Ch. 24 – Rico
T his was a mistake. Rico pulled his SUV into the driveway of his mother’s home. In the passenger seat, Jax stared out the windshield. Such an epic, epic, epic mistake. He viewed the small, weathered house through Jax’s eyes, from the flaking paint on the porch banister, to the loose gutter and the sun-bleached cross hanging slightly crooked on the front door.
“Here we are,” he said, his voice tight. All the confidence he’d been desperately projecting at the winery left him in a breath.
Jax had said she wanted to see his true self, and that’s what he wanted to give her. But this was too much. He felt so damn vulnerable, like a single word from her would cut him to the bone.
Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.
“Are we getting out of the car?” Jax asked. She’d been quiet on the drive over, perhaps sensing his growing unease.
“Of course,” he responded automatically.
Another long pause.
“Maybe you want to start by turning the engine off?” she suggested gently.
“My mother’s undocumented,” he blurted.
“Oh. ”
Shit. Rico slumped forward and rested his head on the hard curve of the steering wheel. He closed his eyes. Since he was, apparently, intent on pouring out his life’s story to her, might as well throw in the rest.
“Both my parents were here illegally,” he added. “My dad died years ago. But that’s why I don’t like to talk about my family. It’s dangerous for them, and . . .” He blew out a breath. “People judge.”
What would Jax think? Was she one of the many who believed undocumented immigrants were dirty criminals who deserved to be uprooted and tossed back over the border? That they stole jobs and tainted communities?
Her fingers touched his shoulder tentatively, then she rested her small, cool hand on his arm.
“I have two moms,” she said. Rico opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Jax. Her dark hair was loose today, cascading down her shoulders, complimenting her olive complexion. She pursed her lips. “It’s not the same thing, but it wasn’t that long ago that their love was illegal. A lot of people judged me for it when I was growing up. They said my moms were gross or that they were going to hell.” She looked down, fiddled with a silver band on her thumb. “I actually felt embarrassed about it growing up. Sometimes I even lied and said they were just roommates.” She laughed uncomfortably, seemed to notice her hand still on his arm, and quickly retracted it.
Something painful and beautiful welled up in Rico’s heart. “I was embarrassed about my parents, too,” he confessed.
Their eyes met. She smiled. He smiled. Rico turned off the car.
They walked to the front door of his mother’s house together, so close that her fingers brushed his. If they’d had more runway, he would have taken her hand. Even the thought of her small, delicate fingers interlacing with his heated Rico’s blood .
He reached for the front door and paused. “Oh, and my mom doesn’t speak much English.”
Jax’s brown eyes widened. “What?”
“She’s going to love you,” he assured her with a wink, before swinging the door open.
“Mamá, estoy aquí,” he called.
“Mi amor!” His mother’s voice returned like a song from the kitchen.
“Oh my gawd! It smells amazing in here,” Jax said as they stepped over the threshold into the living room.
Elena, surrounded by a pile of folders, looked up from the couch. “Holy shit, you brought a girl over?”
As usual, his sister had selected her outfit from the Frumpy R Us catalog and tossed her curly hair into a sloppy bun that seemed moments from falling down.
Jax stuck out a hand to Elena. “I’m Jax.”
“Jacklyn is doing another profile on me,” Rico explained.
“I’m considering doing another profile on him,” Jax countered.
“Another profile?” Elena’s brow furrowed, then an expression of delight leapt onto her face. “Jacklyn Costas? Oh My God!!! I looooooved your article about Rico.” She grabbed Jax’s hand in both of hers and pumped it so enthusiastically, Rico worried his sister would dislocate Jax’s shoulder. “I’m getting that article blown up and framed,” Elena continued. “Would you sign it?”
Jax laughed. “Sure. Glad you’re a fan of my work.”
Elena looked from Rico to Jax. “Anything you want to know about Rico, I’m your girl. I’ve got all the embarrassing stories, free of charge.”
Jax’s eyes glinted with interest. “Let’s start with the most humiliating and work our way back. Let me just get my recorder— ”
“Nope.” Rico closed his hand around Jax’s dainty wrist as she reached into her messenger bag. Mercifully, his mother saved the day.
