by Kennedy Ryan
“If my Uncle Javier gets drunk,” Banner says. “Don’t talk to him. Ignore him. He says crazy stuff when he’s drunk.”
“Don’t we all?”
I get out and so does she.
“And you already know not to engage with Mama.” She checks the hair bundled at the back of her head in a loose knot. “I really thought she would have come around by now.”
Mama Morales has proved harder to win over than the public, whose perception of Banner as Zo’s faithful Penelope was hard to banish but not as awkward as we anticipated. Banner definitely got props for taking care of Zo the way she did even when they weren’t romantically linked. As much as I want to tattoo my name on her face so everyone knows, I do appreciate that it’s best to take a more measured approach. When Banner left Bagley and came to Elevation, many assumed our relationship naturally developed there.
“Are you thinking about what Mama said last time?” Banner asks. “Is that why you’re so quiet?”
“What’d she say last time?” I ask with a frown.
“Oh.” She bites her lip. “Nothing. Never mind.”
I roll my eyes and walk around to the passenger side of the car.
“You don’t have to pretend your mother likes me.” I loop my arms behind her lower back. “She doesn’t pretend.”
Banner reaches up to adjust my tie unnecessarily because my tie is always on point. She just needs something to do with her hands. If we didn’t have to attend this reception, I’d give her something to do with her hands. Her mouth, too.
“But I want her to like you,” she says with the slightest pout.
I bend and drop a kiss on her lips and on my freckles.
“Do you like me?” I ask by her ear.
“I more than like you.” She turns her head to kiss my lips quickly. Too quickly for my taste. “I love you.”
“Then you’ll believe me when I say no one else’s opinion really matters, not even your mother’s.”
She nods, but a frown dents between her brows. I smooth it away with my thumb.
“I mean it, Ban. It would be great if your mom liked me the way she loves Zo, but we both know that won’t happen anytime soon.”
“Oh, also.” The frown is back. “Speaking of Zo . . .”
“Do we have to?”
“Jared, stop. He may be feeling well enough to come today.” She glances up at me through long lashes.
“Don’t even bother,” I tell her. “That batting eyelash trick doesn’t work on me.”
“I’m well aware that you are immune to my charms,” she says with a laugh, pulling out of my arms to walk ahead of me.
Her ass, though. That little sway of her rounded hips seduces me every time. The way that dress molds to the curve of her—
“Damn! You’re doing it!” I say, realizing the lashes don’t get me, but I fall for that ass every time.
She’s looking over her shoulder watching me watch her ass, mischief in her grin. I love that the woman who once asked if her ass was square feels confident enough in my love for her body exactly as she is to use that ass against me.
“You’re so easy, Foster, and you think you’re so hard.” She laughs and loops her arm through mine. “Now, like I was saying about Zo, I need you to be nice.”
I hate it when people need me to be nice because that means they know there’s a strong possibility someone will and could set me off. After the way Zo kept us apart for months and then pulled her onstage in front of the whole world with all that te amo shit, knowing about us . . .
“Maybe we’ll just avoid each other,” I offer. “There’s a lot of people here.”
“No, I need you to try.” She stops on the sidewalk leading up to the venue, her expression sobering. “You know what he means to me, and he knows what you mean to me. I want you both, at some point, to be okay with . . . each other.”
“I’ll try.” My voice is curt. I don’t mean to be, but just her saying “what he means to me” sets my teeth on edge.
“Thank you.” She huddles in closer to my side. “This is gonna be fun. It’s a really big deal. I remember my quinceañera. Such a special day for a girl.”
“That ceremony at the church was cool.”
“Yes, and now the real fun begins,” she says. “Lots of drinking. Good food. A delicious cake. Anna will have the first dance with my papa.”
“Sounds more like a wedding than a sweet . . . fifteen party.”
“It is a lot like a wedding.” She shoots me a knowing grin. “But it’s not, so don’t worry. I know how nervous weddings make single guys.”
“Weddings don’t make me nervous.” I capture her hand and bring it to my lips just as we reach the entrance. “And I’m not single.”
We share a long look, half questions, half unspoken answers, before her sister, Camilla, walks up to greet us.
“Everything is beautiful, Bannini,” Camilla says, accompanying us to the foyer. She drops her eyes to the floor and then looks at Banner directly. “Thank you for this place. Anna feels like a princess here.”
“She is a princess,” Banner replies, hugging her sister. “We’ll make sure she has all the things we never had and learns all the things we did.”
“Yeah. Still.” She gestures to the quaint villa where Anna’s reception is being held. “You didn’t have to.”
“Somos familia,” Banner says, kissing her cheek.
“And thank you for bringing this one,” Camilla says, turning a frankly admiring look my way. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that he is something else.”
“Look, Milla,” Banner says with a stiff smile. “You have one more time to look at my boyfriend like that. ¿Entiendes?”
Camilla and I glance at each other for a few seconds before her laughter sputters past her lips. She pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and hands it over to me.
“You win.” She shakes her head and grins. “Jared called it.”
“Wait.” Banner swings disbelieving eyes between her sister and me. “You set me up?”
