Chapter 11
All my brothers are packed around the island in my dad’s kitchen, shoulders brushing. Heat rolls off the stovetop across from us in waves. The rich smell of garlic and broth fills the kitchen as Dad finishes the albondigas soup.
He stands at the stovetop, finishing the dish like it’s a performance instead of dinner.
His wooden spoon is poised like a magic wand.
He tastes, a pinch of salt, a dash of cumin, tastes again.
He’s done this a thousand times and the additions are so small but I know what he’s thinking when he does it.
What else would Carmen add?
Mom made the best soup.
“You’re going to ruin it,” Gabriel mutters, leaning in and peering over the rim of the enormous pot.
Dad slaps his arm impatiently, hoping he’ll take it as a sign to get it him out of his space. “I’ve been making this longer than you’ve been alive.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re improving.” Santi slugs his beer.
Dad doesn’t look up from his stirring. “Get out of my kitchen.”
Santi loves winding people up, so he only steps in closer. “We’re supervising.”
“Senor, dame paciencia…” Dad murmurs.
I watch them all, elbows on the island, glass of tequila loose in my hand and a smile hiding on the corner of my lips. Selling the ranch was emotional this weekend, and it was probably more bitter than sweet.
On the way home, Santi asked if we did the right thing. Said maybe we should have just held onto it. Doubt crept into us all, but it’s too late.
Being here shifts the focus back to the present. Back to something positive.
And I need that because as soon as we landed back at SFO yesterday, all I could think about was how I have only a couple more days before I’m meeting with Delilah. She said five days. It’s what I’m taking.
Pushy princess.
“Alright,” Enzo says, walking to his laptop bag that’s sitting on a stool and grabbing out a catalog. “Before we eat—logistics.” He drops a large colorful magazine down with a sharp slap on the countertop. “Engagement party’s locked in. Which means tuxes.”
Gabriel exhales. “Monkey suits.”
“Yeah, believe it or not, Ava doesn’t want us all wearing combat boots down the aisle,” Enzo says.
Santi perches on a nearby stool. “Funny coming from a woman that lives in Doc Martens.”
Gabriel snorts and hitches his thumb toward Enzo. “We both know who the real primadonna is.”
Dad puts his spoon down and comes around to our side of the counter. “Don’t get anything boring… we need some tuxes with personality.”
Santi straightens slightly. “I’m not wearing anything that makes me look like a waiter at my own brother’s wedding.”
“You’ll look worse than that,” Gabriel mocks.
“And yet still better than you,” Santi points his beer bottle at G.
Another smile finds the corner of my mouth.
Selling the ranch this weekend… it hurt.
There were so many memories tied up in that land, timber and dust. There was where the versions of us that don’t exist anymore still seemed alive. We signed the papers anyway. Because that’s what you do. You move forward. You make the call. You don’t sit in what’s already gone.
But this—
This right here?
This is what we fought for.
The noise. The arguing. Santi running his mouth. Gabriel pretending he’s not enjoying himself. Enzo trying to control something that doesn’t need controlling.
Dad in the middle of it, cooking to keep us all in one place.
We didn’t always have this.
After Mom died, it went quiet in a way that wasn’t us. An emptiness so absolute rushed in to our family before any of us were ready.
We learned how to fill it again.
It’s not the same, no. When you lose someone, that’s permanent and you never get same back. But it’s close enough that we can laugh without it catching in our throats.
I won’t let anything– not my past mistakes or pretty women in denim and leather– put the life we’ve built in jeopardy.
I flip through Enzo’s catalog without really looking at it. “You’re not going to wear something traditional?”
He takes it as a criticism, as he often does, and pulls the catalog out from under my fingertips. “I’ll try something in between.”
Dad shuffles through the open plan space and over to the dining table, where he grabs his phone. He swipes it and taps. “Ava and I made a Pinterest board…” he says, sliding his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and putting them on.
He and Ava moved to Echo Valley at the same time and developed an unlikely bond. Then again, if I really think about it, my dad and Ava are both sunshine characters who can bond with just about anybody.
Dad swipes a few more times, then shoves his screen under Enzo’s nose. “Here,” Dad exclaims. “This one is a happy medium between modern and traditional.”
He shoves his cell under Enzo’s nose.
“Mmm,” my twin tries to sound disinterested, but I can tell he’s intrigued by what he sees.
I beckon with my fingers for Dad to pass me the image.
Not bad. The tux is black, but it still has the embroidery we traditionally display at Mexican weddings.
