Chapter 17
Yael
It’s been nine days since Don Santos took his last breath in the arms of his morena consentida, his one and only granddaughter.
Since he was Catholic, the block came together in prayer, in remembrance, and today we play with honor, concluding the nine days of luto*.
It’s Sunday morning, the sun high and bright in the sky, “Burbujas De Amor,” by Juan Luis Guerra, drifts from the small speaker in the kitchen.
I blow on my coffee, watching the steam twist into the air, inhaling the deep aroma.
Outside, the block hums with slow life.
The smell of fried salami and onions saturate the air, cutting through the incense still burning inside the Santos’ household. Small careful footsteps make my heart flutter, a smile stretching across my lips. When I meet her sleepy gaze, curls wildly tumble over her face like curtains.
“Morning,” Adriana grumbles, taking the extra cup of coffee in my hand. “Thank you…” She drags in a deep breath, her eyes lifting to mine. “Thank you,” she repeats, and the look on her face tells me she’s thanking me for more than just the coffee.
I’ve been beside her every step of the way since it happened.
Making sure that she’s eating, and helping with the cleaning, even if it’s costing me sales at the bodega.
At this point, none of it mattered… only her.
Adriana leans against the brown counter, her fingers tracing the wavy rim of her mug.
The morning catches the gold hidden under the deep brown in her curls, and for a second, she looks like the girl I used to watch from across the block—before grief, before Lenny, before everything that slowly chipped away at her—including me.
I never deserved her, and now that rings even truer.
Despite it, I can’t help but want to be with her…
She exhales slowly, nibbling on the inside of her cheek because she’s nervous. “You know what’s crazy?” Her voice softens. “Abuelo told me something before he passed. And I’ve been debating whether to tell you or just keep it to myself. I’m not sure, but I think I want to tell you.”
“Mhm... that's so?”
She nods. “Yeah, that’s so.” Adri shrugs before taking a small sip of the hot coffee.
“So what did he say?” I ask, placing my cup on the counter, and closing the space between us. One hand landing on each side of her.
“He told me he wasn't the first Santos to fall for a Cruz.”
I raise a brow, already knowing where this is going but encouraging her to continue anyways. “Oh si…”
“Yeah, asi. He said he was in love with your grandmother once. Back when they were young. Before she married your grandpa and he married my grandma.” I run my tongue over my teeth debating what to say, only to blurt out the truth.
“I know. She told me.”
Her eyes widen, showing me the small specs of gold in her irises. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence feels sacred, the air between us a prayer, one that unites us in love. From behind us, the song changes to “Frio, Frio,” by Juan Luis Guerra, another hit.
“Wanna know what else, I know?” Adri looks at me with confusion and uncertainty.
Her thin brows knitting together, my reply is my hand reaching for hers, pulling her into me.
My other hand settles on the small space of her back.
I guide her into the beat, my chin resting on her head, getting high off the scent of shea butter.
“Todo comenzo bailando,”* I whisper against her hair. “She fell in love with him the moment he danced salsa with her.”
Adriana laughs, low and nervous. “Guess it runs in the family.”
“Maybe,” I say, “but I’m not letting history repeat itself. I used to think I was doing the right thing by letting you go. You deserve the world, Ciela, and all I can give you is this heart, my soul, and this dance. For you always. Lenny, he could—”
She stops me with a kiss, it’s abrupt, and my neck strains down to her.
“Don’t finish that,” Adri murmurs against my lips, salty tears slipping between us.
“It was never Lenny… Yo estaba ciega*…” That confession hangs between us, trembling like the last note of Guerra’s song.
I hold her tighter, our hips swaying gently from side to side, the rhythm slowing and our bodies rocking gently to the music inside us instead of around us.
Despite the deep cramp in my neck, we continue to kiss, it’s a gentle exploration of tongues.
Her tears slip against my lips, salt and warmth mixing with the scent of coffee and shea butter.
My tongue glides against hers, slow and deliberate, giving her the kind of kiss that rewrites history.
The kind that says we’re not them. And she’s mine.
My fingers dig into her scalp, pressing her tighter into me.
There’s no space, and my dick responds to the proximity.
Adri moans, her nails digging into the back of my neck.
