Page 147 of It Happened on a Sunday
Sly
I don’t think it says anything about my courage to admit that I almost spin around and walk away. Any time abuela Ximena wants privacy for a conversation, it never turns out well. And right now I’m not sure how much more I can take before breaking.
But if twenty-seven years as her grandson have taught me anything, it’s that one way or the other, she’s going to have her say. Considering I don’t think I can feel any lower than I do already, I might as well get whatever this is over with.
“After feeding Sloane’s team, all I’ve got left is turkey or roast beef,” my abuela says as soon as I get near the table she and my sisters have taken over.
“Turkey’s fine,” I answer, because I really don’t give a shit.
Abuela Ximena tosses me a turkey sub, then motions for me to sit down. Which I do, reluctantly.
Lucia hands me a bottle of water I’m not interested in and a bag of chips I don’t want, but for the sake of expediency, I take both.
I just want to get through whatever the hell this is so I can go back to Sloane. Surely fifteen minutes will be enough time for her team to cycle through and see her. If not, Pauline can take a walk or something because I’m not leaving again.
“Eat your sandwich,” abuela Ximena orders.
I start to tell her I’m not hungry, but she’s giving methe look, so I do as she says and immediately regret it when the food turns to sawdust in my mouth.
It takes a minute and several gulps of water, but I finallymanage to get the bite of sandwich down. Once I do, Lucia puts her hand over mine and says, “You know this isn’t your fault, don’t you?”
“It’s completely my fault. I thought you, more than anyone, would understand that.”
“Me?” Lucia asks, brows raised. “And why exactly would you think that?”
I start to answer, then bite the words back. Some things don’t need to be said.
Apparently Camila doesn’t feel the same way. Because she rolls her eyes and says, “He thinks he’s responsible for everything. Not just us but the behavior of everyone who knows us—including your abusive, scum-sucking fuckhead of an ex-boyfriend. My psych professor would call it a savior complex.”
“I donothave a savior complex,” I grind out between clenched teeth even as the words hit like the business end of a tank. I’ve proven over and over again that I’m nobody’s savior.
Lucia nearly died because of me, because I was so naive to who Grant really was that he spent years abusing her and I didn’t have a fucking clue until it was almost too late. And now Sloane is nearly dead at Vivian’s hand, because apparently I haven’t learned a goddamn thing. Not to mention I’m the worst judge of character on the face of the fucking earth.
If I can’t trust my best friend and my agent, how the hell am I supposed to trust myself?
I couldn’t even keep Sloane safe when doing so was the most important thing in the world to me.
“Fine. You want to call it a god complex?” Camila grabs a carrot from a salad container and pops it in her mouth. “It’s pretty much the same thing.”
“How exactly did this go from ‘get Sly to eat lunch’ to ‘tell Sly what an asshole he is’?” I demand, glaring at my sisters.
Lucia shrugs. “Maybe this is one of those times when you getwhat you need instead of what you want.”
I narrow my eyes in warning, but she meets me glare for glare. And when I look to my abuela for support, she’s suddenly extremely busy opening her bag of dill pickle potato chips.
“Seriously?” I say, suddenly understanding a whole lot better how Julius Caesar felt.Et tu, Ximena?
“Then what would you call it?” Camila crosses her arms over her chest and gives me her bestyou’re not wiggling out of this onelook. I recognize it because our abuela taught it to her.
“Dad asked me to take care of you before he died,” I start. “It’s—”
“Did it ever occur to you that your father had no business asking that of a ten-year-old kid?” abuela Ximena interrupts.
“Huh?” I would be less surprised if she pulled a wooden spoon out of her bag and whacked me with it. “No, it’s my job to make sure you’re all okay.”
“You know that’s impossible, right?” Lucia asks, taking advantage of abuela Ximena’s sudden preoccupation with me to snatch one of her potato chips.
“It shouldn’t be. If I was just…”
