by Ophelia Bell
He holds it out to me, eyes downcast. “I called your father. He’s sending someone named Amon to take care of the cars and Manny.”
It’s as if a switch flips, and that cold sensation floods my insides again. This time it doesn’t commandeer my limbs, but it obliterates whatever desire I have, leaving behind nothing but shame at what I just tried to do.
I take the shampoo and turn away, busying myself with lathering up my hair and avoiding looking at him as he exits the shower.
“Is Papá coming here?” I ask, spitting water and cutting my eyes to the door. Maddox is wrestling with his shoes and jeans, disrobing down to his wet boxers. He leaves his shirt on and wraps a towel around his waist.
“Not if you call him back. I told him all I know—whatever the twins shared. Leo’s still out cold, but the doctor is on his way to check him out. I think your father has questions only you can answer though. Like what the fuck you were doing meeting with a man like Amador in the middle of a goddamn gun deal.”
I freeze and stare at his back. He turns and looks at me over his shoulder, then away again, shaking his head.
“He knew my mother,” I say as if that’s a sufficient excuse. I can’t argue with him though. The meeting was stupid, even Amador said as much before he left. Perhaps Papá was right; we do stupid, reckless things when love is involved. But not even the death of a loved one will stop that recklessness. Better to never let yourself feel it in the first place.
Oddly enough, he nods and sighs, his shoulders drooping as if in defeat. “Fair enough. I’ll get you something to wear.” Then he disappears. He returns a moment later with a clean towel and a stack of clothes and is gone again, leaving me to finish bathing.
When I turn off the water, I still feel raw, my eyes gritty from crying, but I’m calm and resolute. I dry off and find a tiny comb that takes forever to drag through my tangled knots, then I dress in the clothes he left. It’s a pair of cutoff sweatpants and a threadbare Navy T-shirt. The shorts are snug around my wide hips, but the shirt engulfs me, the comfortable cotton shrouding me in his scent.
I brace myself inside the door, as if leaving the sanctuary of this small, steam-filled room that smells like Maddox is akin to being reborn. To what, I can’t imagine. A world where I can’t trust my father, where my best friend might decide to blame me for her lover’s death, where two men I’m inescapably drawn to are waiting just on the other side of the door, one damaged from throwing himself in front of a bullet that had just pierced his brother’s heart.
Whatever damage they’ve endured already is probably nothing to what they would be in for if I let down my guard again like I did with Maddox. I’m apparently toxic to men, even men like Leo and Manny, who are willing to take crazy risks.
Twisting the knob, I pull the door open. My breath catches at the sight on the other side. I have a clear view of Maddox’s bed, where Leo lies unconscious. Maddox is seated on the edge of the bed, head bent low. He’s speaking, but I can’t make out the words, only the tone which sounds like a plea.
I hold my breath and wait, not wanting to interrupt whatever private moment I’ve revealed. Are they that close? If so, I had no idea. Naturally, Leo would have other friends besides his brother and Toni. Besides me. He doesn’t have an overbearing, overprotective father with a habit of damaging and killing the people he gets close to.
But this is deeper than a friendly speech. More like a man at the bedside of his wounded lover, an impression that’s driven home when Maddox lifts a hand and touches Leo’s hair. It’s hesitant, fleeting, as if he doesn’t believe he’s allowed, and then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to Leo’s forehead.
I retreat, suddenly conscious of the gravity of the secret moment I just witnessed. Stepping backward into the bathroom, I hit the lever on the toilet tank, and the silence is broken with the sound of rushing water. When I open the door fully, Maddox is gone, and Leo is peacefully asleep, none the wiser for what must have been a confession of love.
Stepping across the bare wood floor to the bed, I pause and look down at Leo, my insides a morass of emotions. The shame of throwing myself at a man who might not have wanted me is the greatest of them, but it’s laced with confusion. When I kissed Maddox in the shower, he responded like any hot-blooded man would, at least at first. The way he kissed me two weeks ago certainly holds no contradiction either. Nor the way he tongued me into oblivion that afternoon in the back of the studio.
