Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Do you ever see your dad now?”
“Never. The last time we spoke was before my mom’s funeral. I didn’t want to reach out, but I figured he’d want to know and maybe even come to her service. He thanked me and then told me I was responsible for the demise of her soul. He cited the article he’d read in some entertainment rag about me and a male lover. I think he called me a queer soul stealer and told me to find Jesus before I was damned for eternity.”
Lo lifted a brow. “He sounds…unpleasant.”
“He’s a bitter asshole. I paid his mortgage and set up a monthly account for him ’cause like it or not, he’s still my parent. And there’s a terrible, evil part of me that takes extreme satisfaction in knowing it bugs him that I’m responsible for something good in his life. Even if he never admits it to anyone else…he knows. And my brother is just a user.”
Lorenzo ate a bite of salad. “Was your mother your champion?”
“My what?”
“Your champion. That one person who makes all the shitty things life throws at you bearable. My grandmother was mine. She was a fierce, no-nonsense superwoman. She was five foot nothing and weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, but I’m telling you, no one fucking messed with her.”
I smiled. “She sounds cool.”
“Abuela was the original Baxter…minus the gunfights and car chases. If my father said one nasty word about me in her presence, she’d bop him upside the head. When my mother forgot to pick me up from school, she’d go extra heavy with the chili peppers, shake Mom’s sodas, or put dirty socks in her underwear drawer.”
“Ha! That’s evil. I love it.” I chuckled.
“She was the best. She looked out for me when I was little, counseled me to be proud and strong when I was first putting a name on what made me different, and she was always telling me she believed in me. To her, I was worthy and good and…I was very well loved. With Tony, I thought I had all that too.” Lorenzo sighed theatrically. “I was wrong. We officially ended things two years ago, but it had been slowly unraveling for a while. It still kills me that I didn’t read the signs sooner. If I’d known he was going to pluck my heart from my chest, plunge a knife in it, and twist it to shreds, I would have broken up with him first.”
“You wouldn’t have just ripped his heart out and fed it to the wolves?”
Okay, lame attempt at comedic relief, but Lorenzo rewarded me with a wicked grin.
“Oh, honey, no. That’s far too gory for me. Beating him to the punchline would have been enough. I’m not out for blood. I just want it to be over. We own a house together that we still need to sell. Once that’s done, I think I’ll finally feel free.” He sighed theatrically. “I’ve probably learned a valuable lesson, but all I’ve come up with is…trust no one. That’s a surefire recipe to end up alone, and I don’t really want that.”
“No one wants to be alone,” I commented softly.
“No, but it’s been hard to shake off the blues. I’m over Tony, but I’m still heartbroken about losing my grandmother, and I spend the rest of my time worrying about things I have no control over—like life and death.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Gowan isn’t going to live forever. He might not see Christmas. Sometimes I wonder if the things I’ve been through will lead me to where he is now. I’m thirty-five and I thought I’d have more by now—a house, a husband, a cat, a dog, kids.…It’s not looking good.” He sucked back half a glass of wine, swiped his hand across his mouth, and scooted his chair from the table. “And here I am, unloading my drama on a mega-super-duper star. Mierda, I’ve lost my marbles. More soup?”
“Uh…yes, please.”
Okay, I didn’t want soup, but I needed a minute to process that personal info dump.
I’d poked him till he showed me his scars, only to find out they were festering wounds hidden under an invisible bandage.
News flash, I paid attention.
I studied people to perfect my craft. It was my job. I observed facial expressions, vocal intonations, and emotional responses, then squirreled away my research to use on-screen.
Baxter was a cool customer who never talked about his past, but it was understood he’d suffered an excruciating loss that drove him to right wrongs and restore justice whenever possible. Usually in a “modern cowboy, no rules apply” approach. I got into character by accessing an internal data bank full of tragic touchpoints that belonged to other people. I didn’t need to revisit my own experiences. Why go to dark places if I didn’t have to?