“Wimps, huh?” Alejandro asked. “You sure that’s all?”
She hitched a noncommittal shoulder.
One of his dark brows quirked, pressing her for more. She ignored it. He’d lost the role of confidant ages ago.
“How’s your PT going?” she asked, a not-so-subtle deflection.
“Hurts like hell.”
A light breeze kicked up, cooling her skin and ruffling the dark waves of his hair. He combed his fingers through it, leaving a wavier piece sticking out at an odd angle. Her fingers twitched with the urge to smooth the piece into place. She ignored it.
One demon from her past was enough to wrestle with at the moment.
“The physical therapist’s bubbly cheerleader routine annoys the crap out of me,” he complained.
Anamaría nearly smiled at his grouchy petulance. “Suck it up, buttercup. You’ll be thankful later.”
“Spoken like someone who’s not laid up with a cyborg-looking contraption holding together pieces of her leg.”
“Also, someone who isn’t dumb enough to scale the side of a waterfall and nose-dive onto the rocks,” she countered.
“But who willingly runs into burning buildings like a superhero answering the call for help.”
She shook her head, still grappling with her and Jones’s inability to revive the poor man earlier. The sounds of the defibrillator’s charge as it pulsed his body, his teenaged daughter’s sobbing pleas for them to do something, reverberated in Anamaría’s head.
“I wouldn’t necessarily call me a—”
“—and who signs contracts making her a new spokesmodel for an up-and-coming athletic wear company. Felicidades.”
Her argument against being called anything close to a superhero stalled in surprise at his congratulations.
Alejandro’s dark eyes flashed with glee. “Ahhh, you didn’t think I’d heard. Did you?”
“Are you kidding me?” She shook her head dubiously and hooked a hand over the lowered passenger window’s edge. “On this island, with our mothers, and the way chisme passes between them and their friends? I’m not surprised you already know.”
“This isn’t cheap gossip,” he answered. “It’s good news. Of course they want to share. They’re proud of you. Rightfully so.”
She’d feel more proud if she could have revived that man today. Saved his daughter from facing her agonizing loss.
Anamaría shook off the guilt-driven thoughts, remembering what Luis had advised when he’d called to check on her from Station 3, where he was on duty. She and Jones had done everything by the book. They’d followed standing protocols set by the Medical Director to the letter. Sometimes, despite their best efforts, it was too late. There was nothing they could do.
Dwelling on the call. Doubting her decisions. Those could only lead to mistakes with the next person. Eyes fluttering closed, she rubbed her forehead, massaging the stress headache pounding inside.
“¿Qué te pasa?” Alejandro’s hand covered hers on the door ledge. The soft caress of his thumb along the side of hers sent heat spreading up her arm, short-circuiting her resolve to remain unaffected by him.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” she fibbed.
“You sure?”
Lips clamped shut, she dipped her chin in a brisk nod, unwilling to confide in him when he was a distressing thread weaving through the memories and emotions she struggled with.
“You want to play it that way? That’s fine. But if you need to talk something out.” His hand tightened briefly over hers. “I’m here.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” The skepticism automatically slipped out.
Sure he was here; for now. Until things got uncomfortable with his dad and Alejandro took off again, rather than work through their difference of opinion.
Or until adventure crooked its finger and lured him away, which she couldn’t exactly blame him for given his talent. Although leaving didn’t mean he couldn’t eventually return home. That had been his decision.
Just as hers had been to wait for him. Lying to herself that she had moved on.
Not anymore.
Exhausted by the day’s emotional toll, she dragged her hand out from under Alejandro’s and took a step back, out of his reach. “I’m good. Thanks.”
His doubtful expression told her he wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t press. “I thought you’d wanna know that I’m working on something. I’m not ready to say anything yet, but this should keep my mom busy enough to get her mind off matchmaking.”
Something?
With the call earlier having dredged up the past, Alejandro’s secrecy now had her reliving the shock when he confessed about having applied for and accepted the six-month apprenticeship in Spain, without telling her. The betrayal of him making a choice that affected both their lives, their plans, then not understanding why she’d been upset, still rankled.