There’s definitely a common theme between the two events, and whatever weird, jealous ache started building inside me fades as I stare down at Leo’s handsome, sleeping face. Leo was on the other side of the door both times.
The floor creaks as Maddox appears on the opposite side of the bed. I can’t tear my gaze away from Leo, though, my mind tangled with a deeper understanding of this complicated man who has been kind enough to help me tonight.
“He’s easy to love,” I say, touching Leo’s hair where Maddox caressed it a moment ago. I want him to know I know, without confronting him, so he knows I carry no judgment.
When I meet his gaze, his eyes are glassy, and his lips twitch in a sad smile. “So are you.”
15
Celeste
My conversation with Papá is shorter than I expected. I’m a little disappointed, but there will be time for a more involved conversation later. He tells me Amon will handle things, which is already apparent from the commotion going on down in Maddox’s garage. The entire interior wall of his studio apartment consists of a row of windows that look down into the garage itself, with a door at each end that leads onto a metal landing where I stand, watching, while on the phone with Papá.
Somehow I imagined my father being angry, yelling at me for meeting with Amador. Yet all I hear is resignation in his voice, and I have a feeling it’s the perfect time to ask the questions I’ve been craving answers to. I don’t though. As much as I still want to know the truth about my mother’s death, I’m too exhausted to broach the topic with him now. He says he’ll send a car for me but I tell him no. I have no intention of leaving Leo’s side until he wakes up, and probably not for some time after that either.
Papá sighs into the phone. “Dr. Yao is on his way to check on him. Call me when you’re ready, mija,” he says before we say goodbye.
It’s almost morning, and I haven’t slept. Benny and Baz are down in the garage with Amon and Maddox. Amon is Papá’s cleaner and has been a recurring shadow at the edge of our lives for as long as I can remember. He’s a pale-eyed, pale-haired man who is eerily silent while he works. He murmurs the faintest directions to the other men, who obey without question to get the job done.
The garage door is open, and out in the gray predawn light, a dark blue van pulls up with a familiar name on the side. It’s the funeral home that handled my mother’s burial, the ornate lettering and floral logo too hard to forget, but the name is what registers now because I realize we own it.
Papá owns more than enough businesses in this city to take care of just about any eventuality and avoid notice by the authorities. But even if he does run into a conflict with the law, he has enough leverage there to sidestep any lasting damage. He has taught me that it’s better to fly beneath their radar whenever possible.
I force myself to watch as a pair of men enter the garage with a gurney, lift the body bag containing Manny’s corpse, and roll him away. I should be the one to call Toni, but Papá insisted he’d do it once he tells Elena her future son-in-law is dead and reassures her that Baz and Benny are unscathed.
Less than an hour later, both of our cars are gone, hauled away on a pair of wreckers to be dismantled and torched, and one of Papá’s cars pulls up in back and the twins disappear too, whisked away and back to their mother.
Once they’re gone, it’s silent, almost peaceful, for the first time all night. I’m weary down to my bones, my heart aching, but I don’t want to let myself sit still. I wander around Maddox’s dimly lit apartment, the mismatched decor somehow c
omforting with its masculine edge. It’s like he’s gone for an industrial-chic theme without really trying, every piece a thrift-store deal that he’s patched up enough to function. I only recognize the effort because I know what a brand-new piece of furniture made to look distressed really looks like, particularly after spending a week helping Toni choose the decor for her tattoo shop in San Diego and insisting on paying for a few nicer pieces myself. She grimaced at the price tags, and we finally compromised by finding decor that at least didn’t look as expensive as it really was.
I’m standing in a corner that resembles the set of a photo shoot, staring at the photographs on the wall, when the motor of the old elevator kicks to life. My cheeks instantly heat as if Maddox has already caught me looking, which is silly because it isn’t like the photos are in some secret place. They’re in plain view for anyone to see, and they aren’t even of anyone I know.
