by Amber Hart
I walk right up to it. Melissa opens the passenger door. Says something to the guy driving. Some dude with short blond hair and board shorts. Surfer type.
“Who the hell is he?” I ask, not bothering to keep my voice down. I want him to hear me.
She shuts the door and walks past me. She’s still angry, understandably. I’m angry, too. I don’t ride in cars with other chicas. Not since Melissa.
Part of me wants to run back up to the car before it has time to take off. Yank open the door and demand to know what’s going on. But if I do that, Melissa will go inside. I’ll miss my chance with her.
I catch Melissa by the waist and spin her around. “Who was that guy?”
She pushes me away. “None of your business.”
I recognize anger in her eyes. Hurt, too.
“I’m sorry, Melissa,” I say.
About everything.
I didn’t want her to learn about the gang. I didn’t want to involve her in my demons.
“It’s too late for sorry,” she fires back.
I can’t believe she rode with another dude instead of calling me.
“Why’d you go with him? You should have called me.”
“And you should have told me the truth!”
I step toward her. She steps away. All I want to do is hold her and erase time from the moment she found out until now.
“Was everything a lie, Javier? All of it? Have you belonged to them from the start? Have I been in danger every time I was with you?”
“I would never put you in danger.” Not willingly. “And, no. This is a new thing.”
“Great,” she says, arms crossed. “So you joined a gang after you told me that you wanted me to be yours.”
“Shh,” I warn. Look around. No one in sight. “Someone might hear you.”
She grunts in frustration. “I need you to leave.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“I don’t care,” she says.
But I can tell by the tears in her eyes that she does.
“We’re done, okay?” Her voice wobbles. “I’m done. I can’t be with someone like you. Someone who deliberately decides to throw away his life and lies to me about it.”
I have no idea how to change her mind. I might not be able to.
“I just need you to go please,” she whispers.
I should just go. But I can’t. I care about her too much.
“I need to fix your car,” I say, out of options. “I won’t bother you. But I promised to fix it, so I will.”
I can tell she wants to argue, so I say the only thing I can.
“I’ll be by in the morning at ten. See you then.”
I have to see her then.
I’m not ready to let her go without a fight.
37
melissa
Javier shows up at ten the next morning. As promised.
“I don’t need you to fix my car,” I say. “That’s the only reason why I’m out here. To tell you to go.”
Because if I didn’t meet him outside, he’d knock on the door. And then what? And then I’d have to tell my family that I don’t want him here. They’ll ask why. I’ll never betray Javier’s story. Though I’m angry with him for not telling me, for letting me find out the way I did.
He could have lied, a small voice tells me. At least he told the truth when you asked.
“You don’t belong here,” I say.
I stare at the ground. Picture the green shirt that hugs his torso. The jeans that hang low on his hips. I think about where my hands have explored. Though I’m mad, I’m not immune to him.
“I belong wherever you are, chula,” he says.
I look up then. His hair is mussed. Like he didn’t bother to brush it this morning. Like he hopped out of bed and came straight here. His eyes are trained on me. He takes a step toward me. Grabs the keys from my hands. Snaps me out of my trance. But it’s too late. He has the keys now. He’s walking away from me. He’s unlocking the driver’s side door of my candy apple red Camaro.
I’m standing with my arms crossed over my chest, glaring at him.
“It shouldn’t take me long. Luis works at an auto body shop,” Javier says. “I’ll see what’s wrong and get the parts for you. Piece of cake.”
I watch his lips move. Hating that what he says makes sense.
“I’ll pay for parts,” I offer, relenting.
Doesn’t erase the fact that Javier is in a gang. That Javier carries a gun.
“I’m not makin’ you pay,” Javier says, popping the hood. “So you can stop with that.”
I’ll slip the money in his pocket when he’s not looking. Or his truck, or somewhere so that I don’t feel guilty about him buying. It’s my problem to take care of. He’s already saving me money by working on the car.
Javier bends over the car. Blocks my view of the engine. His arms reach for something, stretching the thin cotton of his shirt over his lean muscles. The sun says hello from its perch in the sky, already heating things up to ninety-something degrees.
“When’s the last time you had a tune-up?” Javier asks.
His voice is muffled. Head under the hood.
“I don’t know,” I answer.
“You need one,” he replies. “Won’t get the car running, but it’s a start.”
Javier’s shirt rises, revealing a strip of tanned skin along his back. I have an urge to touch him. I won’t.
I lean against a flowerbed surrounded by concrete block. Take a seat on the driveway. Wait for Javier to finish.
For a moment, I pretend I’m not in a world where Javier is in a gang, where I’m in remission, where the two of us will never work out. Instead, I remember the feel of his lips and the way his fingers know how to touch me just right.
I let my eyes rake his body. From his feet to the back of his head. He turns around. Catches me staring. I try not to look away. Even though his stare has me nervous and wanting and, and, and . . .
“Do you have a towel?”
I glance at his oiled hands. Open the garage door and grab a rag. He catches it midair.
“Thanks.”
He goes back to work. A few minutes more and he’s by my side.
