The garage door is open, and out in the gray predawn light, a dark blue van pulls up with a familiar name on the side. It’s the funeral home that handled my mother’s burial, the ornate lettering and floral logo too hard to forget, but the name is what registers now because I realize we own it.
Papá owns more than enough businesses in this city to take care of just about any eventuality and avoid notice by the authorities. But even if he does run into a conflict with the law, he has enough leverage there to sidestep any lasting damage. He has taught me that it’s better to fly beneath their radar whenever possible.
I force myself to watch as a pair of men enter the garage with a gurney, lift the body bag containing Manny’s corpse, and roll him away. I should be the one to call Toni, but Papá insisted he’d do it once he tells Elena her future son-in-law is dead and reassures her that Baz and Benny are unscathed.
Less than an hour later, both of our cars are gone, hauled away on a pair of wreckers to be dismantled and torched, and one of Papá’s cars pulls up in back and the twins disappear too, whisked away and back to their mother.
Once they’re gone, it’s silent, almost peaceful, for the first time all night. I’m weary down to my bones, my heart aching, but I don’t want to let myself sit still. I wander around Maddox’s dimly lit apartment, the mismatched decor somehow comforting with its masculine edge. It’s like he’s gone for an industrial-chic theme without really trying, every piece a thrift-store deal that he’s patched up enough to function. I only recognize the effort because I know what a brand-new piece of furniture made to look distressed really looks like, particularly after spending a week helping Toni choose the decor for her tattoo shop in San Diego and insisting on paying for a few nicer pieces myself. She grimaced at the price tags, and we finally compromised by finding decor that at least didn’t look as expensive as it really was.
I’m standing in a corner that resembles the set of a photo shoot, staring at the photographs on the wall, when the motor of the old elevator kicks to life. My cheeks instantly heat as if Maddox has already caught me looking, which is silly because it isn’t like the photos are in some secret place. They’re in plain view for anyone to see, and they aren’t even of anyone I know.
I make myself relax and return to my examination of them because they truly are phenomenal, though highly erotic images. The couple in the photos knows what they’re doing, both in front of a camera and with each other’s bodies, and the photographer’s instincts shine through. I’m drawn in and lost again by the time the elevator gate creaks open and Maddox strides in, setting down a plastic bag filled with takeout containers along with a tray containing two tall coffee cups.
“Thought you might be hungry,” he says, and my stomach growls as if it’s scented the food before my brain even registers the aromas. Then the room is filled with the scent of coffee and something both sweet and starchy.
He begins unpacking the food and I head to the kitchen, peeking into cabinets and drawers until I find plates and silverware that are just as mismatched as the decor.
“Thank you,” I say, hoping the words are enough to encompass everything he’s done, not just feeding me. He grunts a muffled reply, already digging into a container piled with eggs, bacon, and pancakes, ignoring the plate I set in front of him.
I carefully serve myself some food from the other container. Despite my rumbling belly, I’m not sure if I have the energy to eat, but I soon realize I’m dead wrong when I’ve managed to empty the container and drain the mug of coffee. We haven’t spoken a word the entire time, and when I rise to clear the mess, Maddox reaches out and grabs my wrist.
“Leave it,” he says, urging me down into the chair across from him. “What you saw earlier . . .” He trails off and clears his throat, glancing toward the screen that separates his bedroom from the rest of the apartment.
“You don’t have to explain. It’s okay.”
“I’m not the same man I was before, when you and I were kids.”
I raise my eyebrows and chuckle. “You weren’t a man then. We were kids, so of course you’re different now.”
He growls and shakes his head. “Goddammit, Celeste, this isn’t something that’s easy for me to talk about. I want to explain it to you because I can’t keep it inside anymore and I . . . Fuck. I want you to hear it.”
“Why me?”
He shifts his gaze to the windows, where early-morning light filters in from the garage. “Because . . .” His jaw spasms and he rakes his fingers through the short hair on top of his head, scrubbing before turning the intensity of his steel-gray eyes back to me. “I think you’re the only person I ever really wanted to tell until recently.”
I suddenly want to tell him every single one of my secrets too, and it hits me like a punch how much I miss him. There was a time when we’d share secret desires with each other after dance class. He told me how much he hated his father for the brutal tyrant he was. How he hoped to get away as soon as he could.
I would confess how much I missed my mother, how lonely I was except when Toni could come visit, then later how guilty I felt after her father was killed. It meant she and her mom and brothers were moving back into our carriage house and living there full-time, and I shouldn’t be happy that my best friend’s dad was dead. I bite back a fresh wave of guilt over my relief that
