Last Round (Double Play Series Book 6)

by Nicole Rodrigues

  He walks past me to the kitchen, and I shake my head, heading to my bedroom to change into a t-shirt and leggings and forget all this tension that suddenly seems to be suffocating us.

  Chapter 5

  Miguel

  Alessandra tucks Peter into bed and I walk into the living room, popping a beer open and throwing two logs into the fireplace. I arrange them, put a startup cube on the bottom and watch the flame slowly start to grow.

  It's symbolic really, it starts as nothing, just two logs side by side. Then the flame starts, small but still hot enough to burn you. It grows, faster, higher and hotter until you can't control it. The only way to do that is to put it out or just let it burn out on its own.

  As if my brain needed a reminder, Alessandra walks into the living room and sits on the couch across from me. Our flame will never get this uncontrollable, I won't let it even start.

  “Do you mind if I sit here for a little? I'm not really tired enough for bed yet,” she says softly, sipping her tea.

  “Not at all.”

  We sit in silence, watching the flame and I try and forget how she felt in my arms as we danced to a song with lyrics that sucker punched me.

  She puts that beat in my chest

  pounds like a drum

  shakes me like thunder

  Taking my hand pulling me up

  when I'm going under

  My dreams come alive

  when I wake up and look in her eyes

  She brings me back to life.

  Shit. Why did I play that song, why am I dancing with her? Why am I playing house with her when I can never make that a reality?

  She clears her throat and I shake myself out of my own head.

  “So, uh...they didn't have any new info at the station today, but they will soon, I'm sure.”

  “I trust that they will,” she says smiling. “What exactly do you do for the precinct? I always just thought you ran the gym up until the other day.”

  “I do, I like runnin’ the gym a lot more to be honest, but I uhh...do solo things. I work undercover sometimes, mainly narcotics.”

  Her eyes widen but she masks it. Being in my line of work for all these years, I can read people like a book.

  “You've always done that?”

  “No. I started on highway patrol when we went out in San Diego.”

  “You and Normani?”

  “Yeah. We went to California, she went to college, I started but then went to the academy instead.”

  “What brought you guys back to Louisiana after?”

  “Wanted to come back home. California was just an...escape I guess.”

  “From your father?””

  I nod. “He was a terrible man. Killed, sold drugs, stole and when I found him, Normani was bein’ forced to work for him. She was only thirteen, just a kid and he robbed all that from her. I got sucked into the life too, but we didn't really have any other choice. He would have killed her if I backed out and vice versa. We were basically stuck in this cycle, until...Mani’s mom uh…” I clear my throat before continuing.

  “He paralyzed her, then a year later she died. He gave her something, she ended up with an infection they couldn't stop, and Mani spilled everything. They all ended up in jail, but it wasn't over. He found us in Cali, made us finish a bunch of jobs, bad shit. They ended up findin' us here, got to Dev and Mani. He ended up shot, she has a wicked scar on her leg from gettin’ stabbed. He's dead now, but...it's been a rough few years.”

  “Oh my God, that's so terrible.”

  Her voice is sympathetic, like she understands those hardships firsthand. My fist clenches next to me, hoping to God that's not true.

  “It is. Mani grew into such a strong woman despite it all, though. You remind me of her.”

  She arches an eyebrow at me and smirks.

  “That...kind of sounded weird. I don't mean I look at you like a sister, I just...I have to learn to not put my foot in my mouth, don't I?”

  She laughs and nods.

  “That would probably save you a lot of headaches, yes.”

  I smile too, shaking my head.

  “So how did you go from highway patrol to solo guy?”

  “I wasn't always. I became a detective first, when we moved back here.”

  “What happened?”

  “Somethin’ I'd rather not talk about,” I say my tone dismissive.

  “Understood,” she says back.

  We're silent again, my stubborn need to make her feel better, make things right, crawling its way to the surface.

  “I'm sorry. It's just things I'd rather not think about. I didn't mean to snap at you,” I say turning to her.

  “Miguel, it's not a big deal. I get wanting to keep some things to yourself, believe me. You've been nothing but hospitable and I really appreciate everything you've done for me. I could still be in Florida, living that terrible life and...just thank you.”

  I study her, looking for an answer to what she just cut herself off from saying.

  “I'd rather not talk about it either,” she says reading my mind.

  “Of course.”

  Instead of keeping my mouth shut and stay here, sitting on this couch, far away from her like I should, I do the worst possible thing I could. I walk over, taking a seat next to her on the couch and put my arm around the back.

  “If you ever do wanna talk about it though, I'm here and I don't judge. At all.”

  She nods, giving me a small smile.

