gentle and kind is miles away form how Caine treats her and you know it
American Sun
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redsox907
- Posts: 5376
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 15872
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 15872
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
Ashka / Tlatquitl
Lincoln Riley stood at the podium at midfield with the mic stands clustered in front of him. The practice field stretched out behind the press area, the grass cut fresh for the first day of fall camp, the yard lines chalked in white that caught the morning sun and held it in clean lines from sideline to sideline. His visor was pulled low enough that the brim cut a line of shadow across his eyes. His arms rested on the sides of the lectern, his fingers hanging off the front edge, loose.
The reporters were arranged in a loose half circle, fifteen or twenty of them, some with notebooks and some with phones held at chest level, screens tilted toward his face. Two cameras on tripods framed the shot from either side. A boom mic extended from the back of the group on a pole held by a man in a USC Athletics polo who kept shifting his grip. The heat was already pressing down and coming up off the turf behind the podium, the green darkening in patches where the grounds crew had watered before dawn.
A man in the second row raised his hand. Riley pointed at him with his chin.
“Coach, Caine Guerra hasn’t been at camp. Can you address his absence? There’s photos circulating from this spring with documented Bloods. Is the absence related to that situation?”
Riley’s hands stayed on the sides of the lectern. He let the question sit for a beat before he answered it.
“Caine had something come up with his family that he needed to attend to. He’s a young father. I’m a father myself. I understand. We’re giving him the space to handle what he needs to handle. I’d ask y’all to keep his family in your prayers.”
The reporter followed up before Riley could point to anyone else, his pen already lifted off the page. “Coach, to be clear, the absence has nothing to do with the photos? There was reporting in the spring that some boosters wanted action taken.”
“It has nothing to do with the photos. It’s a family matter. That’s the answer.”
A couple of the reporters in the front row exchanged a glance. The man who’d asked the question dropped his pen back to the notebook and wrote something across the top of the page.
A man near the back of the group had his phone held low against his palm, the screen angled toward his face. He looked up from it.
“Coach, have you been in contact with him? Is there a timeline on his return?”
“I’ve been in contact with Caine. I’m not gonna put a timeline on a family situation. He’ll be back when he’s back.”
A woman from the Athletic raised her recorder. The red light on its face was on and the display showed the counter running. She held it at the height of her shoulder, her elbow tucked against her ribs.
“Coach, message board chatter has him potentially re-entering the portal. Is there any concern there?”
Riley laughed, short and through his nose. “No. None.”
His hand came up to the brim of the visor and pulled it down a fraction, the shadow on his face deepening across his cheekbones..
“Coach, with him missing the start of camp, fair to say he won’t be ready for week one?”
“Caine’s gonna be ready when we need him to be ready. I’m not worried about that. The guys in that quarterback room aren’t worried about it.”
A reporter at the front of the group shifted his weight, his notebook open against his forearm, his pen pressed flat to the page. He stepped half a foot forward from the others.
“Is Brian Ridge getting first team reps in his absence? Is there a competition now?”
“Brian’s been ready since he got here. He’s taking the reps he needs to take. That’s what the room is supposed to look like.” Riley’s fingers tapped once against the side of the lectern, the sound lost under the noise of the camera shutters. “Caine is our starter.”
The woman from the Athletic brought the recorder a few inches closer, her arm extending past the man beside her.
“Coach, can you tell us anything about the nature of the family situation? Is everyone okay?”
Riley pulled a breath in through his nose. “I’m not gonna get into that. That’s for Caine and his family to share if they choose to. What I’ll say again is we’re asking for prayers.”
The man at the back looked up from his phone again. His thumb scrolled back across the screen.
“Coach, just so we’re clear on where things stand, is Caine still with the program?”
“He’s still with us. He’s a Trojan. He’s our quarterback.” Riley looked across the group, his eyes moving from face to face under the brim of the visor. “Anything else?”
Nobody spoke. A camera shutter clicked somewhere to his left. The boom mic operator shifted his grip on the pole and the foam cover at the end swung a half inch and steadied. The sun pressed against the back of the podium and the lectern threw a short shadow across the grass in front of it.
Riley nodded once. “Last football question, let’s go.”
A reporter at the side of the group raised his hand. “Coach, on the o-line rotation, what’d you see from that group through the first day?”
Riley straightened at the podium, his arms coming off the sides of the lectern, his hands settling in front of him on the flat surface. The shift moved through his posture, his weight coming forward, his shoulders squaring under the polo.
“Yeah, real good first day from that group.”
Caine had both hands on the grips of the wheelchair, rolling Mireya through the corridor toward the front entrance. The tile passed under the wheels in a low hum that sat beneath the noise of the hospital around them. Sara walked a step behind with a bag on her shoulder, the strap cutting into the fabric of her shirt where the weight pulled it forward. Mireya’s hands rested in her lap, her fingers laced loosely over the discharge folder the nurse had given her at the station.
They passed the last set of double doors before the lobby. A family came through from the other direction, a man pushing a stroller and a woman beside him with a vase of flowers held against her chest, the cellophane crinkling with each step. Mireya’s eyes followed the stroller as it passed. The infant inside was wrapped in a blanket pulled up past its chin, its face turned toward the side, asleep.
Mireya held her hand up.
Caine stopped. The wheels settled against the tile and the hum cut out. Sara’s footsteps stopped behind them.
Mireya pressed both palms flat on the armrests and pushed herself up from the chair. Her arms shook on the way up, the tendons in her wrists pulling tight under the skin, her weight shifting forward onto her feet as she straightened. Caine came around to catch her elbow.
“Puedo hacerlo.”
Caine nodded but his hand stayed where it was for another second before he let go. He stepped back but kept close, his shoulder an inch behind hers.
Sara moved the wheelchair back from behind Mireya and rolled it over to the reception desk near the entrance, leaving it against the wall where two others sat folded. She came back and fell into step on Mireya’s other side.
The three of them walked through the automatic doors and out into the sun. The light hit Mireya’s face and she squinted, her chin dropping a fraction. The air carried the heat of the morning already, thick with it, the asphalt in the loading zone giving it back in a shimmer that bent the outline of the cars parked along the curb. Caine’s rental SUV sat in the loading zone with the hazards clicking, the orange light pulsing against the paint in a rhythm that nobody was watching.
Mireya walked toward it. Her steps came slow, her weight settling fully onto each foot before the next one lifted, her gait measured in a way that belonged to someone counting what each movement cost. Caine moved beside her, matching her pace, his stride shortened to hers.
She stopped, her feet planted against the concrete and her body went still. She turned her head back toward the hospital entrance, her eyes finding the glass doors they’d come through, the lobby visible behind them, the corridor beyond it leading back into the building.
“¿Qué pasa?” Caine asked.
“I shouldn’t be leaving my baby in there.” Her voice dropped on the last word. The sound of it thinned against the traffic on the street behind them.
Sara came over and put her hand on Mireya’s back, her palm settling between her shoulder blades in the space where Caine’s had been every day for the past two weeks.
“She’s going to be in there all alone. I’m not leaving her.”
“She’s got all the nurses, Tanya and them, mi amor. And we gonna be back later to check on her,” Caine said, his voice dropping a register.
Mireya shook her head. “No es lo mismo.”
