The woman he hadn’t spoken to since their last Skype video chat over a decade ago. The night she shattered his youthful, naive dreams.
Lulu’s skinny arms wrapped around Anamaría’s thighs in a tight squeeze. Joy lit his ex’s hazel eyes, sucker punching him with vivid memories of her greeting him with a similar glee.
She bent to rub a hand on his niece’s back, her long dark ponytail swooping over her shoulder. “Hola, Lulu, this is a nice surprise.”
Lulu craned her neck to look up at Anamaría, adoration dawning over her cute face. Damn if Alejandro couldn’t help but understand exactly how the kid felt. No matter how often he called himself a fool for yearning for someone who obviously hadn’t felt the same.
“Tio Ale, tiene an owie,” Lulu announced. Like the Frankenstein contraption encircling his leg wasn’t clue enough.
“Yes, he does have an owie,” Anamaría answered. “A pretty big one. But your abuela and abuelita are going to take good care of him. Just like they do with you.”
“Will you come pway wif me soon?”
“I hope so. I need me some Lulu time.” Anamaría hunkered down and tugged one of Lulu’s curls, eliciting a sweet giggle from the child.
The closeness between the two—the niece he’d only seen the one time Ernesto and family had visited him in Atlanta and the woman who’d basically said he wasn’t enough—felt like a poisonous lance in his side. He may not fit in here, but it was obvious Anamaría still did. Without him.
Holding her baby doll tightly against her chest, Lulu skipped back to her parents. “Anamawía gonna babysit me!”
“Not today. But we’ll see when.” Ernesto gave his daughter’s butt a nudge to help her clamber onto the loveseat.
“Text me, Cece, and I’ll let you know when I’m free. I’m sure you two could use a date night before your bundle of joy arrives.”
Cece circled a hand over her huge, beach ball-sized belly that stretched the material of her soft blue, short-sleeved top. A tired smile tugged up the corners of his sister-in-law’s wide mouth as she murmured her thanks.
Anamaría sent Lulu a wink and rose from her haunches.
His shock waning, Alejandro allowed himself to take in her figure, on gorgeous display thanks to a pair of form-fitting black leggings and a tight pink tank, the words AM Fitness in a black scrawling font across the front. With her matching black and pink Nike sneakers and slicked back high ponytail, she looked primed for an athletic photo shoot.
The active teenager he’d known and loved had matured into a vibrant woman. All lush curves and honed muscles, the latter no doubt hard earned from her work as a firefighter paramedic and fitness trainer.
She would have fit right in gloriously with the models for the Women’s Health spread he’d shot in the Bahamas last year.
Without acknowledging him, Anamaría made the round of hello kisses and hugs with Ernesto and his family, even tickling Lulu’s baby doll under the chin, eliciting another precious giggle from his niece.
The scent of the tropical lotion Anamaría had always preferred tickled his nose when she stooped to brush a kiss on his abuela’s wrinkled cheek. The two exchanged warm smiles as his abuela patted Anamaría’s hand with a murmured, “Dios te bendiga, nena.”
The age-old wish for God’s blessing may be a trite phrase easily tossed out by many. But in this house, with the mini altar in the far corner, its pillar candle lit during his abuela’s daily prayer of the rosary, words of blessing held weight.
His mami had already stopped at their altar earlier, giving thanks for her answered prayers for his return.
Anamaría hugged his mami, waved off the offer of a drink, set her black backpack on the tile floor next to the coffee table and finally, finally, turned to him.
It wasn’t easy, but he fought to maintain a neutral expression. To hide the anger, lingering pain, and disillusion of their past. All the while he catalogued the features he had conjured in his dreams.
Her oval-shaped face with its high cheekbones, expressive hazel eyes, and roundly pointed chin remained as beautiful as ever. The faint crow’s feet lightly raying out from her eyes added to her allure. Telltale signs of laughter and days squinting under the bright Key West sun. The serious slant of her full lips made him ache for the enticing grin she’d so readily flashed at him in years past. And now easily shared with others in his familia instead. The circular, dark brown beauty mark an inch below the right corner of her mouth made him itch to press a kiss to it. Only, he was no longer free to do so.
