Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“Yeah, just fine.” That probably would have sounded better if my voice didn’t break.
“I see.” There was a moment of silence before she said in a softer voice, “You should come over. You’re always welcome in my home, and I’ll speak to Hannah and see how she’s feeling. I don’t want to get your hopes up, because she’s heavily medicated right now, but I’ll try. Will you stay for lunch afterward? I’d enjoy the company.”
“Yes, thank you,” I managed to whisper, undone by her kindness. “Can you text me the address please, so I can put it into the GPS?”
“Just have Ramón bring you over.”
“Um, Ramón’s not with me.”
“Oh, I thought he mentioned that he’d be having breakfast with you.”
I flushed hot, remembering that Ramón did indeed have me for breakfast. “Uh, no.”
“I’m surprised. He seemed quite taken with you. I was sure he wouldn’t let you out of his sight.”
I didn’t want to ask why she would think that, or even talk about him at all with his mother. The whole situation was awkward as hell, and I bit my lower lip in discomfort as my already nervous stomach clenched further. I felt guilty for the way I flew off the handle and let my emotions get away from me. I should have given him a chance to explain or something, instead of running away.
Fleeing was a bad habit of mine, one I’d developed thanks to my older sister Brittney. After my abuela passed away, my older sister was responsible for us after school, and she could be such a bitch. While she loved to make everyone miserable, she seemed to have a special hatred for me. I have no idea why. I mean, yeah, I was a bratty younger sister, but Brittney liked to eviscerate me until I was crying. The only way I could escape was to leave, and I’d begun to associate fleeing with safety.
For a moment, I wondered if I should have given Ramón a chance to explain, but then I remembered what a giant asshole he’d been.
I needed help.
I needed someone I could talk to about this mess who would understand.
I needed my best friend.
Ignoring Mrs. Cordova’s question, I replied in a chirpy voice, “If you could please text me your address, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
After we said our goodbyes, I rested my head against the back of the seat, then womaned up and read my increasingly frantic messages from Ramón, begging me to let him know I was okay.
My phone rang with Ramón’s number and I debated not answering it, then chided myself for being a chicken. “Hello?”
“Joy,” Ramón said with evident relief. “Are you okay? Where are you?”
Trying to keep my voice normal, I said, “I’m fine, and I’m on my way to your mom’s house.”
“Why?”
“I need to talk with Hannah.” I could hear people faintly speaking in the background wherever he was in Spanish. “Where are you?”
“I was grabbing a few of my guys and heading out after you. I was afraid you were going to your old apartment, and I didn’t want you there alone.”
I swallowed past the sudden lump of fear in my throat. “No, I wasn’t going there.”
“Why did you leave? I was trying to talk to you.”
“Why did I leave? Really, you have to ask me that?” A small spark of my earlier anger rekindled. “Well, the reason I left is the guy I’m—well, I have no idea what we’re doing, but we’re doing something, or at least I thought we were. Anyway, that guy came home hurt, like someone beat him up, and when I understandably freaked out and asked him what had happened, he told me it was none of my business. I thought that, considering the fact that I’d recently been beaten black and blue, he’d be a little more understanding with why I was worried about him. Instead, he acted like an asshole and made me feel like shit. I hope you can see why that’s a little fucked up.”
His tired sigh put my back up. “I can’t tell you about it because it’s work related, but I am truly sorry I made you feel bad, mi amor.”
“Seriously? You can’t tell me because it’s work related? What kind of lame excuse is that?” I scoffed as I waved my arm over my head in the empty SUV, probably looking like a crazy woman. “What are you, a boxer? An MMA fighter? Who gets beat up as part of their job? That doesn’t make any sense.”
For a long moment, silence stretched between us, and I wondered if the call had dropped.
“Joy.” His voice was so serious, it cut through my temper. “There are things I cannot tell you for your own safety. Things that you’d have to sign a NDA six miles long before I could even whisper them in your presence. I’m not trying to be an asshole when I tell you I can’t talk about it, because I really can’t talk about it. This isn’t just about my job, it’s about my family’s empire, and my vow to protect the ones I love. It isn’t that I don’t want to tell you, it’s that I cannot.”