Sara’s arm came up around Mireya’s shoulders and pulled her close, Mireya’s frame fitting against Sara’s side, her head tipping toward Sara’s shoulder before it stopped short of resting there. “Mija, mírame.” Mireya’s eyes came off the hospital doors and found Sara’s face. “She’s safe in there. She’s a fighter.”
Mireya’s eyes filled. The tears sat along her lower lids, catching the sun in a thin line before the first one broke and ran down her cheek. Sara reached up with her other hand and wiped it away, the pad of her thumb following the track from the cheekbone to the jaw.
“No puedes dejar que te vean desanimada, mija. They’re already watching you to put you on a hold.” Sara’s thumb settled against Mireya’s jaw. “And Camila needs you, too. Hoy también debemos rendirle homenaje.”
Mireya nodded. The motion was small, her chin moving against Sara’s thumb.
“You should’ve seen how excited she was to know mami was coming home on her birthday,” Caine said.
Mireya snorted a laugh. “You sure that’s not because you’re here for her birthday?”
“I’m sure. C’mon. We gotta stop and pick up her cake. She already knows that we’re gonna come back later to spend some time with Micaela.”
Mireya sighed “Esto no me gusta.”
Sara kissed the side of her head, her lips pressing against the hair above Mireya’s ear, and lowered her arm from Mireya’s shoulders to her waist. “Ven, mija. Let’s get you home.”
Caine walked over to the SUV and opened the passenger door. Sara led Mireya toward it, her hand at the small of Mireya’s back, her steps adjusting to Mireya’s pace. Mireya lowered herself into the seat, her hand gripping the frame of the door, her weight going down slow. Caine closed the door behind her, pressing it shut with his palm flat against the panel until it caught.
He walked around to the driver’s side as Sara got into the back. The door closed and the bag landed on the seat beside Sara with a soft thud. Caine started the engine. The AC pushed through the vents and the air in the cabin shifted, the heat pulling back from the surfaces in degrees.
He looked over at Mireya. Her eyes were on the entrance to the hospital, fixed on the glass doors, on the lobby behind them, on the corridor that led to the elevators that led to the floor that held the unit that held her daughter. Her hands rested on her thighs, palms down, her fingers flat against the denim.
Caine pulled away from the curb. The SUV rolled forward and the angle of the windshield shifted, the hospital entrance sliding from the center of the glass toward the passenger side. Mireya’s head turned with it, her eyes tracking the doors as they moved across her window, holding them until the building passed behind the pillar between the windshield and the side glass, and then through the side glass itself as the SUV turned onto the street.
Caine lifted the sheet cake out of the box and slid it onto the counter. The frosting was pink and purple, the colors blending along the border where the decorator had run the tip in loops, HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAMILA written across the center in cursive with the tail of the A curling back toward the H. Five candles were arranged into a star above the name, the wicks still white and unburned.
He folded the box flat and set it on the counter behind him. Through the French doors the backyard spread out in the sun, the pool catching the light in a flat sheet of blue that held the sky upside down against its surface. Autumn sat on one of the loungers with her sunglasses on her face, her phone in her hand, her thumb moving across the screen. Sena sat on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water, her hands braced on the concrete behind her, her head tipped forward. Mari and Sara stood against the wrought iron fence surrounding the pool, their bodies angled toward each other, Sara’s hand moving as she talked. Graciela stood between them, her eyes going from their faces to the pool and back.
Mireya sat at the kitchen table with her hands in her lap, her weight settled back against the chair.
Camila followed behind Caine as he moved through the kitchen, her hand holding the hem of his shirt. The fabric pulled taut between her fist and the waistband of his shorts as he walked, the cotton stretching a half inch with each step before it went slack when he stopped. He opened a drawer looking for a knife and Camila’s grip held, her arm extending as the drawer slid out, her body shifting forward on her feet to keep the connection.
She let go and the hem of his shirt fell back against his hip. She turned and ran across the kitchen to Mireya, her bare feet slapping the tile. She stopped at the chair and pressed herself against Mireya’s side, her fingers closing on the fabric of Mireya’s shirt at the ribs.
Mireya’s hand came up and ran over Camila’s hair, her palm smoothing the curls back from her forehead, her fingers trailing through to the ends. “You don’t want to go swim with Graci, mi amor? You’ve been talking about seeing her for weeks.”
Camila shook her head against Mireya’s side. “When is Mica coming home?”
Mireya’s hand stopped in Camila’s hair and she looked down at her. “You give your sister a nickname?”
Camila nodded. She pointed to herself with her free hand, the other still gripping Mireya’s shirt. “I’m Mila and she’s Mica. Abuela Sara showed me her name on the paper.”
Caine turned from the counter. “Just getting rid of me, huh?”
Camila looked over at him, her face scrunching, her brows pulling together. “¿Qué?”
Mireya snorted a laugh.
Caine shook his head. “Nada, mi vida.”
He walked over and lowered himself to a knee next to Camila, one hand resting on the floor to steady his weight as he came down. “Feliz cumpleaños, mi vida.”
Camila smiled. Her other hand came up and grabbed his shirt too, both fists full of fabric now, one parent in each hand. Caine looked at her fingers on his shirt and then at her fingers on Mireya’s.
“You made your birthday wish?”
Camila’s smile pulled back. She looked at Mireya, then at Caine. “For Mica to come home like mami.”
Mireya’s fingers traced through some strands of Camila’s hair, separating the curls along the part. “She’s going to come home soon, mi amor. The doctors are helping her get big and strong.”
Camila looked at Caine. “Are you staying with us, daddy?”
“I’ll be here until your sister is home, baby.”
Camila’s lips turned down. Her chin pulled toward her chest and her body moved closer to Mireya’s, her shoulder pressing into the space between Mireya’s arm and her ribs. Caine put his hand on the side of her face, his thumb resting against her cheek, the pad of it pressing gently against the skin there.
“I’m about to start playing football again, mi vida. You’ll be able to come watch me. You, mami and Mica. Just like before when I was in Georgia. Would you like that?”
Camila nodded. The nod was small, her chin barely moving against his thumb. “Okay.”
Mireya looked down at Camila. “Sal a jugar con Graci, nena. It’s your birthday.”
Camila’s hands tightened on Mireya’s and Caine’s shirts. The fabric bunched deeper into her fists, her knuckles pressing pale through the skin.
“Go on,” Caine said. “We’ll both be out there in a second.”
She let go and the fabric of both shirts fell back, creased where her fingers had been. She started toward the French doors, her feet moving across the tile, and stopped halfway. She turned back. Mireya and Caine were both looking at her.
“No nos vamos a ir a ningún lado. Vete.”
Camila pulled the door open. The noise from the backyard came through, Sara’s voice and Mari’s layered over the sound of water lapping against the edge of the pool. Camila stepped through and ran across the deck to Graciela. Graciela grabbed her hand and the two of them turned and ran toward the pool, their feet hitting the concrete in a staggered rhythm. Sara and Mari said something to them, Sara’s hand coming up and pointing toward the shallow end.
Mireya watched them through the glass. The two girls hit the water at the same time, the splash sending a sheet up past the edge of the deck that darkened the concrete in a wide arc. Camila’s head came up first, her curls plastered to her face, her mouth open and laughing.
“She used to only do that with you,” Mireya said.
