by Ivy Fox
“In the beginning, it was good, I guess. I don’t have many memories, but a few do stick out. I remember my mom packing us a huge ass lunch so we could spend the whole day at the beach. I remember my pops teaching me how to swim for the first time and making out with Mom when he thought I wasn’t looking. It was nice.”
“Is that what started your love of swimming?”
“Yeah, it was. That time spent with my old man, where he would keep count of how long I could hold my breath underwater or perfecting my breaststroke, really made an impression on me. My fondest memories of us as a family were here. In those very waves.”
“They don’t sound like they make you happy, though,” she states, pulling her head away just enough so we are eye to eye.
“That’s because those days were a rare occurrence, Princess. Most of the time, my mom would be yelling at my dad when he finally fessed up where he got the money to bring us here. She would tell him he was being a bad example for me. Fuck. My mom kicked him out of our house so many times, it almost became a joke.”
“Why would she do that?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I think I can keep up.”
I chuckle at the little bit of sass.
“When my mom met my dad, he was already a Latin King. Just like his pops before him, and his pops before that, the Kings were all he ever knew growing up. My mom, on the other hand, was what you would call a good girl. Went to church every Sunday with my Aunt Maggie and my abuela, God rest her soul, and did her best to get good grades so one day she could go to college and leave the projects for good. Maybe she thought that dating my pops was her one act of rebellion or something, but before she could pull the plug, they had both fallen head over heels in love. And when she got knocked up with me, it was too late. They got married when they were about our age.”
“They were so young.”
“They still are. Thirty-five the both of them.” I tap the tip of her nose with mine.
“Hmm. What happened next?” she asks, settling her head back on my chest.
“Life, Princess. Life happened. With a baby in tow and bills to pay, my mom had to quit school and get a job. Dad, too. The only problem was that throughout his life, my father had been educated that working for the man was for suckers. Why slave for minimum wage, hours on end, when you can make triple that amount in a ten-minute hustle? Because that is exactly what my father had been groomed to be since he was a kid—a hustler. B&E, fencing, booting cars, you name it, he did it all. The only thing he didn’t do was peddle smack for the Kings. He drew the line on that. He always said stealing material stuff people can replace is one thing, but ruining a life by taking away a person’s soul, that’s a whole other matter.”
“So your dad was a mindful thug.”
“I guess you can say that.” I smile.
“You love him,” she utters wistfully, entwining her fingers in mine. “I can hear it in your voice.”
“Of course, I love him. That doesn’t change the fact that I also resent him for all the times he promised my mom he’d go on the straight and narrow and didn’t. I don’t have a problem with my pops being a King. I just can’t condone him breaking promise after promise to my mom. She hurt too damn much watching the love of her life being put in prison. This is my pops’s second strike. One more, and he’s going to be in there for the rest of his life.”
“You’re worried about him.”
“No. Prison has made him hard, so he can handle his own shit. I’m more worried about her. My mom is the one who stood by me. She was the one who put a roof over my head, so she will always be my main concern.”
Elle grows quiet at that.
I start to wonder if she’s all talked out when she asks me another personal question.
“From what you said, being part of the Latin Kings is like a rite of passage for the men in your family. But you’re not with them.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Why?”
“Would you rather me be?”
“No. Of course not. I’m just trying to make sense of it all.”
I let out a long exhale before I give her an insight into how messed up my life is.
“They don’t know that I know this, but the second time my pops got locked up, my mom asked for a divorce. He refused to give it, of course. I really thought he was going to be a dick about it and fuck with my mom’s life some more. But then, one day, I heard my mom on the phone with her pro-bono attorney, saying that she changed her mind and that she was no longer interested in getting divorced. After that, she never visited my dad in Rikers again, but she always made sure I did every Saturday morning when I was a kid.”
“What does that have to do with you not being in the Kings?”
“Everything. I think she made my pops an offer he couldn’t refuse. She’d stay his wife if he promised that I would never have the life he did. The Latin Kings have never made a move to initiate me into their gang. A few years ago, I asked one of the heads of the Kings if this was the case, and Hector confirmed it all. I thought it had been my pops who had been the one to protect me, but all along, it had been my mom. She’s the one who always had my back. In everything,” I announce proudly.
When Elle goes quiet on me again, I shuffle her to lean against my right thigh so I can get a good look at her face. The melancholy stitched to her features gives me pause that maybe I’ve fucked up by sharing all of my personal shit with her.
“What’s wrong, Princess? My life story too much for you?”
“No. It’s not that. Just hearing you talk about your mother brought back some unwanted memories. She went above and beyond to protect you in every way imaginable. I wish I knew what that felt like,” she whispers sullenly.
“You talking about your mom?”
She nods.
“Hmm. I remember her, you know?”
“You do?” Her amber eyes suddenly sparkle back to life.
“I do. I remember the first day we ever met at the park. She was there, doting on you. She seemed like a nice lady.”