She turns narrowed eyes on me.
“You set me up?”
“Just a friendly wager to see how jealous you’d get,” I admit, pocketing the twenty. “It’s pretty bad.”
“And I suppose that twenty is for Anna’s stash, yes?” Banner asks with arms akimbo.
“Of course,” I mumble. “Most of it.”
The three of us laugh at my joke and I hand the twenty back. We make our way over to the table where there is more food than I have ever seen. A catered spread of tacos, enchiladas, barbacoa, salsa, guac, and so many dishes I’ve never seen but can’t wait to taste. I grab a couple of the biscohos, a type of wedding cookie, and even spot some buñuelos like the ones Banner made for me in St. John.
As we eat, I absorb this new experience and relish seeing Banner with her family. She is louder and her hands are in constant motion, painting pictures in the air while she speaks with her cousins and aunts and childhood friends, more expressive than in the settings where I’ve seen her before. I love seeing this side of her that would only unfold here, with them. I can pick out a few words here and there when they lapse into a torrent of Spanish, but mostly I just enjoy the sound of their voices and the warmth of all the laugher interspersed with the lively music of the mariachi band. We have a good time when our family gets together, but this is chaos, and I’m glad I get to be a part of it.
A blonde woman with a clipboard and glasses dangling at the tip of her nose walks up as we’re finishing our food.
“Ms. Morales, I had a question about the contract,” she says. “And wanted to ask you about the setup for the first dance.”
“Oh, of course.” Banner takes in the brightly colored palette of dresses and food, her rambunctious uncles laughing and drinking in one corner, her aunts boisterous and cackling in another, before turning her attention back to me. “You’ll be okay for a few minutes?”
“I’m fine.” I shake my glass. “I have punch and I’m pretty sure
it’s spiked.”
She nods and blows out a breathy laugh before following the coordinator.
I don’t know many, and the few who know who I am to Banner aren’t around right now. I refill my punch and am perfectly content to hold up a wall and people watch, especially with so many new foods and traditions taking place around me. Anna is surrounded by the fourteen girls attending her today, or damas as Banner called them. They’re giggling and adjusting her tiara and formal dress. Their dresses are a rainbow of colors and a flurry of satin and chiffon. Banner wants at least four kids? What if they’re all girls? I think of Sarai and her billion questions and constant little diva demands. God, what if they’re as much work as my niece?
I’m still shuddering at that thought, when Mama Morales invades my corner. We assess one another for a few silent seconds. We didn’t have the most auspicious beginning, with me almost banging her daughter in the handicapped stall.
“Hola, Senora Morales,” I venture when the quiet turns awkward.
“You don’t speak Spanish,” she replies, not bothering to answer in her native tongue to see for sure.
“I speak enough to know you called Banner a whore.” That still grates and she doesn’t like me? I reserve judgment until she makes that right. Even though Banner shook it off, I know her mother’s persistent disapproval bothers her.
“Ha! That’s some big cojones you got there.” The dark arch of brows Banner inherited elevates, and there’s a twitch of the lips that look just like hers, too. “You speak enough Spanish to know what that means, gringo?”
The tense line of my mouth relaxes because she is so much like Banner, I have to like her just a little bit.
“You hurt Banner when you said that,” I say, testing the temporary cease-fire between us.
“And you don’t like seeing my daughter hurt?”
“No, I don’t,” I answer seriously, no smile in sight. “Not even by the people I know love her.”
She searches my face for a moment before speaking again. “Do you have any idea how exceptional Banner is?”
She continues before I can answer.
“They said to me, ‘Mrs. Morales, Banner is Mensa.’” She allows a glimmer of humor in her dark eyes. “I thought they were insulting my daughter. Mensa means stupid girl in Spanish.”
The slightest smile tilts one side of my mouth as I appreciate the irony.
“She was so different, so . . .” A helpless shrug lifts her shoulders. “I wasn’t prepared for her.”
“Neither was I,” I agree wryly.
“The books she read, the languages she learned, the dreams she had, I couldn’t teach her those things.” The softened line of her lips cements. “But I did teach her honesty, loyalty, character. I taught her not to cheat.”
The humor we’d briefly shared dissolves, leaving the warm, early evening air tense. I don’t offer excuses or explanations because I don’t owe anyone those. I take responsibility for my actions, and nothing she will say can make me regret that her daughter is mine.
“She’s a good girl,” Mrs. Morales says softly.
“I know that. If you’re working up to telling me I don’t deserve her, don’t waste your time. I already know that, too.”
“Zo is a good man.” Her dark eyes never waver from my face, inspecting, assessing. “Are you a good man?”
I pause, examining her question and my response before answering.
“I’m good to your daughter. I would never hurt her and would kill anyone who tried.”
That bold truth sits between the two of us for a few moments before she nods.
“Well, Banner has always known her own mind,” she says. “And her mind is set on you.”
Another smile twitches the corners of her mouth.
“I think she has set her heart on you, too.”
“It’s mutual,” I assure her.
Her eyes don’t leave my face, narrowing until she nods and seems satisfied by something she sees.