Caine stood up from his knee. “I know.”
Mireya’s eyes tracked from Camila and Graciela in the pool to Sena, her feet still in the water, her body turned now toward the girls, and then to Autumn on the lounger, tapping away on her phone.
Mireya stood up from the chair. “Tiene un puto nombre de stripper.”
Caine’s eyebrow came up as Mireya walked past him to the counter, picked up the knife, and started cutting the cake.
Autumn came through the French doors from the backyard and pulled them closed behind her. She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it back off her forehead where the heat had pressed it flat. The kitchen spread out in front of her, the marble counters catching the light from the pendants overhead, the stainless steel along the far wall holding a dull reflection of the room. She looked at the fixtures, the dark blue cabinets, the brushed silver hardware, the backsplash running from the counter to the bottom of the uppers.
She walked through the kitchen into the living room, her shoes soft on the hardwood. The ceilings ran high, the space opening up past the den into the hallway that led toward the front of the house. She turned down the hall, her hand trailing along the wall, her fingers brushing the plaster, her eyes checking the doors as she passed them.
Sena came down the stairs into the living room and saw her. She stopped on the last step, one hand on the banister.
“Are you looking for the bathroom?”
Autumn stopped and looked back at her. “Yeah.”
Sena pointed toward the foyer. “It’s over there.”
Autumn nodded. She looked at Sena for a beat, her weight settling onto one hip, her arms crossing loosely in front of her.
“You must be here a lot.”
Sena came off the last step onto the hardwood. “I babysit Camila for Mireya.”
The noise from the backyard pushed through the glass of the French doors, Graciela and Camila’s voices layered over the splash of water and Sara’s voice underneath it all, even and steady.
Autumn tilted her head a fraction. “And you’re her mom’s girlfriend.”
Sena’s hand found her wrist on the other arm, her fingers closing around it, her thumb pressing against the skin and rubbing a small circle there. “Yeah.”
Autumn walked over to where Sena stood at the bottom of the stairs. She leaned her shoulder against the wall, one ankle crossing over the other, her body settling into the lean. “You meet Caine before the other day?”
Sena shook her head. “I mean, I’ve seen him in pictures and stuff and Camila talks about him all the time.”
Autumn raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
Sena’s mouth pulled at one corner. “She has a unique way of describing him playing football.”
Autumn nodded, her chin dipping and rising once. She looked around the house, past Sena toward the living room, past the den toward the kitchen, her eyes tracking across the walls. She lifted her hand and gestured toward them. “Neither of them keep pictures up.”
Sena’s thumb stopped on her wrist. She shook her head. “Mireya just had a couple pictures up at her apartment.”
Autumn’s eyes came back to Sena. “When I got on that plane at LAX, I can’t say I was expecting me and you to be the girlfriends and not me and Mireya.”
Sena rubbed her hand up and down her arm, her palm flat against the skin above her elbow, the motion pulling the sleeve of her shirt with it. “I wasn’t expecting to be a girlfriend at all.”
Autumn snorted a laugh. She pushed off the wall, her shoulder leaving the plaster, her weight coming back to both feet. She turned and looked down. A pair of pleaser heels sat shoved behind an entryway table near the base of the stairs, the clear platforms and ankle straps catching the light from the window beside the front door. The dust on the table around them had been disturbed where someone had pushed them back.
Sena followed her eyes to the heels and back.
“Can I ask why you flew out here for some guy you haven’t been with for a long time?”
“Sometimes you have to do the stupid thing my mom would say.” Autumn’s eyes stayed on the heels for another second before she looked up. “Or as my daddy would say, sometimes you have to go to the source to get the information you want.”
Sena nodded then she turned her body toward the backyard, her hand dropping from her arm to her side.
Autumn’s voice came from behind her. “Do you think they’re too close?”
Sena stopped. Her weight shifted between her feet before it settled. She turned back halfway, her shoulder angling toward Autumn, her hand finding her arm again. “Mireya’s like that with everyone.” She paused. Her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. “She—She works in a service industry job. It makes sense though. Considering what’s going on.”
Autumn looked back at the heels behind the entryway table. Then she looked at Sena. “Waitress or something?”
Sena shook her head. “A cleaning company.”
Autumn stared at her, reading it, her expression giving nothing back. Then she nodded. “Thanks for pointing me in the right direction.”
Sena nodded and walked toward the backyard, her footsteps crossing the hardwood through the den and into the kitchen. The French doors opened and the noise from outside came through full before the glass closed it back down.
Autumn stood in the hallway. Her eyes went to the pleaser heels one more time, the clear straps and the platform soles visible behind the table leg.
Then she turned and headed toward the bathroom.
Mireya had her arm around Sena’s waist, her hand resting on the curve of Sena’s hip, her fingers settled against the skin where her shirt had ridden up from sitting. Mari sat on the other side of Mireya, her legs stretched out in front of her, her feet crossed at the ankles. The three of them sat along the edge of the pool deck with the wrought iron fence behind them, the water catching the sun in a flat sheet that threw light up against the underside of the fence rails.
Camila and Graciela were in the shallow end. Camila had her arms out wide on the surface, her chin tilted up, her curls floating behind her in a dark spread that fanned and gathered each time she kicked. Graciela moved beside her, her hands cupped under the water, sending small waves that lapped against Camila’s arms and made her laugh.
Mireya watched them for a beat. Her fingers pressed once against Sena’s side and released.
“I need to get back to work. Stasia said I was on the bench until I had Micaela.”
Mari looked at her then she looked at Sena. Sena’s body had gone still under Mireya’s hand.
“She knows what I do,” Mireya said.
Mari’s eyes came back to Mireya. “You shouldn’t be pushing your body. You don’t know what all of this has done to it. The last thing you need to do is go out here and drop dead on the stage.”
Sena nodded. Her voice came low. “She’s right. You need to take it easy. You’ve been through a lot.”
Mireya shook her head and sucked her teeth. “I need something to distract me. All I can fucking think about is my baby in that box, fighting for her life because I”—her mouth closed. Her jaw worked once. “Because this shit happened.”
Mari looked over at Graciela. She watched her and Camila splash water at each other, the drops catching the sun in small arcs that broke apart before they hit the deck. Graciela’s laugh carried across the pool, high and loose, and Camila answered it with a shriek that sent a wave across the surface.
“You know I know how you feel right now. Running to something to get your mind off it isn’t a thing. You’re just going to be thinking about it doing something else. Especially dancing. That’s mindless.”
“The semester is going to start soon,” Sena said. “Just focus on school and give yourself time to heal.”
Mireya sighed. Her fingers moved on Sena’s side, her thumb tracing a line along the skin above the waistband of Sena’s shorts, the motion small and steady. She looked at Mari.
“Ale, Haylz and Bee are in Atlanta right now. Four grand a fucking piece. Two nights. I could be out there.”
Sena’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened a fraction and closed. She looked at the pool.
Mari shook her head. “It’s just not worth it. But you know my opinion on everything. I gave it up for a reason.” She turned her head toward Mireya. “Maybe this is your time to give it up.”
