by Amber Hart
“Stop,” I say to Javier. I turn. Take two steps backwards. The water rocks against me.
He looks at me funny.
“You can’t touch me there.” Barely a whisper.
His eyes narrow. “Can’t touch you where?”
I should tell him everything. I should spit it out and send him running because what am I really doing here? What do I hope to accomplish? There’s a chance he won’t want me once he knows.
“My lower stomach.”
Javier’s eyes travel down my body, but his inquiring look is blocked by my bathing suit. He can’t possibly know from the outside what I’m hiding. I can’t stand Javier looking anymore, so I turn my back to him. Try to differentiate the dark horizon from the line of the sea. I’m ready for his questions. Because surely he has some. I’ll shut them down, of course. But I’m ready.
Only, he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t question what I’m hiding. He doesn’t let my hesitance stop him from bringing me near.
“Okay,” he replies, pulling me closer. Wrapping his arms around me just below my breasts. Not touching my lower stomach at all. His respect is comforting. His hard body is perfect and warm, enough to make me forget.
“Mami, you smell so good,” he mumbles into my hair.
I turn to face him. His shirt is off. I trace the tattoos across his chest with daring fingers. He shivers beneath my touch, and a groan escapes his lips. I want to feel him more. I want to know if he has tattoos in places I can’t see.
My exploratory hand lands on three words. Directly over his heart.
Descanse en Paz.
Rest in peace.
I know what the words mean because someone spray-painted them, along with a picture of Diego’s face, on the concrete sidewalk near our school right after he was killed. I looked them up. I haven’t forgotten the meaning since.
“I miss him, too,” I say. Honesty raw in my voice. “I miss the way he made Faith free. I miss the way he didn’t care about image. How he broke every rule. Because some rules are meant to be broken.”
Javier tenses against me.
“You’re a lot like Diego,” I whisper. “But you’re different, too.”
“Let’s not talk about that,” he says.
My eyes find the moon. Lonesome in its secluded patch of sky. One sliver away from being full.
I feel one drop away from being empty.
Javier’s voice trickles into the air. “I don’t like seeing you with that guy.”
His fingers wrap around my ribs. I tremble.
“You belong with me.”
And as soon as he says the words, I know them to be true. At least for now, this is exactly where I belong.
Javier’s calloused palms travel up my back. The only other time Javier has held me was in the water. Here. Like this.
It’s as though he’s remembering, too, because he tilts my chin up. Zones in on my mouth. Firecrackers explode in my veins. I want, I want, I need his lips. His tongue. I want to take our time because there’s no reason to leave this moment.
“One day,” Javier practically growls, his hands tightening on my back. “One day I will taste you again. But not today. Not until you’re sober.”
Disappointment is an anchor pulling me under.
“But why?”
He puts a finger to my mouth. Rubs it gently against my bottom lip.
“Because, mami,” he breathes. “I need you to remember. Every. Last. Second.”
12 .
javier
I didn’t expect it to be so hard, leaving Melissa with her sister last night. Not kissing her perfect lips. The way she drew air in and out, almost panting when I touched her mouth with my finger.
I wish it were my lips instead.
I nearly lost it. But somehow I did it. I walked away. One foot in front of the other. Totally wound up and barely able to keep it in check, but I walked away.
For once in my life.
I normally enjoy all girls have to offer, no strings attached. I’d like to pretend I’m chivalrous and treat every mujer to dinner and a movie. But it’d be a lie. Girls are fun. I’ve had enough serious in my life to last a while. Seriously starving, seriously almost dying. On a daily basis.
Seriously running for my life to a new country.
Plus, there’s mi mamá. It’s not that I’m scared of her. I’ll take a stand when it’s worth it, but she makes it easy to weed through the bullshit. Some things just aren’t worth the trouble.
But Melissa? She does something to me. She just might be worth it.
Chunk by chunk, I’m being stripped clean.
And now here I am, at the beach again. Chilling with my boys. Trying hard not to watch her body.
“Just look already,” Luis says, breaking my staring match with the ocean.
“At what?” But I already know.
Luis laughs. Leans back on his elbows in the sand and nods toward Melissa. “You know what. So you gonna look? Or you gonna murder the ocean with your stare?”
“The ocean,” I say. Because I have no other choice.
“Losing game,” Luis mumbles.
I want to stare at her. But I can’t. Because I’ll end up in trouble. The way she flirts with guys, the way they touch her skin—it’s enough to know about it. I definitely can’t watch it play out.
“You ever gonna admit that you like her?” Rodolfo asks.
“I like her,” I say. No hesitations. Catching them all by surprise.
“Damn, man. Thought that’d take longer.” Rodolfo laughs.
“Nah,” Ramon says. “You remember them in the water that day? I knew he’d be a goner. Shit, if I got to touch a cuerpo like that . . .”
One look from me. Ramon shuts his mouth.
“Still,” Rodolfo continues. “What’s the problem with lookin’, then?”
“Maybe she doesn’t want him back,” Ramon says.
