by Ophelia Bell
My neck heats, and my teeth grind together. Sam slips past me with his cleaning supplies and pats me on the shoulder on his way to the bathroom. “Don’t worry, dude. I’ve learned from all my older brothers’ mistakes, and you guys have made a lot.”
It takes me a few seconds to recover. My little brother might have slacked off so much he failed ninth grade, but he somehow manages almost perfect recall for the shit he actually pays attention to.
“Did you see her at all while I was away?” I’m a little ashamed by the eagerness that slips out and have to quash my disappointment when he shakes his head.
“Nah. Just Papá Flores every so often. He still owns the building. No idea why he’d slum it to come down here when his daughter stopped coming to dance classes ages ago. You’d think he has better things to do.”
My mental aversion to Celeste has returned though. I’m not interested in talking about her father’s habits. “Go up and get your sister so I can take you guys home.”
His expression clouds as fast as a freak thunderstorm. “Mom texted. She asked if we could crash with you tonight. I guess Dad’s in a mood.”
My jaw clenches along with my fists. I’m well acquainted with our father’s volatile mood swings. I check my phone’s screen for the time. Twelve thirty a.m. Way too late for me to call home to check in with Mom without making things worse. If she’s managed to calm the old man down, better to leave things be and check in with her first thing tomorrow.
Nodding, I push through the employees-only door that separates the shop from the rear of the building. I head down the dimly lit corridor and hit the call button for the old industrial elevator. When we get upstairs to my apartment, I’m not surprised to see Elle still sitting at the worn little kitchen table, nose buried in schoolwork.
“Guess you two are crashing with me tonight. As such, I’m calling lights out in thirty minutes, so get your stuff finished up soon.”
Elle’s shoulders drop, and she looks up from her books. “Is it Dad?” Her tone is weary as she sets down her pencil and closes the book.
Sam offers a resigned, “What do you think?” then flops onto one end of my big sectional sofa, pulling a blanket over himself and closing his eyes.
“Did you talk to Mom? Is she okay?” She wanders into the kitchen and rinses out her coffee mug, glancing up at me over the running faucet.
“Pour me a cup before you dump that,” I say, nodding to the half-full coffee pot she’s about to empty into the sink.
Elle lifts an eyebrow. “Thought you said lights out in thirty. That should mean you too, big brother.”
I narrow my eyes at her, then sigh and nod. “You’re right. I’m wiped out.”
I move around the counter to prep a fresh filter and coffee for the morning. She stalls me with a hand on my arm. “I’ve got this. Go to bed before you fall over.”
Leaning back against the counter, I cross my arms as I watch her take over, filling the reservoir with water, measuring the ground coffee, inserting the filter basket, then setting the timer for the morning. She’s a regular grown-up now, which stuns me. At her age, I was still a clueless asshole with zero direction. Too bad Sam didn’t acquire whatever recessive gene gave Elle all that academic drive. His slow start along with her brilliant mind put them both in their senior year of high school at the same time even though they’re two years apart.
“Five a.m.? What the hell are you smoking? Tomorrow’s Sunday,” I say, staring at the timer on the coffee maker.
“I have the morning shift at the coffee shop. Gotta save every penny for college next year.”
“College, huh?” My question sounds about as baffled as I feel because it hits me how determined she is to succeed. My brothers and I didn’t have the best examples and never really applied ourselves in school, save for sports or art class, so the military made sense. It was either that or join a gang for our underachieving asses. Neither option was particularly safe, but at least one was less likely to land us in jail. “You’re smart enough for scholarships, aren’t you?” I don’t even bother asking whether Mom and Dad have anything saved. If Mom was in dire enough straits to let me take over part of this building, they don’t have any spare cash. Elle wasn’t exactly a child they’d planned for either.
“I’m applying for a few, but most of them aren’t a full ride, at least not if I want to get out of LA.” She crosses her arms and pushes her dark hair back behind her ear in a self-conscious gesture. “You’re staring.”