“If you really want to know—”
“That’s okay!” She threw up a stop sign with her hands as she edged backward toward the sidewalk. Him being here right now only compounded her difficulty with silencing past fears so they wouldn’t sabotage her present. “I’m not involved with whatever you’re cooking up to thwart your mom. And I don’t plan to be.”
Alejandro frowned, probably confused by her brush-off after the way they’d left things last week. But today, swarmed with harrowing memories, she was having trouble holding on to his olive branch offering.
“You do your thing.” Like he always did. Like she was determined to do now. “And I’ll do mine.”
She took another step and backed into her brother with an oof.
“Everything okay?” Enrique asked.
“Yep. All done here.” She spun and sidestepped around her brother, anxious to get away. “I should get back inside.”
“Hey, you wanna—”
“Catch you later, E.” She lifted a hand to wave but didn’t turn around. He’d see the lie in on her face and she couldn’t deal with an interrogation.
On the sidewalk, Anamaría bent down to grab her gear, then hightailed it to the station. Away from the temptation to fall into old habits like confiding in Alejandro and accepting the comfort he offered simply because she felt vulnerable at the moment. If she gave in, she’d only wind up getting hurt later. Unlike before, she knew better this time.
* * *
Anamaría waved good-bye to the last of her Morning Yoga on the Beach students, watching as they drove away in their cars and on their mopeds or hopped on their beach cruisers and pedaled down the wide sidewalk at Smathers Beach.
Once they had all departed, she turned to face the open ocean.
Instead of starting to pack up the yoga blocks she provided for students, she closed her eyes and tipped her chin into the light breeze. The bright ball of the morning sun hovering above the horizon left a dark circle behind her lids.
Inhaling deeply, she filled her lungs with the familiar waft of sulfur from the piles of seaweed washed up and drying on the shore. Many wrinkled their noses at the stench. To her, it mixed with the fresh, briny scent blowing in from the ocean, creating a smell she would always equate with home and the contentment that came with being where she belonged.
Toes wiggling in the wet sand. Ears tuned to the lap of barely there waves on the shore thanks to the reef, and the putter of a boat’s motor out on the water. Skin dewy with humidity and perspiration. In her element.
Only this morning, the sense of serenity her yoga sessions typically brought eluded her.
When two belly-filling breaths and slow releases still hadn’t quieted her unease, Anamaría dropped down onto the packed sand. She crossed her legs to sit in lotus position, elbows bent, the backs of her hands resting on top of her knees. The midmorning sun wrapped her in its welcome embrace, heating her bare legs and arms, kissing her cheeks.
She should be excited. Preparing for her first AllFit photo shoot tomorrow. The company had even upped the wow factor by working out the logistics for Brandon Lawson to
come to Key West.
Forget butterflies. Baby seagulls like the little ones scampering across the sand flapped in her belly when she thought about the text message Brandon sent her last night:
Looking forward to some fun and sun with you tomorrow.
Even though he had a weekend event on his schedule, Brandon was flying down for a brief overnight trip before heading out west. According to her agent, Brandon had suggested the idea of them pairing up. A splashy way to announce her partnership with AllFit, seeing as how he’d been the company’s face since its inception several years ago.
Sara had whooped with glee when Anamaría called her with the news. Of course her lovesick soon-to-be sister-in-law had jumped to unfounded conclusions.
“Brandon is hard to book. I told you I got an ‘interested’ vibe when you two connected over cocktails,” Sara had said.
“Dios mío, por favor, not you, too,” Anamaría had complained. The last thing she needed was another matchmaker in her familia.
Those baby seagulls in her stomach flapped harder at the complication even a hint of romance with Brandon would add to her current troubles.
Heaving a groan—the opposite of a yoga cleansing breath—Anamaría pushed up to her bare feet. After slapping the sand from her hands and butt, she gathered her supplies, then trudged up the beach, stopping to pick up an empty paper cup and toss it in the trash.
