by Mara White
“I guess it’s supposed to make us feel safe, but I think it does the opposite. Are they really here for protection or is it to keep us from leaving?”
“I think it’s the kidney they’re protecting, not us.”
“So it’s to keep us from leaving,” I say, feeling trapped and claustrophobic.
“That, and I’m sure the Miramontes have plenty of enemies. My kidney is valuable to them so it makes me a target. If someone were to take me out, they’d get Brisa too. Two siblings with one stone. I think the security is necessary, Lana, if we want to wake up tomorrow.” He wraps his arms around me from behind and kisses the back of my neck ever so softly. “Sorry to make you involuntarily risk your own life for me,” Mozey whispers in my ear.
“You’re not afraid?”
“No, I’m happy,” he says as he brushes his lips over my ear.
I should take it more seriously—I do. But it’s impossible not to feel the burn when he puts his mouth on me. Pinpricks of desire run up my spine. I angle my face to his as he licks a delicate line from the back of my neck to the base of my ear.
“It’s okay, but no more organ donations after this one. I want all of your parts. Sorry if that’s selfish.”
“Which parts do you want?” he whispers, nipping my earlobe, his cheeks rounding in a smile. Mozey trails his fingertips from my shoulders to my elbows, then skates them down my forearms. He clasps my hands when he reaches them, turning me around and pulling me into his chest. He’s big and strong, and his hug completely envelopes me. I want for nothing in these arms—except for more of his body. Mozey lifts me up, his arm coming under the backs of my knees. He brings me to the bed and gently tosses me into it.
“We’re still going to have to wait for our time, Lana. I’m sorry.”
I nod my head in understanding, but I can’t say what I think. If Mozey were to die in surgery, we’d never get the chance. I’d have to live forever without ever fully knowing his body and what it feels like to abandon ourselves to one another’s pleasure, to submit to nothing but the contact of our flesh.
“I’m still planning on touching you. But forgive me for being hungry and dehydrated and having to get up to pee in a bag,” he says, moving his body to encircle mine. He wraps himself around me until I feel like I’m nestled into a conch shell. I don’t know how we got from who and where we were when we first met—to this. I know that I would do anything for this man and that in the comfort of his arms, I am the one who’s been delivered.
We rise at dawn, both of our stomachs growling. Mozey looks more excited than he should for what he’s about to face. It’s as if his kidney were a pair of too small sneakers that he’s more than happy to pass on to his sister. Who knew anyone could feel so casual about removing a body part. I’m the one who’s morose and scared of the surgery. But I’m trying to hide it so he can enjoy this strange moment. I know Mozey feels like it’s symbolic compensation for the milk. I’d remind him that technically speaking she didn’t really need it, but I love him too much to minimize what’s burdened his conscious for years.
“I promise I’ll take you out for the world’s biggest breakfast as soon as I’m cleared to eat again,” Mozey smiles at me across the seat of the SUV escorting us to the hospital. I unbuckle my seat belt and slide over into his arms. He kisses the top of my head as if reassuring me. “Hey, Lana, look at me. It’s not like I’m losing a limb.”
“I know,” I say even though I feel like it is.
“Do you want to talk about what will happen if something goes wrong and I don’t make it?”
“No, I don’t,” I say, burying my face into his neck.
Mozey pushes me back by the shoulders and looks into my eyes. He has the most beautiful cupid’s bow. So strong and defined and irresistible to kiss. He takes my mouth ever so gently and pours both emotion and desire into our kiss.
“They offered me compensation for the kidney. I refused it of course. I don’t want anything to do with their dirty money. But then I sat on it for a while and realized I can’t leave you again. It’s in your name in case anything goes wrong and your parents have the account numbers.”
“No, don’t do this to me, Mozey. And right before we have to go in.”
He puts his fingertips to my lips to shush me. Then pulls me to him for another sweet and lazy kiss.
“No negotiations on this one, Finch. Sorry. It’s already done and you’ll have to live with it. You could open up your own place like Pathways. Make a difference with those kids.”
“If you even start to die in that surgery, Mo, I’ll run in there and kill you myself. Don’t even think about it. You better fucking pull through it and with strength because I’m expecting a night full of hot sex—sometime really soon. I’ve waited years to get some of this,” I say, grabbing him between the legs and feeling his dick.
Mozey kisses me back a little more forcefully, slipping his tongue between my eager lips. We might be the only couple to make out like teenagers on the drive to the hospital for surgery.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, boss,” he murmurs through our desperate kiss. There are so many things I want to say to him, let him know I regretted every time I turned him away.
We’ve arrived at the entrance to the hospital, and the thugs have stepped out and are opening the doors for us. Mozey removes my hand from the crotch of his pants.
“Doc, believe me, I don’t want you to stop, but I can’t walk in there with a boner like this.”
I laugh in spite of myself. Then I look at his beautiful smile and my own face dissolves into an expression filled with fear. I search his face frantically unable to convey all that I feel for him with words or kisses or any recourse I possess.