I walk her into the counter, and her hands slide down from my neck and onto my bare chest. Each touch is an exploration, as the loud dominoes clack and laughter drifts from outside.
Only making the moment more perfect.
A domestic bliss of the life we both deserve. Drunk in love and dancing to a merengue barefoot in our kitchen every Sunday morning. We haven’t touched like this since before Don Santos’ death and it takes everything inside me to pull away from her.
“Adri,” I breathe, afraid of continuing, I know she’s grieving and I can’t take advantage of it. No matter how bad I want it. There’s still so much we need to talk about, and just like that, I ask the question that has haunted every space inside my mind.
“Why?” I choke out, pressing my forehead against her. “Why did you leave me?”
Adri lets out a broken sound. “I– I–” she stammers, trying to find her words. This time I cup her beautiful face forcing her to look at me.
“Porque te fuiste?* Why with him?”
Tears well in her eyes before streaming down her face.
“Yael, I don’t know. I saw Neno’s call, he needed you there.
He needed you there.” Her voice breaks and each word lands like a devastating blow to the heart.
Her small hands curl into tiny fists, a small sob wracking through her body.
“If you wouldn’t have been with me,” she chokes.
“You would have been there, he wouldn’t be… ”
“Dead.”
We voice out loud the truth neither of us has dared to touch, our eyes connecting. Anguish swirling within them.
“For so long, I blamed myself, and funnily enough it was Don Santos that shed some light. I was drunk, asking him to forgive me, and he said, ‘Mijo, there’s nothing to be sorry for. People make choices and aveces, no resultan*.’ And little by little, I stood by my choice.
I love you, there wasn’t a day that I didn’t feel this love for you.
There wasn’t a doubt in my heart that you would come back to me.
And I stayed single, waiting… waiting for mi Ciela bella to return the sky back into my colorless world. ”
For the first time, Adriana Santos is speechless.
“Why?” She sniffles, and I smile before leaning in and brushing my nose against hers. “Porque te amo. Porque tu eres la unica mujer que deseo y que adoro.” *
We dance in silence, even when the song merges to salsa, “Oh que Sera,” by Willie Colon.
The oppressing weight in my chest feels lighter today, almost as if the time I spend with her alleviates the pain I’ve been holding on to.
I spin her, our feet landing on the same beat, and even though we’re both crying—we’re dancing.
By the end of the song, we’re both breathless, and staring into each other's souls.
Finally giving them what they demand.
Adriana jumps into my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist. With one swipe of my hand, I clear the counter.
Paper, cups, and whatever else falls to the ground.
I hoist her up as we continue to nip and suck on each other's hungry lips. She doesn’t have to tell me that my feelings were reciprocated.
I feel it in the way she grinds into me—so desperate to give me all of herself, to be one with me like it should have always been.
My lips drag down her jaw and then her neck.
Her body arches into mine, she’s wearing one of my white beaters and cheeky green panties—and they’re soaking wet.
“We should stop,” I say, even though I don’t want to.
She shakes her head. “Stop, why?”
I grip her hips, digging my thumb into the bones, causing her to moan. “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” I tell her honestly, and Adri looks up at me.
“What? No. I want you to take advantage of me.”
“You do?” I trail my fingers up her sternum, watching her nipples stiffen beneath the white fabric. Adri dips her hand between us, and my gaze moves to where her fingers slip past the fabric of her cotton boy shorts, and when she pulls them back out, they’re glistening.
“What do you think?” she shoots back, lifting her index and middle finger into the air— spreading them for me with a look on her face that tells me to devour her.
Sliding her fingers into my mouth, my tongue swirls around her flesh.
Lapping every drop of her heady arousal, I close my eyes, indulging in the taste of her.
Wishing that I could have this forever. My body comes alive, possessiveness consuming me, and the urge to rut her and breed her makes my balls draw tight.
“I need to feel you,” I whisper, to which she replies with her heels digging into my ass. “Mmm, tell me what you need, mami.”
She mewls, the sound so sultry that it makes a shiver run down my spine. I want more of that. More of her. More of that beautiful melody she sings for me every time she comes. I drop to my knees, spreading her open just so I can see how wet she is for me.
“Yael….” she chokes out, trying to play coy now with me.
I haven’t had her how I wanted to. It's always quickies, and stolen kisses whenever we’re recording but I’m done with that.