Say When (16 page)

Andrés comes to a standstill in front of the door. The woman has the screen open a crack, but doesn’t seem inclined to let us inside. A small child with big almond eyes and dark, tanned skin, just like his mother, is clutching her leg with one hand and a sippy cup with the other.

Nobody says a word, as I hang slightly behind Andrés, wondering what I should do. Andrés tightens his grasp on my hand when the woman clears her throat.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she says as she tosses a thick, chestnut ponytail behind her shoulder.

“I told you I would.” Andrés’s tone is even, lacking emotion, but I can hear the slightest crack beneath the smooth words.

“How long are you staying?” she asks. She makes no effort to open the door.

“We’re only in town for the weekend.” Andrés tilts his head and nods toward me.

I wish he wouldn’t have. I wish they would continue to pretend I’m invisible.

The woman shifts her gaze to me, not for very long, but long enough so I read the resentment in her glare. She looks back at Andrés and speaks through a tightened jaw. “No, I mean at the party.”

Andrés heaves a sigh while shaking his head. “We won’t stay long.”

She looks down at the little boy who’s still clutching her leg. “Manny, go get Michael.”

The child releases his mother’s leg and toddles off behind her. I still don’t know this woman’s name, and she doesn’t know mine. Considering she hasn’t invited us inside the house, I’m not expecting an introduction any time soon.

A little boy not much bigger than his brother comes dashing toward the door. He squeezes past his mother’s legs, squealing.

“Michael!” she calls to the boy, but he doesn’t bother to turn around.

Andrés releases my hand and goes down on one knee while setting the package beside him. Michael launches himself into Andrés’s arms.

I nearly break down and cry when I see the way Andrés holds Michael, when I see the way the child clutches him back.

When Michael squirms out of Andrés’s grip, Andrés’s eyes are cloudy. “Hey, amigo. How you doing?” he asks in a strained voice.

The boy shrugs. He turns to his mother, who nods, and I realize the understanding they share runs deeper than words. He turns back to Andrés. “Okay, I guess.”

Andrés clutches the boy’s shoulder as he hands him the gift. “I hear it’s your special day. I brought you something.”

“Cool!” Michael jerks the present out of Andrés’s hands and shreds the wrapping paper in a matter of seconds. “Look, mami!” he screams, holding up the box for his mother to see.

It’s a remote-controlled helicopter, one of the pricier ones. I saw one just like it at the mall for over a hundred dollars.

Michael doesn’t wait for his mother’s response as he turns to Andrés. There’s a sparkle in the child’s eyes that speaks volumes. Michael adores Andrés, and I can’t say I blame him. But why is Michael’s mother so cold?

Michael puffs up his chest and his expression turns serious. “I’ve wanted a helicopter my whole life.”

The child’s reaction would have been comical if the tension radiating of his mother hadn’t been so thick.

Andrés’s expression is as stoic as the boy’s. “I know.”

“Thank you, Uncle Andrés,” Michael says as he turns over the box in his hands. “Will you teach me how to fly it?”

Andrés looks up at Michael’s mother and his shoulders fall ever so slightly. If the woman’s eyes were weapons, they’d be firing missiles at Andrés.

Now I’m irked. What had happened between them that she has to act like such a bitch?

“He has to get back to the party,” the woman says through a frozen smile as she cracks open the screen and holds out her hand to the boy. “Come on, Michael.”

Michael stomps a foot and turns his back on his mother. Andrés slowly comes to his feet and gives the boy a gentle nudge.

“I can come by tomorrow and show him,” Andrés says to the woman. “I saw a park down the street. I’ll only have him out for a few hours.”

Her eyes narrow and her forced smile thins completely. “One hour.”

Andrés heaves a sigh and then nods. “I’ll be by tomorrow around nine.” He leans over and pries the box from Michael’s hands. Michael jumps up, trying to grab his present from Andrés.

“No,” Andrés gently scolds. “You don’t know how to use it yet.” He smiles and pats the boy on the head. “You can wait until tomorrow. Go back to the party. It’s rude to leave your friends.”

Michael’s lower lip drops and his eyes water.

“Michael,” Andrés leans over and whispers to him, “I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”

The boy nods and dashes through the door.