“I need to run to Luis’s shop. I can be back in an hour,” Javier says.
“I have to go to work,” I reply.
His eyes narrow. “How will you get to work if your car isn’t runnin’?”
I don’t miss the way his muscles coil, the way his jaw goes rigid.
“Someone is taking me,” I reply.
He doesn’t like this answer. Well, too bad.
“That guy from yesterday?”
“None of your business. We’re not together anymore, remember?”
I have to keep saying it to make it real. Truth is, I don’t want the other guy who drove me home. He’s a server at the beach. We have nothing going on.
Javier looks away. Works to stay cool.
“Yeah, I remember,” he says. “Doesn’t mean that I like it. You should let me drive you.”
“No way. The lies, the way things have gone down—your mom not approving of me, finding the gun and gang bandana, the bloody shirt.”
He can’t talk his way out of this one.
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time. I’ll fix it then.”
“This doesn’t change anything,” I whisper.
He’s too close. My lungs can’t find air. My pulse thrashes inside of me, begging for his attention. I am a girl made up of bones and blood and this treacherous heart that gives away the fact that Javier still affects me.
And he knows it.
“Never said it did. See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I say, giving in.
“Maybe then you’ll stop pushin’ me away and see that I made a mistake. Doesn’t erase how I feel about you.”
I am a frozen block of ice. Chilled by his words. He’s not giving up on me. He thinks I’ll forgive him and be okay with his gang s
tatus.
I don’t know how to be okay with the fact that he’s clearly more dangerous than I thought. I can’t find it in me to accept his standing in the gang.
If only I could get Javier and my heart to believe me.
38
javier
Melissa doesn’t bother to look at me. I bend under the hood of her car, hands full of new oil and spark plugs. What my hands don’t hold is the one thing her car needs.
A new battery.
It’s that simple. I won’t tell Melissa, though. I can clearly see that nothing else is wrong with the car—besides badly needing a tune-up—but I’ll tell her what I need to until she forgives me.
I concentrate on the car. Try not to stare at Melissa sitting on the driveway in cute little pajamas. Looking at her phone. Intent on paying me no attention.
“It looks complicated,” I say. “Might take a few days to fix.”
It’s a dirty lie, I know that. But if I say it’ll take time to fix, Melissa will have to see me for the next few days. In the meantime, I’ll change the spark plugs, rotate the tires, put fresh oil in. Try to talk to Melissa.
“Fine,” she says, still not looking up.
She’ll probably never know the difference. She’s worse than my sisters with cars, and that’s saying something.
She’ll think I’m doing work.
I’ll actually be spending time with her.
Win, win.
Hopefully I’ve bought myself enough time to get her back.
I turn into Melissa’s neighborhood at nine like planned. The sun is nowhere to be found. Pushed away by a cloudy, dark night. It’s been five days of coming over. Three, four, five, not enough days of me trying to get Melissa back and her refusing to talk to me, though I secretly think she wants to.
The wait for Melissa to get off of work is a million years long. Or at least that’s how it seems. I try not to be jealous of the fact that some other dude is driving her. Every time I think about it, I want to hit something. He shouldn’t be anywhere near my girl. Just because her car doesn’t work doesn’t mean that he gets a shot with her. Just because I messed up, doesn’t mean that I’m out of the picture.
Even if Melissa says I am.
Anger is alive, raging in me. I try not to think about the fact that he might be touching my girl. Maybe they’re just friends and he’s only being nice, but even that nearly sends me over the edge because it should be me driving her. If she would just forgive me.
I turn onto Melissa’s street. Park my truck in front of her house. Tonight is different because I’m met with an angry glare from Melissa and her car running in the driveway.
“It was the battery, Javier. A simple battery,” Melissa says, as I hop out of my truck.
“I know.” I look around. No other cars home. “Are you the only one here?” I like the possibility.
“Yes, but that’s not the point,” she huffs. “Why did you lie? Again.”
“To have more time with you,” I admit. “And because you needed a tune-up.”
“You can do a tune-up in an hour, Javier.”
I go to her Camaro. Pull the keys from the ignition. Have no idea who told her the truth about the battery. But it doesn’t matter. She knows now.
“Right.” No point in denying. “But that wasn’t enough time to convince you to forgive me.”
I don’t give her a chance to object. I walk closer. Make sure that her breathing still trips over itself with my nearness. That her heart slams against her chest. That her voice quivers when she speaks to me.
I need to know that I still affect her. That she still cares. And she does. It’s obvious.
“I don’t regret it,” I say.
Maybe she wants me to. I refuse.
I unhook her arms. They fall to her sides, lifeless. But Melissa’s arms lie because her fingers move toward me, only to be caught by her at the last second.
“You still care, mami,” I say so close to her lips. Heat radiates off her. Off me. Off us both. “Don’t you?”
She doesn’t like my question. Presses her lips together.
“Dare you to admit it,” I challenge. “Or are you scared of what it’ll mean? That you know what I’m a part of, you know that mi mamá doesn’t approve, and you know that I pack heat and still you want me? Does that scare you?”
