by Emma Renshaw
Carmen is my only friend.
When you’re a trailer park kid surrounded by rich neighborhoods, it’s not all that easy to make friends. And when you’re the girl missing a lot of school to take care of her sick grandmother, teenagers don’t sympathize—they just think you’re weird.
The “friends” I made while I was with Pierce weren’t actually friends. They were approved acquaintances hand selected by my husband.
I know how lonely life can get.
So if Carmen extends an invitation, I’m not turning it down—nausea or not. If I had any other friends and they extended invites, I wouldn’t turn them down either.
“I don’t have a taste for anything special. What do you feel like?” I ask.
Carmen puts a hand on the rail, pausing and looking to the top of the stairs. She looks over her shoulder and grins. “Carnitas.”
I glance at my phone, checking the time. If we want carnitas for dinner, we need to start cooking now.
“With fresh tortillas,” Carmen says.
My mouth waters. I haven’t had Carmen’s fresh tortillas since moving back to Texas. Those little round discs of dough are legendary. When she adds some butter and salt? I’ll do her bidding anytime.
“That sounds perfect.”
I close my eyes, inhaling eucalyptus, when we walk into her apartment. It’s the same layout as mine, but she’s brought her own flair to hers. She broke the rules and painted over the gray walls with a light lilac. A large cactus sits in the corner of the room. Embroidered pillows from Mexico embellish the neutral-colored couch.
The mantle is lined with photos of a blond family she helped raise. I’ve heard stories about the five boys. They can raise hell like no one else she’s met, but she loves them like her own. She’s put up a new frame since the last time I was here. One of the faces I’ve seen in plenty of pictures since meeting Carmen is staring back at me. One of the Wells boys. His arm is wrapped around a beautiful blond woman, and her arm is draped around a little girl standing in front of her.
“I know I was gone a while, but not long enough for one of them to have a kid.” I point at the photo.
“That’s Hudson, his fiancée, Ava, and her daughter Lilly. They met in the fall. Can you believe it? Monica, their mom, has been begging her boys to get hitched to someone. The youngest finds himself a woman and proposes just a few months later. They’re running to the altar and getting married as fast as possible. The wedding is coming up pretty soon.”
I chuckle, shaking my head, and walk toward the kitchen so we can prepare our feast.
“Callan is good friends with Hudson. That’s how I met him and Brae.”
“That’s….neat.”.
“He’s very handsome, yes?” Carmen bumps her hip against mine. I concentrate on quartering the oranges and limes in front of me and hum a noncommittal answer.
Of course Callan is attractive.
But she’s not going to get me to admit that.
As we’re getting closer to finishing preparing dinner, Carmen hands me the first hot, fresh tortilla from the skillet. The butter is melting inside the wrapped up tortilla. I take my first bite, moaning.
“Missed my tortillas?”
“You know they’re my favorite. I missed them so much.” I take another bite, letting the butter and salt mix together with the dough, creating a heavenly flavor in my mouth.
“Will you do me a favor, mija?”
“Anything after you gave me this.” I lift the tortilla and take my final bite, wiping the edges of my mouth, my eyes still closed in blissful pleasure.
“We have so much food. Will you go across the hall and ask Callan and Brae to dinner?”
My eyes fly open, and I whip around in time to see Carmen trying to hide a victorious smile.
Chapter 9
Callan
“What are you doing?”
“Shh!” Brae’s face is pressed against the door as she looks through the peephole. She turns toward me and her finger goes to her lips insisting I be quiet. I creep over to where she is and wait for her to tell me what’s going on.
“I was walking out of my room and I heard something, so I looked. I don’t know what she’s doing.” Brae looks through the door again and giggles quietly.
I gently move her to the side and look through the peephole. Iris is pacing in front of our door, muttering to herself and twisting her hands. “Pancakes on a cracker,” she says and slaps her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I winked. I winked. What kind of idiot does that?” My lips flatten into a line as I try to hold in my laughter and watch her pace. Each time I see her she becomes more enticing and I fucking loved the wink paired with the awful nickname. It showed an edge of confidence hidden under her timid exterior. I want to coax that out of her. I watch her pace a few laps before she stops and nods her head, her hands fisting at her sides as she steps toward our door.
That’s right, pretty girl. She raises her chin another notch and takes the final step to my door. Good job, birdie.
She raises her hand to knock, but it falls back to her side and she stares at the ceiling.
The way Iris flinched the other day while talking about our cars hasn’t left my mind. It’s only filled me with questions about her. I’ve seen that kind of terror in people’s eyes before. It’s when they’re desperate, facing a threat they can’t escape.
I want to know what caused Iris to have that type of reaction.
I take pity on her and I open the door to lean against the jamb. Brae steps up to my back, looking over my shoulder. I want to unleash a shit-eating grin, but I don’t want to scare her off, so I dial it back to a smile.
“Birdie.”
Iris slowly turns her face away from the ceiling and peaks through one open eyelid. I almost laugh when she utters another breakfast food curse, but I resist. She turns fully toward me and her eyes lock on my throat instead of looking me in the eye.
“What are you doing?”
“Carmen and I made carnitas.”