Mireya shook her head. She looked back to the pool, her eyes finding Camila and Graciela. They’d moved to the wall at the far end and were hanging off the edge with their arms folded over the concrete lip, their chins resting on their forearms, their feet kicking behind them in a pattern that sent ripples across the pool in overlapping lines. Sara stood near the shallow end with her arms crossed, watching them, her body framed between two of the fence posts. The sun had moved far enough overhead that the shadow from the roofline cut a diagonal across the deck, the concrete warm where the light held and cooler where the shade reached the edge of Mireya’s feet.
The three of them sat without speaking for a few beats. The pool pump hummed somewhere below the deck. Mireya’s fingers moved up and down on the skin of Sena’s side, the touch tracing the same path, her thumb pressing gently against the ridge of a rib before it slid back down. Sena’s breathing had settled into the rhythm of the touch, her chest rising and falling in time with the press of Mireya’s hand.
Mari dropped her voice. “¿Jaslene sabe de ella?”
Mireya shook her head. “Los dos hemos estado con otras personas todo este tiempo.”
Mari nodded. Her eyes went to Sena for a second, reading her profile, then came back to the pool.
Mireya looked over at Sena. “Hey.”
Sena looked at her. Her eyes were still carrying whatever had moved through them at the mention of Atlanta, the widening not fully settled back.
“Thank you for being here, baby.”
Sena smiled. It came slow, pulling at the corners of her mouth before it reached her eyes.
Mireya leaned over and kissed her. Her hand tightened on Sena’s hip, her fingers pressing into the skin, and she held the kiss for a beat before she pulled back.
Sena pulled back and touched her own lip with the pad of her finger. “In front of everyone?”
“Yeah, because you mine.”
Sena shook her head. The smile was still there, sitting small on her face, her eyes dropping to Mireya’s mouth and back up. But she let Mireya pull her closer, her body shifting on the deck until her shoulder pressed against Mireya’s, her head tipping toward the space above Mireya’s collarbone.
Caine sat on the edge of the lounger with his elbows on his knees, his feet flat on the deck. Autumn sat behind him with her back against the cushion, her legs running along either side of him, her phone in her hand, her thumb moving across the screen in short pulls. His weight tipped the front of the lounger forward enough that the back legs lifted a fraction off the concrete each time he shifted.
He watched Camila in the pool. She was at the far wall with Graciela, the two of them hanging off the edge, their legs kicking behind them in tandem. His eyes flicked from them to Mireya and Sena on the other side of the deck, Mireya’s arm around Sena’s waist, her head tipped close to Sena’s, then back to Camila.
He turned his body toward Autumn, his hand coming down on her thigh, his palm resting against the fabric of her shorts.
“I’m gonna stay here now that Mireya’s out the hospital since Camila ain’t gonna wanna go to mi mama’s.”
Autumn looked up from her phone. “You getting me a hotel room then, nigga?”
Caine snorted a laugh. “If you can sleep in mi mama’s house, you can sleep here.”
“It’s a little different being in a guest room with your mama down the hall and being in a guest room with your baby mama down the hall.”
Caine nodded over his shoulder toward the other side of the deck. “You see my child’s mother sitting over there kissing on a woman, right?”
Autumn rolled her eyes, her head tipping back against the cushion. “Like it ain’t every nigga’s dream to have a threesome with two bitches.”
Caine snorted a laugh. “If I was going to do that, ol’ girl wouldn’t be the one I’d be trying to do that with. It’d be you and Mireya.”
Autumn sucked her teeth. “You’re not selling this well at fucking all.”
Caine held his other hand up. “This house big enough. The master one side the house upstairs and the others on the other. Worst case scenario for you is that Camila come kick you out the bed.”
“I can just get a hotel room if you don’t want to pay for it,” Autumn said.
“I want you where I’m at.”
Her thumb had stopped on the screen, her phone resting against her thigh. “You getting possessive on me, nigga?”
“What’s mine is mine.”
Her eyes held his face, her jaw working once, the muscle at the hinge of it tightening and releasing. Then she nodded.
“I’ll stay tonight then play it by ear. If shit get weird then I’m going straight to the nearest hotel and you putting me up in a suite.”
“Works for me.”
Caine turned back around and called out across the deck. “Mi vida, ven acá.”
Camila looked over at him from the pool wall. She let go of the edge and pushed off, her arms cutting through the water in wide strokes until she reached the shallow end. She pulled herself up the steps, water running off her swimsuit and pooling on the concrete around her feet, and ran toward him, her bare feet slapping the deck.
“Cuidado.”
She stopped running. Her stride broke into a skip and she covered the rest of the distance that way, her hair bouncing heavy with the water in it, her arms swinging wide at her sides. Caine pulled her into a hug as she stopped between his knees, her wet swimsuit pressing against his shirt, the fabric darkening where her body met his. He held her for a beat, his arms wrapped around her back, her chin resting on his shoulder.
He leaned back, his hands settling on her arms. “¿Te estás divirtiendo?”
She nodded. Water dripped from her curls onto his forearms and ran down to his wrists.
“I’m gonna sleep here tonight so I can cook you breakfast in the morning.”
Camila’s face opened. “Really?”
Caine nodded.
Camila cheered, the sound carrying across the deck loud enough that Sara looked over from the fence. Caine caught Sara’s eye and nodded. Sara smiled and turned back to Mari.
Caine nodded over his shoulder. “Have you met daddy’s friend, Autumn?”
Camila looked past him at Autumn. She shook her head, her wet curls swinging against her neck.
Autumn smiled and waved, her fingers lifting off her phone in a small motion. “Hi, Camila.”
“Daddy goes to school with Autumn in Los Angeles,” Caine said.
Camila looked at Autumn, her eyes moving across her face. “Are you going to be a nurse like my mami?”
Autumn shook her head. “I’ll help people a different way.”
Camila nodded, her chin dipping once, her expression settling into something that looked like understanding. Caine’s mouth pulled at the corner.
“Bueno, ve a nadar, mi vida. Mami y yo vamos a ir a ver a Mica en un rato y luego volveremos para abrir tus regalos.”
Camila’s smile split her face wide enough that her eyes creased at the corners. She turned and ran back to the pool, her feet hitting the wet concrete in quick slaps, and jumped back in at the shallow end. The splash sent water across the deck in a sheet that reached the base of the lounger. Graciela was already swimming toward her.
“Y’all taught her Spanish,” Autumn said.
“Yeah, everyone in both our families bilingual.”
“Interesting.”
Caine looked back at her. “What that mean?”
Autumn shrugged, her shoulders lifting and dropping against the cushion. “I’m just evaluating your parenting, nigga. Carry on.”
Caine snorted a laugh.
Caine had the wrapping paper balled in one hand, the scraps pressed together into a tight wad that he fit into the trash bag hanging from the cabinet handle under the sink. Ribbon and tape and the torn corners of cardboard packaging went in after it. He pulled the bag free, tied it off, and set it by the back door. The counter still had crumbs and frosting smeared across the marble in a thin film from the cake. He pulled a dish towel off the oven handle, ran it under the faucet, and started wiping the counter down in long passes, the cloth dark against the white stone.
Sena walked into the kitchen and stopped, her weight settling back onto her heels. Caine looked up from the counter.
He gestured toward the table with his chin. A phone sat face down on the surface near the far edge, the case catching the light from the pendant above it. “Guessing that’s yours.”