“I’ve loved you every minute, Mo. Since your damn case file was placed on my desk. I never got to tell you how grateful I was, am, because I was too busy being angry and—”
“Lana,” Mo says, again taking my shoulders and looking deeply into my face. “It’s a routine surgery and pretty low-risk. I’ll be up and running by tomorrow morning. We’ve got a whole lifetime together. We’re in this together. Me and you, right?”
I nod at him with the terror-induced words still sitting on my lips. He takes my hand and looks down at my ring finger, rubbing his thumb over the band once and then twice. He sighs and then looks at me sincerely.
“Let me talk and don’t say anything else until you’ve heard me through. It’s something I gotta do. I know you understand—you’d do the same for Alexei. And he would for you. I know I’ll come through this without a scratch because I can already see my future and it’s filled up with nothing except a whole lot of you. Thank you for coming after me, Lana. God knows I’ve behaved like an ass at times, but I like who I am when I’m with you.”
I choke out a sob and hold back from throwing my arms around him. I don’t want to make a scene. My instincts are telling me to drag him away from this place and all of these people no matter how much he protests. I don’t trust the security let alone the Miramontes. I don’t even trust the doctors performing the surgery. Though I’m loathe to admit it, I don’t trust Brisa because she’s a part of it.
One last kiss, a tight hug, and I let go of his hand. I stand in the entryway to the hospital, staring down at my empty hand. I don’t want to let go of Moisés. I don’t ever want to know what it feels like to lose him for good.
Chapter 34
I pace the hallway for two hours before I agree to let the security guards take me back to the hotel for lunch. Mrs. Miramontes left for the news station to appear on a morning talk show. Mr. Miramontes isn’t even around. I agree to go back because I’m anxious, and I think maybe booking our tickets to Detroit would make me feel useful. I could use some distraction and something other than hospital coffee.
As soon as I’m in our room, I breathe a sigh o
f relief. This feels like our space, somehow protected and separate from everything. I shed my clothes and grab his t-shirt, yanking it down over my head. I hunt down a pair of his boxers and put those on too. I welcome the sensory immersion in his musky scent. I crawl under the covers and roll myself into a ball, shutting out the world and its lousy complicated mess.
I awaken to an old fashioned, shrill telephone ring. For one second I’m sleepy, fuzzy-headed Lana, and the next my heart is on fire, adrenaline flooding through my veins. I snatch the receiver off of the night table and smash it to my head.
“Hello?” I say on the verge of tears.
“Hey, it’s Lex.”
“Oh God!” I exclaim, and now, I am crying. Warm tears of release roll down my face. “I thought maybe, never mind—” I say, trying to get a grip. I glance at the clock and see I passed out for a few hours. I stretch Mo’s t-shirt, slipping my knees inside and pulling them up to my chest.
“How’s it going? Is he out yet?”
“He should be in recovery now if everything went okay. I guess I fell asleep.”
“Did you call the hospital to check?”
“No, I was sleeping. It’s supposed to be routine, non-invasive. Don’t make me more nervous than I already am, Lex.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m anxious too. Do you know if his sister’s immune system was compromised, say from cancer, aids, hepatitis C or an autoimmune disease, perhaps?”
“What? I don’t think so. I mean—I haven’t even met her yet. I know she was right on the edge waiting for a donor.”
“Do you know why it had to be Mo?”
I stand up and run my fingers through my wavy hair trying to finger comb away the curls.
“Why? You’re scaring me, Lex. What are you getting at?”
“I don’t know, sis. I started reading about it, you know, just to see what it was like, what he was going through. I did a little bit of research, and it’s true that kidney transplants started out with identical twins and what not, but it’s not that way now.”
I cradle the phone to my neck and pull on a pair of jeans over Mo’s boxers.
“What are you saying?”
“It can be anybody who donates a kidney. It doesn’t have to be your brother. These people have money, right? It just seems weird that they let her get so close when it didn’t have to be his organ, you know? They could have bought one. It didn’t have to be Mo.”
“Maybe her immune system is compromised. I don’t fucking know. Now I’m terrified, Lex. Thanks. I gotta go.”
I slam the phone down and jam my feet into my shoes. I open the door so fast the security guard leaning against it practically falls into the room. He straightens up and pulls on the lapels of his jacket. His hair is slicked back, and he’s got a tiny mustache that runs right along the edge of his upper lip.
“Any word yet? Can you take me back to the hospital?” I ask him. He nods his head and starts to proceed down the hallway. I guess he didn’t catch what I said.
In the back of the SUV, I take out my phone to text Lex and tell him I’ll give him an update as soon as they let me see him. I scroll through my email thinking this fifteen minute ride might last an eternity. An email from Gunnar Anderson catches my eye. I forgot I’d asked him to do a run on Brisa’s stats through the state registered database. He’s a little too late if he’s identified Brisa. I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
His email starts out with a thousand pleasantries, I scan through them, my fury building although all he’s done is oblige my favor. Then there it is—the information I want.
His searches for her age, birthday and given name resulted in nothing. She either never made it to California or if she did it was under a different name. But there are data rows cut and pasted into the email and the next few words almost stop my heart.
