Caine cut a piece off his steak with the side of his fork and slid it onto the prongs, the meat giving easy under the press. He leaned back against the chair and set the fork down for a beat, his eyes moving past the rail of the rooftop bar to where the water stretched out beyond the pier.
The Pacific sat flat and bright under the sun, the blue running clean to the edge of the horizon. A line of pelicans cut low across the surface, wings tipping for balance before they angled and dropped out of sight behind the boardwalk. The Ferris wheel turned slow at the end of the pier, cars rocking once each time the wheel paused to let riders on. A gull landed on the rail two tables down, walked the length of it, and lifted off again when a server came through with a tray.
Across the table, Autumn rested her chin on the back of her hand. Her sunglasses were pushed up on top of her head and her hair was pulled back, gold hoops catching the light when she shifted. Her plate held avocado toast cut into halves, a poached egg sitting on each slice, a few slices of strawberry pushed off to the side of the plate. She lifted her mimosa, drank from it, and set it back down. Her eyes stayed on him.
Caine felt the look. He turned his head and met her eyes.
"What?"
"You stay staring out at that damn water."
Caine laughed. He cut the piece of steak he had been working on and brought it to his mouth, chewing once before he answered.
"I ain't use to seeing blue water. Except for the few times I went out to Tybee Island or Hilton Head when I was out in Georgia."
Autumn's eyebrow climbed. She picked up one of the toast halves and held it in front of her mouth, the egg yolk shifting where her thumb pressed under the bread.
"You were having some little romantic getaways with some country white woman out there, Mr. Guerra?"
Caine snorted a laugh. "Yeah."
Autumn paused with the toast still in her hand. Her eyes stayed on him, mouth pulling at one corner, then she laughed, her shoulders shaking once before she got it under control. She set the toast back down on the plate without taking a bite. She wiped her thumb against the side of her napkin.
"I'm not going to lie. The fact that you don't lie about shit keeps throwing me off."
Caine shrugged and cut another piece of steak. "Ain't no reason to lie. I did what I did and I do what I do. Everyone think they protecting people feelings by lying but you ain't doing shit but making it worse when it come out. And it's gonna come out. Nobody slick enough to hide shit forever."
A corner of Autumn's mouth lifted. She picked her mimosa up again and turned the glass once between her fingers before she drank, the orange in the bottom catching when she tilted it. She set it down and pushed the napkin a half inch across the table.
"Look at you, a nigga with integrity. If I didn't know any better, I'd call that a lie, too. But I suspect it's not."
Caine forked the piece of steak into his mouth and chewed. He swallowed and reached for his water, the condensation beading down the side of the glass and onto the wood when he picked it up.
"That's the chance you gotta take, right?"
"Right." Autumn set the glass down. The base tapped against the wood. She brushed a strand of hair off her shoulder with the back of her hand. "So, why'd you leave your white woman behind?"
Caine cut into a piece of egg, the yolk breaking and running across the plate to pool against the edge of the steak. He pressed the side of the toast into the pool and brought it up.
"Her husband ain't really like that I was fucking his wife."
Autumn laughed. She tipped her head back, the hoops catching the light again, and brought a hand up to her chest as the laugh rolled out of her. A woman at the next table over glanced over and turned back to her own plate.
"You go from a breath of fresh air to a walking, talking stereotype."
Caine smirked. He shook his head once and picked his water glass up, the condensation slick against his palm.
"On the plus side, I'm really good at getting another motherfucker out the spot so let your man know."
Autumn's eyebrow rose. She picked the toast back up and bit into it, chewing slow before she swallowed. She wiped the corner of her mouth with the side of her thumb and brushed it off against the napkin in her lap.
"Who said I got a nigga? You think I'm the cheating type?"
Caine laughed. "Everyone got it in 'em. They just don't know it until they sneaking out in the middle of the night."
Autumn rolled her eyes. She picked up the second half of the toast and took a bite, the egg yolk running down to where her thumb caught it before it hit the plate. "Guess it's a good thing I don't got a man then."