That right had been taken away from him the moment she changed her mind and chose to stay here. Refusing to follow him to Spain after her papi’s health had improved as promised.
The fact that he hadn’t been enough for her had gutted him.
“So, I hear someone needs a little medical attention.” Hands fisted on her hips, Anamaría got down to business, not even wasting time on a hello. Fine by him. The faster they got this unwanted reunion over, the better.
“I’m fine. No need for you to be here,” he told her.
“Alejandro!” His mami’s shocked gasp was accompanied by a slap of his thigh. “No seas rudo!”
Anamaría smirked, the quirk of her lips reminiscent of times she had teased him for getting in trouble in the past. “No worries, Señora Miranda. Making house calls and dealing with rudeness is in my job description. Lucky for Alejandro, I’m in a generous mood.”
Generous?
Please. It wasn’t like she was the one who’d been wronged here. Instead of the one who reneged on their shared dream. Then pushed him away.
Seeing as how she was about to poke around the leg that had started to throb like an alien had implanted itself under his skin and decided this was the perfect time to burst out, Alejandro kept his accusation to himself.
The sooner they got this over with and she left, the sooner he could go back to reminding himself that he was better off without any of the pressures and recriminations being back in Key West presented. Better off without her.
Anamaría bent to peer at his leg. Her cool hand touched his left knee above the top external fixator ring, a soft caress that sent heat searing through him. He tensed. His breath trapped in his lungs.
Her sharp, intuitive gaze swung his way.
Something dark and primitive passed between them.
Proof that while some things had changed in his absence, his instant reaction to the only woman he had ever loved remained brutally the same.
Anamaría slid her glance away, breaking their connection as she leaned closer to peer at his injured leg. Her ponytail swung down to brush against his skin at the hem of his shorts. Lust made a beeline up his leg, straight to his crotch.
Fucking great. Annoyed, he folded his hands in his lap to cover himself.
“Okay, let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” she said matter-of-factly, as if the spark between them hadn’t singed her the same way it had him.
Shit, he already knew what he was dealing with. His own personal hell.
Her motions brisk, Anamaría unzipped her backpack, removed a first aid kit, then opened and set it on the coffee table. She tugged on a pair of light blue medical gloves, the snap of the rubbery material against her skin loud in the quiet living room. Poor Lulu’s eyes widened with concern.
Anamaría straightened, her impassive expression grating on his frayed nerves. “You ready?”
No. For a slew of reasons he refused to admit.
With a brisk nod, he braced himself for the discomfort her ministrations would bring—to his leg, as well as his traitorous heart.
Chapter Two
Heart pounding, Anamaría knelt in between the floral sofa and wicker coffee table, her chest even with Alejandro’s elevated leg. Even knowing what she was walking into, she hadn’t been prepared for what greeted her.
Alejandro’s handsome face was thinner, his skin more jaundiced than the usual sun-kissed bronze she’d seen in the pictures he occasionally posted on
social media. His usually clean-shaven, angular jaw sported thick scruff, proof he hadn’t shaved in days. Probably more like a week. Pain pinched the edges of his mouth, narrowed his dark eyes in a broody expression she should not have found appealing.
Doggedly, Anamaría willed herself to concentrate on “the patient,” and calm the nervous trembles vibrating through her system. Steady hands were needed here. Both to ensure she didn’t cause him more discomfort when she cleaned his pin sites and to dispel any question about whether or not being near him again might be a problem for her.
It wasn’t. Not in the least.
She empathized with anyone who was injured, especially this badly. It’s part of why she’d chosen her profession. And she was damn good at what she did.
Forget that the last time they touched had been the evening she and Alejandro had said good-bye. Back when she’d thought he would change his mind about staying away for good. And he apparently thought she’d eventually be okay leaving everything behind. Their home. His familia. Hers.