Supply basket stored in the back of her Honda Pilot, she tapped her Apple watch to disable the Do Not Disturb mode. Few things were worse than her mami interrupting yoga class in the middle of a chaturanga or a soothing child’s pose with a nagging text about Anamaría not stopping by the house enough.
As if to prove her point, as soon as her watch was live it buzzed with notifications. La Reina and Señora Miranda’s name flashed on the small screen.
“What are the two mamis instigating now?” Anamaría grumbled. She was not up for another meddling-mami intervention. Not today. She still had two more group classes, a private session, and her own workout. Plus, reviewing tomorrow morning’s shoot with Sara.
Sliding onto the driver’s seat, Anamaría fished for her cell phone in her backpack’s side pocket. Seconds later, she was listening to Señora Miranda’s worried voice mail.
“Ay, nena, I am sorry to bother you—”
“Then don’t. Hang up, Mami.” Alejandro’s beleaguered voice cut through his mother’s greeting.
“Shhh, es un mensaje!” Señora Miranda chided. “Where was I? Ay, yes, my hardheaded son has told his physical therapist he no longer needs her services.”
“Because I don’t!” he cried in the background.
“¡Basta, Alejandro; enough! You are interrupting my message.”
Normally, the familiar bickering between an exasperated adult child and the Cuban mami in whose eyes her kids were never fully grown would have had Anamaría crowing with laughter. But she sensed the reason behind the phone call and wasn’t looking forward to confirming her intuition.
“Please come and talk some sense into him, so I can stop worrying,” Señora Miranda pleaded.
Alejandro’s “Unbelievable” groan in the background was a classic child-embarrassed-by-their-parent reaction. Thanks to her own mami, Anamaría could relate.
Undeterred, Señora Miranda pressed on, delivering the final nails in Anamaría’s coffin. “We are home now, and I believe you should be finishing with your morning yoga class at Smathers Beach soon. I will wait for you to arrive. Gracias, nena, te lo agradezco.”
Of course, the older woman was already saying she appreciated Anamaría stopping by their house. They all knew Anamaría wouldn’t ignore a cry for help. Nor would she disrespect her elder by pretending she hadn’t seen the voice mail until later today.
They were familia. Maybe not by blood, but by choice. Even if that choice was by virtue of their shared comunidad and years of friendship, instead of the anticipated marriage. The twinge of buried dreams jabbed at her heart.
Huffing out a resigned sigh, Anamaría started the car and buckled her seat belt.
The Miranda house was only a few minutes from here. With a little zigzagging off Atlantic Boulevard, she’d pass by on the way to her next group class on the Casa Marina Resort’s grounds.
She could stop in, reassure Señora Miranda that her elder son’s leg would not grow gangrene and fall off or whatever extreme scenario the older woman’s worry gene envisioned happening.
She could also tell Alejandro to stop being a pain in everyone’s ass and simply follow his doctor’s advice. At least, until he was no longer under his parents’ roof and his mami’s watchful eye. Stop traumatizing the poor woman, so she’d stop SOSing Anamaría.
The secret plan to distract his mother he had mentioned yesterday needed to start today. Enough was enough.
Pulling away from the curb and making a U-turn, she drove west on South Roosevelt, following the curve in the road onto Bertha Street. Several turns later, she hit Laird Street, and shortly after the gravel edging the road and sidewalk crunched under her tires as she pulled to a stop in front of the Mirandas’ house.
She ducked under a low-hanging bougainvillea vine in the privacy wall alcove and was two steps up the brick walkway trailing through the lush lawn when she drew to a surprised halt.
Alejandro stood on the front stoop, hunched over a pair of crutches that were jammed in his armpits for support. His wheelchair was nowhere in sight.
The stubborn mule probably shouldn’t be upright, at least not without his wheelchair nearby if he suddenly tired and certainly not on his own.
