Page 38 of Back to You
He leans back on his elbows, smug as hell. “Told Andres you were in your feelings about Mariana. I just didn’t think you’d actually admit it.”
Before I can argue, Cap cuts in. “What’s wrong with Mariana?”
“Nothing,” I say automatically. But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.
Cap tilts his head, studying me. “Then I don’t get it.”
Andres sighs, shaking his head. “He’s in love with her. Again. Still. Who the hell knows. But definitely in love.”
I freeze. “What?” I scoff. “I never said that.”
“So you’re not in love with Mariana?” Cap asks, his voice measured, even.
I hesitate, and that hesitation is all they need.
Mateo snorts. “Yep. That’s what I thought.”
They all start talking at once, giving me shit, calling me out, refusing to let me keep lying to myself. And fuck, They’re right.
I lean back in the grass, staring up at the sky, at the burning sun, at anything but them, because they know me, they know about our history.
They know how I spent years trying to convince myself I was over her, that I’d moved on, that if she ever came back, I’d be fine. Now she’s back, and I feel like I’m drowning.
I glance at Andres and Mateo, still running their mouths, then shift my gaze to Cap, who’s just watching, thinking.
After a long beat, he says, “Seb, if you have feelings for her, that’s okay, you know that, right?”
The others shut up instantly, because when Cap speaks, everyone listens.
I swallow hard.
“You and Mari have history,” he continues. “You two grew up together. You fell in love, and then she left—not you, but this city. And yeah, that hurt, that broke you. But that doesn’t mean you ever stopped loving her.”
I don’t say anything.
“If you want to be with her, that’s okay,” Cap says. “And if you just want to be her friend, that’s okay too. Whatever you decide—we support you.”
Andres and Mateo both nod.
Suddenly, I feel exhausted—I know that I need to figure this out. I need to decide if I’m willing to risk it all again or if I need to figure out how to finally let her go.
Either way—I need to stop pretending I don’t already know the answer.
CHAPTER 13
Mariana
The hospital smells like antiseptic and sorrow, a scent that clings to my skin, settles in my lungs, and makes it impossible to breathe without feeling like I’m drowning.
I hate coming here. I hate the constant hum of suffering, the quiet sobs of loved ones who have already begun mourning, the sterile white walls that feel so cold, so impersonal, so final. But I come anyway. Because if my mom is here, then this is exactly where I need to be.
The doctors have told me to prepare myself, but there’s no preparing for something like this. No way to brace for the inevitable, to soften the crushing weight of reality.
They don’t know how much time we have left—days, weeks, months. There are no promises, no guarantees.
Just borrowed moments slipping through my fingers faster than I can hold onto them, and man, I really want to hold onto them. I want to freeze time, to bottle every second, to keep her here forever. I’ll never stop needing her.
I step into her room, my sneakers squeaking softly against the linoleum, announcing my arrival. The TV hums in the background, an old telenovela playing at low volume.
