Page 107 of The Last Call Home
When I enter the house,Mom is already waiting, as if she knew the exact moment I’d walk through the door.
She doesn’t speak at first.
Instead, she thrusts a rosary into my hand, presses my third-eye bracelet into my palm, and begins flinging holy water at me as if she’s casting out demons.
“Mom,” I groan, dripping, “I’m okay.”
But her eyes are wide and glassy.Her lips tight.The tremble in her hand betrays everything.
“We’re not okay, Lilah.”Her voice wavers, brittle with something thick and buried beneath her skin.“You don’t understand.”
I pause, breath catching.“Obviously.Would you like to share with me?”
She stares at me for a beat, then says, almost too casually, “I think we should take a long vacation.”
What?
That makes no fucking sense.My pulse flares.My body still hums from Mal’s kiss, from his heat, from the fire he pressed into my skin with nothing more than his mouth and his hands—and now this?
“No,” I say firmly.I step back and plant my feet like that will help me hold the line.“If you need to, you can take a long vacation, Mami.I’m staying here.”
She crosses her arms like she’s already decided how this ends.“Fine.But if I feel we have to go, we go.”
Her voice is final.Her tone leaves no room for compromise.It slams against my ribs like an alarm.
And I realize what this is.She’s not being dramatic.She’s scared.She makes it sound like we have to run.Like there’s something out there—someone—who’s watching, waiting, and she's ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
Maybe that’s how she’s managed to survive everything until now, but it still doesn’t make sense.We’ve lived in this town our whole lives.Our roots are here, buried beneath every crack in the sidewalk, every pan dulce recipe passed down from abuela, and every whispered prayer over café con leche.
She thinks it’s easier to flee than to stand her ground.
But I’m not her.
I exhale as the pressure builds behind my eyes, that tight sensation making my lungs fight for space in my ribs.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
But what I don’t say—what simmers low and hot in my blood—is that I won’t fucking run.If anyone wants to come for me, let them.Let them try to burn down what I’ve built.Let them try to tear me apart.
I’ll be here.Waiting.With my sleeves rolled up and my fire already lit.
Because I have nothing left to lose.
And I sure as hell have something worth fighting for now.
Mom cocks her head and narrows her eyes like she can smell the defiance coming off me in waves.“So ...tell me,” she says, her voice deceptively casual.“Are you dating Mal or Cassian?They made it sound like they’re with you.”
“I am dating both.”
Her eyebrows rise like she’s about to short-circuit.“So it’s like an open relationship.”She shakes her head with dramatic flair.“That’s not commitment.And without commitment, there are no grandchildren.”
“Ughhh,” I groan.Of course she’s concerned about grandchildren.Because my mother has exactly two speeds: Mexican panic and marital obsession.And she’s just slammed the pedal on both.
I could wave a hand and tell her it’s none of her business.I could drop a sarcastic quip and walk away.
But I don’t want to hide this—not anymore.
“We’ve been dating and we’re committed to each other,” I say, grounding each word with intent.“It’s new, and we’re trying to keep things quiet so the town doesn’t stick its nose where it doesn’t belong.But we’re—the three of us—together.”