Sena hesitated. Her eyes went to the phone and back to him. She nodded and walked over to the table, her steps measured on the tile and picked it up. Her thumb pressed the screen and the lock screen lit her face for a second before she turned it back off and held it against her thigh.
Caine went back to the counter. He finished the long pass with the towel, wrung it out over the sink, and moved to the section near the stove where a row of mugs sat along the backsplash. He leaned down and lined them up, his fingers on the ceramic, moving the first one a half inch to the left, then the second to match it. He moved them apart. Pushed them back together. Reset the line, his thumb on the handle of each one, turning them until all four handles faced the same direction at the same angle, each one a finger’s width from the next.
Sena watched him from the table. Her phone pressed flat against her thigh. She watched his hand go back to the first mug and adjust it again, the handle turning a fraction, the ceramic sliding against the marble with a sound that barely carried past the counter.
“Do you have OCD?”
Caine looked over his shoulder at her.
“Sorry.” Sena’s hand tightened on her phone. “I shouldn’t have just blurted that out.”
Caine stood up from the counter and moved to the section near the sink, the towel going back to the marble in even strokes. “Habit from being in prison.”
Sena’s thumb stopped against her phone. “You were in prison?”
“For a year.” He finished the section and turned around, leaning back against the counter, his palms flat on the edge behind him, the towel draped over one hand. “Mireya ain’t tell you?”
Sena shook her head. “It’s usually Camila that tells me about you then Mireya adds to it.”
Caine nodded. His eyes went to the hallway that led to the stairs. “She was too young to remember that. I think she has bits and pieces of me being gone, though. She’s got abandonment issues.”
“I’ve noticed.” Sena shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Not that I’m saying you’re a bad parent or anything. Just—”
Caine held his hand up. “You good. I know what you meant.”
Sena’s shoulders dropped a fraction. Her thumb found her phone screen and pressed against it, the nail whitening at the tip.
“I’m sorry about how you found out about me. I”—she paused, her eyes dropping to the tile between them—“I didn’t know that she was going to say that.”
“Mireya does what she wants.”
A corner of Sena’s lips tilted up for a second, the pull small and quick before it settled back. “Yeah, she kinda does.”
“I ain’t gotta understand y’all’s relationship. I ain’t even know she was into women like that.” He folded the towel over his hand once and let it hang. “As long as you better than the last motherfucker she was with then I’m cool with it.”
Sena’s eyes came up from the tile. “The guy who died?”
Caine nodded. “He was a piece of shit. Got what he deserved.”
Sena nodded, her chin dipping and rising once.
Caine looked at her. “You always dated women?”
“Yeah.” Sena’s thumb moved across the edge of her phone case, her nail tracing the seam where the silicone met the screen. “But not like publicly. If that makes sense.”
“It does.”
He set the towel down on the counter, folding it over on itself, pressing the crease flat with the heel of his hand, the edges lined up. He pushed off the counter and started toward the entryway. He stopped at the threshold and turned back.
“Thank you for helping with Camila. She really seems to like you.”
Sena smiled, the pull reaching her eyes. “It’s really no problem.”
Caine nodded and headed for the stairs. His footsteps crossed the hardwood through the living room and started up, each one landing even and measured, the sound thinning as he climbed.
Sena stood in the kitchen. Her thumb rubbed along the edge of her phone, the motion slow, her eyes on the doorway where he’d been. Then she turned and walked to the living room.
Autumn walked down the hallway with her feet bare on the hardwood, the floorboards cool under her soles. She opened a closet door and found it empty, the shelves bare, the rod holding nothing. She cursed under her breath and pulled it shut, her hand trailing along the wall as she moved on.
The primary bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door open. She walked in and stopped a few steps past the threshold. The room was furnished but spare, a bed with a dark comforter pulled tight at the corners, two nightstands, a lamp on each one. A framed photo of Camila sat on the nightstand nearest the window, the only picture in the room. The curtains were sheer and the streetlight outside pressed through them in a wash of orange that lay across the carpet in a long rectangle.
A bottle of perfume sat on the dresser beside a tray that held a few pieces of jewelry, rings and a thin chain, nothing else. Autumn picked up the bottle. She brought it to her nose and pressed the nozzle once, the mist landing on the inside of her wrist. She held her wrist up and breathed in. Her chin dipped once. She set the bottle back on the dresser, turning it so the label faced the same direction it had been facing when she picked it up.
She crossed the bedroom into the en suite bathroom. Tile under her feet now, the surface colder than the hardwood. She turned past the vanity and into a walk-in closet, her hand finding the switch on the wall..
Designer goods lined every wall. Clothes hung in rows along three sides of the closet, the hangers spaced evenly, the fabrics running from cotton to silk to mesh to leather. Purses filled a shelf that ran the length of the far wall, the hardware on them catching the light in small points of gold and silver. Shoes were arranged on a rack below the shelf, heels, boots, platforms and flats, the soles facing out, the pairs set close together. Autumn trailed her fingers through the clothes, the fabric sliding off her knuckles as she moved down the row. Crop tops. Bodysuits cut low at the front and lower at the back. Skirts that would end above mid-thigh. Dresses slit to the hip. Mesh panels. Cutouts. The occasional pair of jeans or hoodie tucked between pieces.
“You got lost?”
Autumn turned. Mireya stood in the doorway of the closet with her shoulder against the frame, her arms at her sides, her eyes on Autumn.
“Yeah, I was looking for bath towels.”
Mireya turned and walked to another closet across the bathroom, opened it, and pulled a set of towels from the shelf inside. She came back and held them out, the towels folded and stacked, her hand flat underneath them.
Autumn took them. “Thanks.”
She held the towels against her chest. She nodded over her shoulder toward the walk-in closet behind her. “All this from Caine?”
Mireya snorted a laugh, the air pushing through her nose. “He ain’t get rich until January. My ex-boyfriend bought a lot of it. I bought a lot of it. He bought some of it, though.”
“What did your ex do?”
“Sold crack, heroin, coke, fetty, pills.”
Autumn blinked. Then she laughed, the sound coming short and surprised, her head tipping back a fraction. “You’re fucking with me, right?”
Mireya shook her head. “It is what it is. He ain’t here to be mad about me telling his business.”
Autumn studied Mireya’s face. She held the look for a moment, her eyes moving from Mireya’s mouth to her eyes and back, looking for anything that would tell her whether the words were a joke that had gone on too long or something else. Mireya’s face gave her nothing.
Mireya gestured around them, her hand sweeping the bathroom, the bedroom beyond it. “Do you like my house?”
Autumn nodded, the towels shifting against her chest. “It’s nicer than I expected houses in New Orleans to be.”
“Yeah, but probably not as nice as in Los Angeles either way.”
Autumn shrugged, one shoulder lifting. “It’s got its charm.”
“Why did you fly out here?”
Autumn looked at her. The question had come without a change in Mireya’s posture, without a shift in her voice.
“I felt like Caine…” She adjusted the towels in her arms. “And you… could use all the support you could get.”
Mireya nodded, her eyes staying on Autumn’s face. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Autumn, pulling her into a hug. Mireya’s body pressed against the towels between them, her arms closing around Autumn’s back.
Autumn’s body went rigid. Her arms stayed at her sides for a beat, the towels pinned between their chests, her fingers tightening on the terry cloth.
