by Amber Hart
A metal fence guards the back door. Security reasons, I’m guessing. Diego has one hand on the door when a blond girl walks up behind him. Her arms wrap around his waist. Every one of my muscles clenches.
It’s not hard to see Diego’s reaction. He’s surprised. His hands fly to hers, unwrapping her arms from his body like a bow from a present. He says something. She frowns. Then smiles, not giving up.
I’m out of the car before I realize I’ve stepped into the night, and I’m almost at the door when I hear Diego tell the girl that it’s not going to happen. I can just imagine what it is she wants.
Diego looks up at me and smiles. “Hola, princesa.”
The girl says nothing as Diego opens the metal door. I turn to her. Extend my hand. “Hi. I’m Faith.”
Kill her with kindness.
“Sabrina,” she says, clearly thrown off guard.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply. Shake her hand.
Diego is skeptical.
I stand on my tiptoes. My arms reach around Diego’s broad shoulders. My fingers clutch his hair as I bring his face down to mine for a deep kiss. The kiss goes on for a while, yet it’s still not long enough.
I break away gently, and am rewarded by a small grunt from Diego. He wants more.
“Oh, and by the way,” I say pleasantly, turning to Sabrina. “Don’t ever touch my boyfriend again.”
Diego laughs. Sabrina is a hurricane, storming back inside.
“Well played,” he says in my ear.
I grin.
“Do it again,” he orders.
“Do what again?” I ask, though I know what he wants.
“Don’t play with me,” he replies hoarsely.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, holding back a smile.
He pulls me to him. His heart jackhammers against my skin. Both of our pulses are thick with yearning.
“You know what I want to hear,” Diego says against my lips. “Mami, you called me your boyfriend.”
“That’s because you are.”
He kisses me then. His tongue is thunder, rolling against mine, muting all else around me. His hands weave under the back of my shirt and up my spine. His lips are soft, plump. I bite them gently. He bites me back.
His fingers trace my ribs, strumming them like a violin. I want to make music for him. I forget about everything. My brain shuts down. My heart takes over.
Diego is right for me. A missing link. I kiss along the stubby hair on his jaw, reach his mouth.
“Mi novio,” I say, liking the way Spanish feels on my lips. “Only mine.”
“Siempre,” he replies.
He presses me against the metal gate and cups my face, kissing me again.
The click of a lighter catches my attention. We have an audience.
When did they come outside?
Probably when I lost myself in Diego. Two Latinos in chef hats light cigarettes. I pull away. The desire in his eyes is matched in mine.
Diego says something in Spanish. The guys laugh. Diego’s cigarette burns on the ground where he dropped it when I kissed him. I press it out with my foot and grab his hand. We walk to my car.
Inside my car, Diego gives me another kiss. I start the engine. It purrs like the pleasure in me.
“You know, for someone who wants to keep this on the down low, you’re pretty open so far,” he teases.
I look away from him when I answer. “Couldn’t stand her on you.”
Somehow I know his eyes are still on me, resting, burning, consuming.
“I would never jeopardize what I have with you. In the past, I admit, I saw two girls at once, but I’d never do that to you,” he says.
“I know,” I reply, flashing a grin.
When we pull up to Diego’s apartment, I wait for him to invite me in. He leans over the center console and kisses me. I’m a little hurt when he reaches for the door handle, not asking me up.
“No invitation?” I throw the question out casually. My insides say something entirely different.
“You sure you want one?” he says.
My eyes scan the dilapidated building, copying it to memory. Sun has aged it. Yellow paint flakes like peeling skin from the sides. The concrete is covered in graffiti.
It doesn’t look too bad.
“Why wouldn’t I want to go inside?” I ask.
“Seriously?” he says, and then laughs. “Look at it. The outside is better than the inside.”
“What are you trying to say?”
Diego realizes that I’m not smiling.
“I’m teasin’,” he says. “It’s just that my apartment is a lot different from what you’re used to.”
“How do you know what I’m used to?” I ask sharply.
“ ’Cause I’ve seen Melissa’s house. Yours is only a few spots down. Where I live is nothin’ like that.”
“You say it like I live in some mansion,” I retort. “I live in a regular house. We don’t have a lot, Diego.”
“I’m not sayin’ you do,” he replies. “Come inside. You’re always welcome here. Just, you know, be prepared for less than average.”
I rap my fingers on the wheel. Each pound is a release.
“It’s not what you have that matters to me. You know I don’t care about that kind of stuff,” I say. “As a matter of fact, I despise it.”
“Perdón, mami. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
I try to relax. “It’s okay.”
I cut the engine and follow him to the door. There’s no number on the outside.
Inside, the walls are white and plain. No decorations besides a worn-out couch and a small kitchen table with two chairs. One wicker. One wood. None of it matches. I’m guessing they took whatever they could to get by when they arrived in the States. More proof that Diego left Cuba with nothing but his life.
He’s lucky to have that.
His place is minimal and tiny and a little dirty and unimpressive and perfect.
Diego studies me. I grin. I don’t care what conditions he lives in. It’s a clean life. Away from the cartel. That’s all that matters.
