by A. J. Downey
It was a tough call, either way was going to lead to some form of discomfort. I just wanted to pick the way that put the burden more on me and less on her. She’d carried enough already. I texted Angel the problem and set my phone on my dresser so I could change. It buzzed as I pulled a worn, comfortable tee over my head.
Angel: Tough call bro. Leave it for now and enjoy the rest of the weekend but def talk to her about it soon. She’s probably just working her issues with her ex. Probably doesn’t have anything to do with you specifically. Just take it slow.
I rolled my eyes. I mean, did he even know me?
Me: Thx bro.
Angel: NP – good luck.
I set my phone back on the dresser and went out into the living room. Lys was already curled up on the couch in one of the man-shirts she liked to wear to bed. God, that shit was sexy as fuck, but it would only be sexier if it were my fucking shirt. One of my uniform shirts. Yeah.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey.” I dropped onto one end of the couch and turned, sliding down so my head rested on the overstuffed leather arm. I reached out to her, and open and closed my hands in the classic sign for ‘Gimme’, and she giggled and came over. I settled one leg along the back of the couch as she turned on her side and carefully wedged herself between my legs. I appreciated the care with which she took not to crush the family jewels as she settled against my chest, her ear over my heart.
I pulled the plaid throw down off the back of the couch and put it over her, and picked up the remote from the coffee table. Her eyes were already closed and a soft smile played on her sexy lips as she listened to the cadence of my heart. I swear, she probably heard it cease as I raised my chin and looked over at the TV, but if she did, she didn’t say anything. Still, the image of her laying on me like that was so sweet and so beautiful to me, it caused me this flash of real, visceral, physical pain right in the center of my chest. It was something the likes I had never experienced before.
I put my arms around her, holding her loosely, and I don’t think she lasted three minutes and she was out. I smiled to myself, closed my eyes, and rather than actually try to find something to put on the TV, I just let whatever it was that was on, go. I didn’t care anyway. I was more focused on this, on how I wanted this to be a regular thing, a lazy Sunday spent cuddled with Lys, napping on the couch.
I was woken up sharply by pounding on the front door. Lys sat bolt upright and I pushed up into a sitting position. She and I exchanged a look and I didn’t like how she’d gone pale on me. Then again, I was thinking the same thing. The only people who knocked like that were angry exes or the cops.
I got up and went to the door, checking through the peephole and sure enough, there was a uniformed patrolman on my doorstep. I frowned and waved Lys down who stood by the couch, clutching the throw in her hands fearfully. She visibly relaxed and I opened the door.
“What’s up, man?” I asked the uni on the other side.
“Looking for Rodrigo Martinez?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Sorry to bother you, Officer Martinez.” He stepped aside and Manolo beamed up at me from behind him.
“See, I told you my uncle was a cop.”
I scowled and demanded, “What’s he done?”
“Nothing, the boy was with his father, who we just picked up on an outstanding warrant.”
“Oh, yeah? Didn’t know he was out of jail.”
“Yeah, well, he’s back in now. We tried to reach the boy’s mother but she didn’t answer her phone, so as a professional courtesy, we decided to give you a go before phoning it in to social services.”
“I told you,” Manolo said, rolling his eyes, “Mom’s at work and they don’t let her have her phone.”
I reached out and took Manolo by the shoulder, and said, “Get in here, learn some respect for the badge, little man.” I shook my head and sighed. “He’s right though, you tried calling me?”
“Yeah, you didn’t pick up, either.”
“Yeah, sorry about that, I was napping on the couch, phone’s in the bedroom. What was the warrant for?” I asked.
“Burglary.”
I shook my head. “Right, got it. Thanks for going the extra mile, man.” I stuck out my hand. He shook it.
“Well, when your name came up we had to try. You’re a legend over at the – “
I held up my hand and stopped him, “I just did what any other cop in my situation would have done, bro. Nothing more, nothing less, that doesn’t make me any kind of special.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree there, sir.”
