Page 33 of The True Garza
I hadn’t even realized I was living with my breath held. How did I survive this long? And for how long had I been holding my breath? Because it feels like it was long before Dad died.
When I allow myself to look back on that period of my life, the fact is, whilst I was damn good at my job, I was never trulyhappy. Working homicide cases did me in sometimes. There were a lot of sleeping pills, sleepless nights, and therapy sessions. There was depression and PTSD. Alcohol abuse and violent outbursts. But these were all things that were overlooked because Lonny Bridgealwayssolved the case. Always caught the killer. Always took one for the team.
But it’s not until recently that I realized that, back then, I was slowly dying inside.
I’ve tuned out the guys and their useless chatter for so long, half watching basketball highlights on the flat-screen above the bar, that it takes me a while to notice that Lance and Benny are no longer on either side of me at the bar. At some point, both men have moved to gather where Clive, Ollie, and Brent are, leaving a wide gap between them and me.
I pause in mid-sip of my bourbon and narrow my eyes at them. They’re still chatting, but not as loudly or animatedly as before.
This has happened twice before. Once, when Trent Garza came down to our division to talk with our supervisor. And another time, when he walked into our breakroom for “coffee.” Both times, I’d found that by the time he left, all the men had somehow ended up on one side of the room, leaving me alone on the other. Seeing as everyone there seemed to be frightened of Trent Garza for whatever reason, I assumed that was it.
But we’re not at Red Cage now….
I swivel my barstool to the left and scan the bar. Then swivel it to the right, and…bingo. There’s the fucker. When did he even get here?
I knock back the rest of my bourbon, then slap some money on the counter and tell the guys, “You’re all a bunch of pussy willows.”
Then I’m up from the stool and moving across the bar to where Trent Garza is seated at a high table with a waitress all but shoving her busty bosom in his face. The asshole isn’t even pretending not to notice. Married men are despicable.
When I’m just a few steps from his table, however, my determined, indignant steps falter. Why? Because of the flirty grin he flashes the waitress when she takes a piece of folded paper from her bosom and slips it to him. Her number, no doubt.
That familiar grin doesn’t belong to Trent Garza. In fact, everyone knows Trent Garza doesn’tgrin.
Shit. It’s True.
As the waitress leaves, his eyes flick straight to me as though he’d seen me all along.
The last time I saw him was at that meeting where I pissed them all off and asked for a job. Granted, I was given a contract two days later and was promptly sent to a training base in Bakersfield for three weeks. When I got back and still didn’t see him anywhere in the building for over a week, I asked Sacha about him and was told he was out of the country.
About two weeks ago, I heard that he was back, but still didn’t see him, no matter how much I lingered around the parking lot hoping to run into him.
Seeing him now is like a defibrillator to the chest. It’s funny that, even though he’s utterly identical to his twin, I have such different visceral reactions to them both.
Seconds ago, when I thought he was his brother, fury burned in my every step. Now that I realize it’s him, that fury has morphed into something else entirely.
Gah!This is so inconvenient. Why can’t I feel the same way toward him as I do his brother—or, well, literallyanyother man? A lukewarm cocktail of apathy and acerbity.
Inhaling a fortifying breath, I take the last few steps to his table.
Expressionless, he watches me approach. And it’s like we’re in that meeting room again—he’s shutting me out.
He never was this shuttered when we were together. Nor was he a few seconds ago with the waitress. Seems he hates me now, as much as his twin does, for what I did. Maybe the reason I’ve not seen him all this time is because he doesn’twantto see me and has been actively avoiding me.
That notion doesn’t sit right with me, though. I’m fine with people hating me. Prefer it, actually. But not him. Although I initially pretended otherwise, Ineedhim to like me again. To talk to me. Flash his flirty grin at me. And don’t ask me why it matters; it just does, dammit.
I hoist up onto the empty chair across from him and pass him a smile. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were avoiding me, True Garza.”
He blinks at me. Slow, languid.
Shit.Is being this casual with him not allowed, now that he’s my boss and all?
The first thing I learned in training was the hierarchy at Red Cage.
President: Torin Garza.
Executive Vice President: Trenton Garza.
Senior Vice Presidents: Trueman Garza, Reuben Grant.