“Dios mio, una novia?” she gasped. The small, round woman practically floated into the room and pulled Jax into a tight hug before laying generous kisses on Rico’s cheeks.
“No novia,” Rico told her. “Una amiga.”
“Hola,” Jax said. “Me llamo Jax. Mucho gusto.”
“Habla Espa?ol,” his mother sighed. Her eyes practically sparkled with delight.
“No mucho,” Jax answered.
His mother fired off a dozen questions, and Jax’s face crumpled in confusion.
“Let her breathe, Mom,” Elena said in Spanish.
His mother nodded. She grabbed Jax’s hand and patted it warmly. “I make you good dinner. Hungry, yes?”
“Very hungry,” Jax agreed. She stared laser beams at Rico. “ Someone stole my snack this afternoon.”
“Good. Good!” His mother bounced out of the room, calling Elena after her to finish the dinner preparations.
“Sorry about that,” Rico said. “My mom is . . . a lot.”
Jax grinned, the usual cynicism gone from her eyes. “Are you kidding? Your mom is utterly delightful. She reminds me of my mom Jeannie, actually.”
Rico gave her a rueful smile and hoped fervently that Jax didn’t understand the word novia .
Now that they were alone, Jax took in the small, dated living room. A green plastic ball bumped against her foot, and she carefully stepped aside.
“You must be Sancho,” she said to the rat encased in the plastic ball. “I’ve heard a lot about you. ”
Not one to hog the spotlight, Sancho merely twitched his whiskers at Jax, then continued his focused migration to the other side of the room. Jax watched the ball move and giggled.
Rico couldn’t take his eyes off her. The soft glow of the setting sun from the window added hints of honey to her chocolate hair and highlighted the slope of her neck. Her baggy clothing couldn’t hide the gentle swell of her hips or her shapely arms.
Rico sucked in a breath. He burned to claim her soft, kissable lips, but he also felt an urgent need to pull her into his arms and shield her from the world. What was wrong with him? He’d spent his life perfecting the art of loving women while keeping them at a safe emotional distance. And now all he wanted to do was pull Jax closer and closer.
Hell, she was standing in his mother’s house. He’d never brought home a girl. Ever.
But Jax was different. Yes, she was beautiful, but she was also sassy and funny. And she could somehow see right through all his charm to the self-conscious and vulnerable man beneath. Somehow, incredibly, she seemed to like that person better than confident, breezy face he showed to the world.
“Oh my God,” Jax said with a soft laugh, breaking Rico out of his thoughts. He followed her gaze to the family portrait on the wall and winced. “Hue wasn’t lying. You really were a twig.”
Her words were claws, peeling away his skin and stripping away all the muscle he’d so diligently packed onto his body over the past decade.
“Not anymore,” he said, and she turned to look at him, amusement in her eyes.
“It really bothers you, doesn’t it? ”
Rico crossed his arms. What was he supposed to say to that? No, it was so easy being a tiny, weak kid who got slammed into lockers and kicked down the stairs because he could never keep his big mouth shut? When he didn’t answer, she turned back to the picture.
“Let’s go to the kitchen. Dinner’s almost ready,” Rico said. Sweat gathered in his armpits. He hated sweating outside the gym.
“This is your dad?” She pointed at his father’s stern, weathered face. “Theo said he used to work in the vineyards.”
“He was a laborer.” Rico knew now that Jax wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t sneer, but all the old insecurities crawled under his skin like an army of fire ants.
“That’s hard work,” she said softly. “He probably didn’t have many options, though, huh?”
“Not many,” Rico agreed.
“I’ve always admired how hard the immigrant communities in our country work,” Jax said. “So many of them take the jobs other Americans don’t want or won’t do.”
Rico stared into his father’s eyes, trying to see what Jax saw. Instead of feeling resentful, a part of him felt . . . proud. It was a new feeling. His father hadn’t had the luxury of finishing school. He’d risked everything to get to America to give his family a better life. And he’d worked hard every day of his life and never complained. How many Americans would bend their backs under the sun to pick fruits, nuts, and avocados that fed the country?