He leads me to two doors within earshot of each other. The one on the left has a small mattress on the floor and a dresser. Diego stops in front of the closed door.
His room, says the smirk on his face.
“Have to tell you, I never thought you’d be comin’ in here,” he remarks. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m loving it. Just didn’t think it would happen for someone like me.”
“Likewise,” I reply.
I never thought someone could know my secrets and not run away. Look at the way Jason handled things. I invite him to see a slice of the real me, and he breaks things off? Says a lot. But Diego doesn’t.
Inside his room, the scent of Diego is strong, curling around my body. The space is small but comfortable. A light wood dresser leans against one wall. A bed sits opposite. Diego’s books and homework litter one corner of the room. There’s nowhere for us to sit except on the mattress.
“So, what do you think?”
“It’s perfect,” I say. I mean it.
He laughs humorlessly. “Hardly.”
“It is,” I argue. “It’s simple. Sometimes having more than the basics complicates things. I wish I could live in a place like this. Not that we have a lot; it’s just that I think it could be less. I’d prefer less.”
“You’re crazy,” Diego says. “Do you know how many people would love to have a place like yours? And you would trade it all for this?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“You’re strange, Faith,” Diego says, winding his arms around my waist. “You could have anything you want. Anyone you want.”
“I definitely don’t get everything I want. But,” I say an inch away from his lips, “if I could pick anything in this world to hold on to, it would be you.”
36
diego
My lips are on fire with warmth and desire. They practically jump off my face in their
eagerness to taste Faith. She would pick me over everything else. She said it. Her words hang between us. I break them with a kiss.
Our lips crush the breath out of us. Our tongues dance. I thought I could control myself, but it’s instantly clear that I’m wrong. From the moment our lips meet, I want more. All of her. Everything.
It’s too hard to have my girl on my bed and still take it slow. I break away from her. I need to grab kitchen chairs. Maybe if I bring them into my room, I won’t be as tempted.
“What are you doing?” Faith asks before I reach the door.
“Thought maybe you would be more comfortable in a chair.”
She laughs. “I won’t bite, you know.” She moistens her lips. “Unless you want me to.”
She’s probably joking, but the look on her face makes it hard to concentrate.
“Come here,” she says.
I am back by her side in a second. She lowers herself onto my bed. We lean against pillows on the headboard. Her fingers roam my face, outlining my eyes and nose.
“What are you thinking?” she whispers.
“That you look incredible,” I say.
I play with the hem of her shirt. It hitches slightly. The tips of her tattoos show.
She notices my stare. “Did my tats surprise you?”
“Definitely.”
“Took me two summers’ worth of part-time jobs to pay for them,” she says.
My tattoos were free. But I would’ve gladly paid for ones I wanted, rather than be branded with ones I despise.
She points to some of mine, asking the meaning. I explain. Ask about hers. As I suspected, the haunting images in the smoke are demons. Now I understand why.
“You’re brave to get tats there,” I say, thinking of the pain.
“No one can see them unless I want them to. I like it that way,” she says.
I wonder if maybe people wouldn’t look at me like I’m a no one who will never amount to anything had I chosen more discreet locations for mine. Then again, I didn’t really have a choice when it came to the cartel tats. They chose where to brand me—the more obvious, the better. That way everyone knew whom I belonged to.
I am not theirs to take.
I draw circles around Faith’s pierced belly button. A charm hangs from the loop. Broken wings, I think. I touch the silver. It’s warm from her skin.
“I went to the zoo once. They had a beautiful bird sanctuary,” Faith says. “There was an eagle. Regal. Strong. Sun glinted off its white head . . . it was almost blinding.
“The zookeeper said that one of the eagle’s wings was misshapen. Broken beyond repair. He’d never fly again. It broke my heart that a creature so beautiful would never reach the sky. The zookeeper said nothing can fly with broken wings. Injuries have to heal first, he said.”
Faith twists the charm and peers deep in my eyes. Like fingers touching my soul.
“But, sometimes—like this eagle—injuries never heal right. So, what then?” Faith glances at the charm and smiles. “I’ll never forget that eagle’s look, Diego. He watched the sky like he trusted that one day he’d soar again. I think if you’re persistent enough, you can fly on broken wings.” Faith drops the charm. Truth fits her face like a glove. “I’m going to be proof of that.”
She thrives despite the scars, despite the past. I feel an intense connection to Faith. When we’re together, we’re the rawest, truest forms of ourselves and both of us accept one another. Even with flaws. Especially with flaws.
I bring my hands to her face. Brush the hollows under her cheekbones. Her big eyes watch me intently. Her hands draw patterns on my back. She reaches under my shirt. Touches me softly. My control is fading.
“I don’t know if—”
Faith cuts me off with a kiss. I forget to warn her that I’m losing control.
My hands reach up her stomach. I lay Faith flat and lean over her. Strawberry shampoo intoxicates me. I hope the scent lingers on my sheets. A part of her with me even after she leaves.
My room is heat and humidity joining hands. I think about opening the window. Then decide not to. I don’t want Faith to hear what goes on in the streets below.