Mireya stepped back. Her hands settled on Autumn’s arms, her fingers resting against the skin above the elbows, holding her at arm’s length. “Did you find what you expected?”
Autumn’s eyebrow came up.
Mireya looked down and patted the towels in Autumn’s hands, her palm pressing flat against the top of the stack twice. “I’ll put some extra in the other closet for you and Caine.”
“Thanks.”
Autumn stepped around Mireya and back into the bedroom, the towels held against her chest, her stride steady on the carpet. She was almost to the hallway when Mireya’s voice came from behind her.
“No hay nadie antes que yo, ni siquiera tú.”
Autumn looked back. Mireya stood at the bathroom doorway, her shoulder against the frame. Her face carried a smile that sat on her lips and nowhere else.
“Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.”
Mireya’s smile widened a fraction, the pull reaching the corners of her mouth. “It’s just well wishes for a good sleep. Good night, Autumn. Thanks for helping celebrate my daughter’s birthday.”
Autumn nodded. She turned and walked out of the room, her footsteps moving down the hallway toward the guest room on the other side of the house.
Mireya watched the hallway until Autumn’s footsteps faded. The smile dropped from her face, the pull at her mouth releasing, her eyes going flat, her jaw setting. She stood in the doorway for a moment, the silence in the house settling around her.
Sena walked into the bedroom a moment later, her eyes looking back over her shoulder toward the hallway where Autumn had gone. She turned to Mireya.
Mireya’s lips pulled back up.
Lincoln Riley stood at the podium at midfield with the mic stands clustered in front of him. The practice field stretched out behind the press area, the grass cut fresh for the first day of fall camp, the yard lines chalked in white that caught the morning sun and held it in clean lines from sideline to sideline. His visor was pulled low enough that the brim cut a line of shadow across his eyes. His arms rested on the sides of the lectern, his fingers hanging off the front edge, loose.
The reporters were arranged in a loose half circle, fifteen or twenty of them, some with notebooks and some with phones held at chest level, screens tilted toward his face. Two cameras on tripods framed the shot from either side. A boom mic extended from the back of the group on a pole held by a man in a USC Athletics polo who kept shifting his grip. The heat was already pressing down and coming up off the turf behind the podium, the green darkening in patches where the grounds crew had watered before dawn.
A man in the second row raised his hand. Riley pointed at him with his chin.
“Coach, Caine Guerra hasn’t been at camp. Can you address his absence? There’s photos circulating from this spring with documented Bloods. Is the absence related to that situation?”
Riley’s hands stayed on the sides of the lectern. He let the question sit for a beat before he answered it.
“Caine had something come up with his family that he needed to attend to. He’s a young father. I’m a father myself. I understand. We’re giving him the space to handle what he needs to handle. I’d ask y’all to keep his family in your prayers.”
The reporter followed up before Riley could point to anyone else, his pen already lifted off the page. “Coach, to be clear, the absence has nothing to do with the photos? There was reporting in the spring that some boosters wanted action taken.”
“It has nothing to do with the photos. It’s a family matter. That’s the answer.”
A couple of the reporters in the front row exchanged a glance. The man who’d asked the question dropped his pen back to the notebook and wrote something across the top of the page.
A man near the back of the group had his phone held low against his palm, the screen angled toward his face. He looked up from it.
“Coach, have you been in contact with him? Is there a timeline on his return?”
“I’ve been in contact with Caine. I’m not gonna put a timeline on a family situation. He’ll be back when he’s back.”
A woman from the Athletic raised her recorder. The red light on its face was on and the display showed the counter running. She held it at the height of her shoulder, her elbow tucked against her ribs.
“Coach, message board chatter has him potentially re-entering the portal. Is there any concern there?”
Riley laughed, short and through his nose. “No. None.”
His hand came up to the brim of the visor and pulled it down a fraction, the shadow on his face deepening across his cheekbones..
“Coach, with him missing the start of camp, fair to say he won’t be ready for week one?”
“Caine’s gonna be ready when we need him to be ready. I’m not worried about that. The guys in that quarterback room aren’t worried about it.”
A reporter at the front of the group shifted his weight, his notebook open against his forearm, his pen pressed flat to the page. He stepped half a foot forward from the others.
“Is Brian Ridge getting first team reps in his absence? Is there a competition now?”
“Brian’s been ready since he got here. He’s taking the reps he needs to take. That’s what the room is supposed to look like.” Riley’s fingers tapped once against the side of the lectern, the sound lost under the noise of the camera shutters. “Caine is our starter.”
The woman from the Athletic brought the recorder a few inches closer, her arm extending past the man beside her.
“Coach, can you tell us anything about the nature of the family situation? Is everyone okay?”
Riley pulled a breath in through his nose. “I’m not gonna get into that. That’s for Caine and his family to share if they choose to. What I’ll say again is we’re asking for prayers.”
The man at the back looked up from his phone again. His thumb scrolled back across the screen.
“Coach, just so we’re clear on where things stand, is Caine still with the program?”
“He’s still with us. He’s a Trojan. He’s our quarterback.” Riley looked across the group, his eyes moving from face to face under the brim of the visor. “Anything else?”
Nobody spoke. A camera shutter clicked somewhere to his left. The boom mic operator shifted his grip on the pole and the foam cover at the end swung a half inch and steadied. The sun pressed against the back of the podium and the lectern threw a short shadow across the grass in front of it.
Riley nodded once. “Last football question, let’s go.”
A reporter at the side of the group raised his hand. “Coach, on the o-line rotation, what’d you see from that group through the first day?”
Riley straightened at the podium, his arms coming off the sides of the lectern, his hands settling in front of him on the flat surface. The shift moved through his posture, his weight coming forward, his shoulders squaring under the polo.
“Yeah, real good first day from that group.”
~~~
Caine had both hands on the grips of the wheelchair, rolling Mireya through the corridor toward the front entrance. The tile passed under the wheels in a low hum that sat beneath the noise of the hospital around them. Sara walked a step behind with a bag on her shoulder, the strap cutting into the fabric of her shirt where the weight pulled it forward. Mireya’s hands rested in her lap, her fingers laced loosely over the discharge folder the nurse had given her at the station.
They passed the last set of double doors before the lobby. A family came through from the other direction, a man pushing a stroller and a woman beside him with a vase of flowers held against her chest, the cellophane crinkling with each step. Mireya’s eyes followed the stroller as it passed. The infant inside was wrapped in a blanket pulled up past its chin, its face turned toward the side, asleep.
Mireya held her hand up.
Caine stopped. The wheels settled against the tile and the hum cut out. Sara’s footsteps stopped behind them.
Mireya pressed both palms flat on the armrests and pushed herself up from the chair. Her arms shook on the way up, the tendons in her wrists pulling tight under the skin, her weight shifting forward onto her feet as she straightened. Caine came around to catch her elbow.
“Puedo hacerlo.”
Caine nodded but his hand stayed where it was for another second before he let go. He stepped back but kept close, his shoulder an inch behind hers.
Sara moved the wheelchair back from behind Mireya and rolled it over to the reception desk near the entrance, leaving it against the wall where two others sat folded. She came back and fell into step on Mireya’s other side.