His father had never been able to get a credit card or bank loan. He’d never had paid vacation days or even the ability to go back home to see his brothers and sisters. Yet, he’d accepted his life with a stern tranquility Rico had never understood .
“Wow,” he murmured. Something in his soul was beginning to lift away, a dark mixture of grief and shame he’d never known was there. In their place, he felt new, strange feelings. Respect. Even…pride.
“Who’s this?” Jax asked. One dainty finger hovered over the blurry figure his mother had so carefully added to the family photo.
“Arturo,” Rico said. “My older brother.”
She didn’t ask another question but merely waited for him to explain. And he did. Jax had pried open his soul and proven she could shoulder his pain.
“Arturo was killed before I was born,” he told Jax. “In Mexico. Gang violence. It was the reason my parents left. They didn’t want Elena to grow up in such a dangerous neighborhood. They sought a better life for her.”
He didn’t tell Jax the rest. He couldn’t. That Arturo’s death had shattered his mother. That she’d always believed her beloved firstborn had been an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire. But Elena had kept in touch with their cousins in Mexico, and they’d told her that Arturo had started hanging out with gang members before his death.
Was he so innocent? Rico didn’t know. His big brother had always been a ghost. A name whispered in his mother’s prayers. A candle lit at church. The lines on his father’s brow. An emptiness he’d lived with his entire life.
“I’m sorry,” Jax said simply.
“Me too,” Rico replied. Part of his mother’s love for him was love meant for Arturo. Rico knew his mother saw him as a gift from God. An apology. An atonement for Arturo. And his father? In his father’s eyes, Rico could never replace Arturo.
“Dinner’s ready,” Elena called from the kitchen.
“You okay?” Jax asked, her eyes filled with concern .
“Of course.” Rico forced his stone lips to arch into a grin. “That’s all in the past.” His legs felt like a million pounds, but he somehow moved toward the kitchen, and Jax fell in beside him.
It was only after he and his family took their usual seats that Rico realized the problem. The remaining empty chair at the table was his father’s. Jax took the seat, her eyes dancing with delight as she surveyed the heaps of food on the table. Rico looked at his mother, but she smiled warmly. Elena quirked her eyebrows and shrugged as if to say, Where else was she supposed to sit?
“This looks amazing,” Jax breathed as she took in the platters filled with beans, rice, and carnitas.
Even if Rico’s mother didn’t understand every word, she got the gist. “Yes, I love cook,” she answered proudly.
The meal commenced with a long prayer from his mother, her Spanish so rapid, Rico hoped that Jax didn’t hear the part about “and please bless Rico and his beautiful girlfriend, Jacklyn, and cement their relationship in the bonds of love.”
Of course, Elena mocked Rico for his careful avoidance of the carb-filled tortillas and rice, but even she seemed enchanted by Jax, who groaned with pleasure as she took the first bite of her tortilla.
“This is heaven,” she moaned through her food. “My only mom who can cook is a vegan.”
Yikes . No carnitas? No pollo asado? No al pastor? No wonder Jax was so cynical about the world. The poor woman had obviously experienced a childhood of severe culinary deprivation. When Elena translated for their mother, she shook her head in horror and made the sign of the cross over her chest.
As the dinner went on, Rico’s mother peppered Jax with questions, which Elena and Rico translated. Jax spoke about her college classes and her interest in journalism and about her job at the winery. Rico chose not to translate select questions such as “How many times a week do you go to church?” “Who is your patron saint?” And “You are a Catholic, right?”
“What were those folders you were working on?” Jax asked Elena a little later in the meal.
Elena set down her fork and adjusted her glasses. “Cases. I work at a nonprofit. We help clients in need manage the immigration process. You know, green cards, worker visas, even refugee status.”
“Wow.” Jax swallowed her mouthful of food. “That’s fascinating.”
“Our immigration system is so broken,” Elena added. “That seems to be the only thing both sides of the political spectrum can agree on. It just seems like no one knows how to fix it or is willing to find a compromise.”
“I’d love to write a story about your work,” Jax said. “I think so many people make assumptions about immigrants, but I bet every one of them has a compelling story. Would you be willing to do an interview?”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Rico spoke up. “You’re supposed to be writing a profile on me.”