"Yet." Caine cut another piece of steak. The fork tapped once against the porcelain. "I think I'm one or two dates away."
Autumn shook her head slow. The smirk on her face stayed. "Too honest and too cocky. What a fucking combination, Caine."
Caine shrugged. The smirk came back to his face and he set the fork down, his hand resting flat on the table beside the plate.
"I see you ain't tell me I was off."
Autumn lifted the mimosa and drank, her eyes moving past him for a beat to the water and then back, the smile sitting on her lips behind the rim of the glass.
~~~
Brenton swung the truck wide around a stack of pallets and rolled to a stop in front of a long, single-story building with a metal roof and a row of windows tinted dark against the morning. A line of trucks sat nose-out along the curb, idling, exhaust pluming and breaking apart in the cold air. He pointed past Saul through the windshield, the knuckles on his hand still red from the steering wheel.
"Go get our permits for tomorrow so we can just go straight to the unit."
Saul let out a breath through his nose. He pulled the door handle, the metal sticking for a beat in the cold before it gave and stepped out onto the gravel. He pulled his vest down over the front of his hoodie, the reflective strips catching the gray light, and reached back into the truck for the hard hat sitting on the dash. He set it on his head, adjusting the strap with two fingers until the band sat right.
The lot stretched out in front of the office. Two contractors stood near the door of a Ford with foam cups in their hands, talking with their heads bent close. A forklift moved across the far end of the lot, beeping in steady intervals as it backed toward a row of stacked drums. The smell of diesel and wet asphalt rolled across the lot.
Saul stepped onto the concrete walkway and pulled the office door open. The heat inside hit him first, the air dry and pushing out through a vent overhead. The building was narrow, a counter running along the right side and a row of plastic chairs against the left wall. Two men stood at the counter ahead of him, one of them filling out a form on a clipboard with a pen tied to it by a piece of string. A coffee maker burbled on a side table behind the counter, the carafe half-full.
He walked over to the desk where Francesca sat, her name badge clipped to the front of her sweater, a vase of roses on the corner of the desk catching what little light came through the blinds. She looked up from her monitor, her eyes moving from his hat to his face.
"What you need, Saul?"
"I need our permits for tomorrow. At K4340. For the packing and all."
Francesca clicked her mouse once and looked at the screen, then back at him. She lifted a pen and tapped the cap against her bottom lip. "You do a walk with someone? A four eyes?"
Saul shook his head. "We just picking up the shit they already packed."
"You gotta get someone to at least go do a four eyes with you."
Saul shifted his weight. He pressed one hand flat on the edge of her desk and let it rest there. "It's not packed right now though. They're doing it tonight."
Francesca shrugged. The pen rolled between her fingers and came to rest against her knuckles. "Guess you'll be coming back to see me tomorrow then."
Saul sucked his teeth. He looked past her at the printer on the credenza behind her, then back at her face. "You let Walker and them get their permits early."
She lifted the pen and pointed it at the vase of roses on the corner of the desk. Then she rolled her chair back a few inches, hooked the toe of her shoe under the lip of the small garbage can beside her, and tipped it forward so he could see the Chipotle bag crumpled inside, the foil wrapper of a burrito poking up through the top.
"They bring me bribes. You seem to be empty handed."
Saul's eyebrows lifted. He let his hand come off the desk. "You serious?"
She let the trash can settle back on its base and rolled forward again. The pen came up and tapped against the desk. "I don't really like roses though. More of a daisies girl."
Saul shook his head once. His mouth pulled at one corner. "Guess I'll come in tomorrow then."
Francesca shrugged. She turned back to her monitor, her hand finding the mouse.
"See you tomorrow."
He turned and stepped around a man standing behind him with a folder of paperwork pressed against his chest, the man already shifting forward to take Saul's place at the desk. The door pushed against the cold when he leaned into it and stepped back out onto the walkway. The forklift beeped once more across the lot before the sound cut and the engine dropped to an idle.