Dad grabs his phone back. “There are subtle versions where the embroidery is dark so it doesn’t stand out as much or you could punch it up with traditional colors.”
Enzo adjusts his glasses. “Which does Ava prefer?”
The man will wear anything as long as his red-headed hacker approves.
Enzo’s not an unstylish man, but he’s one that’s been practical.
More like Gabriel, than me and Santi. Gabriel and Enzo will like a shirt and buy three of the exact same like a uniform.
Santi and I, though our styles differ, we like to shake it up.
Dad pulls up an image. “This is the one she likes.”
Enzo barely spares it a glance. “Fine, let’s arrange that and some tuxes for the boys to match.”
Santi peers at the image over our dad’s shoulder. “We don’t get a say?”
“No,” Enzo says flatly.
Gabriel teases Santi. “I thought you looked good in everything, hermano?”
Santi just shrugs. He likes to look good, but not more than he likes to please his family.
It’s the way we were all raised. Make others around you safe. Secure. That’s the path to a good life.
Dad slips back into the kitchen. “If you get those, Zo, your brothers need to wear the same style. They’re pricey.”
Enzo scratches his head, trying to be humble. “I think we got it covered, Dad.”
Dad ladles soup into a bowl. “Velvet, embroidery? You boys made it. I wore my uncle’s hand-me-down with your mom.” He slides a bowl over to Gabriel. “Didn’t matter though. Nobody was looking at me.”
Enzo offers an understanding, thin-lipped smile.
Nobody’s ever watching the groom.
Dad continues to hand out bowls and none of us bother to make our way to the dining table. We congregate around the counters, the island, just the same way we always have. We didn’t have a formal dining room growing up. We don’t need one now.
We just need each other.
I have to figure a way out of this catastrophe Delilah brought to my doorstep.
I have to make progress before our meeting.
I can’t find any dirt on Delilah. David is still searching for signs of the women but that damn car is going to be hard to trace without letting him deeper into our capabilities.
I glance up at Enzo who cuts a meatball in half with his spoon.
I can’t let Enzo worry about this.
I blow wisps of steam from the top of the bowl, wafting scents of my childhood, making me almost sick with a need to keep this dirt away from Enzo right now.
Hell, from everybody. Our family’s on a winning streak right now, floating on a high with this wedding on the horizon.
No one ever though Enzo would get married. That Santi would make it to thirty. Hell, that Gabriel would ever come back from his wandering. Our sister is happier than ever, settled with her college sweetheart and kids.
Which of course has Delilah crossing my mind again.
I take a bite of a soft meatball, letting the heat settle, the familiar taste grounding, but it doesn’t erase her from my mind.
Because the truth is, not everything stays contained just because I decide it should.
And Delilah doesn’t feel contained.
She feels like the kind of problem that finds the edge of something solid and tests it until it gives.
Just then, my phone vibrates against the counter.
No one else notices. They’re still arguing about tuxes, about embroidery, about whether Santi is physically capable of looking respectable.
I glance down.
Security.
I’m already stepping slightly away from the island as I answer. “Yeah.”
“Mr. Mendez.” The guard’s voice is tight enough to tell me this isn’t routine. “We’ve had a situation at the north perimeter.”
I straighten a fraction, my attention narrowing. “What kind of situation?”
There’s a brief pause, like he’s choosing his words.
“There’s a woman here asking for you.”
A woman?
My first instinct is dismissal. Wrong place. Wrong person.
But then—my jaw tightens as I shift my weight, turning slightly away from the kitchen without fully leaving it. “Name?”
“We haven’t confirmed ID. She didn’t come through the main gate.”
Didn’t come through the main gate?
A slow breath leaves me as the pieces click into place.
There aren’t a lot of women who would show up uninvited, ignore the front gate and push through private land like the rules don’t apply to them.
Only one woman I know would do all three in the same night.
He confirms my dread. “Says her name is Delilah. We intercepted her at the back tree line. She was trying to make her way in on foot.”
Of course she was.
“Take her to the gate,” I say, as quietly as possible. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
I end the call and lower the phone, staring at it for a second like it might offer a different answer if I give it long enough.
“Rio?”
I glance up.
Dad’s watching me. The rest of them have quieted enough to notice the shift in me.
I slip the phone into my back pocket. “I have to run. Sorry.”
Gabriel’s already shaking his head. “Where?”
I exhale. “Someone’s here to see me.”
That does it.