Quicksand
CARLOS
The flight is smooth—all the turbulence is within me.
I swirl the whiskey in the glass, trying not to down the whole thing in one go. My head needs to be level when we land.
I’m pregnant.
I gulp the whole thing in one swift motion, reveling in the burn in my throat as I swallow.
“Another, Mr. Fuentes?” The private air hostess bats her long dark eyelashes, a seductive smile plastered on her heavily made-up face.
She reminds me of Alice.
“No,” I say gruffly and turn my head to look at the blue horizon and endless canopy of clouds.
She leaves without a word.
How is it only now hitting me that I’m about to be tied to someone for the rest of my life? And I fully intend for us to last a lifetime.
I don’t do things halfway, and I’m not about to start now.
All I know is all in.
I’m pregnant.
For the love of God, don’t drink any more, I beg myself.
If I step off this plane drunk, Estelle will freak out. She’s already barely holding herself together as is.
The woman is pregnant with my child, with my ring still on her finger, and somehow, she thinks there’s even a possibility of a break between us.
Women.
I gave her a break.
One whole day.
What more does she want?
My thumb starts tapping on the side of the empty glass. I don’t know what to do with this emotion tightening my gut. I’ve never felt it before.
Then again, this is the first time I’ve been informed about my impending fatherhood, so maybe this feeling is normal.
But how would I know? I don’t have a father to ask.
Worse, both father figures in my life were not role models. My biological one was a violent cartel boss who deserved to meet his end the way he did, and my adoptive father was his killer.
What business do I have raising a child?
I’m fucked.
So thoroughly fucked.
“Boss, can I have a word?”
I nod at Grayson, who takes the empty seat next to me. He swipes upward on the tablet in his hand, pulling up a map.
“I just got word that a few of Santiago’s more loyal men are holding up here—” he points at the map and switches to Street View of an apartment building in downtown LA “—and it’s supposed to be the last of their strongholds—”
“You have a kid, right?” I ask, the question tumbling out of my mouth on impulse.
His brows furrow as he looks up at me. “Yeah. He’s five.”
I consider my next question carefully. “How did you feel when you found out?”
Grayson’s gaze shifts quickly to Estelle further down the rows of seats. He must have been with her when she bought the pregnancy tests.
“Probably how you’re feeling right now,” he says.
I want to tell him that’s not helpful; instead, I just keep looking at him, waiting. He sighs and puts the tablet on sleep mode.
“I felt like my intestines were about to come out of my ass.”
He speaks so matter-of-fact that I know he’s not joking. I nod tightly and stare at the empty glass.
How is it possible to be both turned on and terrified at the same time when I picture Estelle round with my baby?
“Did you two work things out?” he asks.
“She still wants a break.”
He coughs to hide his laugh.
“Women,” he mutters with a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
I shake my head, silently agreeing.
“Some word of advice?” I meet his gaze, waiting for him to go on. “Kids are easy to love. They don’t ask for much—just warmth and a steady hand. For most people, the financial burden is what scares them, but that’s not a problem you have, boss.”
He’s right.
Logically, there’s no reason why I can’t do this. I have everything a child will need to thrive in the world. Except, he will have me as a father.
For better or worse.
I suddenly see my world through Estelle’s eyes, and my gut tightens even more. It definitely feels like my intestines don’t want to stay inside my body.
How do I baby-proof my world?
“You realize your job is about to get much harder, right?” I tell him.
I don’t need to elaborate to my head of security. One side of his mouth quirks upward.
“I’ve got it, boss.”
He starts to get up.
“Grayson.” He turns to look at me. “Thanks.”
He nods.
“You’ve got this, too, Carlos.”
I’m standing before the plane comes to a complete stop on the runway so Estelle won’t get off before me. Whatever liquor is left in my system is helping keep me steady.
I stand in the aisle next to her seat, waiting for her. She looks up at me with wide eyes, and my heart clenches.
She needs to understand that she’s mine, and I protect what’s mine.
It’s my job to worry, not hers.
I reach out my hand for her as soon as she stands. Estelle eyes it for a moment, the debate obvious in her eyes.
Take it, baby.
Take me.
Her smaller, softer hand gingerly takes my larger, rougher one. She looks up to stare into my eyes, uncertain. I intertwine our fingers without breaking eye contact, hoping she gets the message.
Together.
Her shoulders slacken as she expels a shaky breath, her features immediately relaxing. She nods subtly, and I know she’s giving in—at least, giving up some ground.
I take whatever she’s finally yielding, starving for her trust.
Whatever I still need to figure out about fatherhood, it’s not her burden to bear.
I still know who I am.
The ride to the clinic is silent. Estelle doesn’t let go of my hand—I’m holding on just as tightly, drawing lazy patterns on her skin with my thumb.