The three of them walked through the automatic doors and out into the sun. The light hit Mireya’s face and she squinted, her chin dropping a fraction. The air carried the heat of the morning already, thick with it, the asphalt in the loading zone giving it back in a shimmer that bent the outline of the cars parked along the curb. Caine’s rental SUV sat in the loading zone with the hazards clicking, the orange light pulsing against the paint in a rhythm that nobody was watching.
Mireya walked toward it. Her steps came slow, her weight settling fully onto each foot before the next one lifted, her gait measured in a way that belonged to someone counting what each movement cost. Caine moved beside her, matching her pace, his stride shortened to hers.
She stopped, her feet planted against the concrete and her body went still. She turned her head back toward the hospital entrance, her eyes finding the glass doors they’d come through, the lobby visible behind them, the corridor beyond it leading back into the building.
“¿Qué pasa?” Caine asked.
“I shouldn’t be leaving my baby in there.” Her voice dropped on the last word. The sound of it thinned against the traffic on the street behind them.
Sara came over and put her hand on Mireya’s back, her palm settling between her shoulder blades in the space where Caine’s had been every day for the past two weeks.
“She’s going to be in there all alone. I’m not leaving her.”
“She’s got all the nurses, Tanya and them, mi amor. And we gonna be back later to check on her,” Caine said, his voice dropping a register.
Mireya shook her head. “No es lo mismo.”
Sara’s arm came up around Mireya’s shoulders and pulled her close, Mireya’s frame fitting against Sara’s side, her head tipping toward Sara’s shoulder before it stopped short of resting there. “Mija, mírame.” Mireya’s eyes came off the hospital doors and found Sara’s face. “She’s safe in there. She’s a fighter.”
Mireya’s eyes filled. The tears sat along her lower lids, catching the sun in a thin line before the first one broke and ran down her cheek. Sara reached up with her other hand and wiped it away, the pad of her thumb following the track from the cheekbone to the jaw.
“No puedes dejar que te vean desanimada, mija. They’re already watching you to put you on a hold.” Sara’s thumb settled against Mireya’s jaw. “And Camila needs you, too. Hoy también debemos rendirle homenaje.”
Mireya nodded. The motion was small, her chin moving against Sara’s thumb.
“You should’ve seen how excited she was to know mami was coming home on her birthday,” Caine said.
Mireya snorted a laugh. “You sure that’s not because you’re here for her birthday?”
“I’m sure. C’mon. We gotta stop and pick up her cake. She already knows that we’re gonna come back later to spend some time with Micaela.”
Mireya sighed “Esto no me gusta.”
Sara kissed the side of her head, her lips pressing against the hair above Mireya’s ear, and lowered her arm from Mireya’s shoulders to her waist. “Ven, mija. Let’s get you home.”
Caine walked over to the SUV and opened the passenger door. Sara led Mireya toward it, her hand at the small of Mireya’s back, her steps adjusting to Mireya’s pace. Mireya lowered herself into the seat, her hand gripping the frame of the door, her weight going down slow. Caine closed the door behind her, pressing it shut with his palm flat against the panel until it caught.
He walked around to the driver’s side as Sara got into the back. The door closed and the bag landed on the seat beside Sara with a soft thud. Caine started the engine. The AC pushed through the vents and the air in the cabin shifted, the heat pulling back from the surfaces in degrees.
He looked over at Mireya. Her eyes were on the entrance to the hospital, fixed on the glass doors, on the lobby behind them, on the corridor that led to the elevators that led to the floor that held the unit that held her daughter. Her hands rested on her thighs, palms down, her fingers flat against the denim.
Caine pulled away from the curb. The SUV rolled forward and the angle of the windshield shifted, the hospital entrance sliding from the center of the glass toward the passenger side. Mireya’s head turned with it, her eyes tracking the doors as they moved across her window, holding them until the building passed behind the pillar between the windshield and the side glass, and then through the side glass itself as the SUV turned onto the street.
~~~
Caine lifted the sheet cake out of the box and slid it onto the counter. The frosting was pink and purple, the colors blending along the border where the decorator had run the tip in loops, HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAMILA written across the center in cursive with the tail of the A curling back toward the H. Five candles were arranged into a star above the name, the wicks still white and unburned.
He folded the box flat and set it on the counter behind him. Through the French doors the backyard spread out in the sun, the pool catching the light in a flat sheet of blue that held the sky upside down against its surface. Autumn sat on one of the loungers with her sunglasses on her face, her phone in her hand, her thumb moving across the screen. Sena sat on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water, her hands braced on the concrete behind her, her head tipped forward. Mari and Sara stood against the wrought iron fence surrounding the pool, their bodies angled toward each other, Sara’s hand moving as she talked. Graciela stood between them, her eyes going from their faces to the pool and back.
Mireya sat at the kitchen table with her hands in her lap, her weight settled back against the chair.
Camila followed behind Caine as he moved through the kitchen, her hand holding the hem of his shirt. The fabric pulled taut between her fist and the waistband of his shorts as he walked, the cotton stretching a half inch with each step before it went slack when he stopped. He opened a drawer looking for a knife and Camila’s grip held, her arm extending as the drawer slid out, her body shifting forward on her feet to keep the connection.
She let go and the hem of his shirt fell back against his hip. She turned and ran across the kitchen to Mireya, her bare feet slapping the tile. She stopped at the chair and pressed herself against Mireya’s side, her fingers closing on the fabric of Mireya’s shirt at the ribs.
Mireya’s hand came up and ran over Camila’s hair, her palm smoothing the curls back from her forehead, her fingers trailing through to the ends. “You don’t want to go swim with Graci, mi amor? You’ve been talking about seeing her for weeks.”
Camila shook her head against Mireya’s side. “When is Mica coming home?”
Mireya’s hand stopped in Camila’s hair and she looked down at her. “You give your sister a nickname?”
Camila nodded. She pointed to herself with her free hand, the other still gripping Mireya’s shirt. “I’m Mila and she’s Mica. Abuela Sara showed me her name on the paper.”
Caine turned from the counter. “Just getting rid of me, huh?”
Camila looked over at him, her face scrunching, her brows pulling together. “¿Qué?”
Mireya snorted a laugh.
Caine shook his head. “Nada, mi vida.”
He walked over and lowered himself to a knee next to Camila, one hand resting on the floor to steady his weight as he came down. “Feliz cumpleaños, mi vida.”
Camila smiled. Her other hand came up and grabbed his shirt too, both fists full of fabric now, one parent in each hand. Caine looked at her fingers on his shirt and then at her fingers on Mireya’s.
“You made your birthday wish?”
Camila’s smile pulled back. She looked at Mireya, then at Caine. “For Mica to come home like mami.”
Mireya’s fingers traced through some strands of Camila’s hair, separating the curls along the part. “She’s going to come home soon, mi amor. The doctors are helping her get big and strong.”
Camila looked at Caine. “Are you staying with us, daddy?”
“I’ll be here until your sister is home, baby.”
Camila’s lips turned down. Her chin pulled toward her chest and her body moved closer to Mireya’s, her shoulder pressing into the space between Mireya’s arm and her ribs. Caine put his hand on the side of her face, his thumb resting against her cheek, the pad of it pressing gently against the skin there.
“I’m about to start playing football again, mi vida. You’ll be able to come watch me. You, mami and Mica. Just like before when I was in Georgia. Would you like that?”
Camila nodded. The nod was small, her chin barely moving against his thumb. “Okay.”