The woman doesn’t say good-bye as she closes the screen and slams another heavy door behind it.

Andrés and I don’t say a word as we climb back into his truck and make the long drive back to our hotel.

* * *

After our awkward trip, we eat a late lunch at a barbeque joint beside the river. Andrés picks at his food, and even though the warm, buttery bread melts in my mouth, and the savory, smoky pork falls off the rib bones, I don’t eat each much, either. Instead, I take in the sights. I smile and wave at a brightly painted gondola of tourists as they float past our table. A mariachi band is serenading someone having a birthday a few tables down. It’s beyond hot outside, and I am almost tempted to jump into the murky water. Luckily, a breeze is picking up, making the weather more bearable.

After lunch, we stroll hand-in-hand down a winding pathway. We come to a courtyard at the end of the river, ensconced by beautiful foliage and flowers. A four-story glass building abuts the end of the river, and pan flute music fills the courtyard, the sound echoing off the walls of the building and filling my heart and soul with beauty. We are standing along a bridge, and I am entranced. My fingers itch for my paints, but I fear I won’t be able to capture the magic of this place. Still, I pull out my phone and snap several photos. A nearby couple asks if they’d like them to take our picture, and Andrés holds me tight for the shot.

We wander some more, until we find ourselves in our room. Andrés says he needs to use the bathroom, and I waste no time settling back in front of my painting on the balcony. It doesn’t take me long to find my rhythm. I feel inspiration take over as I will my hand to do what my muse commands. I’m just adding the finishing touches when Andrés comes up behind me.

“You’re so good at what you do,” he says, a touch of sadness in his voice. “I feel like we’re holding you back making you paint boats and trucks. Your work should be in galleries.”

I know Andrés is still upset over the incident today. I suspect whatever has caused this woman to hate Andrés is far more complex than just him showing up unexpected to a birthday party.

“Maybe one day,” I say, setting my brush in the can of water beside the easel, “but I love working for your uncle, and I still have to get my degree, anyway.” Then I add, hesitantly, because we still haven’t discussed my future working arrangements. “Do you think your uncle will let me work part-time in the fall?”

Andrés laughs as he leans against the railing. “I think he’ll do just about anything to keep you working for us.”

“So what are your plans?” Funny, because I don’t flinch after I ask him. It’s almost like I don’t care anymore if he wants to work for his uncle for the rest of his life, because as each days passes, my mom’s opinion of who I date matters less and less.

“Tio’s giving me a few shops to manage when he retires,” Andrés says as he casts his gaze out on the river. “I need to go back to school and take a few more business courses.”

“You went to college?” My mouth falls open, and then I quickly clamp it shut.

I mentally berate myself for showing my surprise.

He looks at me from beneath his lashes, and I see the faintest smile tug the corners of his lips. He’s probably thinking I’m some stuck up college snot.

He casts his gaze back over the water. “I went to community college before I dropped out and joined the Army.”

Now curiosity has gotten the best of me. “Why’d you drop out?”

He stiffens, and I know he feels uncomfortable talking about it. “I was getting into trouble.” His voice drops. I have to strain to hear him. “My uncle said it was either join the military or he’d cut me off.”

A knot twists in my gut. I knew he was too good to be true. “What kind of trouble?” I ask with trepidation, knowing I may not want to hear the answer.

His eyes cloud over with memories. “Drinking, drugs, you know.”

My hands start to shake, and I instinctively grab my brush, needing something to hold on to. I like Andrés, but we can’t get serious if he’s a user. I can’t watch someone else I care about go down that path.

“Yeah, I know.” I squeeze my brush so tight, I fear it may snap in two. “I’m having that problem with Karri.”

Andrés steps toward me until we are merely a breath apart. He gently pries the brush from my hands and places it on the easel. “I’m clean now.” His breath is warm on my cheek. “I only had those beers when we went dancing.”

He tilts my chin up until I’m looking deeply into his penetrating gaze. He does not blink, and something about the softness of his smile makes me want to trust him.

“I believe you,” I finally say on an exhale.

And then he captures my mouth in the most exquisite kiss ever. I moan as I lean against him. He runs his hands the length of my spine and settles them on the small of my back before finally moving lower. I groan when he presses me into the rock hard erection beneath his denim.

