by Webster, K.
My boy.
He used to piss me off with those comments. I already had a dad. I didn’t need some cook who worshiped the ground my mother walked on to try and become my father. Dad gave up everything for me. He’s irreplaceable. At one time I thought Eduardo was trying to do just that—replace him. Lately, I realize he just wants to love me too.
“Thanks, Eddie,” I call out.
“Anything for you, Cuervo.”
Sheridan
I stare at my reflection in the mirror of the small hotel bathroom, watching my bottom lip wobble. Weak. So weak, Sheridan. I’m nine years old again in my head. Reminded of how I’d escape to the hospital bathroom to compose myself. Momma always said I was her strong girl. When her hair was falling out and she was continuously vomiting from chemo, I didn’t feel strong at all. But I couldn’t let her down. I’d slip away to the bathroom and force the tears away.
Stiffen my spine.
Lift my chin.
Purse my lips.
Harden my heart.
It takes a few minutes of breathing calmly to chase away the chaos brewing inside me. This isn’t the first shitty situation I’ve been thrust in, and it certainly won’t be the last.
“Sherrie-dan? Are you okay in there?” Estefania asks, tapping on the door with her fingernail.
A bloom of warmth in my chest sends a ripple of shock through me. I hadn’t expected for her to stick up for me earlier. But she did. I’ve been nothing but a bitch, and the girl still tried.
In another life, I could be friends with a girl like Estefania. Maybe the me before Momma got sick. The one who caught fireflies in the backyard, climbed trees, and would stare up into the sky and try to count the stars. Before all the heartache and pain, I was a free spirit.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice gruff from emotion. “I’ll be even better if I can catch a signal to call my dad.”
With a heavy sigh, I open the bathroom door. Estefania has changed into a floral maxi dress that looks incredibly comfortable. She’s pulled all of her golden-brown locks up and piled them on top of her head in a messy but lovely looking way.
“You look pretty.”
Her eyes widen. “Me?”
“Who else would I be talking to?”
“I did not think you liked me,” she replies in a quiet voice. Then, her features brighten. “You will now, Sherrie-dan. I found a phone for you and it works!”
My heart stammers in my chest. “W-What? Where?”
She grabs my hand and pulls me over to the bed. Sure enough, an old phone circa 1987 sits on the end table between the two beds. It’s yellowed from age, but is lit up, indicating it’s working.
We sit down and I snag the receiver before mashing the buttons for Dad’s cell number. It rings and rings before going to voicemail.
“Daddy, it’s me. I’m stuck in…”
“Mexico,” Estefania offers.
“I’m stuck in Mexico. We had to stop because of the incoming hurricane. I can get you the information, just please, Daddy…send me a plane. I need to get out of here.” My eyes water despite just calming myself down. “I, uh, call me back at…”
Estefania points to the number on the phone.
After rambling out the number, I hang up.
“When Daddy sends the plane, you can come with me if you want. I know you’re going to Costa Rica—back home. I could take you with me,” I offer, feeling strange about being nice. I’m known for a lot of things, but nice isn’t usually one of them.
Her nose scrunches and she messes with the fabric on her dress. “I like it here.”
This makes me recoil. “What? Here? In this shithole hotel?”
“I like it here because it is peaceful,” she says. “No mobs.”
Mobs?
“I don’t follow,” I say with a frown.
“I just wanted to sing like the big stars on television. But”—she shrugs—“no one told me it was so lonely. All those people. So many people. They nearly run you over for autographs. But how many simply want to have a cup of coffee and talk?”
“I see…” Though I don’t. Not this. “I—”
We’re interrupted by a rapping on the door.
“Hotel hospitality,” an accented voice says.
I bound from the bed and rush over to the door. When I swing it open, a short woman with jet-black hair and piercing brown eyes smiles at me.
“Welcome to Hotel Zaragoza,” she says proudly. “We are pleased that you are staying with us. Should there be anything to make your stay more comfortable, please let us—”
“I want an upgrade,” I blurt out, cutting her off. “This room smells like mildew. I’ll get my credit card and you can charge it. Preferably something with a view and Wi-Fi.”