Wrapped in a tight hug, she’d held onto him as they stood on the concrete seawall behind her parents’ house in Big Coppitt Key. Above them, the midnight sky had sparkled with stars. A full moon shone its mercurial path over the dark open ocean at the end of the canal.
If she closed her eyes, Anamaría could sense the heavy humid air enveloping them. Smell the salty seawater mixed with the sweet scent of the bougainvillea trailing up the back stairs. Feel the harsh pain of her heart breaking.
Instead, she kept her eyes wide open, intent on doing her job, then getting the hell out of here.
Her fingers softly palpated the area a couple inches away from where one of the wires attached to the top ring on the external fixator pierced his skin. Two and a half weeks post-surgery, it was surprising to find bandages covering his pin sites. If there had been complications with healing, the surgeon in Puerto Rico wouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, let Alejandro travel.
“I’m assuming the bandages were placed here as a precaution to avoid germs during your trip home?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer, she glanced at him from under her lashes.
Sweat beaded his upper lip and brow. Teeth gritted, his jaw muscles straining, he gave a jerky nod in response. Pain flashed like lightning in his nearly black eyes.
“Anamawía make Tio Ale better?” Lulu asked, her high-pitched voice breaking the tension filling the room as all the adults watched with varying degrees of concern.
“She’s going to try, mamita,” Cece answered.
Try being the operative word here. Based on the tension radiating off Alejandro, he was either really pissed to see her or experiencing a higher degree of pain than he should. Maybe both.
As for him being pissed, he’d have to suck it up. She wasn’t thrilled about their impromptu reunion either. It had their scheming mothers written all over it.
But the pain from his injury…that she might be able to help. Not, however, with this particular audience breathing down her neck. All of them waiting for any sign that past hurts lingered. Or worse, a hint they’d been laid to rest and the potential for a new future for her and Alejandro still existed.
She’d bet her next Kelly day that her mom and Señora Miranda had already started praying a novena for the latter. And Anamaría, like most firefighters, wouldn’t bet their monthly extra day off on anything that wasn’t a sure winner.
Pushing aside the irritating thought of their mothers’ matchmaking, Anamaría turned back to her task. Not the person.
“Okay, everyone, while I’m sure Alejandro enjoyed the welcome home fiesta, we should move him to his room where he’ll be more comfortable,” Anamaría announced. “After I finish checking his pin sites, Tio Ale needs to take a nap, like Lulu. Rest is important for his recovery.”
Plus, getting him to his room would allow them a small measure of privacy. Not exactly what she personally wanted, but necessary for her to do her job correctly. Instinct told her Alejandro wouldn’t answer her questions about his pain levels truthfully. Not in front of his worry-prone mother.
“Ernesto, can you help me?” Anamaría motioned toward the wheelchair parked in the combination dining-kitchen area.
It wasn’t easy, but after a few grunts of complaint peppered with muffled curses, Alejandro settled into the chair, his left leg propped up on the elevated footrest.
Now a light sheen of perspiration covered his haggard face, and she almost felt sorry for him.
Irritated at her reaction, she shoved her first aid kit in her backpack, then slung the bag over her shoulder to wheel him toward the back of the house and three bedrooms. Señora Miranda followed close behind them.
As they neared Alejandro’s old room, Anamaría slowed her steps, hesitating.
Memories assailed her. Evil interlopers sabotaging her bid to remain aloof.
Study dates, movie nights, long afternoons spent perusing the latest pictures Alejandro had taken around the island and discussing their lofty dreams. Quick stolen kisses and innocent touches because the bedroom door always remained open—Miranda and Navarro house rules.
Their last year of high school, when they’d both been ready, that open door policy hadn’t stopped them from taking advantage of the rare opportunities when they’d had this house or her parents’ place to themselves. Or from stealing clandestine hours laying on a blanket, making out under the stars in the stern of her Papi’s boat when he left it docked in the backyard canal overnight, ready for an early morning fishing trip.
