Always (Cape Hill Book 3) Read online

  The thought behind her care and strength has me feeling things a best friend isn’t meant to feel for their best friend. Things that’ll tie us together for entirely different reasons.

  In this very moment, my heart swells with another kind of love altogether. I’ve loved Leia since we met, even if I didn’t quite know how much then, but now, now that love is real.

  I grasp her face with my clammy palms, wishing like hell I could’ve protected her.

  I’m worthless. Spineless. Unworthy.

  How did I not see the signs?

  How can I fix this?

  Broken. Unsalvageable. Weak.

  “Too?”

  How long has he been hurting my girl, and why in the world didn't she say anything? It’s bad enough she has to worry about the men her mother brings home, but now she has to hide from the demon in my stepfather, who wears the face of a man.

  “How long?” I question softly, grasping at straws in a field of wheat, somehow still afraid Darryl will hear my words and come back for us both.

  She places her hands over mine that cradle her face, squeezing them in succession. The warmth from her palms seep through me, but that bone chill from the knob twisting still ebbs at me, still promises of torture and bad and bad and bad.

  “A while,” she admits, her head attempting to hang in an embarrassed gesture.

  “Lele,” I press.

  I kiss her forehead, wishing this was a nightmare. God, how much I wish this was a bad dream. I’d take it all. Every despicable fucking thing Darryl could do to me and her, I’d take whatever he brought to have saved her from this.

  “A few years,” she whimpers. The wet trickles of her tears dribbling onto my hands slide past my wrists, escaping her like I wish we could escape him.

  “Fuck.”

  “Shh, Brax,” she hushes me, soothing me with her strength. “We’ll be okay. Us. We will make it.”

  Even with her reassuring words, I feel my body empty of hope. All the good things that Lele brings aren’t worth his damages. I won’t afford her melancholy for my peace. Not anymore.

  My sacrifice for her salvation. Always.

  “You can’t stay here anymore.”

  The response spills out before I can hold it in. It’s simple, yet the weight of each word suffocates me.

  She drops her arms, and I do too, unsure where to go from here.

  “Hold me tonight? Then make your final decision tomorrow.”

  She gives no room for argument, and her voice is so soft I feel like I imagined it. She pulls me to my bed, the one I’ve spent many nights with her, loving her while she loves someone else, and hold her as she sleeps.

  I don’t nod off once.

  Not with him only rooms away.

  Not with all I know.

  I didn’t protect her before, but that changes now.

  I should’ve told him ages ago, when Darryl first snuck into the guest room, but I was ashamed. What if it’s my fault? Maybe I caused it?

  Whore. Vile. Ruined. All words Darryl whispered harshly into my ears time after time. “No one will want you if you tell them. You’re sullied and unlovable. Absolutely disgusting.”

  Then I met Sy, and those words no longer held merit. He makes me feel cared for. He didn’t see a broken or damaged girl, even if he doesn’t know what happens when I stay at Brax’s. Even if I only see him from time to time, and he treats me like a stranger, he still brings a comfort and safety I never knew I needed.

  My fear, which came true, stopped me all the times before now. Brax always protected me like a big brother, like my best friend, like my own personal superhero.

  And by telling him tonight, he confirmed my biggest trepidation. He wants me to leave and not come back. He’s abandoning me, just like Sinthe and dad and Deaftone. All of them. Then I’ll be alone again, forced to cope by myself.

  We lay in the bed, and in his arms, I’m comforted. I’m safe and whole. I cuddle into the space between his shoulder and chest. In this moment, I wish he was mine. I wish he liked girls and could be mine. He’d never hurt me. He’d be here and never leave, and we could be happy.

  But he doesn’t like girls.

  He won’t ever be mine, and accepting that is the hardest realization I’ve had to come to this young. Not even my mamá being drunk all the time was this hard. It’s just something I became accustomed to.

  Brax soothes me with the swirls he makes across my arms with his finger. He holds me securely, like his biggest fear is me disappearing. As he kisses my head whispering everything’s going to be okay, I fall asleep.