I softly brush over her breasts as my hands go to her arm. When she leans into me, I touch them again. I feel the outline of her bra. Dios mío, I want to take it off.
Faith’s hands wander underneath my shirt. Over my chest. Down my stomach. She stops above my belt. I groan.
Faith surprises me when she sits up and presses down on my shoulders, flattening me. She lifts my shirt. Kisses my neck. Her mouth trails down my body to my waistband. She comes back up. Kisses my lips.
“What are you doin’ to me?” I ask. My voice is gruff.
“Driving you loco,” she replies. “Is it working?”
I love it when she speaks Spanish. Maybe I can teach her more.
“Yeah, it’s workin’,” I answer, pressing my pelvis into her. “Too good.”
I lift her top a little, enough to expose her ribs, and kiss her sides. Her breaths are heavy. Her hands weave through my hair, pressing my head down harder, wanting more.
I lick a trail from her belly button around her hips. I move to her legs. Her shoes are sexy, and like everything else, I want to take them off, see every inch of her. I kiss her knees. Move back to her lips.
“Diego,” she moans.
She shouldn’t do that. It’s too much, my name coming out of her mouth between heavy breaths. I care nothing about control at this point. I’ve gladly lost it. The heat of the moment burns away every thought but Faith. She is fireproof.
“Diego,” mi padre says from the other side of the door.
Faith jumps back. Straightens her shirt and hair. I’m momentarily stunned. It takes me a minute to snap out of it. I clear my throat.
“Un minuto,” I say as I stand. Faith sits up.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her.
“Shh. It’s okay,” she says.
I search her face. Her hair is perfect, but nothing can disguise her puffy lips.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she replies. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
I open the door. Mi padre tells me about one of the landscape clients today. They gave him herbs, fruits, and vegetables from their garden. He stopped by the store and bought a package of chicken and rice. He wants to cook dinner together tomorrow.
Mi padre doesn’t notice Faith at first. But when he does, he goes completely still. He looks from me to her like he doesn’t know what to say. Faith stands and smiles.
“Lo siento, lo siento,” mi padre says. He goes off in Spanish about how he didn’t realize I had someone over.
“It’s cool,” I tell him.
I motion for Faith to come to me.
“Faith, this is my dad,” I say. “Dad, this is Faith. Mi novia.”
“¿Tu novia?” he asks.
I’ve never had a girlfriend.
“Sí,” I answer.
Faith sticks her manicured hand out to shake mi padre’s. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says.
“Yes, yes. You, too,” mi padre says eagerly. “I was just telling Diego about dinner tomorrow night. Like to join us?”
Though mi padre speaks in a heavily accented voice, Faith has no problem understanding him.
“I’d love to,” Faith answers.
“What time can you come over?” I ask.
“Um, after school. After dance rehearsal. I don’t have anything else going on.”
“Great,” mi padre chimes in. “See you then.” He closes the door as he leaves.
Faith smiles from ear to ear. “Your dad invited me back over,” she says. “It’s like he doesn’t care that we’re different.”
My mind flips at the thought. “Does that mean you’ll come over more often?”
She laughs. “Yeah. I think so.” She bites her lip. “I hate to do this, but I have to go.”
I look at the clock. It’s late. And a schoo
l night.
“Okay,” I say, leaning in for a kiss.
I walk her to the car, thinking about change. I don’t want to admit it, but I think maybe I’m wrong. Maybe change is possible.
Maybe there is such a thing as a brighter future.
37
faith
“I don’t get how it’s going to work, Faith.”
Melissa is sitting on her bedroom floor painting my toenails purple, the color of the sky when it’s swollen with rain.
“It’s pretty simple,” I reply. “We’re not going to tell anyone that we’re together. Well, except you and a few of Diego’s buddies.”
I finish painting her nails a pumpkin orange, the color of the harvest that Florida never has.
Melissa’s eyebrows scrunch together. “But don’t you want everyone to know he’s yours?”
Yes.
“In an ideal world,” I say.
“Okay, yeah, your dad will freak and gossip will fly at school, but so what?” Melissa says. “Forget them. I mean, I’m happy for you and Diego and I, of course, won’t say anything, but I think it’s a mistake to hide your relationship.”
I wish I had another option. Now that Jason and I are through, it’s easier to push prying eyes out of my mind. The place where I need to keep up my image is church, though. If Diego and I were together at school, it would eventually get back to the church community. Last thing I need is to hear about it from Jason’s mom. Volunteering with Mrs. Magg makes me susceptible to her constant meddling.
“It’s not that big a deal,” I say. “Diego knows people want me and Jason to reconcile. He can handle it. And his dad has no problem with us being together. We can spend a lot of time at his place.”
Melissa snorts. “That’s stupid, Faith. You’re a teenager. You should be having fun. Going on dates. If you only meet at his house, it’s like you’re forty years old or something.” She stops painting my nails. “Look at me, Faith.”
I look at her. She places a hand on my knee.
“I love you, girl. I’ve seen you through a lot. You. Need. To. Have. Fun. I think it’s great that Diego’s your boyfriend. Really, I’m your biggest fan, but this secrecy stuff is not going to work. Trust me.”