He walked back to the truck, gravel crunching under his boots, and pulled the passenger door open. He climbed in and pulled the hard hat off, setting it on the dashboard.
Brenton looked over at him. His eyes moved to Saul's empty hands, then back to his face.
"Where's the permits?"
Saul reached up and rubbed at the side of his neck. He let his hand drop to his thigh. "You better bring her some flowers, bro."
Brenton sucked his teeth. He shifted in his seat and pressed his foot down on the brake, the truck giving a small lurch as he moved the shifter into drive.
"You got money, motherfucker."
He pulled out of the parking lot, the truck rolling slow over the speed bumps at the edge of the lot before it picked up speed once it hit the access road. Saul let his head fall back against the headrest and closed his eyes. Outside the window the site rolled past, a blur of metal, gravel and the gray sky pressing down on top of it all.
~~~
Sena crossed the living room with her socks slipping a little against the hardwood, one hand pulling at the hem of her sweatshirt. She stopped at the door and put her hand on the deadbolt, holding it there for a second before she turned it. She drew in a breath, let it out slow, and pulled the door open.
Mireya stood on the other side with her hand already lifting toward the knob. Her bag hung off one shoulder, jacket open over a fitted crop top, hair pulled back and gathered in a clip at the base of her neck. She smiled. The smile sat where it had been sitting for weeks, stopping short of her eyes.
She stepped past Sena into the apartment, her shoulder brushing Sena's as she came in. Her eyes moved across the living room, the kitchen counter visible through the half-wall, the pile of mail on the entry table. She turned her head and looked back at Sena.
"I expected cleaner. Because of you, you know?"
Sena let the door fall shut behind her and tapped a pair of Cassidy's white sneakers aside with her foot, the soles scraping a few inches across the floor before they caught against the leg of the entry table.
"Priya's not too bad, but Cassidy's the worst." Sena tilted her chin toward the hallway that opened off the living room. "C'mon. I'm set up in my room."
Mireya's eyes moved past her to the hall, then to the closed door of the kitchen pantry, then back. Her bag shifted on her shoulder.
"Where are your roommates now?"
Sena started toward the hallway and her foot paused in midair for half a beat before it came down then she kept walking.
"I think they had some thing they had to get to."
Mireya hummed in her throat, low, the note short. Sena heard it just barely over the sound of the heater clicking in the wall.
She pushed her bedroom door open and stepped through, her hand trailing the frame. Her laptop sat open on the made bed, the HESI study guide already up on the screen, a notebook beside it with a pen lying across the page where she had stopped taking notes. She crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge near the laptop, her socked feet flat on the rug.
Mireya came in behind her and didn't stop. She walked past the foot of the bed, deeper into the room, her fingers trailing along the top of the dresser where it sat against the wall. She let her bag slide off her shoulder onto the floor near the closet. Her eyes moved across the walls, the empty hooks above the dresser, the strip of paint that ran lighter along the edge where someone before her had hung a frame.
"Not a lot of decorations in here."
Sena pulled her laptop closer on the comforter. "I didn't want to move everything across town."
Mireya took two steps over to the closet and pulled the door open. Sena watched her, an eyebrow lifting. Mireya's fingers ran along the line of clothes on the rod, hangers ticking against each other where her hand pushed through. Shirts, jeans, a couple of pairs of pants pressed and folded over hangers, the skirts on the far end, two dresses still tagged from when Mireya had bought them for her months ago.
Sena cleared her throat. "You don't think that's a little rude?"
Mireya looked at her over her shoulder, her hand still moving along the line of clothes. "How many times have you gone through my closet?"
Sena pressed her lips together. "Touche."
Mireya let the closet door swing back partway and crossed to the nightstand on the side of the bed nearer the window. She put her hand on the drawer pull. Sena's eyes followed her hand.
"There's nothing in there."
