by Sierra Hill
With where things stand between me and Mica right now, this very event could be a catalyst and she could easily turn away from me just to please her family.
Because they were far from pleased when they learned about my presence at the lake with her today.
When Mica’s sister, Therese, and her mom came flying into the ER, the hostility on their faces was palpable. I’m not sure if it was aimed at me personally, but I know for certain they were not happy I was there with Mica and the kids. They seemed to instinctively know what a bad influence I am on their sweet Micaela.
“It’s up to you, Lance. I don’t see any harm in telling the reporters what happened from your perspective. If you don’t give them anything, they’re likely to dig up something else which could hurt you and your friend.” I don’t like the way she says that word. Like Mica being my friend is a horrible transgression on my part.
“Give them a statement only if you want to, but I think it would be great publicity for you going into this school year. The world needs good news about their sports idols.”
I scoff, my shoulders drooping. I was hoping she’d tell me no.
“Okay. Thanks Jackie.”
We hang up and I walk back in through the automatic doors as if I’m about to face a firing squad. And in a way, I am. But when I step inside, the cold air-conditioned air slapping me in the face, all I see is Mica, standing there looking angelic and perfect.
Her arms wrap around her middle, her eyes searching the room for me with uncertainty. As if she assumes I won’t be there. That I’ll have left her and gone home.
When our gazes finally lock, relief floods her face and she rushes toward me, arms thrown wide open. I catch her in my embrace, lifting her off her feet as she wraps her hands behind my neck and holds on to me for dear life. Her tiny, lithe body shakes in all the emotion of the day’s events. I just hold her and allow her to let it all go.
And no matter how culpable I am for what happened today to little Alvie, I know I’m meant to be here with Mica. I want to be the man she relies on that holds her up when she needs me and supports her through everything. The guy she turns to when she wants to be loved and cherished.
I want to be that guy for her. And it feels like she may have let down her guard and finally allowed me in.
I just hope I don’t fuck it up from here.
Chapter 10
Mica
The day’s events are a blur and have left me bone-tired. All I see is water, sand and the noise of beeping machines fill my head with a chaotic symphony.
And all I hear are the cries of my sister and mother.
They’re obviously grateful that Alvaro is alive and breathing and that the doctor’s diagnosis is he’s suffered no brain damage or any other long-term health risks. That’s all good news, but it doesn’t wipe away their anger over it happening. Or shift the blame from me because it occurred while he was under my supervision. And the topping on the cake is that they had to receive the call from Lance, a guy I’ve never mentioned before and they weren’t aware was there with us.
My words are shaky as they slip from my lips. “You saved him, Lance. He could’ve died.”
“No, no, no. Absolutely not. Don’t you do that to yourself,” he says in a commanding tone.
He drops me to my feet, reaches for my hand and ushers me out the automatic doors. He keeps going until we’re on the opposite end of the hospital around the corner out of sight next to the parking garage.
When we finally stop, he bends his head toward me and cups my face in his overly large hands. They’re warm against my cheeks that are now cold – from both the freezing air conditioning inside and the blood that drained hours ago from shock.
“Micaela, you listen to me. Alvie is fine. I know you blame yourself. It was a terrible accident that could’ve happened to anyone. To your mom. To your sister. Your brother. It happened, Mica, but you’re not to blame. If anything, blame me. I was the one that distracted you. I pulled your focus away. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”
The full force of his words and his embrace nearly knock me off my feet, but I regain my balance and stability as he hugs me tightly to his chest, grounding me with the weight of him. The top of my head barely reaches underneath his chin, as he places a chaste, and reassuring kiss to the top of my hair.
“You were so brave and heroic, mi Principe Azul.”
When I pull back, his eyes are filled with so many emotions I get lost in their beauty. The normally gray-blue is now a deep, haunting mass of dark silver.
“I’m no Prince Charming, Mica. Far from it,” his guttural tone serious and pained.
But I smile regardless, but he understood what I called him in Spanish. It makes me happy to know he did study and learn and take my help seriously. Although it also strips me bare because I can no longer hide behind my native language that once was a mystery to him. That barrier I’d used in the past to say what I really felt without him knowing was used to protect me and my heart.
The way he stares at me right now flays me wide open and I can’t resist him any longer. I don’t want to. He’s given me everything. Proven his loyalty and commitment to our friendship.
As if he senses the wall has just disintegrated between us, Lance leans in, the height disparity no longer an obstacle as I join him halfway on my tiptoes. My hair had been in a ponytail at the beach has now come loose, falling over my shoulders.
Gently, he slips his fingers through the strands and lets out a groan – tender and tortured.
“I need to kiss you now, Mica. You should stop me.”
It’s a warning. Signaling danger ahead. But I don’t listen. My heart won’t take heed.
Plain and simple, I don’t want to anymore. I’ve pushed and pushed and pushed him away – for so many reasons – for so long now, but they don’t matter now. The magnets that unite us together are too strong to be resisted. There’s an electricity thrumming through my blood igniting the burn in my belly and turning me into a pliant, needy mujer morena. A dark, skinned woman who has fallen for her light-skinned Prince.
