Page 124 of It Happened on a Sunday
But that’s so much easier said than done, especially since every look from Camila, every glare from Vivian, has me wrapping her tighter around myself.
At least until Lucia moves to sit next to me and murmurs, “You’re doing great.”
“I think that’s an overstatement,” I mutter.
“It’s not. Camila’s already shifted out of protective mode.” She nods toward her sister, who continues to down French fries as she watches the action on the field like her life depends on it. “Abuela and Mariana already love you. So, all in all, I’d say you’re a success.”
“What about you?” I ask, part bravado, part curiosity. Because if Lucia can act normal with everythingshehas to deal with today, then I can certainly do the same.
“It’s looking great so far.” Despite the fact that the Grizzlies’ defense is currently on the field, Lucia’s answering smile is both confident and soft at the same time. I admire that about her, considering it’s a balance I’ve never managed to master.
I’m tempted to ask her how she does it, but then she shifts and the long sleeve of her shirt rides up enough to reveal a thick, ugly scar on the top of her hand and wrist. A chill runs through me as I remember Sly telling me how she got it.
I jerk my eyes away immediately, determined not to let her know what I saw…or what I know. But the second I do, our gazes collide and I can see she’s already figured it out.
“I’m so sorry—” I start.
“It’s okay,” she interrupts in a voice soft enough that no one else can hear. “Sly told me you know. I’m glad.”
At first I don’t believe her. How can I, when I’ve spent what feels like centuries hiding my own traumas so deep that most days, even I can’t find them?
Lucia must see the doubt on my face because she reaches over and puts a gentle hand on my own. I’m not prepared for it, and I startle at the touch. But I force myself not to jerk away—partly because I don’t want anyone else to notice anything amiss, but mostly because I don’t want Lucia to feel like I’m rejecting her.
“I mean it,” she tells me. “What happened with Grant wasn’t just about me. Or even just about him. When my family found out… In some ways, it happened to them, too. They were enraged, of course, but they also hurt for me. And they blamed themselves for not seeing what was going on.”
She pauses to take a sip of her own water before continuing. “Especially Sly. I think he felt as lost as I did, even though he was too busy being strong to ever intentionally let me see it. I know his guilt changed our relationship. But I think it also changed him as well.”
I think about her words, think about all the people in my life who have been with me through everything. Bianca. Jace. Marco. And now Pauline. I know I pay them, know they’re on my team because it’s their job. But they’re also my family—the only family I’ve got. When something bad happens in their lives, I hurt and worry and get angry. Is it so hard to imagine they do the same for me?
Even Sly, who had his home security system upgraded this week, including a bunch of additional cameras and VIPemergency response service, just so I would feel comfortable staying with him. And so Marco would feel comfortable letting me.
Have I taken all of them for granted? Allowed Jarrod to hurt them as well as me?
The thought guts me, but I push it away. Misplaced guilt won’t benefit them or me. Especially when a glance over my shoulder reveals that Vivian is still staring me down.
I cover Lucia’s hand with my own in a silent show of solidarity. “I really appreciate you talking to me this candidly. But I have to ask—” I pause for a second, trying to find a way to say what I’m thinking without sounding insulting.
“Why I’m telling you this on our very first, very public meeting?” She chuckles, the somber look in her eyes giving way to something lighter, happier.
“Maybe,” I agree.
“Because it doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out that Sly’s wild about you. If you feel the same way about him, I guess I thought you should know just how much responsibility he puts on himself for what happens to the people he cares about.”
She takes another sip of water before continuing. “To be clear, I’m not saying you should let him get away with being overprotective. I just ask that you have a little patience—maybe even a conversation—with him when he tries. Because it really is coming from a place of fear and regret on his part.”
I think about his daily check-ins with Marco over the stalker, think about the way he controlled the press conference the morning after he broke curfew to try to keep any blame from falling on me.
I called him on it at the time, because the last thing I ever want is for him to take a hit meant for me. But clearly his instinct to do just that goes deeper than I realized.
I start to thank her for the knowledge, but before I can, abuelaXimena, Camila, and Vivian explode out of their seats.
“Go, go, go!” Camila chants, her face practically pressed to the glass as she shouts.
I turn toward the field just in time to watch Sly running toward the end zone, football tucked under his arm, while members of the opposite team trail behind him.
One player throws himself at Sly, who jumps up to avoid the tackle, then spins around in midair to avoid another one. He keeps running as he lands, and this time it’s one of his teammates who keeps one of the Grizzlies from bringing him down. Seconds later, there’s a pile of Twisters atop Sly’s attacker and not a soul on his tail.
“Plus, coming to the Grizzlies game always lets me see that.” She points to where the defensive lineman is still buried under a bunch of Twisters players. “Watching Grant get his ass kicked all game is really good therapy.”