Mireya looked at her, eyebrow up, and pulled the drawer open. The vibrator sat in the back left corner, the silicone dildo rolled forward against the front lip of the drawer when it moved, and a half-used bottle of lube stood upright between them. Mireya snorted a laugh.
"Nothing, huh?"
Sena's eyes cut back to the screen. She scrolled the study guide down a page. "Thought you said you wanted to study?"
Mireya pushed the drawer closed with the side of her hand. She walked around the foot of the bed and sat down on the edge next to Sena. Her hip pressed against the side of Sena's thigh, the line of contact running from knee up to where her arm had to come around behind Sena's back because there was no space between them for it to sit anywhere else. Her fingers settled on the comforter past Sena's hip.
"I think I'm going to wing it. I got too much fucking shit going on."
Sena lifted her eyes from the screen. "What's up?"
Mireya shook her head once. "Just life. Every time I think I'm getting a little ahead, shit just pulls me fucking down, man."
Sena let her thumb come off the trackpad. "Is it something at work?"
"No. That never changes. Some other stuff." She paused. Her eyes moved down the line of the bed and back up. "I don't want to talk about it right now."
Sena nodded once, slow. "Okay, but I can help you prep. So you don't have to take it more than once."
Mireya's mouth lifted at the corner. The smile sat where it had been sitting for weeks, no further. She nodded.
"Okay. I'll take your help."
Her phone dinged in the pocket of her jacket. She slid it out with her free hand and flicked the screen on with her thumb. Spirit, the text confirming her flight in a week, the dates and the times and the booking code laid out in a row beneath the airline logo. She thumbed the screen black and held the phone against her thigh.
Her eyes moved down to the strip of mattress Sena had perched herself on. Sena's hip sat just past the edge of the comforter, her weight tipped toward the floor more than the bed. Mireya's hand came around to Sena's hip, fingers fitting against the curve of bone there through the fabric of her leggings, and she pulled.
Sena went with the motion, both of them sliding back across the comforter toward the middle of the bed, Mireya's palm staying where it had landed on Sena’s hip. Sena drew in a sharp breath through her nose.
"You were going to fall off.
Sena opened her mouth, the start of a word forming. Her voice caught on the first sound. She closed her mouth, swallowed, and started again. Her hand came up to point at the laptop screen.
"Yeah, so I started marking whatever I thought was confusing."
Mireya looked at her for a moment. Her eyes moved across Sena's face, her mouth, the line of her jaw where it tipped down toward the screen. Then she looked down at the screen.
~~~
Ramon leaned against the side of the porch with his hands loose at his sides, eyes moving down the block. The afternoon sat low and gray over the rooftops, the cold cutting through his hoodie at the wrists where the sleeves had ridden up. Down the street one of the BGs handed something to a man in a denim jacket and the man kept walking without looking back, the exchange done before either of them had broken stride. Two more of the youngsters stood at the corner, one of them on his phone, the other watching the cross street with his arms folded over his chest.
Tyree sat on the top step with his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging between them, a half-empty bottle of water tipped against the riser beside his shoe. His head turned slow to track a Civic that drifted past.
A sedan came up from the other direction. Black, washed recent, the rims clean. It rolled too slow for someone who had business on this block and slow enough that everyone on the porch caught it at the same time. The car pulled up to the curb across the street and stopped.
Ramon's hand came off his hip and went behind his back. His fingers found the grip of the pistol tucked there. Tyree was already moving, his hand under the back of his shirt, his weight coming up off the step.
The driver's door opened. Shad stepped out and shut the door behind him, hand staying on the frame for a second before he let go. The passenger door opened on the same beat. Scotty came out the other side, pulled his shirt down once over his waistband, and rounded the front of the car. Both of them held their hands out from their sides, palms turned forward and crossed the street like that.
Tyree's hand stayed where it was. He waited until they were on the sidewalk on his side and then he pulled the pistol out and let it hang against his thigh, the barrel angled toward the concrete.
"Say, my nigga. You know you ain't allowed around these streets."
