Page 105 of The Last Call Home
“Are you okay, Mami?”I ask, my voice wrecked from seeing her so concerned.
“Worried, of course,” she says, her hands still clutching my arms.“But glad that nothing happened to you.”
“But The Honey Drop?—”
She waves it off like it's a ruined batch of pan dulce.“We have insurance.We’ll rebuild.The important thing is that you’re okay, and no one was injured.”
Then her voice lowers, and her mouth tightens.“They say it was faulty gas lines.”
My stomach twists.Even she doesn’t believe it.
She turns to Malerick now, eyes like daggers dipped in holy water.
“You hear me, boy,” she snaps.“That was no gas line.You find out who did this.And once you’ve got them—I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I assure you, Rosalinda?—”
“No.”She cuts him off with a raised hand.“Don’t lie to me.”
Her voice doesn’t crack.It rips.
“If you’re going to protect my daughter, that means no lies.You understand me?”
Malerick straightens, throws her a salute like she’s commanding the whole damn force.Like she owns every piece of him—and maybe she does.Perhaps we both do.
“Te dije que he estado viendo a tu padre,” she says, then does the sign of the cross.Her fingers tremble, just slightly.“Ruegale a Dios que esté mal o no sé qué vamos a hacer.”
Then she turns and walks off as if her spine is held together by spite and prayer.
Mal watches her disappear.“What did she say?”
I pause, staring after my mother.
She’s unraveling, and I can’t stop it.She’s seeing ghosts in the smoke, in her sleep, in me.
And I’m definitely not going to tell him that my mother is having a breakdown and believes my dead father is walking around and that we should pray that she’s wrong or we might be in trouble.
Because if I do, I might believe it, too.
“She’s concerned and probably going to pray another rosary,” I say, my voice rough with exhaustion.And guilt.And that gnawing ache I can’t scrub off my ribs.“What else can I do?”
He doesn't answer right away.Just watches me as if he wants to do something reckless.Like pull me close again.Like kiss me until we forget why we’re pretending this is just circumstance.
“Will I see you later today?”
His nod is slight, but his eyes—God, his eyes are full of heat, regret, and something else I don’t have the energy to name.Need, maybe.Lust.That tight, crawling sensation between us hasn’t eased since last night.
“Yeah,” he says.“I have a meeting soon.Later today, Cass will pick you up.”
I blink, thrown.“What do you mean pick me up?”
His gaze flicks to the house, then back to me, like he’s weighing how much to say.Like he knows what this will sound like and doesn’t care.
“Yesterday was moving day, remember?”he says.“We officially live in the cabin—together.You just need to pack a bag, or several.”
Just like that.Like it’s no big deal.Like him telling me to pack and move in doesn’t make my blood feel thick and molten.
“Who’s going to take care of my mom?”