I blink and shake my head. “Still can’t get over how different you are. Like, grown up. I mean, you drink coffee, for fuck’s sake. You’re set to graduate from high school a year early. Should I be worried about, I don’t know, boys? Is it too late to ask?” I feel like an idiot suggesting it, but I am the oldest, and God knows our father doesn’t have the faculties to care what his youngest child is going through. If anything, he avoids her.
I’ve barely seen Elle for more than a day at a time on a few scant visits for the past decade. It’s like I blinked and she went from six to sixteen. I can’t help that protective instinct because she’s not much older than Celeste was the last time I saw her, and I remember all too vividly the trouble she and I got into.
Again with the lifted eyebrow, and now an eye roll. “I can take care of myself. Besides, Sam and I have each other’s backs.”
I relax and nod, glancing at my brother, who’s already snoring softly on the sofa. The pair of them are the closest of all of us. Our other two brothers, Marco and J.J., both enlisted right out of high school too. J.J.’s due to be discharged any day now, and Marco’s deep into some SEAL training mission fuck knows where. We all chose to join the Navy—anything but the marines like dear old Dad, though most of my missions as a Navy medic were covering a marine EOD unit, so I got a good dose of that life as it was. Sam’s the only one of us who hasn’t expressed any desire to enlist, and for a while I was worried that indicated he might choose the darker path and join a gang.
I will say one thing about Dad: he managed to avoid life as a gangbanger despite all the circumstances pushing him in that direction, and he clung to that shit like a lifeline. I like to think Mom was the reason he avoided joining a gang, but I have no idea if that’s true. To hear him tell it, he was the one who kept Mom on the straight and narrow, but I always knew he was full of it. Elle might be the only thing keeping Sam’s focus on self-preservation so far, and now he has the prospect of a career as a tattoo artist inspiring him to keep his shit together.
“No rest for the wicked,” Elle mutters, then sighs.
“Something you need to get off your chest, Bean?” I cross my arms and dip my head, peering into her face. Dark shadows ring her hazel eyes—the unusual color one of a multitude of qualities that set her apart from my brothers and me. Dad’s of fairer-skinned Puerto Rican descent, and Mom’s French, with dark hair, fair skin, and blue eyes, which makes us all a little bit too white for the neighborhood we grew up in. My brothers and I all have varying shades of dark brown hair and gray eyes like our dad, and while Elle is the spitting image of Mom, she’s the only one whose eyes are a striking hazel. More recessive genes, I suppose, but it all fell together in a way that makes her way too pretty for her own good even if she does the opposite of flaunt it.
Her brows twitch, and she spears me with an intense look that shocks me with how much it resembles Celeste in that split second we shared a glance earlier tonight.
“You need to go see Mom soon. Preferably while Dad’s at home. I’m worried.”
My stomach flips, and I frown at her. “Has he been hurting you guys?” I wouldn’t put it past him, but his violent phases came and went when I was young and were few and far between by the time I left home. I have no idea what he might be like now because our paths haven’t crossed in a long time, thanks to our schedules never quite syncing up. There’s no love lost between us, so I’m happy to stay away.
Her gaze drops to the floor, and she shakes her head. “Not . . . phys
ically. But he scares me. Sometimes he pushes Sam around, and the way he talks to Mom is just . . . not nice. He’s drinking more in between duty assignments, and Mom’s sleeping less.”
“I take it you’re sleeping less too. And Sam?”
She looks at him and snorts. “He could sleep through anything, but he stays up until he knows Dad’s asleep.”
That’s some comfort. Though Julian Santos, Sr., is a big, mean bastard, so I don’t know that Sam alone could handle him if it came to that. I huff a breath out through my nose and shake my head. “Dad and I don’t mix, baby girl. You know this. We’re like oil and water. Or flame and gasoline, really. If I go over there and he pulls something, it’ll just upset Mom worse than if I never showed up at all. There’s a reason I only visit when he’s gone.”
“You’re bigger than he is now.”