Scotty stopped six feet short of him. He looked at the gun, then up at Tyree's face, his hands still out from his sides. His chain caught the gray light, laid flat against the front of his shirt.
"Nigga, I ain't been 110 in months. You gotta let that hate in your heart go. I ain't come here for no beef. I just wanted it to run it with you boys real quick."
Ramon's hand stayed behind his back. His eyes moved from Scotty to Shad standing a step back, then to the sedan at the curb, then back.
"About what?"
Shad's chin lifted a fraction. He looked at Scotty.
Scotty's hand came up, fingers spread. "You know that nigga Ant running shit now that Trell gone."
Tyree let out a breath through his nose. He brought the gun up, looked at it, then slid it back into his waistband and pulled his shirt down over the grip. His weight settled back onto his heels.
"Ant was that nigga right hand. Shit should be running the same way it was before."
Scotty shook his head. "But it ain't. Ant ain't no negotiating nigga. All he know is do what he say or he gonna kill you. You can't do no business like that."
Ramon's hand finally came around from behind his back. He let his arms hang. His thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his jeans. "You should've thought about that before you cliqued up with them niggas. Or carry your ass back to 110."
Shad's eyes cut to Scotty. Scotty looked back at him for a second and then forward again. He lifted one shoulder and let it drop.
"We planning on killing that nigga. Take that shit over ourselves. Me, Shad and Yola."
Tyree's eyebrows lifted. He looked at Ramon. Ramon kept his face flat, his eyes on Scotty's.
"That ain't got nothing to do with us. Trell connection with Duke went in the ground with that nigga."
Tyree tipped his chin toward Shad. "Where you landing on this shit, lil' nigga?"
Shad rolled his shoulder and dragged his hand back across his head, fingers running through the short hair there. "I ain't trying to wait for the day I say the wrong shit and that nigga kill me."
Scotty nodded once, slow. "We ain't looking for no help. We just need to start getting some connects once that nigga gone because all that old shit gonna be cut off without Trell and Ant."
Ramon's eyes moved to Tyree. Ramon held the look for a beat. Tyree shrugged, one shoulder lifting and dropping, his hands coming up to scratch at his ribs through his shirt.
Ramon's eyes came back to Scotty. He held him there for a second longer, then his mouth pulled at one corner.
"You still got that 110 stank on you, nigga." He looked at Shad. His chin lifted. "Both you niggas."
Scotty's hand came back up, palm open.
"What that gotta do with money?"
Ramon didn't answer right away. His thumb moved against the seam of his pocket, dragging up and down once. He looked past Scotty at the sedan, at the dark windows tinted enough that he couldn't see if anyone else was inside, then back at Scotty's face. Down the block one of the BGs handed something to another fiend and turned away from the exchange, eyes scanning.
"Alright, nigga. If y'all pack Ant up, I'll take it to Duke."
~~~
Rachaad killed the engine and the bass cut. Caine pushed his door open and stepped out onto the asphalt, the air cool against the side of his neck. Angel got out the back on the curb side, pulling his hoodie down over his waistband as he came around the rear of the car.
The streetlight at the corner threw a wash of orange over the block. A few houses down, music carried from a yard off to the right, a steady kick under voices and laughter, a woman's loud cackle cutting through the rest.
Two dozen guys spread across the front yard and the driveway and the strip of sidewalk in front of the house. Red shirts. Red hats. Red shoes. Red bandanas hanging from pockets or tied at wrists. A handful had bottles in their hands, others held cups, two passed a blunt back and forth at the edge of the lawn. There were as many women as men, maybe more, scattered through the group, some dancing in pairs near a Bluetooth speaker propped on the trunk of a sedan, some leaning against the chests of guys who had their arms around their waists, a few standing in their own circle with cups raised.
Rachaad came around the front of the Urus and tipped his chin toward the yard. The three of them started across the strip of grass.