I make myself relax and return to my examination of them because they truly are phenomenal, though highly erotic images. The couple in the photos knows what they’re doing, both in front of a camera and with each other’s bodies, and the photographer’s instincts shine through. I’m drawn in and lost again by the time the elevator gate creaks open and Maddox strides in, setting down a plastic bag filled with takeout containers along with a tray containing two tall coffee cups.
“Thought you might be hungry,” he says, and my stomach growls as if it’s scented the food before my brain even registers the aromas. Then the room is filled with the scent of coffee and something both sweet and starchy.
He begins unpacking the food and I head to the kitchen, peeking into cabinets and drawers until I find plates and silverware that are just as mismatched as the decor.
“Thank you,” I say, hoping the words are enough to encompass everything he’s done, not just feeding me. He grunts a muffled reply, already digging into a container piled with eggs, bacon, and pancakes, ignoring the plate I set in front of him.
I carefully serve myself some food from the other container. Despite my rumbling belly, I’m not sure if I have the energy to eat, but I soon realize I’m dead wrong when I’ve managed to empty the container and drain the mug of coffee. We haven’t spoken a word the entire time, and when I rise to clear the mess, Maddox reaches out and grabs my wrist.
“Leave it,” he says, urging me down into the chair across from him. “What you saw earlier . . .” He trails off and clears his throat, glancing toward the screen that separates his bedroom from the rest of the apartment.
“You don’t have to explain. It’s okay.”
“I’m not the same man I was before, when you and I were kids.”
I raise my eyebrows and chuckle. “You weren’t a man then. We were kids, so of course you’re different now.”
He growls and shakes his head. “Goddammit, Celeste, this isn’t something that’s easy for me to talk about. I want to explain it to you because I can’t keep it inside anymore and I . . . Fuck. I want you to hear it.”
“Why me?”
He shifts his gaze to the windows, where early-morning light filters in from the garage. “Because . . .” His jaw spasms and he rakes his fingers through the short hair on top of his head, scrubbing before turning the intensity of his steel-gray eyes back to me. “I think you’re the only person I ever really wanted to tell until recently.”
I suddenly want to tell him every single one of my secrets too, and it hits me like a punch how much I miss him. There was a time when we’d share secret desires with each other after dance class. He told me how much he hated his father for the brutal tyrant he was. How he hoped to get away as soon as he could.
I would confess how much I missed my mother, how lonely I was except when Toni could come visit, then later how guilty I felt after her father was killed. It meant she and her mom and brothers were moving back into our carriage house and living there full-time, and I shouldn’t be happy that my best friend’s dad was dead. I bite back a fresh wave of guilt over my relief that Papá insisted on being the one to break the news to her about Manny.
This is Maddox’s moment to share a burden, so I just nod and wait. I owe him that much patience, if not infinitely more.
He worries at the cardboard sleeve on his coffee cup, takes a long swallow of coffee, and stares at the table. After a second of tense silence, he huffs out a snort and laughs. “Jesus, this is harder than I thought.”
“I’m not going to judge you, you know. If you’re gay, I’ll understand.” My voice catches, and I’m sure it ruins my credibility. I will understand, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.
He leans back in his chair and shakes his head. “I’m not gay. Jesus, didn’t you feel how fucking hard I get when you touch me? Those kisses . . . going down on you . . . I wasn’t faking it. When we were together as kids, there was no question I wanted you. Pretty much from the moment we hit puberty, you were all I thought about.”
“Until Papá found us,” I offer.
He snorts. “Not even Gustavo’s brass knuckles could drive the memories out of my head, Celeste. I didn’t stop thinking about you. The memory of you got me through basic. I didn’t have a photo, so I drew pictures of you instead. I still have a couple that weren’t destroyed.” His voice trails off and his expression clouds with pain.
“What happened to you?” I ask gently.
“I lived.”