“Hey, I’m a beat cop, just like you. It’s Rod, or Martinez, not ‘sir’, okay?”
“Okay, sure,” he said, surprised, his eyebrows going up under his patrol cap.
“What’s your name? I didn’t catch it,” I said gently.
“Roark,” he answered.
I nodded. “Thank you for bringing my nephew over, Roark. I sure do appreciate it.”
“Anytime, man. Anytime.”
I nodded and shook his hand again; he looked past me to Lys and gave a nod. “Ma’am.”
She smiled and said, “Thank you, Officer.”
Manolo was nowhere to be seen so I had to guess he was in my room. I closed the door and sighed, dropping my head. Lys looked sympathetic and I gave a helpless little shrug. Her smile and the understanding that radiated from her face made me want to march over to her and kiss her, but I had to go be an adult and get the full meal deal out of Manolo.
Dammit.
“If you need anything, I’ll be in my room,” she said gently and laying the throw over the arm of the couch, she drifted down the hall and disappeared into her doorway. I looked at the time and realized we’d gotten a solid two-and-a-half-hour nap in. I shrugged off the last of my tiredness and went to deal with my nephew and his latest family drama.
I found him sitting cross-legged on my bed, a comic book open on his lap. Where the hell he’d got that from, I had no idea.
“Hey, Hombrecito, what happened, eh?” I asked.
“I’m not little,” he complained, and rolled his eyes.
“I’m not your enemy, little homie, so you get that disrespect right outta your mouth when it comes to me. Now, what the hell’s going on?”
“Papá got arrested. They said he stole some stuff. One minute we were going down to the bodega for an ice cream and then there were cops like everywhere, man. They slammed him against a car and everybody was screaming and yelling. It was stupid.”
“Hombrecito…” I let out a frustrated noise and hung my head. I didn’t know how to do this, tell a kid his dad was a piece of shit. Ultimately, I decided it wasn’t my place. That yeah, his dad was a deadbeat douchebag, but he was still Manolo’s father and nothing was going to change that. I just wished Maria would wise up and stop trying to save the dude and would just focus on saving herself and her son instead, because this shit was killing Manolo.
“I told you, I’m not little,” he said and sniffed, barely holding back tears. I pulled him into a hug and held him tight.
“Scared you, huh?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice warbling and warped with his crying.
“It’s okay, man. It’s okay,” I lied, because none of it was really okay. I mean, he was eight, getting jerked this way and that, dad in and out of jail, mom working all the time… it wasn’t good for him. Kids needed structure and stability. Not to watch their pops get put in cuffs and hauled to jail, Mom not reachable by phone, getting dropped off by uni’s at random on my doorstep.
Like I’m a stellar parental figure…
I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye as Lys leaned a shoulder against the doorframe leading into my room. She’d put on jeans under her blue nightshirt and the effect was pretty hot, with her brown hair falling in waves around her face. She looked both empathetic and concerned as I comforted my nephew, and I jerked a chin over my head. She nodded and f
ollowed my silent direction, disappearing from the doorway and drifting silently on bare feet up the hall toward the living room.
Manolo calmed down after a minute and I asked him, “You good, Hombrecito?”
“Yeah,” he said sullenly, with a hiccup.
We had a long talk, he and I, about a lot of things. About respecting authority, for one. About working hard and earning an honest living. About selfishness versus being a good man and the difference between being a good man and a hero. The talk wound its way around curves and bends, and was good, like a long solo ride on old roads lined with nothing but green.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod.
“Come on, let’s feed you.”
“’Kay.”
We got up and went out the bedroom door. Lys stood by the dining room table; she looked at us imperiously and said, “Gentlemen, choose your weapons.” She did this Vanna White handwave over the table. There was something under a dishcloth and an assortment of spoons laying on it. I raised an eyebrow and looked at Manolo, who looked back up at me and shrugged.