  When the sun blinds me, forcing me up, my neck aches. Twinges of pain and pins and needles jab at me as I rotate. Sleeping in the crook of Brax’s shoulder must’ve kinked my neck. I’ll have to avoid that position from now on. If there’s a from now on.

  The bed groans as I get into a sitting position. There’s a blanket haphazardly covering me, but Brax isn’t in sight. Focusing on the little sounds besides my breathing, I listen for liveliness around me. Outside his room, there’s a faint resonance of voices. They aren’t loud, more hushed and secretive, and that has me sneaking out the door to snoop.

  As I creep down the hall of Brax’s house, I hear heated words shared between Darryl and Brax.

  “If you ever so much as fucking look at her, I’ll slice your balls off myself.”

  The tone of Brax’s voice has me wary. He’s never sounded this disturbed. And that it’s in reaction to me, has me feeling pride and love for him.

  “I haven’t fucked her. I saved that for you,” he responds, his hostile voice sending chills of unease up my body. Where’s Dahlia when I need her?

  “Fuck you,” Brax spits, his voice seeping in unrestrained repugnance.

  “Don’t make me take you to the mud room, boy. I’ll show you exactly how to use those two words.”

  My chest aches at that admission, knowing that he’s hurt Brax in that way, that he’s touched what isn’t his and made Brax not have that innocence left. I should’ve been a better friend. Why couldn’t we save each other?

  As soon as I’m about to rush Darryl and smack him for his foul words, Dahlia’s soft, melodic voice sounds from behind me.

  “Leia-o-pea-uh, what’re you doing, sweet girl?”

  I feign sleepiness, trying to hide my snooping. There’s no way she could know about Darryl and stay married to him, right? She wouldn’t allow a man like that hurt her baby boy, right?

  “Sorry, Lia. I was trying to wake up. I’m really exhausted.” I grossly exaggerate, stretching and yawning.

  Something flashes in her expression then disappears. Her eyes clear as she smiles, leading me to the kitchen. The smile is fake, but her kindness isn’t.

  “Let’s eat and get you back to your mom then.”

  “Yeah,” I respond, nodding nonchalantly.

  Home isn’t much better than here. At least Brax and Lia love me. My mamá couldn’t spare a moment with me, and Deaftone and Absinthe don’t visit anymore either. There’s Sy, but he avoids me. I think I laid it on too thick the day I met him. He won’t talk to me or even sit near me on the couch. He avoids interactions altogether.

  Home is a barren of love.

  Here is a bitter cell of hell.

  But I’d rather spend hell with Brax than go to a home without love.

  While we eat breakfast and I stare at Brax in a sympathetic but understanding way, I see his defeat and embarrassment. I wonder if he knows that I know how far it’s gone with Darryl. Does he hate me for knowing?

  Better question is, can I fix him and us?

  “Go out with me, Lele. Give me a real chance to be the man you need. I fucking love you.”

  His words are sharp and meant to strike me. Not in a painful way, but a way that will get me out of this Sy-fog. He wants me to hear him, to see him.

  “I-I don’t know, Brax.”

  He’s too much right now. He’s too much love and butterflies and springtime happiness. He’s the ex
act opposite of the man I left behind.

  “Whatever he is to you, I’ll be that. I’ll do any-fucking-thing for you. Don’t you see that?”

  Brax holds my face, like he once did when we were kids, like he’s examining me, checking me for all the truths in the world. It’s the littlest expression that I’m his, that I’ll let this happen, that I’ll choose him. He’s so gentle with his hold, his thumb and forefinger soft on my jaw.

  “I’m willing to sacrifice everything for you.” His voice cracks. It’s full of heartbreak, love, and so much fucking need I’m weak for it.

  I meet his eyes, his emotional eyes that penetrate my soul, and I let myself experience the impact of that look. I force myself to only think of him, only feel him… only see him.

  “I’m willing to sacrifice my pride, Lele, to do anything and everything for you. Let me be what you need.”

