Page 8 of Wishing for La Luna
“Tell. Them. To. Get. The. Fuck. Out.” Her voice booms through an open mic. Conversations diminish. The DJ stops playing. All eyes are on her as she blinks a couple of times but doesn’t miss a beat. “You all heard me. Get out. You’re not Rio’s friends. I didn’t see any of you trying to get him out. All you’re doing is mooching off his alcohol and food.”
“Y quien es esta cabrona?” one of the women says.
Maeven points to the door. “I said, get the fuck out!”
In a matter of a few minutes, the penthouse empties, except for me, her, and Tito. “Go wait outside,” she tells him.
The minute the door closes, she stares me down. “What the fuck is your problem? Do you think this is a game? You’re fucking up your life and damaging your career. You’re either drinking, getting high off your ass, or fighting.”
“I thought you were quitting,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster.
“I should. I should walk away and leave you to your mess.”
“Why don’t you? I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”
She jabs a finger into my chest. “You don’t want to need me, but you do. Your tour is not selling very well. Your name is more associated with fuck-shit behavior than music these days. That album is a masterpiece, but people won’t know it because of your antics. But that ends right now. You’re going to get your shit together if it kills me. I booked you an appointment with Dr. Jacinda Smith. She’s a psychologist, very discreet, who can help you work out some of your issues.”
“I don’t need to see a counselor. I’m just wild.”
She holds my gaze, unmoved. “You’re not wild. You’re letting your hurt get to you. You’re acting dumb. If you keep going down this path, you’re going to do something that’s going to fuck up your career for good. How long until someone you’re hanging with plants something on you? How long until one of these little thots you keep hanging around with accuses you of something or gets knocked up because you’re too drunk or high to realize it?”
“I’m not—” I stop. “Tito is always there.”
He’s my best friend. I trust Tito with my life.
“Yeah, but you put yourself in situations he may not be able to get you out of. You’re destroying yourself and will probably take him down in the process because he’s trying to save your ass. You know why he wasn’t at the jail with you?”
I shake my head.
“Have you seen him wear a hat before?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. “Neither have I, but he’s wearing one tonight. Why do you think that is, Rio?”
“I don’t know.”
She pushes close and points to her head. “Because he had to be taken to the ER. Someone hit him with a glass bottle, and he was bleeding. Of course, he’s covering it up so you don’t see it. He will go down protecting you.”
Oh shit.
I open my mouth, but she stops me with her hand in the air.
“Do you think this is what Fer would want for you? Do you think seeing you like this lets her rest in peace?” Maeven’s gaze drifts to the glass butterfly hanging in front of the window. Maeven herself gave it to me as a gift on the worst day of my life.
Pain breaks out in my chest like she sucker punched me. I flinch. My body fights the urge to sink to my knees. “No hables de ella.”
Maeven shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about her. It breaks my heart to see the pain in your eyes when I do, but maybe it’s time you did.”
I shake my head and move to the window to stare out at the Hudson River. “No lo voy a hacer.”
“You have to, Rio. Have you noticed you immediately switch to Spanish when you talk about your mom?”
The pressure in my chest intensifies, and the thirst dries my throat. It’s been over a year, and my fingers flex, still feeling the softness of her hand in mine as her breath faded away. I still see the peace descend over her features on her last exhale when she slipped into what seemed to be a dream with a hint of a smile on her face. I swallow, not wanting to scream her name like I did in that moment.
Maeven’s hand settles on my shoulder. “It’s time. I don’t want to leave you. It would break my heart and Fer’s. In her last days, I promised her I would take care of you. That’s sacred to me because she gave us a chance when we were newbies to manage your career, and she was like a mom to me. Everyone else is a client, but you’re like a little brother to me and Esme. You’ve got to meet me halfway.”
I want to tell her to fuck off. Hearinghername hurts more than the punches from the fights or the mornings when I wake up with a pounding headache and throwing up into a toilet.
And then I hear that raspy voice that time can’t fade in my head.Her voice.Eres mi orgullo.
Except, the person in the reflection is no one’s pride. I know I have to change. I need to do something different. I just don’t know how.