“A pain like this deserves the straight-from-the-carton treatment.” She said it to Manolo, but she was looking straight at me as she whisked aside the dishcloth. I had been covering three pints of ice cream. I tried like a son of a bitch not to laugh, and failed miserably as she winked at Manolo.
“Ice cream, for dinner?”
“After the day you’ve had, Hombrecito, why the f– not?” I stopped myself from cussing by the skin of my teeth, at Lys’ warning look.
“Awesome!” he cried and chose his weapon. I went for a big spoon and let him have his pick from the different flavors on the table. I let Lys choose next, and was perfectly happy with the butter pecan left behind. I mouthed ‘Thank you’ at her over Manolo’s head, and when she was sure he wasn’t looking, she pursed her lips in a silent long-distance kiss.
“Movie?” she asked out loud.
“Desperado?” Manolo asked hopefully.
“What about Once Upon A Time in Mexico?” she asked.
“What’s that?” he demanded.
“Oh, my god. Did your uncle never show you the sequel to Desperado?”
“There’s no sequel!” Manolo scoffed and I laughed, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into my face.
“Actually, bud, there is. I just didn’t like it.”
“Wow. All that talk of respect and you been holding out on me?” My sister’s kid let out a gusty sigh and finished with, “Man.”
Lys lost it, and I shook my head. Yeah, he was feeling better. Right back to being his plucky self.
“all right, all right, we’ll watch it, and you can see how awful it is for yourself.”
We were halfway through our ice cream when the pounding started on my front door. I rolled my eyes and tossed my spoon in my carton, setting it aside on my coffee table. Before I could even get to the front door, my sister had keyed open the lock and was shouting at me.
“Where is he, please tell me he’s with you!”
“Calm down, he’s right here,” I growled at her.
“You think this is my fault?” she asked, her back going straight, and I felt one of her epic tirades coming on. She started railing at me in Spanish while Manolo and Lys looked on, wide-eyed, from the couch.
“Manolo!” my sister snarled, and then in Spanish told him roughly to get his shit and they were leaving. My nephew snapped to it, and I could see the heartbreak on Lys’s face.
She spoke up calmly, but saying anything at all with an angry Latina in the room only drew her fire.
“Maria, no one thinks any of this is your fault –“ Lys tried to say but my sister rounded on her, and what she said set me off.
“Shut up, puta!”
“Hey!” I bellowed, and Lys flinched and shrank back. I cursed my knee-jerk reaction, but she had to know she wasn’t the one I was pissed at. I was staring my sister down and keeping a lid on it, barely.
“You’re in my house, Maria, and when you’re in my house you’ll treat the people in it with respect. I just got done having this conversation with Manolo and don’t think I won’t school you the same, little sister. So, do you want to try again?” I demanded. She stood there staring at me wide-eyed, her chest heaving, and Manolo slunk out from behind me and the direction of the hall, dragging his feet and shrugging into his coat.
Maria grabbed his arm and towed him toward the front door. Manolo cried out and I barked, “Maria!” She slowed and I told her, “You can be pissed at me, you can be pissed at yourself, but by god – you will not take it out on that boy.”
“Or what?” she demanded. “I am his mother!”
“Then act like it!” I snapped.
She scoffed at me, towed her son out the door and slammed it behind her. I went for my phone while Lys just stood there, her hands pressed to her chest over her likely-thudding heart, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.
“You okay?” I asked, and she nodded mutely, a bit too rapidly.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I said, raising my phone to my ear.
“Who are you calling?” she asked. But it took her a couple of tries to get the words out.
“My brother,” I answered. “He’s the peacemaker.”
She nodded and mechanically started cleaning up.
“Leave it,” I said. “It’s okay.”
She shook her head, but I was distracted by Angel picking up on the other end of the line.
“Golden, what’s up?”
I sighed and filled him in.
