the trailer, not judging, just… taking it in. Like she's piecing something together.
"For what?"
"You disappeared on me." She shrugs, simple as that.
"I didn't."
She waits.
"I just want to know why. Please."
Something in her voice, or maybe the look in her eyes, tugs hard enough that I step aside and let her in.
She steps inside, and the trailer suddenly feels even smaller.
Olivia glances around without making a big deal out of it. The worn futon, the stack of empty beer cans I meant to take out, the single bulb overhead casting long shadows on the paneled walls. She doesn't say a word about any of it, but I can feel her seeing it all.
I close the door behind her and turn, the gun still tucked against my back like a guilty secret.
She sets the AirTag on the little kitchen counter and crosses her arms, waiting.
"So," she says. "Talk."
I lean against the counter, buying time. "What do you want me to say?"
"Why you ghosted me."
"I didn't ghost you." The words come out defensive. I hate how they sound. "I've been busy."
She tilts her head. "Busy doing what?"
"Work. Family stuff."
Her eyes narrow just a little. "You've been at the bar three nights this week. Didn't say a word to me."
I shift my weight, the sweatpants suddenly feeling too thin without a shirt. "It's my job."
"Raul."
The way she says my name cuts right through the bullshit.
I drag a hand through my hair and look away, staring at the floor like it might give me answers. "Look, it's not you. It's me."
She lets out a small, frustrated laugh. "That's such a line."
"It's not." I meet her eyes again, and fuck, that was a mistake. She's looking at me like she actually cares what I say next. "You got too close."
Her brows lift. "Too close how?"
I swallow. The words stick in my throat. "I'm not… what you think I am."
She doesn't move. Doesn't blink. "Then tell me what you are."
Everything in me wants to shut this down. Send her away. Keep the walls up.
But she's standing in my trailer in the middle of the night, having tracked me down because she wouldn't let it go.
And that does something to me.
I take a breath. "This place. The job. It's not the whole story. There's shit I don't talk about. Family. My mom. Things that make me… fucked up."
She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo. "I'm not asking for your life story. I'm asking why you pulled away."
"Because if you knew," I say, voice low, "you'd leave."
The silence after that is deafening.
She studies me for a long beat, then reaches out and touches my arm. Light. Steady.
"Try me."
I pull my arm away from her touch like it burns.
"You should go," I say, voice flat.
Her hand freezes mid-air for half a second, then drops.
But she doesn't move.
Instead, she steps closer.