Nap stood in the middle of the group with his back to them, one hand holding a beer and the other lifted as he talked. The guys around him laughed at something he said, the laugh rolling outward through the rest of the yard. Nap turned his head, caught the three of them coming up, and tapped the chest of the man standing closest to him with the back of his hand. The two of them broke off and walked over.
Nap had a beer in each hand by the time he reached them. The guy beside him carried a single bottle in one hand and a fresh cap in the other. They stopped a foot in front of Caine, Rachaad and Angel.
Rachaad dapped Nap first. Nap pulled him into a half hug and stepped back, then dapped Caine. Caine nodded once. Nap turned and dapped Angel. The other guy did the same down the line, dapping up each of them in turn. Nap held one beer out to Caine, the other to Rachaad. The guy beside him handed Angel his.
"Glad y'all could come out, lil' homies. I know they be trying to keep a leash on y'all on the campus."
Rachaad twisted the cap off his beer with his palm, the metal popping against his hand. "It's only them out of state white boys they got scared to go off the campus. You know we be in the streets."
Nap laughed, his head tipping back, his free hand coming up to press against his chest. "I already know. I already know."
He turned to the man beside him and pointed at Caine with the bottom of his beer bottle. "This the nigga I was telling you about. Motherfucking quarterback." He turned back to Caine and pointed at the guy now. "This my nigga Steez. He a rapper and shit."
Steez nodded. The chain on his neck caught the orange of the streetlight when he shifted. "Just trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents."
Caine took a sip of his beer and tipped the bottle a fraction toward Steez. "Seems like all y'all rappers out here."
Nap and Steez both laughed.
Nap shook his head as he caught his breath. "Just like them niggas in New Orleans."
Angel snorted then brought his beer up and took a pull before he answered. "Yeah, but they trash out there."
Caine turned his head toward Angel. "Man, fuck you and that garbage ass Bay area shit."
Rachaad, Nap and Steez all laughed at the same time. Rachaad rolled his shoulder once, the laugh still moving through him.
"I been saying that shit since I came out the womb. Ain't nobody trying to hear no E-40 ass shit."
Caine nodded, his bottle coming up. "Facts."
Nap looked at Caine again. The smile sat steady on his face. He gestured at him with the neck of his beer. "I was telling blood that you gonna be like the hood's quarterback. I'm thirty-seven and I ain't never seen no USC quarterback that's comfortable around real niggas."
Angel snorted a laugh, the beer almost going up his nose. He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Caleb Williams might've been comfortable around niggas."
Steez let out a sharp laugh and pointed at Angel with his free hand. "That nigga gay though. That's some other shit. Comfortable because he getting dicked down."
Caine tipped his chin toward Rachaad and Angel, his beer hanging loose in his hand.
"I been telling these dudes that I been off the porch. This just like back home, just a little bigger. And different with these different gangs and shit. We just got neighborhood cliques."
Nap's eyebrows lifted a fraction. He took a swig from his beer. "You was affiliated?"
Caine held his free hand up, palm open. "I did what I had to do, but we ain't got no Crips and Bloods in the city."
Nap nodded. The smile widened. "That's what's up, lil' homie. USC got a quarterback that was out there earning his fucking stripes like a real nigga. Ain't just have his nose in them books."
Caine laughed as Nap reached out and dapped him up again, their hands meeting hard before Nap pulled him into a brief one-armed hug and stepped back.
"Something like that."
Nap gestured over his shoulder with the neck of his beer toward the rest of the party, his arm sweeping wide enough to take in the women dancing near the speaker, the ones standing in their own circle, the rest of the yard.
"Come on and get y'all some bitches. Just don't fuck with Kayla or I'm gonna have to shoot you lil' niggas."
~~~
Mireya crouched down in the entryway with her bag still hanging off her shoulder. She let it slide down her arm to the hardwood and turned her body toward Camila where she stood at the edge of the rug, the front of her shirt riding up over the waistband of her jeans where she'd been pulling at it. Mireya ran her hand over Camila's hair, smoothing the curls back from her temple, fingers moving slow from the crown to the nape.