Dr. Alvarez’s medical practice is on the outskirts of Calabasas. I’m both her primary customer and donor.
The middle-aged doctor is waiting at the reception, writing on a clipboard. She looks up as soon as we enter, a soft smile breaking across her face.
“Mr. Fuentes, a pleasure as always,” she says, adjusting her glasses over her nose, then turning her attention to Estelle. “You must be Estelle, yes?”
“Yes,” she replies.
Dr. Alvarez nods, placing the clipboard under her arm, “Good. Shall we go in alone or...”
She looks up at me, then at Estelle, before her eyes quickly shift to our joined hands.
“Depends on you, little dove,” I whisper, low enough for only her ears.
She looks up at me, the gears shifting behind her eyes again.
Deciding.
Hopefully realizing that even though I’m not going anywhere—and not letting her go anywhere either—that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have space.
“Come with me.”
Fuck.
That feels so fucking good to hear.
A few of my men wait in the lobby while the rest are patrolling outside. I follow Dr. Alvarez to one of the rooms at the end of the hallway, letting Estelle go in first.
The subtle smell of rubbing alcohol lingers in the cold, clinical room. The last time I was here was when I got shot at in front of the bodega.
I stand by the door even though there’s an empty seat next to Estelle.
Dr. Alvarez looks at me over the rim of her thick glasses, but she doesn’t say anything. I’m sending a message: her priority is Estelle, not my comfort.
“Tell me, Estelle, when did your last menstrual cycle end?”
“Over a month ago.”
The doctor writes quickly on her clipboard. “Were you on any form of birth control?”
Estelle nods, glancing sideways at me for a brief moment. I do my best to remain relaxed and impassive so as not to make her feel like I’m hanging on her every word.
Which I am.
“The injection. I was due for another shot a few days after my last period ended, but I missed the email reminder,” she sighs shakily, “I changed my number a few months ago, so I guess the clinic couldn’t reach me.”
She lowers her head to look absently at the table, and I walk up to her, taking the empty seat and immediately reaching for her hand.
I don’t want her to think I blame her for anything.
It’s not like I asked her any questions before unbuttoning her trousers that first night. I saw her medical report from the background check I do on all my potential employees.
I knew she was both clean and on the injection.
Not that I would ever tell her that.
“That’s quite alright, Estelle. These things happen.” She writes quickly again. “You seem to be four weeks along, which is too soon to hear the heartbeat, so I don’t want to put you through a transvaginal ultrasound for nothing right now. I’d like a urine sample, if you have any left?”
Estelle chuckles softly at the doctor’s lighthearted joke. “I think so.”
“Great. Then I’ll do a quick blood test. The results will be in by tomorrow, and I’ll confirm the pregnancy with the urine test immediately. We’ll get you sorted with prenatal supplements afterwards, okay?”
“Sounds good,” she says, gripping my hand tighter.
Dr. Alvarez looks at us then, seriously. “I take it this baby is wanted?”
You would think all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Estelle’s hand feels colder in mine—or am I the one who’s suddenly feverish?
She breaks the silence after the longest three seconds of my life.
“Yes,” she rasps. “Very much wanted.”
Tension leaves my body like a flood, or a tsunami.
Very much wanted.
Fuck, yes.
I’m going to be a father.
A strange feeling consumes me, like sinking in quicksand, but I don’t want to fight it.
I want this.
Whatever this is.
It’s like a fundamental shift is happening within me, and some primal, egotistical part of my brain wants to fight, to win, to remain unchanged.
But I can’t give in to that part of me.
To become a father, something needs to die.
It’s no longer just me.
It’s me, Estelle, and soon, a child.
I sit in the waiting area while Dr. Alvarez finishes up, feeling like I’m intentionally tearing myself apart and then remaking another version of me.
So this is what it feels like?
When Estelle walks out, we lock eyes for a long moment, saying so much in the silence.
She looks different.
Resolute.
Fierce.
My beautiful porcelain statue—just not fragile.
And she finally knows it, too.
I knew this about her the first time I laid eyes on her in that video, and again when the sunglasses came off and she saw me for the first time, too.
No flinching.
No fear.
She reaches out her hand to me with a blazing smile, eyes sparkling. I stand and envelope her hand in mine.
I’m caught completely off guard when she goes up on her tiptoes, her eyes focused on my mouth. We kiss like old lovers too familiar with each other’s mouths.
I’m so lost in her.
And I fucking love it.
Her body presses into mine, and as always, I’m immediately hard. But we don’t stop.
“Estelle,” I groan when we finally pull apart.
“Carlos, let’s go home,” she says, looking intently into my eyes.
For the first time, I know she doesn’t mean her old apartment.
“Yes, little dove. Let’s go home.”
~The End~