“Don’t stop,” I plead. “I don’t want you to stop.”
With one hand gripping the back of my neck and the other on my hip, Lance pulls me into his body. We’re connected – flesh-to-flesh, soul-to-soul. The solid heat and hard muscle of his chest and torso send vibrations down to my toes. I push up further on my tiptoes, angling my head, my fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt. I need him with a ferociousness I’ve never felt before. Oxygen, water, Lance.
As I finally pull him down the remaining inch to meet me, our lips meet and lock together for the first time in over a month.
Weeks and months of frustration and attraction and a year of this back-and-forth has left us both starving for one another. His kiss is hungry and so is mine as we devour one another’s tastes and scents. His tongue is wet and the inside of his mouth so warm and inviting as I open for him to take what he wants. To plunder me. Conquer me.
I’m restless for everything he has to offer and all I can think about is touching him. My hand burrows underneath his shirt, palming the hard, smooth skin of his chest. Using the blunt edges of my nails, I run them down, scoring every inch and magnificent plane of his abdomen. He makes low, pleasured sounds as his erection comes to life between us, pressing into my belly.
Completely forgetting where we are or who might be witnessing this erotic homecoming of sorts, I grunt greedily and begin to climb this mountain of a man, wrapping myself around him, hooking my ankles around his waist and hoisting myself up into his awaiting arms.
I should be ashamed of myself for acting so wanton or making a spectacle of myself like this outside in public in broad daylight. But I’m not because I’m lost in Lance. He makes me crazy with need.
He grunts into my mouth, his hands palming my ass to push me into body. My panties flood with hot need and I grind mindlessly against him, my mouth starving for every part I can gain access to. I slide one hand undern
eath the back of his shirt, feeling the notches of his spine and the ripple of his back muscles. He’s a work of art – of stone and concrete – that’s all marble and smooth.
Need coils low in my belly and I’m so desperate for him that I claw and clutch to him as if he’s life support. His tongue sweeps inside my mouth and his kiss claims me. I rock my hips against him seeking friction as he grunts, his kisses turning hard and punishing.
And I love it. I want it all. All of him. Every kiss, every touch, every secret hidden within him.
One minute I’m being sucked into his warmth and the next I’m bereft and cold when he pulls back suddenly, stopping the currents of lust zipping through my body.
“Wha-?” I ask, but instead of an answer, I hear a very disgruntled and disappointed sigh.
My eyes go wide as I look from Lance to the person standing a few feet behind us. Glancing over my shoulder to see my mother, her head bowed in disapproval, and her hand making the sign of the cross.
“Querido santo padre, please forgive my sinful daughter for being so easily swayed by el diablo into behaving in such a disgraceful manner,” she prays in Spanish and I nearly laugh at how ridiculously sincere she seems.
It makes me wonder if she uses the term the devil to mean the actual entity or Lance.
Lance coughs with embarrassment and he drops me to the ground, as I adjust my shorts to ensure my butt cheeks aren’t exposed. God, what we must have looked like in the heat of the moment. No wonder my mother is in contemplative prayer.
My cheeks bloom red with heat and embarrassment and I return my gaze up at Lance with a pleading look.
“You should probably go. I’m sorry,” I begin but he waves me off.
“It’s my bad. I shouldn’t have…”
I can tell he feels awful and that’s the last thing I want him to leave here with.
I reach to touch his wrist, looking for that connection we’d just had and lost so abruptly.
“Can I still come over later to study as planned?”
A slow smile returns to his face, as if he’s received an unexpected gift. His hand reaches out to touch my shoulder, like he wants to pull me in for a hug, but then he thinks better of it and drops it to my arm, giving me a gentle squeeze.
“Of course, you can. I was hoping. Just text me on your way over. And take all the time you need here, okay?”
He dots my nose with a sweet kiss and then straightens to his full, magnificent height, ready to walk toward his truck parked in the lot.
As he passes my mother, his eyes downcast, he simply says, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reyes. For everything.”
It makes me so angry when I see the expression on my mother’s face that I almost don’t want to speak to her. Her judgement of Lance and me is without merit or just cause. The glare in her eyes demonstrates exactly how she feels about Lance.
“You know nothing about him, madre. He is a good man. He was the one who took action to save Alvaro today. But you don’t see that, do you?”
She clutches her purse with both hands, disappointment coloring her face. “What I see, mija, is a young woman who is being deceived by a guapo guero who will never be good enough for her. He is not for you, querida. Lo siento.”
She says she’s sorry, but that’s not what’s written in her expression. She’s just sorry because she knows I’ve fallen for Lance. That I’m already in so deep I don’t know how I’ll ever find my way back to reality. I know she wants the best for me. But what she doesn’t understand is that Lance is that man. He makes me happy and lights something in me that was dark before.
She’s so wrong about him, but there’s no arguing with her. She believes he’s not good enough – but really what she means is that we don’t fit into each other’s worlds. I get that, because I feel it too. I won’t ever fit into his day-to-day life. I’m not a blonde-haired, blue-eyed cheerleader. To be seen with him, there’s bound to be looks and stares that will eventually make us a target for cruel gossip. People will slander him. They’ll speak ill of me. I just know it. That’s the unfortunate business of our lives.