Instinct and experience had her eyeing his Nike sneaker–clad feet, relieved to note that at least he was smart enough to keep his weight on his good leg. Although smart wasn’t the word she would use to describe him at the moment.
As if sensing her disapproval, he straightened out of his hunch, his fingers clenched around the handgrips. His biceps flexed with tension, tightening the short sleeves of his navy T-shirt, already a little snug across his broad shoulders. His previously hollowed cheeks had filled out. A sign his papi, mami, and abuela’s cooking was doing its job of fattening him up over the past week and a half.
Of course, based on the pecs outlined by his formfitting tee and the curve of his vastus medialis obliques visible under the hem of his athletic shorts, muscles honed by the miles he typically put on the racing bike she’d seen on his social media feed, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on the irritating man’s body.
Her pulse kicked up a traitorous notch at the thought of tracing the new hills and planes of his physique. Exploring the changes the years had wrought, taking him from young man to . . . she gulped . . . all man.
“You shouldn’t have come.” The annoyed twist of his full lips mimicked his tone.
She arched a brow and shot him an equally annoyed glower.
“It only encourages her,” he complained.
“Nu-uh.” Anamaría shook her head, refusing to let him put the blame on her. “That’s what you’re doing. By pushing her buttons.”
Alejandro shifted on his right foot, shimmying his hips and shoulders as he tried to balance himself. His right crutch lifted as he careened dangerously to his left, flailing to keep his balance.
Anamaría hurried toward him, afraid the hardheaded idiot might fall and wind up doing more damage to his tibia.
“I got it,” he growled, his jerky motions finally settling. “I don’t need your help.”
She pulled up short a few feet away. “Apparently, you don’t need anyone’s help. Is that it?”
The crutches squeaked under his weight, the rubber soles thumping on the mottled cream and chocolate tiles as he hobbled to the far edge of the covered porch.
“I told you yesterday, the PT was too damn perky. Between her Positive Patty routine and my mami’s hovering and my dad’s . . . I just . . . carajo, I can’t take it right now!” He shoved a hand through his tousled hair, his frustration telegraphed in the tight grip he held on t
he back of his neck. “The PT left a sheet with some exercises. I’ll be fine.”
“As long as you do them properly. If not, you could wind up causing more damage.” Anamaría glanced through the set of double-hung windows into the living room, expecting to see Señora Miranda or Alejandro’s abuela watching their favorite morning show on Telemundo. While peeking at whatever was going on out front.
Instead, the familia sala sat oddly empty.
“Where’s your mom?” Anamaría asked, squinting past the empty sala at the kitchen and lanai farther back in the house.
“She’s helping Abuela put away some laundry in her room. Mostly, I think they knew I needed some space. It’s like the walls here are closing in on me.”
For someone used to living outside of the familia bubble, especially the one exacerbated by island life, being confined like he was could make the antsiness worse. “My mom giving me space is pretty rare; you should be thankful. At least, this gives me a few minutes to talk some sense into you.”
Anamaría looked back at him in time to catch his eye roll. Despite her irritation at being summoned, she understood some of his frustration.
Her phone buzzed in her leggings hip pocket at the same time Sara’s name lit up on her Apple watch. Anamaría ignored the call. “Please tell me that whatever plan you cryptically mentioned yesterday to distract your mother from her matchmaking is not this. Because if so, it’s a dumb one.”
He blew out an annoyed pffft. “Of course not. Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Hip cocked, Anamaría crossed her arms and silently stared back at him. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Whatever,” he grumbled, waving off her jab by flapping an elbow as he held on to his crutches. “No, it’s not my plan. If you really want to know . . .” His gaze slid to the window as if ensuring the coast was still clear. “I’m working with a gallery downtown to host an exhibit of my work.”
“What?!” Joy flooded through her, pushing aside her exasperation with him. “Alejandro, that’s incredible!”
Dios, the hours they’d spent strolling hand in hand downtown, admiring and critiquing gallery displays. Him confident that someday an Alejandro Miranda photograph would fetch the high prices marking many of the pieces.
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