  “Thank you. Same goes for you too,” she says bumping my shoulder.

  “So, my buddy from the precinct has a son Peter's age. Was thinkin’ of maybe havin’ them over this weekend to hangout? His wife is pretty cool. What do you think?”

  “Double parent date?” she asks arching an eyebrow.

  “I guess you could call it that.”

  “Sure, that sounds great. It would be nice to have adult friends with a kid Peter's age.”

  “Rumor has it my sister and Devin are adoptin' a little boy from Second Chances which would be cool too.”

  “That's amazing! Has she always wanted to do that? That's definitely something I would want to do one day. It's a shame how many kids just get passed through the system without a good home or foundation. It's so important for them to have a good role model,” she says with conviction in her voice.

  “I agree and yeah. She was actually put into Second Chances when her mother died and our father went to jail. They wouldn't let us live together since I was just a kid myself. I bounced around on friends’ couches, never had a stable home and as much as we had each other’s backs, that wasn't a life for her.”

  “Wow. I can't even imagine.”

  “We got through it. I mean look at her now. Havin’ a baby, almost married, adoptin’, workin’ her ass off at Double Play. Where you come from don't matter, it's where you go. What you do with your life and how you get back on your feet.”

  “Hitting rock bottom is my favorite part. I thrive on pulling myself up from the ground,” she whispers.

  “I saw that...above your bed. I wasn't snoopin’, I just forgot I left somethin’ for the gym in that closet,” I say quickly.

  “It's okay,” she laughs. “But yeah, I saw that quote on the side of the Double Play building. Someone must have spray painted it on there and I liked it. Typed it up and printed it out, a reminder, ya know?”

  “Only way to go is up, right?” I say with a smile. “Ya know what, let's go out tomorrow night to celebrate. You started a new job, that deserves to be acknowledged.”

  I seem to catch her off guard because she blinks twice and stares at me.

  “I...um…”

  “We don't have to if you don't want,” I say eyeing her.

  “That's really sweet of you, Miguel. Thank you. “

  I get up from the couch with a nod, and she remains sitting, her expression still shocked.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes, yes I...that was just really nice of you to suggest.”<
br />
  Her smile is sad, and I see her eyes watering a little.

  “It's a milestone, it should be celebrated.”

  She silently nods and I put my hand out for her

  “I'm gonna hit the sheets. Want me to keep the fire burnin’ for you?”

  She takes my hand and gets to her feet, the distance between us minimal. Only a few inches and our lips would be touching. Don't do it, Miguel.

  “No, you can put it out. I'm gonna head to bed too,” she whispers.

  I look down at her lips and close my eyes nodding. Walk away, Miguel.

  “Goodnight, Aless.”

  “Night Miguel.”

  Alessandra

  “Jameson, table for 3,” Miguel says to the hostess as he holds Peter in his arms.

  My stomach flips at his words. Jameson party of 3.

  Thinking of us as a family briefly makes my stomach flurry. It feels so normal to be going out to dinner, the three of us, Miguel holding Peter. This should not feel this good this fast. I've been jerked around by men for so long, why can't I keep my wall up around Miguel?

  He looks back at me like he can sense my thoughts and smiles. Dammit. I feel my face flush and break our gaze as we follow the hostess to a table.

  Miguel sits Peter down in a highchair and he immediately starts fussing to get back in Miguel's lap.

  “Baby, Miguel can't eat with you on his lap, you need to sit like a big boy, okay?”

  Peter starts reaching over to Miguel and almost falls off the highchair.

  “I don't mind. Come here bud, let's see what we're gonna chow down on tonight.”

  Miguel takes Peter out of the highchair and puts him on his lap and Peter smiles, laying his head on Miguel's chest. I sit and stare in awe at how natural Miguel looks with Peter on his lap, how quickly Peter has taken to him.

  “Hey y'all, can I start you off with somethin’ to drink?” the waitress asks.

  “I'll just have a water please, what's the big guy havin’?” Miguel asks me.

  “Just a cup of milk with a cap for him if you can and I'll have a water too,” I say smiling.

  “Nonsense,” Miguel says shaking his head. “We're here to celebrate. Have a glass of wine, I'm drivin’ home,” Miguel says smiling at me.

  “I...it's okay…”

  “Go on Aless, relax a little. Have a glass, you deserve it.”

  I smile politely and shake my head.

  “Water is fine.”

  The waiter walks away, and I turn to Miguel.

  “I...would feel weird drinking alone,” I lie.

  “I would have joined you when we got back home,” he says winking.

  My stomach flutters again at his wink and the word “home” flowing from his lips with such ease.