I stand up straight, alert for a whole new reason. I pull in a deep breath through my nose and catch the faintest hint of Carmen’s spicy and citrusy dish. The boxed lasagna that I was about to pull from freezer is forgotten and will have to survive another day in the freezer. “Carnitas?” The word practically comes out with a groan as I smell more of the flavor filling the hallway.
“Carmen wants to know if y’all want to eat dinner with us?”
“You don’t want to know, birdie?” I ask the question with an obvious tease in my voice and widen my smile.
Iris’s dark eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“You said Carmen wants us to come. You don’t want us to?”
“Oh.” She bites her lip, her gaze bouncing back and forth between Brae and me. “Of course I do. We also made fresh tortillas, which are my favorite.”
“Carmen’s carnitas are my favorite. Let’s go.”
I step into the hall, letting Brae pass me. With a wide grin on her face, she watches Iris fidgeting. I lock the door and let ourselves into Carmen’s place.
There’s a pile of fresh tortillas on a bright green cloth. I grab one, rolling it in my hand, and take a big bite.
Carmen stands in front of the stove, stirring the contents with a wooden spatula. With her other hand she opens a drawer, grabs a spoon, and dips it into the pot. I come up behind her and plant a kiss on her cheek. I take a step back, and she turns toward me. She holds a spoon aloft, filled with beans, and her other hand hovers under it.
“Try this,” she says.
I lean forward and take the bite she’s offering, and I groan as the spicy flavor fills my mouth. Carmen is either spoiling me or this is going to be another move in the match-maker chess game she’s playing. What she doesn’t know is, I’m interested. She won’t have to try on my end to pair Iris and I together. The gorgeous girl hovering at the mouth of the kitchen that’s eyeing the front door as if that’s going to be salvation? She’s another story.
> Brae sees Iris trying to plot an escape. She marches over and takes Iris by the hand forcing her to follow her. There’s a small part of me that feels relief when Iris blanches at Brae’s touch. It’s good that it’s not just my touch she hates.
“That’s damn good,” I say after I swallow the beans.
“Set the table.” Carmen turns back to the pot, sets the spoon aside, and picks up the ladle. I take silverware from the drawer and turn to the table. Iris’s shoulder skims along my chest as she edges past me in the small kitchen, moving toward the cabinets.
I grin watching her swallow after that brief contact with me, but she doesn’t flinch. Progress. Iris clears her throat as she picks up four plates and follows me to the table. She moves behind me, putting a plate next to each set of forks and knives that I set out.
Brae takes her seat. She looks from Iris to me, and the corners of her mouth are twitching. I put my hand on Iris’s shoulder and lean in close. Her back straightens and she sucks in a deep breath.
“Go ahead and sit down. I’ll get the drinks and help Carmen.”
“I can help,” she says.
I shake my head. “Sit, birdie.”
“Fine, foxy.” Iris sits down in the chair next to Brae. She fiddles with her hands for a moment before getting the drinks.
“Foxy?” Brae asks.
“If he’s going to call me birdie, I’m going to call him foxy.” Brae leans back in chair clutching her stomach as she laughs.
“Oh my god. If you ever meet his friends or see him at work, please, please, call him that. Make sure you record the reactions if I’m not there.”
I glance at Iris. That’s not going to happen is written all over her features and it’s the same thing I’m thinking, but only for different reasons. I turn back to the task in front of me. I’m assuming Iris doesn’t think she’ll ever meet my friends or co-workers. I know she won’t ever call me foxy in front of them because I’m going to nip that nickname in the bud. By the time she does meet the other people in my life, that nickname will be long gone, as will the flinching every time I come close to her.
Carmen is spooning the beans into a large bowl. “Thank you, mijo.”
Her whispered words feel heavier than a simple thanks for setting the table. I look over my shoulder as the ice falls into the glass. Iris’s fingers are drumming against the top of the wood table, and her mouth is moving as if she’s silently speaking to herself. Her lips purse, and her hands fall back to her lap as she turns toward Brae.
Ice clatters and breaks across the floor. My focus returns to the glass I’m holding under the ice maker; it’s full and ice is spilling over the side.
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath. I set the glass on the countertop and swipe up the broken piece, tossing it into the sink.
“I’m really sorry I scared you,” Iris says.
“It’s okay,” Brae responds. “It really wasn’t a big deal. My bone-headed brother is just a little overprotective.”
“For good reason,” I grunt, but I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Can’t trust Corbin with you.”
“Whatever,” Brae says, but I can hear the humor in her voice.
“Was Corbin the other guy there?”
“Yeah,” Brae says, and my smile turns into a snarl at her dreamy tone.
Iris chuckles. “He’s cute.”
I slam the glass on the table in front of Brae. Iris jumps in her chair and leans back with her hand over her chest. Her bottom lip quivers for a moment before her breathing evens out, and guilt rises in my throat to consume me.
“Sorry,” I set the glass down much more gently.
Brae laughs. “Callan likes to pretend I’m still seven years old.”
“I liked you better when you were seven.”
“Enough,” Carmen says and orders us to sit. She puts the food in the center of the table and takes a seat, leaving only one place for me to sit—next to Iris.