"I'm gonna be back to get you after work, mi amor."
Camila nodded, the motion small. "Okay, mami."
She threw her arms around Mireya's neck. Mireya held her for a beat, the small body pressing into her shoulder. She kissed the side of her head where the curls were warm against her mouth. Camila pulled back and ran off toward the living room, sneakers slapping the hardwood, her path already worn in the few weeks they had been here, her shoulders set with the certainty of a kid who had figured out where her toys lived and how to get to them.
Mireya looked after her for a second, watching the back of her head bob past the threshold of the living room. Then she stood, the muscles in her thighs protesting on the rise.
Sara walked over from the kitchen and stopped beside her, drying her hands on a dish towel before tucking it into the pocket of her cardigan. She looked at Mireya, the soft set of her lips holding for a beat before she spoke.
"Tenemos que hablar sobre tu estancia en el hospital, mija."
Mireya looked at her. Her chest did something at the words, a tug under the sternum that she pushed past. She nodded.
"Okay."
She turned toward the back door and crossed the space toward the glass doors. Her hand came up to the doorknob, fingers wrapping around the cold metal. Through the glass the yard sat washed in the light from the back porch, the deck running flat to the wrought iron fence, and past the fence the pool, the surface dark and still under the night sky, the water holding the porch lights in broken pieces along the top. Her breath caught high in her chest. Her pulse came up hard enough to drum behind her eyes. The doorknob stayed in her hand and her hand stayed where it was and the rest of her body wouldn't move.
Sara came up behind her. She put her hand over Mireya's on the doorknob, her palm warm, her fingers folding around Mireya's knuckles.
"Let's go upstairs instead."
Mireya looked at her. The pool was still in her ears, and Sara's hand on hers anchored her enough that she could blink. She nodded. She turned on her heel and started toward the stairs, Sara's hand falling away from hers as she moved.
Sara turned her head toward the living room.
"Nena, me and mami are going to talk. Stay there until we come back, okay?"
Camila's voice carried back from the rug. "Okay, abuela."
Sara followed Mireya up the stairs. The carpet runner muffled their steps. Mireya turned at the top into the second bedroom on the right, the one Sara had set up with a chair and a reading lamp and not much else yet. She crossed the room and stopped at the window, her hand coming up to brace against the frame.
Sara stepped through behind her and pulled the door closed over without latching it. "No te caíste en el trabajo."
Mireya didn't turn around. She shook her head. "No."
"Tell me what's going on, mija. Let me help you."
Mireya kept her eyes on the window. The neighborhood spread out below them, houses laid in even rows along the street, porch lights making clean yellow dots along the curb, a car moving slow at the far end of the block, brake lights flaring at the stop sign.
"It's nothing. I just—I had a panic attack. Nothing serious."
Sara crossed the room. She put her hands on Mireya's arms, her palms settling above the elbows. Mireya's body locked under the touch, her shoulders pulling up toward her ears, then she let out a breath and her shoulders dropped a fraction.
"You've been doing that for months. Like you are waiting for someone to hurt you. You're afraid to even look at the pool. What happened, Mireya? Digame, por favor."
Mireya kept her eyes on the window. Her thumb pressed into the wood of the frame.
"I just had a rough night. A couple months ago. That's all."
Sara turned her gently by the arms until they were facing each other. "Rough how?"
Mireya's eyes dropped to the rug between them. Her arms hung at her sides.
"You know. I just had a little too much fun with some guys. You know how it is."
Sara lifted her hand and put two fingers under Mireya's chin, tipping her face up.
"A little too much fun doesn't make you jumpy like a rabbit waiting for a hawk, mija."
Mireya's thumb came up to her mouth. Her teeth pressed against the side of it. "I let them."
"Let them what?"
"I let them. I did. I didn't fight them. I let them."
Sara pulled her in. Her arms went around Mireya's shoulders and her hand came up to the back of her head, fingers running over the length of her hair from crown to tail.