I did do another run on Moisés. I think it’s pretty obvious I always had a thing for you. I ran him against federal records just to be safe. If he’s gonna be the guy for you, I thought I’d make extra sure you knew what you were getting into—not only that but I want you to be happy. You deserve it probably more than anyone else I know.
Turns out “de la Cruz” is an alias, the kid’s been arrested under multiple names. He’s the founder of the radical street art crew called the Dibujeros. They’re your run of the mill, outlaw punks with some pretty anarchist views on government and such. Their stuff is graffiti based so it’s not like capital one or assault or anything violent, but painting on the side of the courthouse is still a federal offense, and they’ve racked up a lot of them. The police for the most part don’t know their identities. I broke the code just by running criminal DOB’s against Juvie ones and adding in physical stats. And bang! You got your man! I should get a bonus for that. Lol! But don’t worry, I won’t turn him in. You can google him as Moisés Miramontes. Check out his record and all of that fun stuff. I hope the guy has been upfront with you. Sorry I couldn’t be of much help with the sister. It’s a sad story, but the really sad thing is, I’ve heard worse.
All the best to you, Lana. I’m still around if you ever want to catch up.
Gunnar
My foot is slamming an invisible brake on the floor of the SUV. I scan the email maybe ten times, my thoughts swinging vertiginously all over my head. Jennifer did mention the Dibujeros, so that doesn’t surprise me. What surprises me is that Mo asked me to marry him without ever coming forward with the whole truth about who he is. But what’s got me speechless and raging is the surname; it’s a full-on, nasty, slap across the face.
It tells me he lied to me with way too much ease. His entire story has been a fake. Moisés intentionally deceived me, and he knows these bad people much better than you would think. What kind of co-conspiracy are they cooking up? And where the hell exactly do I fit in? Am I being used as some sort of cover for Mozey? Or am I the red herring in a retaliation against his parents? I’m so confused. I slip the beautiful ring off my finger and shove it into the pocket of my jeans. No way in hell I’ll marry some guy who lies to me.
I jog through the lobby of the hallway until I make it to the nurse’s station. I ask for permission to see him, only to be told that he’s in recovery and still waking up. After wandering lost for what seems like ages, I finally locate the waiting room near recovery and plop myself down in the chair. I text Lex to tell him I’ve arrived and Mo isn’t dead. Lex texts back:
“Did you find out what was so good about his kidney?”
“Turns out he’s a huge fucking liar. Tell Mom and Dad that we’re not getting married.”
“You’ll figure it out. Go easy on him, he just had surgery. Tell Mo he’ll always be my brother.”
“Traitor.” I text back to him.
“That’s what you get for hooking up with my best friend.”
I toss my phone onto the chair beside me and cross and uncross my legs. I scratch my scalp like it’s louse infested and then tie my hair back with a clip from my purse. I’m about to start pacing the hall again when I see Beto Miramontes exit a door and close it softly behind him. It looks like he’s sneaking away. I shoot up from sitting and shout, “Hey!” to him.
He turns and brings his finger to his lips. I gesture for him to come over, and he quickly throws a look over his shoulder. A security guy or two are lurking down at the end of the hall. His leather shoes are expensive; they don’t make a sound on the tile as he comes toward me, but I can hear the swish of his tailored slacks. Without realizing it, I’m already tugging down on Mozey’s shirt, feeling messy and underdressed.
“He is just now waking up. Very tired. Thought I would let him sleep some.”
“Are you his father?” I ask, bringing one hand to my hip.
Beto Miramonte’s eyes flinch just a tiny bit, and he brings his fingers to his face to stroke his chin. I’
ve seen the exact same chin-stroking gesture before, from a boy who I’m beginning to realize, looks quite a bit like him.
“Yes. Why? Did he tell you that?”
“Nope. He lied. I found out from a friend. And you know what’s the funny part? He actually asked me to marry him. I hope you all have fun with your fucked up reunion. You can tell him I left. I’m catching a flight back home tonight.”
Miramontes cocks his head looking slightly confused.
“I don’t know what he told you about us. But I only came to him when he was a teenager. He obviously chose his drug-addicted mother over me when I gave him the chance. Even at six-years-old, he wanted nothing to do with me. His mother put too many notions inside of his head.”
“I thought you were a waiter,” I say, my anger leaking out between every word.
“No. I have always been a businessman. I started small and worked my way to the top. Moisés could have started at the top, but he’s too self-righteous to accept anything from me.”
“He had me believe that he was looking for Brisa—that he thought she was dead.”
“He was looking for her. I contacted him once on his thirteenth birthday. I told him he could inherit my assets, be the next in line in the kingdom I’ve created. He nearly spat in my face. I told him Ana María wouldn’t make it to adulthood without him. He still walked away saying he didn’t believe me.”
I’m proud of Moisés for standing up to this man. I feel a fresh surge of admiration for Mo flush me with heat.
“He probably took that to mean you would kill her. Not that she needed an organ donation.”
“I paid him fairly for the surgery. I hope he recovers well. The man in there is not my son. He is foolhardy. An idealist. A belligerent one. Painting walls will never accomplish anything. My guess is he’s met his match, I hope you both will be happy. “