“When have girls not wanted him back?” Juan asks.
“It looks like now,” Ramon says.
He has guts. Talking to me like that when I’ve finally admitted I like a girl. First time. He should’ve learned his lesson when it comes to pushing my family. Diego already taught Ramon that the guys in mi familia are hotheads. Especially about women.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl.
Ramon only laughs. Enjoying himself.
I’m thinking about ordering water or something just to get Melissa over here. But I won’t.
Pride is a monster living within.
I pick up a Frisbee and walk toward the shore. Luis follows. I throw it hard. Letting go of my aggression with each flick of my wrist. Watching the disc spin a path through the air and land far away. Again and again I throw it. Each time, I feel a little less wound up.
Luis says something about how he bets I can’t throw it all the way to the sand dunes. The dunes are far, but not impossible. Ten dollars. I take the bet. Because I’m competitive like that. But I know right away that I’ve thrown at the wrong moment. The wind takes it off course.
I owe Luis money.
Money that I don’t have to lose on a bet. Plus, I hate losing.
“Double or nothing says I’ll throw past the dunes this time.”
Luis considers my bet. Shakes on it.
This time when I aim, I know I’ve got it. Until I hear her voice.
“Stop it,” Melissa says. Serious.
I turn toward her serving section. A line of cabanas occupied mostly by a group of guys our age. Maybe older. A few cabanas on the end are taken by a family with small kids.
I zone in on the guy grabbing Melissa’s hips. He’s trying to pull her down onto his lap.
“Let go,” she says.
Frisbee forgotten, I run to her. She doesn’t see me.
“I said stop it,” she demands. Louder this time. She’s pushing at his hands, but she’s not strong enough. There’s a look in her eyes. Like pure fear. Like this guy touching her is more than just making her mad. She’s scared.
His friends only laugh. Like her discomfort is funny.
I’ll kill them.
I’m a weapon. Charging out of nowhere. I don’t use restraint when my fist meets his face. He lets go of Melissa; crumples in a bloody heap, his nose broken. I know because I’ve been trained in the art of breaking bones. I turn to his buddies. Ready. But none of them challenges me.
I grab Melissa and haul her away. I’m almost positive that if I weren’t holding her, I’d still be hitting him. I’m trying not to shake from adrenaline.
The lead server from the other day runs over. He surveys the scene.
“What happened?” he asks.
Everybody blinked, that’s what happened. See how quickly things can go wrong?
I take deep breaths. Try to cool down.
“She said ‘let go.’ He didn’t.” It’s the only explanation I offer. Nothing more needs to be said.
I’m thinking the guy is going to throw me out of his little patch of the beach. Surely I’ve broken some set of rules. I’m so sure that when he puts his fist up for me to bump, I’m momentarily confused.
“Thanks for looking out,” he says.
Melissa is staring at me with this expression. Like she doesn’t understand what just happened. Like she didn’t realize that the hands that held her in the water could also break bones. There’s red on my knuckles like smudged cherries. Pretty sure the blood’s not mine.
I don’t know what to do. I won’t apologize. Because I’m not sorry. I’d do it again. He deserved it.
And for the briefest second, all I can see is her.
This bonita chica who stirs something deep in me.
I hate that other guys touch her. I want to break every bone of every hand that dares to disrespect her. But what I really want is to lean into her smell. To breathe her in. To watch the way her body reacts to me.
So I do the only thing I can in that moment.
I leave.
Because if I don’t, I’ll kiss her. Right here, in front of everyone. An act of claiming. And I’ll enjoy every second of it.
Mine.
The word slips through a crack in my thoughts. Infiltrates my mind.
Mine.
I only wish it were true.
13
melissa
Brock pulls me into the small office that’s really nothing more than a storage room on the bottom floor of the hotel. The smell of lemon is strong, thanks to a plug-in air freshener. An AC hums to life as we close the door.
“Wanna tell me what happened out there?” he asks.
Brock reaches for papers in the top drawer of the desk. I know what they are. I’ve filled them out once before.
“I don’t need an incident report,” I say, motioning to the form.
“But it’s company policy,” he says.
I don’t want to involve Javier.
“Is there a way around it?” I ask, hopeful.
Brock’s eyes travel to my sides, where the guy grabbed me. “Do you have any marks?”
Not any worth mentioning. “No.”
Brock’s eyes trek back to my face.
“You’re not in trouble,” he says. “The form isn’t anything bad, but it’s standard procedure whenever a customer gets sticky fingers.”
“Good,” I say, relieved. I can’t lose this job. “So, do you think we could let it slide?”
“Maybe if your boyfriend hadn’t punched him, I could. But since the other guy’s bleeding, I’m gonna have to fill it out. We can’t be held liable.”
I nod, understanding. And mumble, “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Brock grins but presses his lips together like he’s trying to hide his smile. “Does he know that?”
“Yep.”
He hands me a pen. I start filling out the paper. When I get to the part about what resolved the issue, I stop.
“Um, do you mind if I leave Javier out of it?”