Jax set down her tortilla and gave him a stern look. “First, I haven’t decided whether or not to write another profile on you. And second, I can research multiple stories at the same time. I mean, look at you. You covered a story about that new Mommy & Me program at the downtown San Diego library and a bunny-jumping competition at Del Mar last week. I just want to be as prolific as you.”
As if Rico needed another reminder of this week’s litany of humiliating stories. Though, secretly, the bunny competition had been downright adorable.
Elena gave Rico a teasing grin before looking to Jax. “As a matter of fact, I would love to talk more about my work and shine the spotlight on the stories of my clients. We desperately need more understanding and compassion in this country, and I think if people could actually see who these refugees are, there’d be a greater push to finally update our immigration system.”
Jax’s eyes brightened. “Do you think some of your clients would be willing to share their stories?”
Elena shrugged. “Some of them are very scared, but a lot of them want to talk. I could always ask.”
“That would be so great!” Jax gushed.
From his chair, Rico picked at his meat, beans, and avocado.
“He’s sulking,” Elena informed Jax. “The conversation hasn’t been about him for more than a full minute.”
“Am not,” he shot back.
Jax gave him a quizzical look over her plate. “This is an important story in our country. I’m surprised you’re not interested in covering it, too. Especially with all the work your sister is doing. She’d be such a great story source for you.”
Elena put her cheek in her hand. “Jax, can I just say that I think I’m in love with you? If you don’t want to date Rico—which is totally understandable, by the way—can I have you?”
“Elena!” Rico snapped at his sister. “Stop hitting on my girlfrie—reporter.” His tongue had somehow tied itself into a thousand knots. “Stop hitting on my reporter,” he stammered again. Had he almost called Jax his girlfriend ? Where had that come from? Rico had never bestowed the dreaded G-word on any woman, not since Samantha Hopkins in freshman year of college, and that’d been a three-month dumpster fire of a relationship. Luckily, Jax didn’t seem to notice his nearly fatal slip-up.
She laughed and her cheeks flushed. “Actually, I’m not really dating anyone right now. ”
“Such a shame,” Elena said. “Friends, then?”
Jax looked a little taken aback. The color deepened in her cheeks. Then she smiled. “Friends. Yes.” She looked around the table and noticed the empty plates.
“Come on, Rico,” she declared. “We’re cleaning the dishes.”
He sat up in his chair. “Wait? What?”
Jax was already standing, picking up his mother’s plate.
“No, no, está bien,” his mother said, taking hold of her plate.
“Mrs. Torres, I insist,” she said, then speared Rico with a look. “ We insist. If someone cooks for you, then you do the dishes. Por favor,” she added, giving his mother a pleading look.
Reluctantly, his mother released her dish. Jax gave Rico a long, impatient stare until he stood and took his sister’s plate.
I love her, Elena mouthed to him.
He rolled his eyes as he collected the other dishes and glasses from the table. His mother’s tiny kitchen didn’t have a dishwasher, but that didn’t stop Jax for a moment. She immediately started filling the sink with warm water and squirted in some dish soap.
“I’ll wash, you dry,” she informed him.
“Mom would have done the dishes,” he grumbled.
Jax gave him a look that could chainsaw through a sequoia. “Your mom must have spent hours making dinner. Washing the dishes is the least we can do.” She raised an eyebrow at Rico. “Do you always make your mom do the dishes, even after all the time she spends cooking?”
Rico suddenly felt two feet tall. “I don’t make her do the dishes,” he managed. “She likes it.”
Jax shook her head and muttered something under her breath that was either dick or prick. She shoved the first wet plate into his chest, splashing water on his T-shirt. Looking around, Rico spotted a clean dish towel and started drying .
Staring at the plate, he remembered Elena’s outburst last week. How the tears had gathered in her eyes as she’d accused him of being spoiled and selfish before storming out of the kitchen with the grocery bags half unpacked. When was the last time Rico had done any grocery shopping for his mom? Hadn’t Hue been the one to fix her leaking sink?
Shit.
“Rico.” Jax held out another plate for him.
When had he ever washed the dishes? He already knew the answer. That’d be a solid never.
