Rush (Hector & Millie) (Seaside Valleria #1)

by Marianne Knightly

  “Do you need help with the pants, too?”

  Millie blinked. “You’re not going to laugh?”

  “Of course not. Oh, Millie.” Beth’s voice was full of anguish, but to Millie it felt like warmth seeping into her bones. It filled her from the inside out, sending goosebumps rushing across her skin. That Beth would feel that for her, that anyone would, made her feel soft and squishy inside.

  Beth approached her slowly. “I’m sorry if someone made you feel that you weren’t beautiful. You can’t trust what a man—if it was a man, and I use the term loosely—did or said, not when he used his words to hurt. You don’t respect anyone, or their opinion, when they hurt you.”

  Beth pulled her into her arms, wrapping her in a firm but not tight hug. “I think you’ve had some people in your life tell you that you aren’t good or decent or important or pretty. But you are. You are all of those things and so much more.”

  Millie wanted to hang onto the hug a little longer but pulled back at Beth’s words. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen it, haven’t I? We all saw how Piers treated you. Well, how he treated all of us, really, but you got the worst of it. Still, even through all that, you did your job and did it well. Waitressing is hard work, though people don’t always see it that way. You always had a smile and a kind word. We’ve had a few customers ask where you were, since you always work Sundays.”

  Millie had never thought of it like that before. She didn’t think anyone—especially not the customers—would notice if she weren’t at work, or even notice how hard she worked.

  “And you are pretty.” Beth pointed her thumb at the door. “Look. That man out there thinks you’re gorgeous—inside and out—or he wouldn’t want you.”

  “But he hasn’t seen me yet.”

  “Oh, he won’t laugh at you. If he does, he’s an asshole. Is Hector an asshole?”

  Millie thought of the people who’d laughed at her or judged her. They were assholes. Hector wasn’t anything like them. “No.”

  Beth used both her hands to cup Millie’s head. “No, he’s not. Honey, I’ll tell you that guys can be jerks, all of them, including Hector. But not all of them are assholes. Will you think about that?”

  Millie nodded.

  “Understand how important you are, honey?”

  Maybe she was starting to. She nodded.

  “Good, then let’s get you in the shower. Do you need help with the pants?”

  “I can get it, but I have bandages on my back.”

  Beth gently removed them. “They don’t look that bad. A couple days and I don’t think you’ll need to bandage this anymore. Now, you get in the shower, and I’m going to grab the stuff Liz got.”

  “I need something to cover my cast.”

  Beth turned for the door. “Oh, right. I’ll check to see what we’ve got.”

  “Beth?”

  Beth stopped and turned back. “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Beth smiled. “Anytime, Millie.” She turned and left, returning a moment later with a cast cover, shower gel, shampoo, and conditioner.

  Millie undressed, checked the water, then stepped in carefully. Since she still felt a little dizzy, she sat down on the shower seat, a small thrill going through her as she thought of Hector doing the same.

  When the hot water began searing and battering her in a wonderful way, she finally, finally, finally started to feel clean again.

  Hector pulled out the crusty bread he’d been warming in the oven. He left it to cool slightly while he stirred the soup and listened for signs from his bedroom. They’d been in there for quite a while. He hoped Amelia’s injuries weren’t worse than what she’d told him.

  The door opened a few minutes later and Beth came out, followed slowly by Amelia, who was dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and one of his long-sleeved tees. He had to admit, she looked a lot fucking better in his clothes than he did. Her hair was wet, still curly but a subdued curly, and she looked even more tired.

  “We had to borrow your clothes, since the ones Liz got didn’t fit,” Beth said as she came to him. “Millie said you wouldn’t mind.”

  His eyes didn’t stray from Amelia. “I don’t. How are you?”

  “Better, but weird.”

  “Why weird?”

  “It’s like I’m both more exhausted and more alert at the same time.”

  Beth tapped him on the arm. “I need to head out. Walk me to the door?” After he nodded, she went to Amelia and gave her a hug. “Liz or I’ll be back tomorrow with more clothes and the other stuff you need. Get some rest, okay?”

  “Thanks, Beth.”

  “Anytime.”

  Hector walked Beth to the door, where she turned to him and spoke in a low whisper. “She’s doing okay, but she’s not. You know?”

  “I know.”

  Beth stared at him a beat. “No, I don’t think you do. That anger you’ve got going on right now isn’t going to help her.”

  “But that’s all I have.” He unclenched his fists and gestured back inside. “You saw what they did to her. They fucking destroyed her and her apartment.” The fury he’d been holding back so as not to scare Amelia broke free again. “How am I not supposed to want vengeance?”

  “I don’t know; that’s your problem to fix. All I know is, that’s not what she needs.”

  Could he help Millie where he’d failed before? Seeing those bruises and the stiff way she was walking due to the attack—an attack that he blamed himself for—he felt as though he’d failed her already.

  Memories from his past swamped him, of not being able to help others when they’d needed it, of feeling fucking useless. Not just his team members on the mission that had gone horribly wrong, but things that had happened with his family long ago.

