Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
SPENCER
A fter dinner, the men involved in the scuffle are forced to clear the table and wash all the dishes by hand. Throughout the cleanup, each side takes little jabs at each other. They whisper insults, trip each other, and exchange scowls.
These scary men, each with a body count that’s likely higher than I can count, have reduced themselves to squabbling children.
While they clean, Paloma leads me to the couch with a mug of Mexican hot cocoa. I could take this as an opportunity to rat out the guys, but I find myself incapable of forming the words. Instead, I want to soak in the love Paloma gifts so freely. I didn’t realize how starved I was for a mother’s gentle touch.
Across the room, Solana sits in a chair by the window, overlooking the backyard, still reading. Elena left right after we finished eating when she got a call to go into work—she’s a trauma surgeon at St. Barnabas Hospital. Mariela left claiming she had a date, and Carmen tried to dip as well but none of the five angry men were having it. She’s currently at the kitchen table chewing on her nails and ignoring the pointed looks she keeps getting while studying for the LSATs.
Asher is keeping her company at the table since he wasn’t involved in the skirmish.
I’m settling in when Paloma joins me with her own mug; I almost spit my warm chocolatey drink all over the living room when Paloma asks, “So tell me, which of my boys are you with?” I choke and cough like I’m about to hack up a lung. “Or is it all three?”
My chin dips down as I look anywhere but her, and I stammer, “I—Umm—Well?—”
Paloma sets our mugs on the coffee table, gently grabs my hand, and pats the top of it. “It’s all right. No need to be alarmed. There’s no judgement here, mija .”
When I finally pick my head up and look into her eyes, I know she means it. She isn’t that crazy mom who chases away her son’s girlfriend. She doesn’t criticize what she doesn’t know. She doesn’t condemn what isn’t considered normal.
“It’s a bit complicated at the moment,” I finally get out.
She nods her head. “Isn’t it always. What’s love without a little complexity?”
My puzzling look spurs her to continue. “Let me give you some advice, Spencer. Zane would rip his heart out and give it to you—remember what a precious gift that is. Even couples who have been married for decades can’t say that about their partner.”
Is that what’s actually happening right now?
“Rio is protective and it’s an instinct he can’t turn off. Let him, and he will do whatever it takes to keep you safe and grant you vengeance.” She says the statement with a surety that tells me she’s familiar with that side of him.
This is getting weird . . . Vengeance?
“And lastly, Asher. That boy has seen too much—they all have. But it affects him differently. He may seem hard and cold, but he’s not. Give him time.”
But he is hard and cold!
Is he though?
Damn, Intrusive Spencer. I don’t want to think about the incident in my kitchen and how he was soft with me after and carefully put me to bed. Because the other side of him, that I see way more often than not, is a brick wall.
All I can do is nod along as Paloma makes it harder and harder to be angry with my men.
Turning towards the kitchen, I find Zane and Rio flicking water at the gangbangers who seem to be obsessed with Carmen. All five of them are giggling like little boys, causing a smile to form on my face and satisfaction to swell in my chest. As if he can sense the shift in mood, Asher’s eyes meet mine while he sits at the kitchen table. The corner of his mouth tugs up and my smile falters. I look down at my hands as they wring together in my lap, and I consider Paloma’s words.
Yes, I’ve been held against my will, but . . . maybe I’m okay with it. There hasn’t been a moment where I actually thought they’d hurt me, or do something I don’t want them to.
I don’t want to give in so easily, though. I don’t want them to think everything is okay.
Orgasms don’t equate to forgiveness.
“Tell me about your family. Rio said you’re not from New York.”
My mouth flaps open and closed as I think about how to answer a question I’ve avoided for years. “Oh. Um. No, I didn’t grow up here. I’m from Texas.”
“Ooo. A southern belle. I like that,” she comments with a warm pat on my arm. “I’m sure your mother misses you.”
“Uh. Yes, she does.”
Shit. Mom.
She must be worried about me. The distance has been hitting her harder, and now I don’t have my damn phone so I can reassure her that I’m fine. I’m going to need to talk to the guys about getting my phone back—I highly doubt they’ll go for it, but might as well try.
Paloma either sees the far off look in my eyes or she’s oblivious to my quandary. She rises from the couch, gathering our now-empty mugs, and says, just like any good mother would, “Let me go find some baby photos of Rio. I have some cute ones from when he said he wanted to be Spiderman when he grew up.”
Aww! Little Spiderman Rio.
While I fidget in my seat, unsure of what I’m supposed to do in this situation, Solana meanders over and sits next to me. Her book is closed, and her eyes dart between me and the kitchen.
“Zane told me you asked him to read New Moon . How are you liking the series?”
She gives a small smile. “I didn’t ask him to, he volunteered. He’s kind like that.”
Her admiration gives the impression of a sisterly love. A love that’s made of holidays spent together and laughs shared over many family dinners.
I glance over into the kitchen and see that they’re finishing up putting away the large feast.
“Go easy on him,” she whispers gently.
My attention snaps back to Solana. “What?”
“Rio—all of them really—but Rio is a good brother. Overprotective at times, yes. But he’s never mean; he just worries.”
Feeling another lecture coming on, I just nod along, but Solana drops a bomb instead.
“It wasn’t easy growing up in this house after everything with Izzy; I know I’ve been sheltered a bit more. Mariela acts out and Carmen loses herself in studies, but I’m the baby, so it’s like having five parents instead of just one.” She shrugs a shoulder, accepting her lot in life.
But my mind hangs on another detail . . .
“Who’s Izzy?”
Solana plays with a stray thread on her jeans. “Our sister.”
Dipping my head to get closer, I lower my voice. “What happened to her?”
Solana finally returns her eyes to me and answers, “She died.”