Admit it, Melissa.
“Tell me that you don’t still want me,” I say. It’s getting hard to be this close and not touch her. “Tell me that I disgust you and you want nothin’ to do with me.”
She refuses to answer. Which is answer enough.
I lean in. Inhale the scent of sunscreen and sweat that lingers on her. I dare to kiss her. I’m not gentle about it. I miss tasting her lips. I’m hungry for her. Nipping her mouth with my teeth. Teasing open her lips with my tongue. Being rewarded with a small moan from Melissa.
I pull back. “Are you seeing that other guy who drove you home?”
“No,” she answers.
Thank God.
“Because you still want me?” I ask.
No answer.
“Say it,” I demand. “Say that you don’t want me. That you don’t need me to pick you up and carry you inside right now.”
Her eyes slowly go half-lidded. She licks her lips.
“Tell me that you don’t want me to show you how sorry I am, because I am sorry, mami.”
I wish she would believe me.
“Tell me to walk away, Melissa.”
I won’t promise to listen unless she means it.
She doesn’t speak. She swallows five times and says nothing. She opens her mouth but no words come out. She stares at my lips and breathes irregularly. But she doesn’t tell me to stop.
“Say it,” I request.
I touch her hip, her thigh, her face.
“You’re playing dirty again,” she whispers.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“Yes,” she whimpers.
I collect her body in my arms. Throw open the front door.
“Which room is yours, muñeca?”
39
melissa
There’s no denying it. I do want Javier to touch me. Because I miss him. Want him. Need him. I don’t know how to say no when he kisses me. Runs his fingers down my face. Down my neck. Over my breasts.
Javier opens the front door. Brings us inside and closes it. Never lets me out of his arms. I’m staring into his eyes. So brown. Like his hair. Like his skin that I need to see more of.
Javier is right about me and I don’t know what that means. I do still like him, despite the fact that he belongs to a gang and carries a weapon and loves a family that will never accept me.
I still desperately need him. Staring at his body bent over my hood for almost a week, and not being able to touch him, has been the purest form of torture.
And then here he is, telling me to say that I don’t want him.
I do.
Telling me to deny my attraction to him.
I can’t.
Daring me to tell him to leave.
I won’t.
I don’t want to let Javier go, despite what I said. Despite telling him that it’s over.
We’re not over. He’s always known it. Maybe I have, too.
“Mami?” he says, a question in his look.
“Yeah?” barely a breath on my lips.
“Where’s your room?”
His voice sounds like he’s swallowed a thousand rocks and they’re scraping against his throat. His chest rises and falls alongside mine. Slowly. Heart pounding.
“Second on right,” I say.
I could tell him to put me down, but I don’t want him to. What I want is more of his lips. The way he presses them against mine. Sucking on my bottom lip and then the top.
I try not to think about my surgery. Will being with him hurt? Will he notice my scars? But then Javier kisses me and I don’t care about anything but him.
Javier makes it up the stairs faster than
it takes me to blink. And suddenly, he’s laying me down on my bed. Dropping onto the sheets with me.
And he’s everywhere.
Kissing my lips. My shoulders. Every freckle and inch of my neck. He’s pushing a hand through my hair, up the back of my head. Pressing my lips harder into his.
“Javier,” I groan.
I don’t even own lips anymore. They belong to him. I want to kiss every speck of him.
“Melissa,” he says. Voice and eyes and body desperate for me.
Javier slips a hand under my shirt. One, two, ten fingers grab my ribs. I see only half of his body, framed in moonlight. The rest is dark. The room. These sheets. I don’t know how much of me he sees.
I’m comforted by the dark. The dark will hide my secrets. Shadows will storm in and cover my scars. They won’t ever show them to anyone. I trust the darkness. And so all of this is okay.
The way Javier slowly lifts my shirt over my head.
The way I gather a thousand pounds of confidence and lift his shirt, too.
I drop it somewhere on the floor. Both of us lie on our sides, facing each other. If the lights were on . . .
But they’re not. So he can’t see my scars. Or ask questions like why.
It’s my turn now. To kiss Javier’s chest, every tattoo there. Run my fingers along the inside of his hips. Earn a groan from somewhere deep in him. My fingers find the button on his jeans.
Pause.
This is where things change. This is where I let someone in. Where I have to block out everything.
“Melissa,” Javier says, sensing that I’m shutting down.
I glance at his face. Watch his mouth open to form words. Barely a whisper. More like a plea.
“Tócame.”
I’m undone. I’m unbuttoning his pants and he’s unclasping my bra.
“You chose me,” he says, sounding surprised. “I thought you’d shut down. I thought with the scars—”
He thought I’d run into the part of my mind that remembers, always remembers. That I wouldn’t unbutton his pants and kiss his lips and want, need, hunger for more.
“I never stopped choosing you,” I say.
Because it’s the truth. Even when I told him that it’s over between us. I didn’t mean it, as much as I wanted to. I still don’t like the gang, or the gun, or the fact that his family hates me. But Javier is so much more than that.