  My gaze travels his stiff body. He’s rigid with determination and so much goddamn love it takes my breath away. Of all the times I've been with Sy, those words have never escaped his lips. That four-letter word, eight-letter admission, and three-word sentence I ache for, Brax willingly gives to me. He says it like it's law.

  The funny thing is, love is exactly like that Spanish proverb.

  El amor no respeta la ley, ni obedece al rey.

  Love doesn't respect the law, nor does it obey a king.

  Love is pure, faithless, and so fucking damning, but most of all, it's irresistible.

  Yet, when the man I love, the one I've given every single shred of my being to, doesn't give me that reassurance—those four fucking letters—my life feels frail. It feels lifeless, darkened, drained of hope of any kind.

  But that doesn't stop me from letting a little slice of light in, letting hope fester, and letting me want things I have no right wanting.

  He’ll never give me the love and tenderness I crave, the comfort and desperation I so badly need, and the confidence that no matter what happens in this fucked-up world, he’ll stay.

  This knowledge weighs heavily on my heart, stripping some fragile chord inside me, and with that, my mind is made up.

  “Yes,” I whisper, the first word I’ve said in the last five minutes. My stomach tightens with the implications of this decision.

  A small smile breaks across his exhausted face, a dimple breaking free. His face morphs, and a joyous and boyish expression I don’t see often appears like a ray of fucking sunshine.

  “Yes?” he questions, his eyebrows as high as the Statue of Liberty, his smile bigger than life.

  “Yes,” I confirm with a giggle.

  He’s so fucking adorable, and if he knew I thought that, he’d probably spank me.

  I’d like if he spanked me.

  No, stop that. He’s not Sy.

  He’s Brax, just Brax.

  He pulls me into a tight embrace, his warmth the exact comfort I need. He holds me together, not just metaphorically but physically too. His hugs are therapeutic, protecting me, showering me with repose and ardency I only have with him. I’ve been through a lot since Puerto Rico, and this is the first time I’ve felt right.

  Sy’s gone.

  My mom and I are working on things.

  Papá is nowhere to be seen.

  I'm falling apart day by day.

  And Brax is the only thing keeping me together. Brax and his medicinal hugs.

  It’s been six months since I accepted his offer to be his.

  We’re together now.

  Me and… Brax.

  It transpired fast, and without restraint. One minute I’m apologizing, the next we’re kissing and holding hands and in public no less. It just happened. There was no gravitating toward the togethership. We just… happened.

  We’re happy. I think. He smiles more. He’s no longer moody, and we don’t fight. That’s happy. Right?

  We also live together. It’s been just as long since I moved out that Brax moved out too. Graduation has gone and past, and it’s practically fall. I have six weeks to decide if I’m moving to Puerto Rico or staying in Cape Hill. Or maybe Massachusetts is the answer? If I stick to Psychology, that’s the smartest choice. I don’t know what I want anymore.

  Brax wants whatever I want. But it’s different. He’s… different.

  He’s almost detached, like how I used to get when we were younger and I’d ask him about Darryl and what happened. Maybe all of that is how I came to the bisexual conclusion for him. The more I think of it, the surer I am that he’s bi. He may not notice how he looks at Brady, like at graduation, or when we see him on a rare occasion when we leave town for Sinthe. His eyes follow his every move, and when Brady peers back at him with a forlorn expression, I have to wonder if something happened between them.

  I try not to think about it.

  You ever hear that saying, you’re made up of what broke you and built you?

  That sentiment isn’t lost on me.

  I’m what Sy left of me.

  I’m what Brax has built me up to be.

  But that doesn’t define me. It doesn’t mean if I went off and killed myself, it’d be their fault. It only means that our makeup, the kind that makes us who we are, is designed by our experiences. As a new adult—one who is nearly nineteen now—I can safely say, I’ve been through a lot.

  I haven’t seen or heard a single thing from Sy since Puerto Rico. No attempts to text, or see, or even call me. No random stops at my job, at the club, or at my apartment. He’s had several opportunities too. Yet, nothing. It’s like he never existed. Mamá is doing well. She doesn’t say much about P.R. or how she and her husband are doing or if they’re still together.

