2. Graciella
TWO
GRACIELLA
MEN DESERVE FEWER RIGHTS AND SHOULD HAVE TO DO MANDATORY HARD LABOR.
“Here.” Ari dropped a pile of pale-pink cotton bedding. The fabric landed with a soft thud against the wood, the faint scent of detergent wafting up. Late-morning light spilled through the arched windows behind her, highlighting the caramel and coffee tones in her swinging ponytail.
“Clean towels are in the bathroom if you need them for your stay…”She arched a brow, pinning it up near her hairline, her silent question hanging between us: “Why are you staying here?”
Oh, how the roles had changed. Wasn’t long ago that she’d slept on my couch. But she’d been couch-surfing because she’d gotten a job, and now I was because I’d lost one.
Figures.
“Thanks.”
The word came out too high and squeaky. Too guilty.
I avoided eye contact, instead studying the cream-colored plastered walls, dotted with photographs in a kaleidoscope of colorful frames.
Some of them had pictures of us, some pictures of her and Dalton.
The newest edition had her kissing him in front of the Stanley Cup, silver gleaming under the arena lights.
The rest of the team she coached was celebrating in the background.
I scanned it for one face in particular, spotting him almost immediately. Dark trimmed scruff peppered his hard-set jaw, blue eyes drilling into mine, like he was judging me through a damn photo.
“They really let you on the plane with that?” my cousin asked, the leather creaking under her weight as she sat on the sliver of the couch cushion I wasn’t hogging, drawing me out of my stare-off.
“Let me on with what?” I followed where she tipped her chin toward the corner of the airy living room.
“Yup.” I let the ‘p’ pop. “Didn’t give me any issues about Monica…kinda.”
Her brows wrinkled. “First off, who’s Monica?”
“My emotional support hockey stick. Should I paint it green?” I asked, though, mentally, I was already adding matching rhinestones to the thing. “Spray paint will work, right? I don’t feel like sanding it and shit.”
“I’m not even going to address that.”
I shrugged. Monica was the least problematic part of the last twenty-four hours. “Fine, don’t come crawling to me when you want your own in pink. What was the second thing?”
“Oh, second off, pendeja, why are you dressed like an extra in a homemade Ocean’s 11 movie? You never wear black. And why did you call me twenty times in the middle of the night and ask that I pick you up at the ass crack of dawn?”
Damn. It was like going to confession with her. Maybe that was the reason for the bad luck. I hadn’t gone to Mass in…well, a while.
“That was like a second, third, and fourth thing.” I rested my head back against the buttery soft cognac sofa, the same one from Dalton’s last place, and studied the dark wood beams spanning across the textured ceiling of their Spanish-style home.
Their place was everything Ari had dreamed of having when we were kids.
Big arched windows with walnut trim offered a glimpse of a lush backyard and flanked a plastered fireplace with a thick wooden mantel.
The burnt orange Saltillo tiles were always cool beneath bare feet, even in the thick of California heat.
“Just tell me why you’re here,” Ari said. “And don’t feed me some bullshit about coming to the parade.”
I sat up, leveling her with a glare. “That wasn’t a lie. I wanted to go to the game, too, but my PTO was denied.”
Now I have all the time off I want…
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, the tip of my nail digging under my polish and sending a chunk flying.
Ari’s new team, the San Jose Stars, had won the Stanley Cup two days ago, and here I was wallowing on her couch.
But I didn’t know where else to go. Things between my mom and me were…
complicated. I loved her, and she loved me, but I wasn’t going to her for comfort or advice.
Hell, I hadn’t told her I was back in town.
And my dad’s only contribution to my life was lifelong daddy issues I still worked through in therapy. I wouldn’t know how to contact him if I wanted to.
Which I didn’t.
Ari was shitty at keeping her thoughts from broadcasting across her face, too. Her deep brown eyes were narrowed, and her full lips pressed into an unamused line. Without any words, I knew she was saying, “You’re full of shit.”
“Fine.” I let out a long, defeated breath, repositioning the pink and green needlepoint pillow I’d gifted her under my head. It read “pussy power” with two little cat ears around the phrase. “I was passed up for the promotion and didn’t want to be alone,” I said, easing into the full story.
I loved my prima, but we were like the sun and the moon. Complementary but completely different. Everyone saw her as the level-headed one. The one who took the time to assess her options before making a decision.
Whereas I came across as impulsive, flying by the seat of my pants. Which, fair…but no one bothered to consider that maybe it wasn’t purely impulsivity, it was control. If I stayed ahead of things and adjusted fast enough, I didn’t have to sit there and wait for everything to fall apart.
That was what I did—adapted. Fixed it.
Before it could break me.
Ari’s coconut scent wrapped around me in a comforting embrace at the same time her arms did, solid and strong from years in the gym.
“Ay, Graciella,” she murmured into my hair, my full name rolling off her tongue in a way I hadn’t realized I’d missed. Dallas might have a large Spanish-speaking population, but the sports media industry was overwhelmingly white. And “Gracie” eliminated the need to roll that first “r”.
I pressed my face into her shoulder, my fingers bunched in the athletic fabric like if I let go, I’d fall apart.
The burn behind my eyes intensified, the waterworks threatening to take over again.
I’d spent the entire red-eye replaying the fiasco, trying to figure out how to undo it—to get my job back.
Nothing. Not a single idea.