“It sounds like you want me to go beat him up or something, which I’m not about to do. Mom made me promise a long time ago that I’d let her handle him. She had a way with him that always settled his moods. Obviously, she still does if she wants you two to stick with me tonight. I’m just happy you have that option.” I open the fridge, hoping she won’t push me further. My stomach unclenches, leaving me with a hollow sensation I’m pretty sure a quick sandwich will fill.
She sighs and shakes her head. “No. I don’t know. I just think you need to see what he’s like now. Maybe it’s just me, but you haven’t been by since you moved back. You were gone a really long time.”
The hitch in her voice gives me pause, and I dump my armful of sandwich fixings on the counter and face her. She’s curled into herself, her hands in her armpits and her eyes big and pleading.
Heaving a sigh, I pull her into my arms and hold her tight. “Fine, I’ll check in with Mom and stop by this week.”
She squeezes me back and mutters a relieved thank-you into my shirt. Then with a final weary sigh, she pulls away and murmurs, “Good night, Maddy.”
“You can have my bed if you want, Bean.”
“Nah.” She gives me a sleepy half-smile. “You don’t fit on the sofa. You need sleep too.”
5
Maddox
Our old house seems so tiny it amazes me that Mom managed to raise five kids and never move. It’s a little three-bedroom place on a busy street off Wilshire only a few miles from the studio. Convenient, yet still in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city despite every effort at gentrification. I suppose it helped that J.J., Marco, and I were practically out of the house before Sam and Elle were old enough to stop sharing a bedroom. It also helped that Dad was away for most of the year, so Elle tended to share Mom’s room during those stretches, at least when she was younger.
Now she and Sam each have their own rooms, and the place looks like a normal nuclear family might live here. I walk in and call out a greeting. No one answers at first, but music comes from the backyard, and the scent of grilling meat hits my nose and makes my stomach rumble in interest.
On the way through the house, I pause at the fridge and grab a beer, pop the top, and wander down the narrow hallway toward the scent of food. I peek through the door to the bigger bedroom I used to share with my brothers. It still carries a whiff of sweaty teenage boy, but it’s nowhere near as rank as I remember. Instead of two sets of bunk beds, there’s now a double bed with crumpled sheets. The walls are covered in more of Sam’s artwork interspersed with pasted-up shots of Toni Valentine alongside her tattoo designs. If he put half as much effort into his schoolwork as he does into pure hero worship, he’d have a better shot at actually graduating this year.
I duck my head and step inside. Even without the bunks taking up half the space, the room feels half as big as the last time I was here. I know I’ve grown since I left, but I guess my perspective has also changed since I found a bigger world outside this house.
Pushing through the door to the bathroom, I peek my head into the adjoining room and find Elle seated at her desk at a laptop with a set of headphones on. She looks up when I wave, and grins.
“You made it!” She shoves the headphones off to hang around her neck. “Mom made that macaroni salad you always liked. Dad insisted on steaks even though that seems like all we eat when he’s home.”
“I’m down with steak.” I take a swig of my beer and bend down to peer out the window. “How is he?”
She follows my gaze and shrugs. “In a good mood for once. I think Mom’s excitement over you coming for dinner has him on his best behavior. Sun’s still up though.”
I snort as I watch my dad hover over a smoking grill. He’s as big and burly as I remember, though his close-cropped black hair is shot through with more silver now. He looks relaxed at the moment, picking up the beer next to him and saying something to Mom, who appears within the frame carrying a tray of sliced veggies. I don’t hear what he says to her, but the suggestive tone and the way she molds herself to his side when he reaches for her makes me relax a little. She stretches up for a kiss, which he returns before going back to the steaks. Maybe this is a good sign. Perhaps he really has changed, but Elle’s insistence that I come couldn’t have been baseless. My teeth clench in anticipation of a confrontation.
“Maddy,” Elle whispers, yanking me out of my spiral of doubt and anger and something else.
What was going through my head? Fear? The old man taught us boys how to take a punch, but that was ages ago. What the fuck do I have to be afraid of now? I’ve stared death itself in the fucking eyes and come back from it.