“She was.” Elle smiles meekly. “But she was sad, too. Always so sad.”
“Let me guess? Because of your cunt of a father, huh?”
Another nod.
Not wanting to touch on the subject of her dad, since it will hit too close to her favorite brother being incarcerated, I concentrate on her mom.
“Now it’s your turn. What was your mom like? I already know she was beautiful. Just like her bratty daughter. Tell me about her.”
Elle melts into my embrace and stares at the waves coming up to shore.
“She loved music. Not the kind that plays on the radio, but the melodies you would hear in an opera or ballet. God, she loved the ballet.”
A memory of Trevor holding Princess’s ballet slippers hostage immediately comes to the forefront of my mind.
“Do you still dance?”
“No. I quit a few weeks after she quit on us.”
My forehead wrinkles at that remark.
“I thought it was some kind of hit and run?” I ask, confused, getting even more so when Elle shakes her head.
“My father was a monster, Saint. He terrorized her every opportunity he could. I guess she woke up one morning and thought it was just too much for her to handle. So, she just gave up. On him. On life. On my brothers. On me.”
My heart hurts with the way her voice cracks at the end of her sentence.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“No one does. Or maybe they do and just pretend that they don’t. Maybe it’s easier to blame some poor taxi driver for being reckless with his driving than it is to face the fact that she took her own life because there was nothing to keep her here any longer.”
She shivers in my hold, and I do my best to cocoon her in my warm embrace. Even though our talk took a sad turn, I can’t shrug off how her eyes lit up when she was talking about the things her mom en
joyed while she was still in the land of the living.
“What else did your mom like?” I venture on while mentally preparing for Elle to shut me down.
“She liked laying on the grass in the park,” she continues, true longing in her voice. “We used to spend hours just looking at the clouds and giving them names. We would picnic there, and afterward, we would read passages from the same book.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It truly was.”
“What else?”
From my peripheral, I watch her maul her lower lip.
“What else, Princess? Talk to me.”
“You’ll think it’s shallow.”
“No, I won’t. Just tell me.”
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Mom absolutely loved to take me shopping. Maybe it was because I was the only daughter amongst so many boys, but nothing gave her more pleasure than going in a store and making me try out new clothes with her. She used to say that when you put on a new dress or cute top, you could pretend to be a totally different person. She made it feel like any new piece of fabric could suddenly become your armor, and with it, you could defeat any obstacle. She would add that clothes were meant to empower. That they were meant for us to feel good about ourselves and make us feel comfortable in our own skin. If whatever I put on didn’t make me feel fearless, then I should chuck it and give it to someone who would benefit from it. I think that’s what started my love of fashion design. Every time I draw a new sketch or sew a new dress, I feel her presence. Like she’s there watching me birth this new creation that will make some girl feel like a fierce warrior princess. Do you think that’s silly of me? Juvenile and naive, even?”
“No, cariño. If making clothes makes you feel closer to your mother, then I don’t see any problem with that.”
Elle lets out a contented sigh, her previous solemn disposition disappearing before my very eyes.
“Mom always smelled of birthday cake.” She laughs. “It’s funny what the mind remembers. Sometimes I can’t even recall what she looked like, but I can remember waking up to her butterfly kisses and the smell of birthday cake in the morning.”
“I think you take after her more than you know.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah. My own delicious little dessert,” I tease, my teeth lightly tugging on her earlobe.
The sound of the crashing waves couldn’t camouflage the little gasp she let out from that one move.
“Damn, now I’m actually bummed. I never saw little Elle Grayson dance.”
“You wouldn’t have liked it. I sucked ass at it.”
“You sucking at anything? Not possible.”
“You want to bet?”
“Depends. What’s the reward?”
“A kiss,” she coos, her stare dropping to the tongue ring peeking out as I lick my lips.
“Why should I bet when I could steal one right now?”
She rolls her eyes before pushing herself off the sand, my body instantly going cold without her in my arms.
“What are you doing?” I chuckle, watching her take off her winter jacket, school blazer, and shoes. “On second thought, never mind. Please proceed.” I lean back, my elbows keeping my torso up, so I won’t miss a single second of this unexpected striptease.
I can’t help the pout I make when she stops the show, leaving her with only her white shirt, little skirt, and knee-high socks on.
She picks up her phone, and two seconds later, a soft classical piano melody starts playing. And just as I’m about to ask what she’s up to, Elle begins to dance in front of me.
She’s dancing for me.
She spins and dips, twirling away, and my heart grows restless watching her. I get up from the sand and continue to stare, mesmerized at every flawless and exquisite, fluid move. Time ceases to exist, and suddenly I feel like the only people on God’s green earth are us, and that is more than enough. The genuine smile that splits her face in two as she jumps in the air, with her arms extended, has me in complete awe of her.
She’s laughing hysterically by the time she stops, dropping to the sand on her hands and knees.
With my throat dry, and my soul screaming at the top of its lungs, I too go to my knees in front of her.