We serve ourselves and begin devouring the food in silence. “Iris, hija, do you remember that conversation we were having not too long ago? Well, I think you should know I accepted a date with Arnie.”
Iris’s jaw drops and my fork piled with delicious pork pauses halfway to my mouth. “Who is Arnie?” Carmen has been single as long as I’ve known her and I’ve never heard her express interest in someone. Carmen may live in a modest apartment, but she has money stashed away. Protective instincts, the same I have for family like Brae, rises up inside of me. “Who is Arnie?” I repeat when no one answers.
Iris and Carmen are in some sort of stare off. Iris’s mouth is dropped open and Carmen raises one brow as if she’s challenging Iris. What the hell is going on. Iris’s mouth slams shut and she turns back to her food in front of her as a blush rises over her cheeks.
“I feel like we’re missing something,” Brae whispers. I nod in agreement.
“Who is Arnie?” I ask again for the third time.
“He’s a friend who asked to take me out.”
Iris snorts. “He’s been asking you out for years. He lives in Greener Pastures.”
The community across the street is nice, but I don’t trust this Arnie. People never suspect elderly people do something, but that doesn’t mean a person should automatically be trusted. I don’t want Carmen to be hurt by anyone.
“What’s his last name?”
“Dulles,” Carmen replies and takes a sip of her iced tea.
“I’m going to have Roman look into him before you go out with him,” I announce and finally bring my still hovering fork to my mouth.
Carmen scoffs and shakes her head. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“I’m trying to protect you. What if he’s after your money? What if he gets his jollies off by killing his wives? How many times has been married?”
“Who is Roman?” Iris asks. I look over at her and am taken aback for a second at the admiration I see in her eyes.
“He’s a friend that owns a security company. My other good friend, Kiernan, works there, too. They served in the Army together and now run MarxMen.”
“I agree with Callan. His friends should look into Arnie.”
“You know Arnie,” Carmen says outraged. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“You never know. It doesn’t hurt to be sure. People can surprise you and it’s not always good,” Iris responds then turns to me and gives me a blinding smile and my heart stops in my chest as I’m struck dumb with her beauty.
“How do you and Carmen know each other?” Brae asks Iris.
Iris tenses next to me and her fork stops in midair. The piece of carnitas is completely forgotten as she stares at Carmen in wide-eyed horror. Carmen’s gaze slide to Iris and back to Brae. She smiles gently. “Iris grew up in Austin. We met before she moved, and we became fast friends.”
Brae is quiet as she waits for Carmen to expand on this, but she doesn’t, even though Carmen’s stories can usually go on for twenty minutes and break off in unrelated directions. The tension leaves Iris’s body as Carmen continues to eat, leaving unanswered questions hanging in the air.
I watch Iris. My mind speeds through every interaction I’ve had with her and I know, deep in the pit of my gut, this beautiful girl next to me is hiding something in her past.
Or she’s hiding.
I make a mental note to have Roman and Kiernan dig into her past, too.
Chapter 10
Iris
The paint-soaked brush falls from my hand and hits the drip canvas underneath my feet. I rub my left thumb up the center of my right palm, trying to ease the spasm and muscle cramp. The canvas in front of me is marred by a long pink streak through the sunset I’m trying to paint. Completely ruined. It was my first attempt at painting a beach with white sand and blue waters that remind me of Callan.
I massage my hand until the pain is gone and grit my teeth as I pick up the canvas and set it on top of a pile with the rest of the half-painted and destroyed artwork.
Even t
he thought of calling it artwork is laughable. I can’t even paint for longer than thirty minutes without my hand spasming and stroking across the page, creating something that wasn’t supposed to be there.
I trace the thin scar along my hand. Pierce allowing me to have surgery after he massacred it was one of the few times my injuries by him were treated.
Maybe moving back to Texas was a mistake. I spent two years living in New York City, under my company’s name. I paid for an apartment in Texas I didn’t even live in, so I could have an address to use for our divorce papers.
He didn’t come after me like I thought he would.
He put up a fight with the divorce, but the judge signed it. I took none of his wealth or any of our property. I just wanted out. I have only my Poppy’s paintings and Pierce’s secrets I’ll take to the grave.
Two years and he didn’t come after me. That’s the only reason Carmen was successful in convincing me to come home. If I spill his secrets, he will come after me. There’s no doubt about that. He’s banking on the fact that I’ll be too terrified to say a word.
My heart stops for a beat when a knock sounds through the apartment. My fear has become worse since moving back to Texas. I take one last look at the pathetic painting and head toward the front door. I peer through the peephole, slide the chain locks out of their position, and open the deadbolt while watching a smiling Brae through the hole.
“Is everything alright?” I ask when I open the door.
Brae unleashes her picture-perfect impression of a teenage girl as she collapses against the beige siding outside my door and stares up at the ceiling with a full-body sigh. She rolls her head to the side and stares at me with a scrunched-up nose and large puppy dog eyes. I can’t help but grin at the display.
“I forgot my keys on the counter this morning. I’m locked out since my overprotective brother doesn’t believe in leaving keys underneath a welcome mat.”