“Come on.” She grabs my hand and tugs, and I finally uproot myself from her floor and let her lead me out into the backyard.
Dad doesn’t smile when he glances up and sees me. He just shakes his head and takes a swig of beer.
“It’s been a while,” I say, refusing to offer any of the normal platitudes a son probably should offer a dad he hasn’t seen in a decade. I don’t know what I expected from him, but his nonreaction to me shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.
“Ten fucking years, and what the fuck do you have to show for it? That’s what you get for joining the goddamn Navy. No fucking discipline. You never learn to get your hands dirty the way a marine does, bunch of fucking squid faggots.”
I bite my tongue on the urge to point out that I was a greenside corpsman and spent the bulk of my time deployed with a battalion of marines just like him, keeping their sorry asses alive—and even fucking one of them—but it isn’t worth my breath. This is mild compared to the blowup I endured when I first announced my decision to join the Navy, and I don’t want to ruin this attempt at peacemaking by coming out to my dad and risking his wrath at what a faggot I really am.
I can already see more bubbling up inside him when Mom reappears, sweeping me into her arms and cupping the back of my head to pull me down to her shoulder, as if I’m still her little boy.
“Mon chéri, I’m so glad you could come,” she coos in her faint French accent. I inhale her familiar perfume, hoping to find some calm deep within.
“Fucking useless piece of shit for not coming sooner. She’s your goddamn mother and you haven’t been by once since you’ve been back?”
I clench my teeth and back away. Mom shifts her attention to him, squeezing his shoulder and touching the back of his neck in a light caress. “He doesn’t live here anymore, Julian. He helps me out enough at the studio and around town. You know I have Samuel to help around the house. We don’t go more than a couple days without seeing each other. I’m sure if I needed him to come to the house, he would.”
“You know I would, Mom.” I shoot a glare at Dad, who just snorts. Mom knows well enough that I prefer not to be here when he’s around, and Sam is here for anything that involves heavy lifting. At that thought, I glance around, looking for my brother. “Where is Sam?”
“I sent him to the store for more beer,” Dad says.
“What the fuck? He isn’t even twenty-one.”
“You boys all matured early. He passes for older, so why not take advantag
e of it the way I always did with you? Maybe if I show the kid a little trust he’ll actually follow in his father’s footsteps, unlike the rest of you ingrates. But the little shit’s been gone for an hour already, so maybe he’s a lost cause.”
I’m tempted to get on my bike and head to the corner liquor store where I’m sure Sam has gone so I can subvert the old man’s plan, but I’m reaching for my keys when a bang and a curse sounds from inside the house. Dad’s eyes narrow, and he stalks up the steps and disappears inside. Mom hurries after him, practically sprinting. Elle and I share worried looks as we follow on her heels.
Dad’s angry rumble echoes down the hallway. “Why am I not surprised? I’m gone for most of the year and think you might have actually grown up a little by the time I get back. Such a goddamn mama’s boy. Marcella, you’re too easy on him.”
I round the corner in time to see Mom tut-tutting over my brother where he sits at the kitchen table. She’s holding an ice pack against Sam’s face, and his gaze is downcast as he takes it from her and pulls it away once with a wince. Before he puts it back, I get a glimpse of a bleeding split through one eyebrow and blood covering the side of his face.
“Shh, baby. Don’t listen to him. You’re a good boy. Good boys don’t fight.”
The dark shadow of a hand-shaped bruise is stark against the fair skin of her lower arm where her shirtsleeve rides up. My jaw clenches and I meet her eyes for a split second before she glances away and pulls the sleeve down again.
“Good boys don’t get their asses kicked like little pussies,” Dad says. “Don’t let your mother fool you. You’re a fucking waste, kid. You’re going to get a goddamn haircut, and I don’t want to see that sketchbook. Burn the goddamn thing. Art is for pussies.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam says, his voice tight with anger.
“Don’t give me lip, son.”
“What? I didn’t . . .” Sam tries to backtrack, but it’s too late. The telltale twitch appears in Dad’s left cheek, and he lunges at my brother before I can react.