  He looked at Beth, her eyes compassionate and understanding. He also owed it to his staff to help them, too. Bringing on temporary workers while he and Amelia were out, even if he cut his own salary to do it, would make things really tight. Especially since he also wanted to give Amelia sick pay to cover her while she was off work. He didn’t want to go back to Low for more money; he wanted the pub to be a success. He was risking the pub a little to take this time with Amelia, but she needed him.

  Was it selfish to want to help her? Selfish to prove to her that he was right for her, that they were right for each other?

  Beth laid her hand on his arm, interrupting his dark spiral of thoughts. “Hey, boss? Obviously, you care for her. She doesn’t know what she needs, but you keep showing her all the good that she is, and all the good you’ll give her, she’ll figure it out.”

  He silenced the doubts swirling his head and relaxed his rage as best he could. “She still doesn’t know all the good she is?”

  “Nope, though I think she’s starting to get it after our talk and whatever talks you’ve been giving her. Still, it seems like she’s been through a lot and she’s got stuff twisted around in her head. It’s going to take some work to untwist it.”

  He’d keep trying. For his Amelia, he’d do whatever it took.

  He’d try his damnedest not to fail her again. “Good thing I was never afraid of hard work.”

  Beth grinned. “See ya, boss.”

  After he closed and locked the door, he turned back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Amelia jerked at the counter, bread slices in her hand. “What? What’d I do?”

  “You’re supposed to be resting.”

  She blinked, then snapped. “I was just cutting bread.”

  “You don’t need to do anything, babe. I’m taking care of you tonight.”

  “It’s just bread,” she mumbled, but put the bread down and started making her way around the kitchen counter towards his small, round table.

  He went to her and picked her up.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “I thought that was fairly obvious.”

  Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, then back to him. “Y
ou know what I mean. Why are you doing this?”

  “Are you uncomfortable?”

  She didn’t speak for a moment. “Maybe a little.”

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.”

  “Would you rather I put you down?”

  She blushed. “No.”

  “So, stop arguing with me.” He made his way to the table he’d laid out with everything but the food.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Which answer didn’t you mean?”

  “Um, all of them?”

  He grinned. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “Both?”

  “You’re cute when you don’t make sense, babe.”

  She snapped again. “I’m tired, I’m hurt, and I’m hungry. Give me a break.”

  His grin faded, and he looked her straight in the eyes. “I can do that.”

  He nuzzled his nose against hers, then set her down on her seat. “I’ll get the food. What do you want to drink?”

  She made moves to stand. “I can get it.”

  He leaned into her and was pleased when she didn’t lean away. “Keep your ass in that seat, babe. I know you’re used to taking care of yourself by yourself, but you don’t have that option anymore.”

  Her eyes flashed. A different time, he would have turned that anger into heat, but it was too soon after her injuries for that. “Are you telling me I don’t have my independence anymore? That you’ve taken it away?”

  How could he explain to her that, at least right now, he knew what was best for her? “No. What it means, babe, is that you’ll always have your independence. Right now, though, it’s not your only option. Now, you can depend on me to see to you and care for you. Now, you can depend on Beth and Liz and Frannie and all of us to help you. Now, you don’t have the option of being alone anymore. That’s not to say your privacy is gone, babe. That means you never have to be alone again and, when shit like this happens, you never will.”

  She pursed her lips, the space between her eyebrows furrowing.

  He reached over to cup her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Think about that, babe, while I get the food. What do you want to drink? Water? Juice?”

  “Juice,” she said quietly.

  “Okay, baby.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then went to the kitchen to get the food. She was still wary when he returned with the pot of soup, then returned again with the bread he’d finished cutting up, her juice, and the beer he’d started but hadn’t finished yet.

  He ladled some soup into her bowl and handed it over. “I hope you like it.”

  She moved the liquid around with her spoon. “You said it was your mother’s? What’s it called?”

  He finished serving himself and held the bread bowl out to her; she took a piece and set it to the side.

  “This is sopa de estrellitas. Estrellitas are the tiny star-shaped pasta in the soup.”

  She blew slightly on her soup-filled spoon, then slurped a sip. “Mmmm. It’s good.”

  “My mother was a great cook.”

  “So are you.”

  Fuck, but that made him feel good. It also made him miss his mother.

  “Thank you. For this.” She gestured to the bowl in front of her. “For all this.” Her spoon twirled in a circle.

  “You’re welcome. It’s my pleasure.”

  They ate a few minutes in silence before she spoke again. “Is this a traditional Mexican recipe?”

  He nodded while he finished a bite. “My ma always made it when I was sick. There are different versions, but this was hers. She taught me how to make it when I was younger.”

  “I’ve never seen her at the pub. Is she still in Mexico?”

  His mother’s laugh immediately came to mind. Maybe it was silly, but whenever he thought of her, he remembered her laugh: a sharp bark of laughter accompanied with a big smile. She’d never smiled enough, especially in the years after they left Mexico. “No.”

  She glanced up at him.

  “She’s dead, baby.”