24
Alyssa…
Golden had had to leave quickly, but before he went he’d told me, “Leave your bedroom door open if you want me to join you; if you need your space, close it. I’ll understand either way, Chica.” I’d nodded and even though I was still rattled from the screaming and yelling, I’d asked him before he could walk out the door, “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
The gentle side of his soul had come out and he’d smiled at me so sweetly. His hands had been gentle where they’d smoothed along my ribs in a light caress through my nightshirt and his lips on mine had been warm and soft in the barest of kisses. I’d gone from overwhelmed to safe within a matter of seconds, and it had been such a relief.
Still, as soon as he was gone, the dread and anxiety had crept back in even though I knew with my heart, and the front of my head, that I had nothing at all to fear or worry about when it came to Golden. I knew it, but I couldn’t seem to shut my lizard brain off, I couldn’t seem to get the fear to stop. I felt like I was caught in a hamster wheel, running, running, running, and like I’d stumbled or fallen, and was sucked into the vortex of that spinning wheel, helpless, going over, and over, and over again.
It was an ugly feeling, and I needed to work through it, to process it, and so I cleaned up our ice cream mess, putting the pints back in the freezer, and the spoons in the dishwasher, and I shut off the lights in the living room. I left the bedside lamp in Golden’s room on for him, and a note for him on his pillow, begging him not to take it personally, but I needed to sleep by myself tonight.
I then went to bed, and I tossed and turned for what felt like forever, until I finally managed to fall into an uneasy sleep.
I didn’t stay asleep. I dreamt, and I don’t know what it was, but it was bad, because I woke, screaming, Golden kneeling by my bedside and holding my arms firmly, but as gently as he could. I stopped, my face slick with hot tears and stared at him, wide-eyed and frightened,unsure what had happened.
His voice was low and intense, yet softly sweet and soothing to the ear.
“Hey, hey, hey; it’s okay, Lys. It’s all right. Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”
I was taking in great and gasping breaths and still didn’t feel as if I was getting any air into my lungs. He caught my eyes with his and took exaggerated breaths, in slowly, out slowly, bidding me to mimic him. I did, and things slowed and calmed and pretty soon, I was back in con
trol.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered, and he shook his head. “No, really I am, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, that’s never happened before, I’m so sorry, I –“
“Lys, shh; stop, just stop. Its fine, you’re fine, just breathe for me, and try to relax.”
I swallowed hard and felt my eyes well, his image blurring for a moment, before more hot moisture slipped down my cheeks in scalding lines. He brushed a thumb uselessly through the tears on my face and wiped it on his jeans. He looked around and grabbed some Kleenex from the box on the bedside table and pressed them into my shaking hands.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I feel crazy, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’re having a panic attack, but it’s going to be okay, I promise. I’ve seen this before, ain’t my first rodeo,” he said, laughing a little bit. I smiled through the pain and he nodded.
“That’s my girl, come on. Over, move over,” he stood and made a shooing motion and I scooted over in the bed. He didn’t bother taking off his pants, or his socks, but he didn’t have a shirt on at least, as he slipped between the covers and cuddled me into his side.
I laid my head on his shoulder and sniffed, taking some final swipes at my eyes and face with the soggy Kleenexes.
“Think you might have some post-traumatic stress disorder going on, babe,” he said after a few quiet moments, when my heart had returned to a thrum somewhat resembling normal.
“How do I fix it?” I asked quietly.
“Time, meds, knowing your triggers and avoiding them, but there’s no real fixing it, Chica. It’s a part of you, now.” He punctuated that last by pressing a kiss against my forehead and I didn’t know what it was about it, but it was the most comforting thing, and I just melted from it.
He held me tight and showered me with chaste little kisses until I squirmed and giggled, and once he had me laughing, he kissed me for real and the laughter turned to moaning and the moaning to heavy breathing, but it never went further than that. He stopped us, despite how hot and hard he pressed against the front of his jeans, and he murmured next to my ear, “Try to sleep, Babe. I’m not going anywhere.”