  “It's..it's okay,” I say with a smile.

  Peter slams his hand on the table with excitement making us both jump.

  “What's up buddy?” Miguel asks.

  “Ball! Ball!” he says pointing to the TV at the bar.

  Miguel laughs and puts his hand out for Peter to slap.

  “Good boy! Ball! Did you see that?” he says quickly turning to me. “He remembered what I taught him!”

  I laugh as pride washes over Miguel's face.

  “Could y'all keep it down a little, we’re tryin’ to have a nice, quiet meal,” snaps a woman from the table next to us.

  “Well then y'all probably shouldn't have come to a sports bar. We're allowed to get excited over a milestone, don't get all butt hurt,” Miguel says back.

  The woman gasps and clutches her chest.

  “I've never. The manners of this next generation,” she says shaking her head.

  “The audacity to get excited over this little boy repeatin’ somethin’ I taught him. You're right, no manners,” Miguel says shaking his head.

  “Miguel, let it go, it's fine,” I say softly putting a hand over his forearm.

  “Take the advice of your wife, son,” snaps the woman.

  Oh, dang it, I thought we could get past this witch.

  “Pardon me ma'am, but my husband is right. You guys shouldn't have come to a sports bar looking for quiet.”

  “A yankee? Should have figured,” she says with a look of disgust.

  My mouth drops open as Miguel points a finger at her.

  “Now you listen here, and you listen g-”

  “Is there a problem here?” asks a man with a name tag that reads ‘Manager’.

  “This table is disturbin’ our dinner. Hootin’ and hollerin’ like they're at a ball game!” says the older woman.

  “Ma'am, how about we move your table to the other side of the restaurant. You would have been put in the quieter section had you waited like we suggested,” says the manager giving us an apologetic look.

  She stands, turning up her nose at us as she walks away with the woman she was sharing a meal with.

  “What a bit-bad lady,” Miguel says looking down at Peter.

  I shake my head and laugh.

  “I swear I thought you were gonna smack the sh-poop out of her,” I laugh.

  “I would never hit a woman, but damn if I didn't think about it. How nasty,” Miguel says shaking his head.

  “Damn!” Peter says smiling at Miguel.

  He puts his hand up for a high five and Miguel winces looking over to me.

  “Sorry.”

  “It's better than the other words that slip out of your mouth,” I laugh eyeing him.

  “We're very sorry about that. Dessert is on the house if y'all want,” says the manager coming over to our table.

  “Thank you,” Miguel says smiling.

  We order our meal and make small talk and once our food comes, Miguel convinces Peter to sit back in his highchair. We eat in silence, stealing glances at each other and then Peter starts fussing for Miguel again.

  “Come here bud, I'm finished, let Miguel eat,” I say reaching for him.

  Peter gives Miguel the puppy dog face and Miguel groans shutting his eyes closed tightly.

  “Dangit boy, don't give me those cute little eyes. Oh come here!” he says reaching for Peter.

  I laugh and shake my head.

  “Miguel, you are in trouble.”

  “I know, I know. I'm a softie and he knows it.”

  Peter points to Miguel's fries and then to his mouth.

  “Me eat?” Peter asks.

  “You want some of my fries?”

  Peter nods his head and Miguel looks over to me.

  “That's okay, he's had enough. Buddy, those are Miguel's fries, you had your own.”

  “I don't mind, he's a growin’ boy, right bud? Why don't you dip it in some ketchup,” Miguel says motioning to his plate.

  “Oh no, he doesn't like-”

  Peter shuts me up by dipping his fry in ketchup and putting it right into his mouth.

  “Well, okay then,” I mumble.

  Miguel smiles.

  “It's because I told him. Boys don't listen to their mamas. It ain't fair but that's just the way it is,” he laughs.

  “I don't think I can ever let you go, Mr. Jameson,” I say crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Well good because I'm not goin’ anywhere.”

  His smile knocks me right on my ass and I break his gaze before I do or say something really stupid.

  ----

  Miguel carries a sleeping Peter into the apartment and I follow him down the hall as we tuck him in bed.

  I shut the door behind us, and we walk back towards the living room.

  “You calmed down now, husband?” I ask laughing.

  “Oh hush, that woman deserved it. People that complain about parents or kids deserve a special place in hell. It wasn't like he was danglin’ from the chandelier and I was cheerin’ him on,” Miguel grumbles, grabbing a bottle of wine from the hutch.

  He tilts the bottle to me, and I shake my head, sitting on the couch and tucking my feet under me.

  “Still no wine, huh?” He asks studying m
e.

  “I...need to keep my head on straight around you,” I whisper.