But what can I do about it?
There’s no way in the world I will ever find love with Alberto Silva. And the truth of the matter is that regardless of how hard I tried to keep a safe distance from Lance Britton, my heart found a way to lose itself in him already.
And it’ll be near impossible to ever get it back.
“Mamá, I’m sorry you disapprove. I wish I could turn off my feelings for Lance, but they are there. Strong and relentless. There is nothing I can do except ask you to accept it.”
I don’t ever want to find myself in a position where I have to choose my family over a man. But if push comes to shove, and they are so adamant on refusing their blessing of my relationship status with Lance, then I’ll have no other option. I just hope it never comes to that. It would break my heart.
As would not pursuing this attraction with Lance.
And tonight, I hope to find out exactly how far that attraction will go.
Chapter 11
Lance
The waiting and countdown of her arrival was nerve wracking. I’ve never claimed to be a patient man.
I have literally been a shaking, twitching ball of need since the moment our lips touch out in that scorching hot parking lot a few hours earlier. It was only scorching because of the intensity of our own heat we made together.
Now I’ve spent nearly every second over the last two hours debating whether Mica will actually show up tonight. Although we’ve been meeting every Sunday night at my place for the last month for dinner and studying, I’m honestly uncertain whether she’ll come tonight.
Whether her mother will persuade her from being with me. I’m telling you, the look of disdain on her mother’s face when I left the hospital was like a slap across my cheek. I’ve been worried sick that she’d talk Mica out of seeing me. The way her mother glared at me, like I was a piece of shit beneath her shoes, is reminiscent of the same look my dad has given me for years.
And while I’m used to it from him, it hurt more than it should seeing it from someone else. Especially someone I don’t know and whose daughter I’m in love with.
Shit, scratch that. I’m not in love. I don’t know how to love. But I care for Mica more than any other girl I’ve ever been with. She is bright and beautiful, smart and sexy, and everything I could ever want. The problem is, her mother might be right. She knows it and I know it. I’m not worthy of her daughter.
I really am el diablo when it comes to Micaela, the sweetest angel to ever walk this earth.
But somehow, I’ve managed to hide that glaringly obvious fact from Mica all this time. For some unknown reason, she thinks I’m her Prince Charming who walks on water for saving her nephew. But she wouldn’t think that if she ever found out I caused my brother’s death. That I’m the reason he died. Or that it was my actions that wound up killing my mother in the end.
So, I will do whatever it is to prevent her from ever finding out the truth. I have to preserve that sweet faith she has in me, no matter what the cost or how damaging it could be to me in the future – she can’t ever learn the truth.
The picture of my younger brother that I hold in my hand shakes from my trembling nerves. It was Landon’s third grade school photo. He was ten years old that year. The last school picture he’d ever had taken.
It was that winter when he died. When my annoyance and neglect killed him.
I return the picture to its place on my nightstand and head back out into the kitchen, where I grab my beer and take another drink. Finishing off the cold liquid, I toss the empty bottle into the recycle bin and it lands with a loud crack against the other six or so bottles I’ve had before it. Enough to make me feel a warm glow through my body, but not enough yet to take the edge off or help me forget.
The sound reverberates off the painted walls, where the only other sound is silence. My two new roommates, also ball players, won’t move in until the fa
ll, so until then, I live alone. Which is both a blessing and a curse. It leaves me with my own space to do whatever I want, whenever I want, but I’m not very good with alone time.
It gives me too much time to be wallowed in my thoughts and the memories of happier times.
Opening the fridge, I grab another beer, twisting off the cap with a quick snap and throwing it in the garbage. Fuck my thoughts and my dead brother and all the shit I can never do anything about.
Finishing the beer in four big gulps, I decide to start the dinner I promised Mica I’d make for her. She laughed at me the first time I had her over for dinner. I’d attempted spaghetti, but it ended up in gluey-clumps of plastic-y pasta, which she ate between fits of hysterics.
So now I don’t even bother with anything fancy or anything that requires a pot of boiling water. It’s either frozen pizza or frozen burritos or take-out from Chin’s down the street.
Tonight, it’s pizza. I turn on the oven and let it warm up while I sit down and finish my beer. It’s going on six p.m. and she said she’d try to be here by seven. My head is beginning to feel the effects of the booze and I’m actually a little tired from the day’s events. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to plop the pizza in and lay down for a little while I wait, I finish off my beer, set the timer and head to the couch.
Closing my eyes, the pull of sleep is too much for me to resist, and I let unconsciousness take me.
~~~
“Throw it here, Lance! I’m open.”
My little brother, Landon, runs down the court, skirting around the other kids we’re playing ball with, but I ignore him. I have the ball and I’m going to take it to the basket myself. I’m a fricking selfish prick.
My friend Curtis is defending me in our three-on-three game at the park across the street from our house. It’s the start of summer and all we do from sun-up to dusk is play basketball. It’s what we live and breathe. Plus, it gets us out of the house and away from my arguing parents.