  It’s like I’ve been severed from my family, and I’m the last one to know about it.

  It’s been nearly three months since I’ve been home to visit. I don’t go there, not even to see Mamá. It’s a place that warrants as many problems as good memories. It’s not worth the trip down memory lane.

  We moved out, and both Brax and I got jobs, me at the Viper’s Den and him at the Viper’s body shop, Luther & Parker: Machines and Things. He does the shit that Uncle Absinthe and the boys don’t want to do. Sinthe allowed me to clean and tend to the bar, as long as I don’t drink, but Brax got the shitty end of the stick. Unlike me, he’s not family. But since he’s been prospecting, it’s changed a lot, and they’ve given him better jobs and taken him in too.

  There’s a story to Sinthe, one only Deaftone seems to know. Sinthe has been different with me. He’s not the same man I grew up around, playing with dolls and riding Mistress while Mamá was too busy to raise me. It changed when I was thirteen, until I moved out. Before, it was like he started questioning my motives, like I’d somehow betrayed his trust, severing some kind of loyalty I didn’t realize I’d fucked with.

  When growing up knowing a man like him, a president of a notorious biker club, everything is noticeable, like he always used to bear hug me, bracing me in his arms like he’d be lost without me in his life. He and Deaftone always held me like I was their own, like I was their life too. I’d go visit them, and they’d come over just to have tea parties, long rides in the night on their bikes, movies, or even my favorite: dress up. I’d made them ugly on so many occasions.

  Then Sy came.

  It was like the world stopped spinning.

  The axis was tilted, and I was stuck on the equator, watching everything around me fall into ruin.

  Sinthe vanished around that time, and so did Deaftone. For over a year, no less, they were as missing as my absentee father. After that, Mamá didn’t talk about them. She didn’t get her daily phone calls or random visits. They stopped coming over when she worked late, and I was alone. Even Pilar dissolved into history like a myth. They didn’t come see me for my birthday. They didn’t stop by the club anymore and wouldn’t answer my calls and texts. It’s like they died or simply absconded from the earth and then my own world altogether. I asked Mamá about it, but she shut me down almost like it was a touchy subject.
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  Suddenly, five years later, at my graduation, they showed up. It’s like all that time away was purposeful, biding their time, building an invisible army. They came back different, so much so that they scared me. They weren’t my fierce warriors anymore. They were fragmented, broken vases unable to be put together fully.

  I remember that first moment clear as day.

  “Leia Soltero,” the principal calls my name.

  Dressed in my maroon cap and gown, I walk on the stage. A lei hangs around my neck, and several achievement medals adorn it too.

  His smile is jovial, his glasses nearly edging the end of his nose as he holds my diploma in his hands. I make my way toward him, a big cheesy grin on my face. I did it. My mamá never graduated, and I know she regrets it. She gets this faraway look in her eyes whenever she talks about it.

  He reaches his palm out to me, and I grasp it. He pulls me close, and says, “smile.”

  They take several pictures of us. Then he’s telling me I did a good job before I exit with the blue album in hand.

  As soon as I’m off the stage, I see Brax. His eyes are light with pride, and his teeth are all sparkly with the grin he’s giving me.

  “Lele, I’m so fucking proud,” he praises, picking me up and twirling me.

  It feels good to have his love. It’s been fresh and pure, like something you’d want to have, to marry, to savor. Maybe not passionate or burning with lust, but it’s peaceful and welcoming.

  He kisses me fiercely, his lips tilted in a smile against mine.

  With tears pricking at my eyes, I thank him. He leads me to the line. After about ten minutes, they finally get to the last person and file us out to our seats.

  Our valedictorian gives a beautiful speech, and we throw our caps.

  It’s then, when it’s in the air, that time stops.

  It’s this flicker in my soul, a spark, one for change and with purpose and promise; an awareness almost that I’ll change lives, even if it’s only my own.