“I really liked that job, Ari,” I said into the damp fabric.
“I know.” She didn’t catch the past-tense slip, too busy smoothing over my hair. “You work your ass off for it, too. I’m sure you’ll get the next promotion.”
My throat tightened, and I forced myself to pull back. “I broke into his apartment, and they were fucking.”
“You…” She blinked, shaking her head once. “Wait, what?”
“With the hockey stick.” I pointed a finger at my felony accomplice. “I was going to make Caleb turn the job down, admit it should be mine.”
Her mouth opened and closed.
“I didn’t actually hit him, so it wasn’t assault...” I went on, unable to stand the silence.
“Gracie, you broke into someone’s house? What were you thinking? I mean, obviously you weren’t.”
The accusatory tone grated on me. I didn’t need someone else telling me I’d fucked up. I did enough of that on my own.
“He was sleeping with her.” The words were sharper, my anger cutting through the lingering embarrassment.
“Since when do you care who someone you hooked up with sleeps with? Did you like this guy?” She sounded more shocked by that prospect than my admission to breaking and entering.
I threw my arms up, falling back into her plush couch. “No. He was banging our boss. That’s what made him qualified to fill the position.”
“Wait, are you serious? So she fired you because you caught them sleeping together?” Ari nudged my leg. “I thought she owned the company? Why would it matter, it’s not like they’d get in trouble for it.”
I pulled at a loose thread on the pillow. “So I might’ve…said a few things. And that’s what got me fired.”
Silence stretched between us for a beat. Ari picked at her callouses, staring off at the wall in full-blown problem-solving mode—prima protection mode. A quality we shared, though our approaches were a bit different.
“Okay,” she said finally, hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“I’m unemployed and broke,” I said, deadpan. And now, desperate. “I burned the bridge I’ve spent years building. That job was supposed to be my in to the Public Relations world, to a career, to affording…” I let the words trail off, needing to regain control before I spiraled.
There was no way I was telling her rent went up since she moved out, and I could barely afford it alone. The promotion was the solution—the fix to my problems. It was why I’d crawled into Caleb’s window to begin with. He’d messed with my livelihood.
“Hey.” She cupped my face. “This is not all on you. They’re in the wrong.”
I wanted to believe that. I really did.
But a familiar voice in the back of my head whispered that if I’d just kept my mouth shut, if I hadn’t pushed, if I hadn’t—
The front door swung open before I could finish that spiral.
“Okay, I brought our favorite cafecitos and—” Itzel’s voice cut off as she stepped into the living room, a tray of iced coffees clutched in her tanned arms. Her dark eyes bounced between us before landing on me, her waves bordering on curls framing her heart-shaped face.
“?Qué pasó? I thought this was a happy visit to town. Why does it look like you’re consoling Chella through a breakup?” She covered a surprised gasp with a hand, the next sentence coming out muffled. “?Híjole! Did she finally fall in love?”
Ari snorted, reaching for her drink. “I wish. She could use a good man in her life.”
“I could not.” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Men deserve fewer rights and should have to do mandatory hard labor.” Starting with Caleb.
They ignored me.
“No, Graciella was fired because she broke into her coworker’s home with a hockey stick.”
“Allegedly,” I added, pulling my legs to my chest so I wouldn’t kick Ari as I sat up.
“And found him banging their boss, and she called them out on it.” Ari paused, taking a sip of the coffee-and-chocolate mixture. “Oh, but don’t worry, she didn’t hit him with Monica, so it wasn’t assault.”
“Monica?” Itzel asked, sliding the tray onto the table, her bag falling into the crook of her elbow and spilling a few droplets.
I nodded toward the corner as I wiped up the mess with my forefinger. Flavor burst on my tongue, the faint hint of cinnamon melding with the rich flavors. “The hockey stick, and it sounds bad when you say it like that, Ariella.”
“Pretty sure it’s not how I said it that made it bad.”
Itzel’s head bounced between us like she was watching a tennis match. The cheery smile she walked in with morphed into shock, then settled into horror.
I wasn’t sure if it was the committing a crime part or the mention of sex that put her over the edge.
“Wow.” Itzel dropped into the striped armchair, tucking a leg under herself and reaching for her own drink. “That’s…a lot.”
Didn’t I fucking know it.
“I think you have a case for wrongful termination,” Ari said, trying to be helpful. Itzel nodded in agreement. “I mean, you’d have to somehow get around the whole potential felony implications of your story...”
“Cool,” I deadpanned. “I’ll add ‘legal fees’ to my list of things I can’t afford.”
Silence fell again, this one heavier. We all knew I wasn’t getting that job back, and I wasn’t winning a case against them.
Itzel leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “What are you going to do?”
I exhaled slowly. “I’ve already started sending out applications: PR, marketing, a fucking dog-walker for a player. I’ll take whatever.” I grabbed my coffee, needing some caffeinated dopamine to face reality. “I just need a foot in the door.”
They both studied me for a long moment, trying to see past the optimistic words to what I was really feeling.
“I’m fine!” I forced a smile. “I’ll figure it out, I always do.”
“Yeah…” Itzel said, sharing a look with my prima. “You do. But maybe—”
“I’ve got this,” I cut in, softer this time. “I just need someone to give me an opportunity, and I know I can make it work.”
Didn’t matter where it came from or who it was with.
I’d make it work.
Always did.