I’m really hoping Brock won’t make me tell the whole truth. The last thing I need is for a customer to file an assault and battery complaint and get Javier arrested.
“I suppose he could’ve just been a guy passing by. Someone without a name,” Brock says.
I shoot him a smile. Brock is always doing this, has been ever since I started waitressing. Looking out for me. He’s kind of like the brother I never had. One year older. Knows May. They had something, once upon a time. Now he’s a friend that she still talks to occasionally. Someone who offered me this job when I needed money. Someone who cares about how the servers are treated. Who protects us from jerks.
“I saw May today,” Brock says as I scrawl my story across the lines.
I’m not sure why he and May aren’t together, come to think of it. She never said why they broke up, just that it ended a year ago. And when he dropped off some of the things that she’d left at his house, he didn’t bother to give her heart back along with them.
“She looked really good.”
I look up at Brock and he has this grin.
“Haven’t talked to her in a couple weeks,” he says.
I wish they’d get past whatever it is that separates them, because I think Brock would be good for May. Protective and sweet. His demeanor is hard and soft in some spots that he only ever shows a select few people. Like when he encourages me to go to college, saying that he’ll give me shifts to work around my class schedule. Or when he takes moments to help little kids build sand castles on the beach. Or when he brought May flowers on random days just because he thought she was beautiful and deserved it.
“You guys should do something sometime.” It’s not my place to say, but since I know that May never really got over him, and since Brock lights up every time he mentions or sees my sister, I figure it couldn’t hurt.
“I don’t know,” he says.
“She’s not seeing anyone,” I offer.
He doesn’t say anything more.
I finish the form and sign at the bottom. Brock signs, too.
“Word of advice?” he says.
“Yeah?”
“If he’s good to you, keep him around. ’Cause guys that look at a girl the way he looked at you, and defend them, even though he might have had to take on that whole group you were serving, aren’t usually guys who are messing around. You know?”
There he is with the advice again. He could tell me to run from Javier. He could tell me a lot of things. But instead he says to give Javier a shot.
“Thanks, Brock.”
We stand to leave.
“One more thing.”
I wait.
“He may not be your boyfriend now, but I’d bet money that he will be soon.”
14
javier
My black Ford pickup is nothing special. Old. Not a thing worth stealing. Still, they huddle around it like there’s something valuable inside.
MS-13s. Four of them. Watching me. Probably wondering whether I’m coming out on my own or if they’ll have to bust the windows to get in. They won’t let me leave, that’s for sure. Not that I want to. I came here on a mission. It’s the only way.
Gang members start a slow crawl around my truck. I made sure to park near the convenience store.
A method to my madness.
I’m in the same part of town, near Diego’s old place, where they last saw me. Only this time, I’m parked in a back lot. There’s one other car in sight, abandoned with a flat tire.
Danger whispers my name.
Things could go wrong. The MS-13s could make me pay for the state I left their boys in. They’re all strapped. Any one of them could pull a gun.
Every detail matters. The way I chose a discreet location, the way I left a trail of fresh images—my truck, my face, their blood on the ground—all so that they’d recognize me the next time I came. Each move I made was intentional. The MS-13s are a gang, sure. But they’re also a pack. Hunting down those they want to dispose of.
And those they want to recruit.
One member kicks the
front bumper. Another kicks the passenger side door. Warnings, telling me I need to step out, that they have something to say. Most likely, with their fists.
When I don’t move, they kick my door. The truck rocks. Their scowls deepen into something more like grins. A challenge. This is fun for them. Seeing how scared they can make me.
There’s nothing they can do to me that’ll be any worse than what they did to Diego. His memory is fuel. I almost smile back.
They kick harder. I’m not worried about the truck. It’s not the truck they want.
If revenge was all they were after, I would have already been in trouble. Beat up. Shot.
But this isn’t revenge.
They’re playing into my hand.
Like I’d hoped, this is a recruit.
I refuse to fold.
I’m looking around like I’d planned to meet someone here. It’s an act, but they don’t know that. They don’t know that I’m different from the dealers that frequent this area, cars meeting in the cloak of night. Laws being broken with the brush of hands. I’m just another person in the wrong place at the wrong time, my little act says.
You won’t know what hit you, my big secret whispers.
They’re moving closer. Making it obvious that I’m a few seconds away from losing all of my windows.
Five. Guns that I know of. Theirs and mine.
Four. Guys circling. A slowing pace.
Three. Taps on my steering wheel. I’m almost ready.
Two. Steady breaths. In and out.
One. Person’s revenge. Almost served.
Zero. Time remaining.
I open the truck door. They take a step back. So they remember my fists, I decide. Their immediate guardedness is indication. So is the fact that they’ve pulled guns.
I give them a chance to get into position. Wait for them to speak. My eyes dart to the ways I can get out of this mess after my message is delivered.
They’ve circled me. Probably hoping one of them will be able to attack my blind spot. It’s smart. What I would have done. But I don’t give them a chance. I circle, too. Slowly, like them. That way there’s never one part of me that’s left still.