But Rafael pressed. He insisted it would be different. He would be the baby’s father, not me, on paper and in practice, if not by blood. Soon I saw it as yet another way to ingratiate myself to them.
The night the tests came back favorable, they wanted to celebrate. Emilia had her appointment for the procedure, but during that drunken night, it became clear that the artificial insemination route wasn’t good enough for Rafael. He needed to be a part of it somehow. His crazy, irrational thought was that if we both fucked Emilia at the same time, there’d be just enough question for him to ignore that the baby wasn’t his. He could at least pretend his virility wasn’t the issue.
It was strange, to say the least, but also weirdly touching to be part of their lovemaking. Emilia was shy at first, hesitant enough that I almost backed out, until she finally said with utter certainty that she wanted it. That she would do anything to make Rafael happy. All I wanted was to make it good for her from that point on, though it became clear halfway through, with my cock inside her alongside his while she rode him, that I was only there for one reason.
The bond they had was too strong for my brief involvement to come close to damaging. The next day, when I woke in the same bed with them, they showed no regrets. It was as if nothing had changed. I was still their friend, but nothing more. I’d been a means to an end for a single night.
I think part of me hoped it would happen again, because even temporarily being invited within their intimate little bubble had felt amazing, despite understanding there was only room for two inside it. Three, once Emilia learned she was finally pregnant.
Everything was business as usual afterward, but when the baby was born, they asked me to be there. I was at her christening too, unable to take my eyes off the tiny beauty, yet every moment sure it was for the best that she was theirs and not mine. By Christmas, I was finally getting comfortable with my role as “Uncle Mason,” just in time for it all to come crashing down around me.
Their deaths are on me. Zoe is probably too young to remember her first Christmas, which is a blessing, but I’ll have to find a way to tell her everything when she’s old enough. I suppose it’s a small consolation that Rafael and Emilia will never have to know how I betrayed them.
Booth nudges me out of my thoughts, asking if I’m cool with the restaurant he stops at for lunch. I agree and we sit down at a table, but I’m uninterested in food and just order what he does.
He remains quiet, staring at something on his phone while I people-watch. Then we eat our meals in relative silence, only commenting on the quality of the food, which is good enough that I get my appetite back and order dessert.
I appreciate that Booth doesn’t dig into my broody mood, but he’s already heard the whole story. He also lost friends thanks to Amador, though I doubt any were quite so intimate as mine.
He goes back to staring at his phone while I polish off a slice of pie, then under his breath he murmurs almost too low to hear, “We’ve got company again.”
My neck prickles and I look at him. His gaze remains on his phone, then he snaps a photo and turns his screen to show me, as if he’s sharing some nonsense from the internet and wasn’t just using it as a cover for spying.
The photo shows a pair of men standing at the hostess counter in front. Even though they’re dressed like the locals, there’s a sharp edge to them that I would recognize even if I didn’t know their faces from the intel Zavala showed me.
“Amador’s men,” he says, confirming my own knowledge.
Ice races down my spine. At least Gustavo is unlikely to cross the border nowadays, so these men are only following orders from afar. They’ll be easy enough to shake, but it’d be a lot easier if I was sure they wouldn’t recognize me.
I rub a hand over my beard. “Please tell me the barber shop is next on your list.”
13 Callie
“How’s that little black dress working out?” Nina asks through a partition in the boutique’s dressing room.
I stare in the mirror at the black sheath I’m trying on, unimpressed. “I don’t know. I’m considering just skipping the party altogether if I can’t find one I like.”
“Your mom’s going to guilt-trip you if you don’t, you know. I might too, just a little. We’re both single for the first time in forever. I’d say you need to go so you can get laid, but since you already took care of that without my help, it’s your turn to be my wing-woman. I so need to blow off some steam.”
I chuckle at her desperate groan as I strip and hang up the dress, adding it to the growing stack of rejects. I stare at myself critically in the full-length mirror. My eyes are still red-rimmed after two days of spontaneous bouts of tears. I’ve mostly managed to avoid crying in public, but feel another wave of despair coming on.
The funny thing is that it’s only half over the break-up. The other half is from the profound regret I have for ghosting Mason after the fact and being unable to contact him to apologize. The best I can do is ask his cousin for his number