“Pick me,” I say hoarsely.
“What?” She continues to chuckle, not understanding what I’m saying.
“I want you to pick me, Elle. Pick me.”
She blinks a few times as if to center herself, the sound of her now absent laugh still ringing in my ears. The sky, as if loving my agony, decides that now is the perfect time to start snowing. Little white flecks of snow fall to her lashes and hair, yet she doesn’t move an inch.
We stay like this, staring at each other in silence for what feels like an excruciating hour, even though, in reality, it must have been just a few seconds. She’s close enough that I can see the cloud of cold air escape her lips every time she exhales. I watch her chest heave up and down, in sync with mine.
“Did you hear what I said?” I repeat, my voice full of blatant vulnerability.
She nods.
“And?”
“I’m still trying to process it.”
“He’ll never make up his mind, cariño,” I retort, knowing that Boy Scout is the real reason why she hasn’t said anything. “He won’t, baby. Is that the man you want? Someone who refuses to fight for the person he says he loves?”
Her jaw slacks, her lips ready to slash me in two with her denial, but then she thins her lips shut. She begins to shiver, the tip of her nose starting to redden from the decrease in temperature. I inch closer to her and take off my winter coat, wrapping it around her frame. Then I blow hot air on my hands to warm them up before my palms cup her cheeks.
“I’ll never lie to you. I’ll treat you like the goddamn queen that you are. I promise I can be good to you. All you have to do is let me.”
“I believe you.” She swallows. “I just don’t think you understand what you’re asking of me.”
“Yes, I do. If there is anyone who understands, it’s me. Or did you forget? I know you love him. And fuck, Elle, I love the asshole, too. But like I told you back in Aspen, he will never decide between us. He’s not that brave.”
“If I say yes, it will break him.” Her solemn stare falls to the ground.
“Or maybe it will be the kick in the butt that he needs to fight for us.”
“And what then?” She snaps her attention back to me. “What if you’re right? What happens then? What if he wakes up and decides he wants one of us? What becomes of us then?”
“Then you’ll have to make a choice. Me or him.”
“Me? I’ll make that choice?” she questions incredulously. “What makes you think Chad loves me more than he does you?”
“Because you’re his heart, Elle. He made that very clear to me from day one, even if I tried to forget it. A man can’t live without his heart. Sooner or later, he will come for you. That’s what I would do if I were him.”
That’s what I’m trying to do now.
Her eyes crinkle at the sides.
“Just choose me, Elle. Even if for just a little while, let me know what it feels like to be with someone I lo… fuck,” I stammer, getting overwhelmed with the myriad of emotions I’m feeling. “I choose you, cariño. I choose you! So, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t say anything right now, but at least promise me you’ll think on it. Please.”
I’m begging.
I’m fucking begging.
That’s what I’ve been reduced to.
That’s what this pixie of a girl does to me.
And I don’t regret it. Not a single second of it.
Because deep in my soul, I know Elle is my destiny. She always has been. It just took me years to realize how in tune with each other we’ve always been and how easy loving her is. It doesn’t come with stipulations or hidden agendas. She’ll never hide me or make me
feel unworthy of her affection. With her, I can just be. If I’m a dick, she’ll call me on my shit. If I’m vulnerable and show her my underbelly, she won’t hold it against me. Boy Scout might have been my salvation once, but Elle is the light of hope and true unconditional love I never saw coming.
“Please,” I croak, feeling as if my very heart is about to leap out of my throat.
“Saint,” she whispers insistently. “Look at me.”
It’s only when she says these words that I realize I had my lids shut tight. Slowly I open my eyes and hiss at her touch when she begins to run the pad of her finger gently over my lower lip. I swallow dryly, becoming fully enraptured by the gold flecks in her eyes, my heart running a sprint within my rib cage. With my eyes fixed on her mouth, my palm finds its way to the nape of her neck, bringing our temples together.
“I don’t have to think,” she continues on, her voice the sweetest song I’ve ever heard.
“You don’t?”
She shakes her head and runs her nose against the length of mine.
“I pick you.”
Chapter 14
Elle
Saint’s supple lips feel like heaven on mine. The way he tugs at my bottom lip, ever so seductively, has me parting my lips for him so he can invade my mouth with his wicked tongue. My toes curl from the feel of the cool steel of his tongue ring. It teases me with images of other places on my body that he can taunt me with the damn thing. My fingers white-knuckle his school blazer, bringing his body flush against mine. My heartbeat accelerates when I feel the effect I’m having on him with just one kiss. The hard bulge in his slacks presses against my belly, reminding me how it felt to have him inside me. When he moans into my mouth, I’m positive he must be thinking the same thing I am, and I’m not the least surprised when his kiss turns even more desperate, especially since I feel that aching need, too.
Kissing Saint is one of the sexiest experiences of my life. One that I haven’t been able to stop initiating since he asked me to be his last week at the beach. I still get delicious chills every time I lie in my bed and remember that snowy day.