Her eyes narrow sharply at me and she sniffs the air. “I don’t smell anything.”
“Because you’re used to this shithole.”
Estefania gasps, but I won’t be talked down to by a maid with an attitude.
“Perhaps after Rodrigo comes through, we can see about putting you up in one of the villas, but it’s simply not safe at this moment.” Her tone is curt and brooks no room for argument.
“The sun’s out.” I put my hand on my hip and arch my brow.
“The thing about storms is they tease you with perfect weather before they destroy everything you love.” Her eyes darken. “If you don’t need anything, I’m going to check on the other guests in this shithole.”
She turns on her heel and slams the door behind her on her way out.
“Rude,” I grumble. “So rude. Wasn’t she rude?” I turn to Estefania, needing backup from my roomie.
“She was short,” Estefania agrees, her eyes shifting to the floor, unable to meet my gaze. “Want to go swimming while it is still nice?”
“No.”
She flinches and guilt assaults me. Guilt! Since when do I care when my tone upsets people? Since never. Those who work for me have to have a spine. Those who don’t, don’t last.
But Estefania doesn’t work for me.
“I’d like to wait for my dad’s call if that’s okay. Go on without me. Don’t let me hold you back.” I offer her a forced smile, hoping to soften the blow.
I don’t do soft.
I am always hard because I need to be.
She sits on her bed and digs around in her purse. When she pulls out a bottle of orange nail polish, I frown. It’s hideous and offensively bright.
“We will do manicures instead,” she says, shrugging. “While we wait for your father.”
Her smile is wide and innocent as she shakes the bottle. Ugh. I could use her in some of my deals I do for RT Corp. Estefania disarms even the toughest of people. With a grumble of annoyance, I offer her my hand as I sit beside her.
“Fine.”
She cheers and bounces on the bed. “Oh, Sherrie-dan, we are going to be the best of friends. Our nails and toes will match. It will be so cute!”
There is nothing cute about that orange polish.
Still, I try for this girl, though I don’t know why. “So cute,” I deadpan, making her giggle.
Despite the horrible color that makes me cringe as she strokes it onto each of my nails, I find myself relaxing in Estefania’s presence. She’s calm and light and sweet and funny—the exact opposite of me. It’s when she’s blowing on my nails, her eyes twinkling, that I decide I do like her. Like a good businesswoman, I analyze her and determine she is an asset to me. She’s one of the few who likes me and has already come to my aid. I will acquire her as mine.
I wake to the sound of a phone ringing. The hair dryer is going in the bathroom, so Estefania doesn’t hear it. Rubbing at my eyes, I hurry and sit up. I’m not sure how long the phone’s been ringing, but I answer it in time.
“Hello?”
“Sher Bear?”
I choke up, hearing my father’s gravelly voice. “Daddy?” Tears well in my eyes and I’m nine years old again, trying desperately to hold it all together
for Daddy. “I miss you.”
His chuckle is one of surprise. Music plays in the background, but it fades as he steps away. “I miss you too. Is everything okay? Are you safe?”
My eyes skim the rundown room. It’s dated but clean. I don’t see any critters. No creeps are trying to get in. “I’m safe. I just…I don’t want to miss the wedding. I want to be there with you. For you and Mona. We had to do a forced landing because of the storm. It looks fine, though. Can you send me a plane?”
“You won’t miss the wedding. We’ll hold off and wait for my favorite girl on the planet. Maybe relax a bit until the storm passes.”
Relax?
I’m already shaking my head. “No. Um, they don’t even have a spa.” At least I don’t think they do. “I just want to leave. Can you send a plane to pick me up and we can just fly around the storm? Please, Daddy?”
I reserve my whining for desperate situations, this being one of them. Daddy always caves to my whining. I’m his little girl after all.
“Oh, Sher Bear, I’m sorry. I really am. But no, I can’t put you in harm’s way. I looked up your location for this number and it’s in the path of the storm. You’re going to need to stay safe until it’s no longer a threat. I’ll send a plane just as soon as I can.”
