Page 23 of Birdy

I won’t have visitors. Ma has been a wreck since my sentencing, and both Tommy and Noely are still too hot with me. Next time I see them will be when I’m at Max, and not within my first few days, either.

“And lastly, Villanueva.”

My heart stops at the sound of my name. They’re...here? I cut my eyes to the guard, and sure enough, she’s staring right at me, waiting for me to follow her every single command.

I hate it, but I do as I’m told. I couldn’t stop myself even if I tried. I’m too shocked...happy.

They’re finally here to see me.

Falling in line at the very end, I start straightening out my appearance. It’s just family, I know, but I don’t want to look like how I feel being in here. They don’t need to see that. Pulling my hair tie free, I comb my fingers through the messy strands as we tread into the hallway to the front of the jail. My stomach is in knots the whole way, heart slamming against my chest. I know disappointment and sadness will overshadow the good in seconds, but I needed this. I need to see them, need to know that although I’ve fucked up royally, they still love me.

When we make it to the visitation room, the CO stops the line just outside the doorway, allowing the guard within the room to call out last names and direct us to the appropriate booth. I’m not last, but I swear, it feels like I am. By the time I’m finally called, there are only a few girls left.

Raking an anxious hand through my hair again, I make my way inside.

The guard stops me, his bronze, pudgy arm pointing slightly to the left. “You’re in window five, Villanueva.”

Here we go.

Offering a docile nod, I take off toward the booth, readying myself to smile atjustthe right moment.

But I end up not smiling at all.

My eyes bug out instead, lungs filling with more air than they can hold as those thunderous eyes stare me down from the other side of the bulletproof glass. The very corner of his lips curl in that familiar, dark smirk, his hand flying up to the old school telephone attached to the booth’s partition.

Seeinghimin place of my family is shocking enough. What’s more startling? All of his tattoos are gone—every single last one. I’ve never in our entire relationship seen Ángel so...bare.

In my disturbed and highly confused state, I still manage to move my feet and sink into the dingy white plastic chair. I can’t lift the phone, though. My hands are weighed down in my lap as I just gape at him, tracking every plane of visible skin.

Ángel seizes his end and holds it up to his ear, silently urging me to do the same with a cut of his eyes.

But I can’t. I’m afraid that if I move, that if I so much as blink, he’ll be gone. How is this possible? How is he here right now? What is happening?

“Recógelo,”he mouths.Pick it up.

Heart hammering, I swallow down the knot in my throat and force myself to reach for the phone. The moment it touches my ear, that smooth, husky voice of his vibrates through the line.

“Benita…”

“Ángel,” I whisper. That’s literally all I can manage.

Oh, and the bullshit tears quickly blurring my vision.

I refuse to set them free, but they’re there, waiting for me to let my guard down before they spill of their own will. I’ve been so worried about him, and now he’s here, almost unrecognizable while he’s at it.

And given the way his expression falls, eyebrows cinching painfully in the middle of his fine face, I have a feeling he’s been worried about me, too.

“Fuck,” he hisses, dropping his head between slumped shoulders. “I don’t like this. I don’t like seeing you in here.” He’s still staring downward as his large palm splays against the glass, the silver bands of all his rings clinking against the surface.

“Ángel, don’t,” my voice trembles. “I’m okay.”

I’m not; I’m far from it. Every minute of my life in here is pure misery, but I don’t want him to know that. “What are you doing here? How? What happened to you? I tried calling you and—”

He cuts me off. “It’s cover-up,mami.Makeup. Ever since they got you, they’ve been sniffing around harder. I’ve got the partners on lockdown right now, and I’m taking a big-ass risk being here, but I had to come see you…had to tell you how sorry I am.” When he glances up at me, only regret reflects back at me.

A regret so deep-seated and utterly raw that it overshadows everything else he’s just told me. I heard him, I did, and a part of me is sounding the alarm, but my heart aches, the proverbial strings tugging and fraying like a satin ribbon.

Lifting my hand to the glass, I hope and pray toPapá Diosfor strength because if the rest of this conversation is going to be just as gut-wrenching, I’m going to need it now more than ever. “Sorry for what? There’s nothing you could’ve done. They had me in cuffs already, and they were going to book me regardless of what you—”

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