He lifts me into his strong arms and carries me to the bed. He takes his time undressing me, favoring every inch of my skin with delicate kisses. But the way he cups each of my breasts in his hands and suckles my nipples is nearly my undoing. I arch against him and cry out. “Please, Andrés. Come in me.”

He chuckles against my chest before lavishing kisses across my collar bone. “Patience, mija.”

He finds my sensitive cleft and strokes, before he dips one, and then two fingers inside me. He continues to tease my cleft with the pad of his thumb. When he starts suckling my nipple again, I come undone. I barely have time to cry out when the orgasm tears through me. I clench the sheets and arch my back as my core pulsates around his fingers. His hand stills for only a moment, and he switches to my other nipple and begins to stroke me again. It doesn’t take him long to build me toward that second climax.

I whimper when he pulls out of me, just as I am bracing myself for another orgasm. But he’s only gone for a few seconds, before he’s slipping on a condom and sliding deep into me.

He covers my body with his and whispers into my ear, “So wet. So tight.”

And then he’s tunneling into me, with slow, deliberate thrusts. My hands claw his ass as he moves with agonizing slowness. I’m pressing against him, thrashing beneath his body, begging him to go faster. Harder.

“Patience,” he says again, kissing my temple. “Relax.”

I reluctantly give in and relax, because I think if I do what he says, he’ll reward me by thrusting harder. But he doesn’t. I groan as he continues to slowly, deliberately, slide in and out of me. But then he starts butting his length against my womb, and the pleasure ripples through me so strongly, I feel powerless to do anything but match each thrust while clutching his shoulders.

Again, my orgasm is building, surging. He’s kissing my lips, and I wrap his face in my hands and kiss him back, groaning into his mouth as the first wave consumes me. He grunts, and then thrusts deeper, jarring me and causing more and more waves of pleasure to wash over me. He deepens the kiss and groans as he throbs deep inside me. I wrap my legs tightly around him as he presses deeper into my womb and then stills.

He rolls onto his side and pulls me with him, showering my neck and face with kisses. This moment is so powerful, so beautiful, I’m sad to see it end. And now I understand why Andrés told me to slow down. He didn’t just want to have sex. He wanted to make love. The realization hits me hard and squeezes my chest.

What started out as one night of random sex with a total stranger has turned into something more, and now I’m thinking Andrés might actually be “the one.” Funny, because I should be jumping out of bed and racing for the nearest exit, but I’m not. I smooth my hand down the small patch of hair on his chest and wrap my arm around his waist. I kiss his collarbone and neck before snuggling against him.

He kisses the top of my head before murmuring against my ear. “We hit a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. I blacked out, and when I came to, James was on top of me. He was shredded. I was in shock. I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t do anything. The medics said he died on impact. There was nothing I could do. But I was the driver. It was my fault.” His voice cracks and he pulls away, lying on his back with his arm draped over his eyes.

I freeze because I don’t know what to say. Andrés lost his best friend. I can’t imagine losing Karri or Grace. I know Andrés blames himself for something beyond his control, and my heart clenches when I hear him sniffling.

I roll onto my stomach and come up on my elbows. He’s shaking as he wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“It wasn’t your fault, Andrés,” I say, but then I feel stupid. I’m sure he’s heard that at least a hundred times.

“Letty thinks it was my fault. That’s why she hates me,” he says.

I assume Letty is Michael’s mother and James’s widow.

He sits up and looks at me with watery eyes. I want to launch myself into his arms and kiss away his pain.

“Look.” He points to a small, jagged scar on his calf. “A piece of shrapnel hit me here. That’s it. My only injury.”

I trace my finger along the scar, and lean over and kiss it, lingering on his wound for a long moment. Then I sit up and lock gazes with him. He’s no longer crying, but his eyes are red-rimmed and his features are hard, making his face look like a mask of stone.

“James is dead because of me,” he says in a voice tight with emotion. “Now his sons will grow up without a father. It should have been me. I didn’t have anyone to live for.”

Wet heat stings the backs of my eyes. I crawl over him and settle myself in his lap. I reach out and stroke the side of his face before planting a kiss on his cheek. “You do now,” I whisper against his mouth.