  She frowned and lowered her spoon. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  He reached over and took her hand. “I know, baby. You didn’t know. It’s all right.”

  “How—”

  If he wanted her to open up and trust him, he’d have to do the same with her. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Amelia. I’ve got nothing to hide. But I’ll tell you now, she didn’t die easy. If you want to know, I’ll tell you. You want to know later, I’ll tell you then. Up to you, baby.”

  “Oh.”

  Shit. He didn’t want to upset her. “She didn’t die easy, Amelia, but she’s at peace now.”

  A wave of grief crashed over her face before she wiped it clean away. “I’d like to know, if you don’t mind telling me.”

  “Said I didn’t, and don’t. She was killed.”

  Her voice was almost strangled. “Killed?”

  “Murdered. No easy way to say that and no way to sugarcoat it.”

  He still remembered it. The memory, years old now, was dulled but not forgotten. The knowledge of it was like a smudge of permanent ink on his finger, one that would take vigorous scrubbing and work to remove, but which he left alone instead. He wanted to live with it. He wasn’t sure why.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. Eat, babe, and I’ll tell you my story.”

  She licked her lips—even with her lips busted up, that was sexy as hell—and reached for her bread.

  He swallowed some soup, remembering a dusty road and the place he’d first known as home. “I was born in Mexico. People compare lives all the time, and when they do they’d say my life as a kid was shit, but it was not. Had a ma and pa who loved each other, loved me, and a younger brother and sister, too. Had family, cousins, good food, a home. Some people think you need more than that, but you don’t, not really.”

  She looked away from him and stared absently into her soup. “No. You’re right. You don’t need much more than that.”

  Pain. He heard it in her voice, and he could feel it across the table. For now, he continued, holding back his own emotions as much as possible. He needed to stay strong to get through his history. “That all ended when I was about eight. Drugs were creeping towards our town and eventually got there. The cartels wanted my pa—all the men in the village, really—to start working for them. Some went. Others, like my pa, refused. They weren’t happy with that answer.”

  “Oh no.”

  He nodded and took a swig of beer. “They killed him. Made him an example for those who refused the cartel. The night my pa died, my ma made this soup.” He pointed with his beer to the pot on the table. “She was heartbroken, barely keeping it together, but she made that for me, for us.”

  “Hector.”

  Just his name on her tongue seemed to coat him with something soft and warm. He hadn’t had soft and warm for a very long time.

  Because of that, because he didn’t want to lose that feeling, he debated not telling her the next part. In the end, he decided it was better to tell her. He wouldn’t tell her everything, but this, he could.

  He lost the soft and warm as the bile of disgust crept up his throat. “The cartels didn’t stop there. Brace, baby, this next part isn’t easy. You sure you want to hear it?”

  She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, then nodded.

  “They started moving on the women, even the girls and some of the little boys. Started selling them or pimping them. They got one of my female cousins.”

  Her spoon clattered to the almost empty bowl. “Oh my God.”

  “One day she’d been there, the next she was gone. Just gone. A couple of my uncles tried to get her back and failed. I think you know what I mean by that.”

  “They were killed.”

  The pain of losing them so soon after he’d lost his father still hurt. “Just like my pa.”

  She reached across the table for his hand, and he met her halfway. “
I’m so sorry.”

  “We never heard from her again. After that, my ma didn’t want to take any chances and wanted to get out. Some of my family didn’t want to leave. We’d lived in that town for generations—hundreds of years—and it wasn’t easy to give up. My ma and the rest of my family decided otherwise.”

  His mother had taken control of her life and destiny—and his—when she’d decided they should move. She didn’t want his sister to be the next one taken, or him or his brother recruited against their will. She’d done what was best for everyone, even if they’d fought it at the time.

  He took another swig and tightened his hand around Amelia’s. “We left for America. Paid a shit-ton of money to some assholes to do it—and, babe, not going to tell you everything they did to us, because you deserve to live your life not knowing.”

  “Hector, I can take it.”

  Since he couldn’t take remembering it, he didn’t think that was true. He felt nauseous to an extreme just thinking of it.

  He put his beer down and leaned towards her. “Baby, there are some days I can’t take it, and I lived through that shit. I’ve lived through even worse. It doesn’t make it easier.”

  Her eyes wide, she nodded.

  “We made it to Los Angeles. L.A. We had a couple friends who’d moved there, and who helped us settle in. It was different. A lot fucking different, but exactly the same. Same fear of being found, just in another place.”

  “Because you were in the country illegally?”

  He nodded. “Here’s the thing a lot of people don’t get about illegal immigrants. People never fucking think about what we were running from, or what we were trying to save ourselves and our family from. Things like war, death, or destruction. Some people don’t have the humanity to consider that, or they’ve forgotten their humanity. Not everyone’s like that. We met some great people who helped us along the way, but those attitudes were a constant problem for us.”

  “Were you deported?”

  He shook his head. Time to share more death and grief. The pain of it was still raw, even after all these years. He’d been young when his pa died, so memories of him were still vague. His ma, though…those memories still burned bright.