For the next few minutes, they worked in silence. Jax scrubbed and Rico took one dish after another from her wet, sudsy hands.
“You mentioned your parents wanted a better life for Elena,” she said finally, holding out a glass for him. “Does that mean she’s undocumented, too?”
“She’s part of the DACA program.”
Jax nodded as she scrubbed a large Crock-Pot. “That must be really challenging for her.”
Rico set the dry dish on the counter. “Yeah. Honestly, it feels like shit that I have citizenship and she doesn’t. Whenever she has to renew her paperwork or when there’s a news story about some politician who wants to end the program, I feel . . .” He blew out a breath. “Helpless.”
He reached to take the next dish from her, but Jax’s hands had stilled beneath the soapy water. She looked at him, her eyes deep and liquid.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?” He was seriously confused. “It can’t be for doing the dishes. I’m sure I left soap spots on every single dish.”
“For opening up,” she answered. “I assumed you’d be too scared to actually do it. ”
That’s the thing. He was scared. Terrified, even. He’d never brought a woman to his house. Never told anyone but his closest friends about his family’s legal status. Hell, only Theo and Hue knew about Arturo. But he wanted to tell Jax everything. He didn’t understand why. Only that his secrets felt safe in her hands.
And it was easy to talk to her. She didn’t judge him. His truths didn’t push her away. Instead, they seemed to pull her closer, as if each little admission bound them more closely together in a layer of understanding.
She pulled her hand out of the water and put it on top of his. He turned his hand around and slipped his fingers through hers.
*
After Jax endured many, many hugs from his mother and promised to be in touch with Elena, Rico’s family finally released her. Rico drove Jax home. The sun had set long ago, and he couldn’t read her expression in the darkness. He switched on the radio but couldn’t follow the music.
Rico’s soul felt raw, like he’d dragged it behind his SUV for the past few miles. Jax, with just a smile and a gaze, had torn him open. He pulled up to her apartment building, where he’d picked her up earlier that evening.
He sucked in a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. “So, the profile. Do you think I deserve a second chance?” He gave her his sad puppy look.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m still thinking about it.”
“Really? After my mother cooked you dinner? Her tortillas can win anyone over.”
“I’d write a flattering profile about your mother any day of the week,” Jax replied. “You, on the other hand . . . ”
“Me?” He tried to give her a winning smile even as his heart clamored in his chest. It wasn’t about the profile anymore. Had it ever been about the profile? He wanted Jax to like him. Needed her to like him. Because he sure as hell liked her. A lot.
“You, I’m still trying to figure you out,” she said. The night hid her expression, but he could see the outline of her face, the silhouette of her lips. They looked so soft and inviting. He couldn’t take it anymore. He unbuckled his seat belt.
“You come off as so arrogant,” she said, “but I think it’s a defense mechanism. You’re hiding who you really are.”
“I’m not the only one hiding.” He wanted to kiss her. He needed to kiss her. Blood rushed to his groin, and his jeans suddenly felt unbearably tight. He reached out, stroked the line of her jaw with his thumb. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move.
“You’re sarcastic and cynical, but I know the truth,” he whispered, leaning toward her. “I think you’re kind. I think you care a lot. Too much.”
“Liar,” she whispered, but when he leaned over her, she tilted her face up. Their eyes met. His gaze held a question, hers an eager answer.
He brushed his lips across hers. Slowly, gently, just to make sure. She pressed forward, her mouth parting beneath his lips. Rico longed to ravage her mouth, but he kept his movements slow, controlled. Rico wanted to enjoy the taste of her, the feel of that plump skin between his teeth.
She pressed harder, and at last he gave in. He cupped her face in his hands and slipped his tongue through her lips. Jax sighed as her hand clutched at his hair.
Then her body went rigid. Her hand dropped and she tore her face away.
Rico sat back immediately. “What’s wrong? ”
Her face was stark white in the shadows, her eyes wide, pupils huge. She scrabbled at her seat belt, whipping it off her body as soon as it released.
“Jax,” he said.
She blinked. Wetness shone in her eyes. God, had he hurt her? She clawed at the door, shoved it open, and stumbled out. Rico watched, horrified, his heart cracking in two as she ran from the car . . . from him.