“Yes, well my grandchildren will speak Spanish,” she says brusquely. “And if you don’t want us talking about you in your face, you will learn it and quickly.”
“Sí,” I reply with a smile I don’t try to hold back.
“So you’re saying you do want to marry Banner, then?” she demands, dispelling the brief ease and crossing her arms over her chest exactly the way Banner does when she’s reading me my rights.
“Uh . . .” This is taking a turn.
“What? You want to have the cow and the milk but not pay the farmer, eh? You want my grandchildren born out of wedlock?”
“No, you see I was—”
“You have moved in, yes?” she asks, shifting her hands to the hips. “To my daughter’s house? You live with her? You sleep with her every night?”
“Well, yeah, but we—”
“Then children will follow.”
With her being such a devout Catholic, I’m not sure which might be more offensive. The fact that we have sex outside of marriage or that we use birth control. I wish Banner was here to answer these questions because I could screw this all up even worse. Fortunately, someone, a cousin if I recall correctly, calls for Mrs. Morales. With one searing look from my head to my toes, she leaves as abruptly as she came.
Well, that went well. I think. Maybe?
I could use some air after that. I step out onto the terrace and am thrilled to find it empty. The thrill is short-lived when I hear footsteps approaching. The last person I want to see is the only other person out here.
“Zo,” I greet him evenly. “Good to see you.”
His full-bodied laughter fits better now that he’s getting some of his bulk back. His body has responded well to the stem cell replacement, though he is nowhere ready for the court. You’d never know that by the stories Banner has planted. She has Sutton Lowell over a barrel with all the goodwill for Zo in the league. If they even hinted they were cutting him from the Titans, there would be public outcry. If he recovers enough to work out for them, and if he proves he can still perform, his spot still waits.
“I thought you were more honest than that, Foster,” he says with a microscopic smile.
“It is good seeing you. Of course, I’m glad you’re doing so well.”
“It has been a lot, and Banner has been invaluable.” He pauses. “Thank you for not making her choose or keeping her away from me.”
“You mean the way you kept her away from me?” I can’t resist asking.
That tiny quirk of his lips come again. “I deserved that.”
Yeah, you did.
“I was desperate to keep her,” he says simply, looking me in the eyes. “I’m sure you can relate, can understand. I really appreciate you allowing her to help me these last few months.”
“Allow?” I scoff. “You know I couldn’t stop Banner doing what Banner wants to do if I tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. I wouldn’t want to stop her. Banner is completely mine and wholly her own. I love that about her.”
He nods, a smile of understanding tugging the corners of his mouth. We don’t speak for a few minutes, lost in our private thoughts. Lately, I’ve been tossing something around in my head that he may be the only person who can appreciate.
“Have you ever heard of multiple discovery?” I ask, leaning against the terrace wall.
“Can’t say that I have,” Zo replies, frowning.
“It’s usually used for scientists or inventors. The phenomenon of two people discovering something in different places at essentially the same time,” I say. “You’d be surprised how often it happens. Calculus, oxygen, the blast furnace . . . all multiple discoveries. Even Darwin’s Theory of Evolution was postulated at the same time by someone else.”
Zo lifts his brows, silently asking what my nerd talk has to do with the price of tacos in Mexico.
“I think that’s what happened to us,” I continue. “We both met Banner at the same time in her life, and we saw something in her no one else saw yet. We made a spectacular d
iscovery, and the rest of the world didn’t recognize it. Couldn’t see it when we could. It’s like we shared a secret, the two of us.”
“I get that,” he says quietly, lifting a speculative gaze to mine. “And how is it resolved? When two discover something at the same time?”
I shrug, shove my hands into the pocket of my pants.
“It becomes a matter of who tells the secret first,” I explain. “A rush to claim.”
“So are you saying if I had met Banner first, she would have chosen me?” Dark humor fills his eyes.
“No, I don’t think so,” I answer. “Banner is my opposite, but she’s my match.”
My equinox.
“The only way Banner would have chosen you,” I tell him frankly, honestly, “is if she’d never met me.”
We are magnets who distracted ourselves with career, family, other people for a decade, but ultimately couldn’t resist the pull of one another.
“And you? You would have chosen someone else?” he asks, but I think he already knows the answer.
“Probably not,” I answer quietly. “You’ll find someone else, Zo. I know you will, but Banner’s kinda my one shot.”
He nods, maybe starting to understand why I fought so hard for her. Why I bulldozed him and anything in my path. I’m not an easy man to love, and finding someone I can love for the rest of my life would be nearly impossible. Banner is my miracle. Maybe he gets that and can forgive me one day for doing whatever it took to have her.
The woman in question strides out to the terrace, her confident gait briefly broken when she sees the two of us together. She doesn’t voice the question written all over her face, but she’s probably discretely checking for blood.
“Zo, you’re supposed to wear this.” She holds up a facial mask. “A lot of good it’s doing by the punch bowl when you’re out here. I’m also not sure you should be out here. Sun’s going down, and there’s a little bit of a chill. Maybe you should—”