"Oh, Mireya. Lo siento mucho, mija."
Mireya's face crumpled into Sara's shoulder. The tears came and the shoulder of Sara's cardigan went dark where they soaked into the fabric.
"I let them because I'm a slut, a whore."
Sara pulled back, both hands coming up to frame Mireya's face, her thumbs pressing into the wet under Mireya's eyes.
"Stop it. Fucking stop it."
Mireya's lips trembled. "If I tell you everything, you'll hate me. And I can't have you hating me."
Sara kept one hand on Mireya's cheek and used the other to guide her toward the chair in the corner. She lowered her into it and went down on her knees in front of it, her hands finding Mireya's where they sat in her lap.
"Tell me."
Mireya searched her face. Sara's eyes held steady. Mireya pulled in a breath that shook.
"I'm—I'm a stripper. Fully nude. Not like the women on Bourbon."
Sara's mouth moved into a sad smile, her head tipping a fraction to the side. "You're not the only woman taking her clothes off for money in this city, mija."
Mireya choked back a sob. Her shoulders jerked once. "And I fuck for money. I'm a prostitute."
Sara stilled. Her eyes stayed on Mireya's, holding for a beat that stretched. Then she lowered her head and rested her forehead against the back of Mireya's hands where they sat over her own knees.
"I'm sorry you feel the need to do that, mi amor."
Mireya's voice cracked. "You hate me now. I know you do."
Sara lifted her head. She brought Mireya's hands up and pressed her mouth to the knuckles, holding the kiss there. "No, mija. I don't."
Mireya's head dropped forward. The sob came out of her chest in a hard pull. "There's more."
Sara didn't speak. Her thumbs moved over Mireya's knuckles in slow drags.
Mireya's voice came out flat and small, smaller than Sara had ever heard it. "When I let them fu—"
Sara’s voice rising cut her off. "¡No les dejaste, carajo! ¡Deja de decir eso!"
Mireya nodded fast, her chin dipping again and again, the motion almost a child's.
"It knocked out my IUD. I'm, I'm pregn—I'm pregnant."
Sara's voice came back hard. "For one of them?"
Mireya's whole body shook with the sob that broke out of her. "I don't know who the father is. I can't even fucking guess."
"Caine, too?"
Mireya nodded.
Sara pulled in a breath that pushed her shoulders up toward her ears, then let it out slow, the exhale coming out ragged. She leaned up, reaching to brush the hair from Mireya's face, tucking it behind her ear.
"Listen to me, mija. Whatever you need to do I will support you."
Mireya's eyes searched her face. "¿Y si es de Caine?"
"What do you want to do? If it is Caine's?"
Mireya's shoulders lifted and dropped. "I can't run the risk it's not."
Sara's thumb moved against the side of Mireya's hand once, then stopped. "Talk to Caine. Do a DNA test. Then make your decision. Para mi."
"I've already booked a flight."
Sara's mouth pressed flat. Her eyes held Mireya's. "Give me this one thing, mija. Whatever you decide after, I'll support."
Mireya stared at her. The tears slid down without her stopping them. Her chest pulled in once, twice. She nodded. She sniffled, the sound wet and small.
Sara's hands went back to Mireya's where they sat between them. "Quiero que dejes de hacer lo que haces por dinero, mija, but I know that you'll fight me if I try to make you."
"I can't. It's all I'm good for."
Sara pressed her forehead to Mireya's hands again, holding it there for a beat before she lifted her head.
"Try. Para mi."
Mireya's chin moved a fraction toward a shake. Then she nodded.
Sara reached up. Her hand came along Mireya's cheek, her thumb wiping under her eye.
"Te amo, mija. Para siempre. Pase lo que pase."
Mireya's head dropped forward.
"Lo siento, mami. Lo siento mucho."
redsox said something positive about Mireya. Sara is good at making Mireya drop the walls she puts up. That acting don't work on Sara.
Is that it?