He speaks with such matter-of-factness but the words seem to weigh on him, as if he’s just confessed a crime instead of something positive. When he rubs the disfigured skin beneath the tattoo on his arm, his eyes are haunted. It’s enough for me to draw the obvious conclusion. “You lost someone.”
A deep sigh escapes him, and he closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “I was a mess for so long after I first enlisted. The last thing I expected was to fall in love with another man, much less my own commander. It was . . . good. Different, but somehow safe.” He opens his eyes and smiles. “Crazy if I think about it now. How the secrets you and I had were more likely to get me beat to shit, but fucking another dude in the military felt safe. I knew it wasn’t really, but as long as we didn’t flaunt it, we could pretend. Don’t ask, don’t tell and all that bullshit.
“He helped me get the fuck over myself. Over you, in a way. I still had dreams about you, but Zag helped me stop dwelling on the past.” His gaze drifts to the folding screen obscuring his bedroom again and a tight smile spreads across his face. “Leo reminds me of him. Optimistic, even in the middle of a combat zone. Even when men he knew didn’t make it, and there was every chance we might die, or the bomb he was sent to defuse might blow his head off. I was assigned to an EOD unit. Most of those guys are batshit crazy, but he was levelheaded, kept everyone in line. Saved my goddamn life, the fucker.”
His voice goes thick with emotion, and he clenches his fists on his lap. I reach out and take his hand, and he grips me hard. I’m tempted to go to him, to climb onto his lap and wrap my arms around him. I long to give him what comfort I can to repay him for all the times he’s comforted me, but somehow I don’t think that level of intimacy is what he wants yet. He swallows and coughs, then blinks before continuing.
“He threw himself on top of me when an IED went off. Took the worst of the blast himself. The rest of our unit was in the radius too, but he and I were closest. Thanks to him, I was the only one who wasn’t knocked unconscious. I got them all out, but he was in really bad shape. He didn’t die right away, but I couldn’t save him. I was their fucking medic. It was my job, but I failed. I know there wasn’t anything I could’ve done, but it still destroys me two years later.”
My heart is in my throat, hot tears pricking my eyes. I start to speak, to offer some words of comfort, but he stops me with a sharp look, his tone turning bitter.
“After years of keeping our secret, years of everyone looking the other way when I have no doubt they knew we were together, it wasn’t until the man was dead that it became a problem. I couldn’t keep it in. That was my mistake.
I’d bottled it up for so long, only letting my feelings show when we were alone. When he died, I kind of lost my shit, but there was no one—not one fucking person who was willing to help me get through it. They didn’t know how to deal with me. I was pretty fucked up physically too. My left arm was shredded. They tolerated me through my recovery and therapy, then discharged me. I’m ninety percent certain it was just to get rid of the deviant I couldn’t keep bottled up anymore.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He lets out a long exhale through his nose, his shoulders sagging. “If it weren’t for the tattooing, I might have self-destructed. Those drawings I did of you early on got noticed. They were pretty good. And a few guys started asking me to draw their girls so they could get tattoos of their portraits. Eventually, I realized I could do the tattoos myself with the right equipment. And after Zag died, both getting and giving helped keep me sane. Kept the nightmares at bay.”
Holding my hand, he twists his wrist and touches a finger to the tattoo that covers the fleshy skin between his left thumb and forefinger. It’s a pair of crescent moons, back-to-back, in the same spot where most gang members sport the age-old pachuco cross.
“I’m not in the closet or anything, but I don’t broadcast that I’m bi. It isn’t anyone’s business until it is. If someone gets to know me well enough for me to trust them, I share. Leo knows, but I don’t think he’s okay with it.”
My brows twitch and I lift my gaze to his. “You’re bisexual?”
I realize how dumb the question sounds the second it’s out. Maddox laughs. “Sweetness, didn’t you hear anything I just told you? I was in love with a man for my last five years in the Navy. Before that, I was in love with you. The two things aren’t mutually exclusive for me. Now things are a bit more fucked up, but my eyes are wide open. I just need to make sure yours are too.”