Silence hangs in the air.
He told me no.
I’m not used to being told no.
“But, Daddy—”
“You’re a Reid girl,” he reminds me in his conference room tone that makes men sign on dotted lines. “Don’t you forget that.”
I swallow down the emotion and swipe at my tears. “So I’m just stuck here?”
“Like your momma used to always say, ‘When life throws you lemons, throw them back, grab some limes, and make marga—’”
“I have to go, Daddy. I’ll call you when I can. Love you.”
Click.
It was unfair. I should have let him finish. Let him talk about Momma. God, I am such a bitch. Maybe he deserves to have a little break from me. Truth is, I haven’t left his side since the moment I was forced to leave Momma’s.
“Everything okay, Sherrie-dan?”
Estefania hovers nearby, looking like a beach babe in a pair of shorts and a tank top. Her makeup has been redone and her hair has been styled. She’s so pretty and put together.
“I could go for a drink,” I grit out. “What about you? Want to, uh, look for coffee?” Coffee. Chardonnay. Whatever we find first.
She claps her hands, her orange nails catching my attention and reminding me we’re freaking twins. “This is the best day of my life!”
I stare at her in horror.
How could this be anyone’s best day?
It’s turning out to be one of my worst.
Camilo
Carter struts out of the bathroom wearing a borrowed pair of my board shorts, grinning my way. “I was thinking—”
“Oh, here we go,” I groan as I change into a pair of swim trunks. “This is never a good thing.”
“It’s always a good thing,” he argues. “Maybe you ought to ask her out.”
I glower at him. “No.”
“There’s chemistry, man. You’re like some Latin lover boy, right? Woo the gringa.”
“Dude.” I snort and shake my head. “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m brilliant, CZ. She’s angry because she needs a hot little Mexican boy in bright yellow trunks to lure her into his bed.”
“See, when you say it like that, it sounds creepy.”
He starts to dance—over the top, I might add—pulling out some moves Patrick Swayze would be proud of. “Baby, oh, baby…” He waves me to him, winking.
“How are you even married? Did Kendall just feel sorry for you? Took one for the team of womankind?”
“Besides being a hunk—”
“Don’t say hunk. You sound like the old fuckers you hang out with.”
“I’m excellent at eating puss—”
“La la la. I can’t hear you.” I pretend to cover my ears so I don’t have to hear him describe in detail how he pleasures his wife.
“And I fuck like a stallion—”
“Stop, Tripp, just stop.”
He makes an exaggerated show of grabbing my dresser and thrusting his hips toward it while waggling his brows at me. “Just like this.”
I crack up laughing and shove him. “Let’s go. I can’t take any more of this torture. We have work to do anyway.”
We throw on some tennis shoes and head outside of my villa. Since the place is now booked up, he’s rooming with me. As soon as I hear Elton on the record player playing nearby, I smile. All the stress of the last few months fades away. Truth is, I missed home. I missed the chaos and the love and the food. My crazy ass family and friends. As much as I love soaring above the clouds, I’ve always been tethered here. Everyone needs a home base and this hotel is mine.
My abuela is sitting outside the little villa she uses for her home and a spa. One of my cousins must have already boarded her windows for the storm. She sits in a flower-print muumuu, a giant pot of clay between her legs, and is singing along to Elton as she works her clay.
“Abuela,” Carter greets as he strides up to my grandmother to give her wrinkly cheek a kiss. “Did you miss me?”
My abuela doesn’t speak English, but she understands Carter. Hell, I think anyone over the age of sixty does. He speaks their geriatric language. She smiles at him, revealing her gums, and I shake my head. Her dentures are around here somewhere. I used to terrorize my younger cousins when we’d find them lying about all over the hotel and chase them as I pretended to chomp them with her fake teeth.
“¿Preparando una caldo?” I ask as I bend to kiss her. Making a pot?
She shakes her head and squeezes the soft clay in her arthritic-ridden hands. “Para la cara, niño.” For the face, child.
“¿Donde está Mamá?” Where is Mamá?