Señora Miranda scooted around the chair to push open the bedroom door, beckoning them in. Anamaría steeled herself and crossed the threshold, stepping foot inside the sanctuary where she’d once woven her life’s dreams. In her naiveté not realizing the fragility of the threads that tied her and Alejandro together.
Comfort and dismay crashed against each other as Anamaría’s gaze trailed around his room. The space remained unchanged. A shrine to the son who had walked away without a backward glance.
The same navy comforter draped the double bed pressed up against the far wall underneath the window overlooking the side yard. The same sturdy wood dresser sat to the right of the door, the matching dark-stained desk and bookcase on the left next to the closet. On the nightstand, the same framed picture of her mugging for him and his camera before they left for senior prom. Her framed copy sat in a box shoved high on a shelf in her hall closet.
Señora Miranda rolled a black carry-on suitcase into the closet, then tugged the bi-fold door closed again.
Anamaría shut the door on the flood of useless memories, good and bad, she had no time for.
“Okay, let’s get you into bed.” As soon as the unintentionally suggestive words left her mouth, Anamaría rolled her lips together, biting back an embarrassed curse.
Alejandro glanced at his bed, then back to her. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow, his discomfort obvious. Either at their awkward situation or due to his pain.
She moved to his side. “Here, let me—I”
“I’ve got it.” The veracity of his words was negated by his sharp hiss of breath when he grasped his injured leg to lower it off the foot rest.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she berated. “Let me help you before you hurt yourself.”
Sra. Miranda stepped toward them, but Anamaría shook her head. If he was in as much pain as she surmised, he wouldn’t be much help getting into bed. The last thing they needed was the older woman injuring her back trying to heft his weight.
“Wait a second,” she ordered, reaching down to lower the footrest to make the transition easier. “Here, put your hands on my shoulders for support.”
Bending her knees, she lowered to a half-squat in front of his chair, his right knee in between her legs. She grit her teeth, ignoring her pulse blipping at the thought of him touching her again.
Several seconds ticked by without Alejandro making a move to follow her instructions. Anamaría glanced up.
A
deep groove etched the space between his brows at his stubborn frown.
She rolled her eyes, then matched him scowl for scowl. “Look, I carried a two-hundred-pound dummy over my shoulder down two flights of stairs during drills yesterday. I think I can handle another dummy—”
“Fine,” he grumbled.
Palms up, Anamaría crooked her fingers in a “come on” gesture at him. The sooner they got this over, the better.
With a disgruntled sigh, Alejandro set his hands on her bare shoulders. One of his thumbs hooked under her tank top strap. Warmth seeped into her chest, and she barely kept her eyes from fluttering closed.
“Now, using only your right leg and my shoulders, push yourself to a stand. Do not put any pressure on your left. Got it?” she ordered.
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he muttered.
He shifted, then froze on a hiss. His fingers dug into her shoulders, disgruntled pain filling his black coffee eyes. His piercing gaze darted to his mom, then back to Anamaría in silent plea for her to not say anything. Keep the degree of his discomfort a secret from his mom.
Anamaría answered with a faint tuck of her chin. “Okay…one. Two. Three.”
His muffled groan punctuated the end of her count as he shifted his weight onto his right foot and bent forward. The muscle in his thigh flexed with the exertion and his face scrunched in pain. Instinctively she grasped his waist to both steady and support him. The hard jut of his hip bones pressed into her palms, proof of his recent post-accident weight loss.
Hunched over, he pressed the side of his face against her temple, his breathing labored. The urge to hug him closer, give thanks that the idiot was actually safe, consumed her. This close, his woodsy, patchouli scent assailed her senses, setting her body tingling in places it had absolutely no business tingling.
Jaw clenched, she ignored the traitorous reactions, focusing on the task at hand.
Together they shuffle-twisted toward the mattress in a move that had them imitating two middle schoolers at their first dance, awkwardly holding each other at arm’s length. Leaving room for the Holy Spirit between them, like the nuns at St. Mary’s used to warn the students.
Holiday Home Run Page 11