She points toward the front office. My mother is barking out orders to my cousins Mateo and Nicolás. They’re both giant, sulking young men who tower over her, but they obey her because she’s the ruler of this roost. While the guys start hammering up boards, I sneak up on my mother. When I bear hug her from behind, she squawks at me. I have her arms pinned so she can’t swat at me. I spin her around until she stops yelling and gives in to laughter. Finally, I set her to her feet and kiss the top of her head.
“Hola, Mamá.” Hello, Mamá.
She pulls away and gets her swat in, whacking me right in the stomach. “You can’t sneak up on me like that. I’m too old.”
“You’re not old,” I argue, grinning. “You’re young and beautiful and smart and—”
“What do you want?” Her dark eyebrow arches up.
“Can’t a boy tell his mom he loves her?”
“You’re sucking up, mijo. You want something.”
I don’t. Used to. I’d butter her up so she’d let me go flying with Alejandro or run off in the jungle with my cousins or swim in the rain. I’m a grown man now. A man who has desperately missed his mother.
Her features relax and she hugs me. “Eduardo is making a feast tonight. Will you come?”
God, I’m such an asshole. Last time I was here, I was being a dick and avoided him as much as possible.
“Of course.” I kiss her head again. “I better go help board this place up so it doesn’t blow away.”
“You think this storm will be bad?”
“I have a feeling that it’ll make its mark.”
When she goes back to griping at my cousins, I sneak away. I end up stopping to help Linda tie down the restaurant patio furniture for a good half hour before Carter decides to grace us with his presence. The wind is beginning to pick up and I smell the storm coming.
“In the wild, the alpha males protect their cave from predators,” a high-pitched male voice sings. “The beta males with pink collars roar in appreciation.”
Carter busts out laughing and I cock my head at the dude in
my face with a camera. It’s the Damian Birch. He’s found pink eyelashes and applied sparkly pink lipstick to his lips. His outfit is straight out of a bubblegum factory. So much pink. And spandex. And tight.
Look away.
I shudder. No man should ever be forced to look at another man’s junk so proudly displayed in pink spandex.
Lawton snorts nearby and I shoot him a glare.
“Don’t mind us, boys,” Damian chirps. “We’re just immortalizing this vacation forever by making a video journal. As soon as I get Wi-Fi, I’m uploading these clips.” He waves me off with a manicured hand. “Go on. Continue doing your manly deeds and I’ll continue to watch you sweat and flex.”
“I’ll watch too,” Lawton says with a shrug.
“Where is our waitress?” a hostile, prissy voice shrieks from inside Eddie’s.
I start for the door but pause to point at Carter. “Did you guys know he can dance like Patrick Swayze from Dirty Dancing? I saw it with my own eyes earlier. The way his abs move…”
Carter shoots me an exasperated look and I shrug. Fucker had that coming. I leave him to Damian and Lawton, who are giggling like a couple of schoolgirls. Inside Eddie’s, I let my eyes adjust to the darker environment and seek out the source of the diva meltdown. Sitting at a table in the middle is Sheridan, Estefania, and Kyle. Where Estefania and Kyle are happily chatting, Sheridan sits like she has a pole up her ass—straight and perfect posture—while she glowers toward the kitchen.
Their glasses are empty and the basket of chips in front of them is nothing but crumbs. I can see Eduardo sweating his balls off in the kitchen as he prepares dinner for everyone. I walk over to the bar and grab a bottle of Corralejo, tucking it under my arm. It’s cheap tequila and it’ll grow hair on your chest, but it’s a local fave around here. I peek in on what Eduardo’s working on, offer him a wink, and then grab another basket of chips before sauntering over to the table.
Sheridan’s eyes are everywhere but on me.
Fair enough. It gives me time to check her out. Her hair has been pulled back into a high, sleek ponytail and not a hair is out of place. She’s wearing less makeup, as though she showered and only reapplied mascara and lip gloss. It gives her a more innocent look compared to when I first met her. Her outfit screams boardroom bitch, but she’s still hot.