Mireya looked down at Camila. “Sal a jugar con Graci, nena. It’s your birthday.”
Camila’s hands tightened on Mireya’s and Caine’s shirts. The fabric bunched deeper into her fists, her knuckles pressing pale through the skin.
“Go on,” Caine said. “We’ll both be out there in a second.”
She let go and the fabric of both shirts fell back, creased where her fingers had been. She started toward the French doors, her feet moving across the tile, and stopped halfway. She turned back. Mireya and Caine were both looking at her.
“No nos vamos a ir a ningún lado. Vete.”
Camila pulled the door open. The noise from the backyard came through, Sara’s voice and Mari’s layered over the sound of water lapping against the edge of the pool. Camila stepped through and ran across the deck to Graciela. Graciela grabbed her hand and the two of them turned and ran toward the pool, their feet hitting the concrete in a staggered rhythm. Sara and Mari said something to them, Sara’s hand coming up and pointing toward the shallow end.
Mireya watched them through the glass. The two girls hit the water at the same time, the splash sending a sheet up past the edge of the deck that darkened the concrete in a wide arc. Camila’s head came up first, her curls plastered to her face, her mouth open and laughing.
“She used to only do that with you,” Mireya said.
Caine stood up from his knee. “I know.”
Mireya’s eyes tracked from Camila and Graciela in the pool to Sena, her feet still in the water, her body turned now toward the girls, and then to Autumn on the lounger, tapping away on her phone.
Mireya stood up from the chair. “Tiene un puto nombre de stripper.”
Caine’s eyebrow came up as Mireya walked past him to the counter, picked up the knife, and started cutting the cake.
~~~
Autumn came through the French doors from the backyard and pulled them closed behind her. She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it back off her forehead where the heat had pressed it flat. The kitchen spread out in front of her, the marble counters catching the light from the pendants overhead, the stainless steel along the far wall holding a dull reflection of the room. She looked at the fixtures, the dark blue cabinets, the brushed silver hardware, the backsplash running from the counter to the bottom of the uppers.
She walked through the kitchen into the living room, her shoes soft on the hardwood. The ceilings ran high, the space opening up past the den into the hallway that led toward the front of the house. She turned down the hall, her hand trailing along the wall, her fingers brushing the plaster, her eyes checking the doors as she passed them.
Sena came down the stairs into the living room and saw her. She stopped on the last step, one hand on the banister.
“Are you looking for the bathroom?”
Autumn stopped and looked back at her. “Yeah.”
Sena pointed toward the foyer. “It’s over there.”
Autumn nodded. She looked at Sena for a beat, her weight settling onto one hip, her arms crossing loosely in front of her.
“You must be here a lot.”
Sena came off the last step onto the hardwood. “I babysit Camila for Mireya.”
The noise from the backyard pushed through the glass of the French doors, Graciela and Camila’s voices layered over the splash of water and Sara’s voice underneath it all, even and steady.
Autumn tilted her head a fraction. “And you’re her mom’s girlfriend.”
Sena’s hand found her wrist on the other arm, her fingers closing around it, her thumb pressing against the skin and rubbing a small circle there. “Yeah.”
Autumn walked over to where Sena stood at the bottom of the stairs. She leaned her shoulder against the wall, one ankle crossing over the other, her body settling into the lean. “You meet Caine before the other day?”
Sena shook her head. “I mean, I’ve seen him in pictures and stuff and Camila talks about him all the time.”
Autumn raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
Sena’s mouth pulled at one corner. “She has a unique way of describing him playing football.”
Autumn nodded, her chin dipping and rising once. She looked around the house, past Sena toward the living room, past the den toward the kitchen, her eyes tracking across the walls. She lifted her hand and gestured toward them. “Neither of them keep pictures up.”
Sena’s thumb stopped on her wrist. She shook her head. “Mireya just had a couple pictures up at her apartment.”
Autumn’s eyes came back to Sena. “When I got on that plane at LAX, I can’t say I was expecting me and you to be the girlfriends and not me and Mireya.”
Sena rubbed her hand up and down her arm, her palm flat against the skin above her elbow, the motion pulling the sleeve of her shirt with it. “I wasn’t expecting to be a girlfriend at all.”
Autumn snorted a laugh. She pushed off the wall, her shoulder leaving the plaster, her weight coming back to both feet. She turned and looked down. A pair of pleaser heels sat shoved behind an entryway table near the base of the stairs, the clear platforms and ankle straps catching the light from the window beside the front door. The dust on the table around them had been disturbed where someone had pushed them back.
Sena followed her eyes to the heels and back.
“Can I ask why you flew out here for some guy you haven’t been with for a long time?”
“Sometimes you have to do the stupid thing my mom would say.” Autumn’s eyes stayed on the heels for another second before she looked up. “Or as my daddy would say, sometimes you have to go to the source to get the information you want.”
Sena nodded then she turned her body toward the backyard, her hand dropping from her arm to her side.
Autumn’s voice came from behind her. “Do you think they’re too close?”
Sena stopped. Her weight shifted between her feet before it settled. She turned back halfway, her shoulder angling toward Autumn, her hand finding her arm again. “Mireya’s like that with everyone.” She paused. Her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. “She—She works in a service industry job. It makes sense though. Considering what’s going on.”
Autumn looked back at the heels behind the entryway table. Then she looked at Sena. “Waitress or something?”
Sena shook her head. “A cleaning company.”
Autumn stared at her, reading it, her expression giving nothing back. Then she nodded. “Thanks for pointing me in the right direction.”
Sena nodded and walked toward the backyard, her footsteps crossing the hardwood through the den and into the kitchen. The French doors opened and the noise from outside came through full before the glass closed it back down.
Autumn stood in the hallway. Her eyes went to the pleaser heels one more time, the clear straps and the platform soles visible behind the table leg.
Then she turned and headed toward the bathroom.
~~~
Mireya had her arm around Sena’s waist, her hand resting on the curve of Sena’s hip, her fingers settled against the skin where her shirt had ridden up from sitting. Mari sat on the other side of Mireya, her legs stretched out in front of her, her feet crossed at the ankles. The three of them sat along the edge of the pool deck with the wrought iron fence behind them, the water catching the sun in a flat sheet that threw light up against the underside of the fence rails.
Camila and Graciela were in the shallow end. Camila had her arms out wide on the surface, her chin tilted up, her curls floating behind her in a dark spread that fanned and gathered each time she kicked. Graciela moved beside her, her hands cupped under the water, sending small waves that lapped against Camila’s arms and made her laugh.
Mireya watched them for a beat. Her fingers pressed once against Sena’s side and released.
“I need to get back to work. Stasia said I was on the bench until I had Micaela.”
Mari looked at her then she looked at Sena. Sena’s body had gone still under Mireya’s hand.
“She knows what I do,” Mireya said.
Mari’s eyes came back to Mireya. “You shouldn’t be pushing your body. You don’t know what all of this has done to it. The last thing you need to do is go out here and drop dead on the stage.”
Sena nodded. Her voice came low. “She’s right. You need to take it easy. You’ve been through a lot.”
Mireya shook her head and sucked her teeth. “I need something to distract me. All I can fucking think about is my baby in that box, fighting for her life because I”—her mouth closed. Her jaw worked once. “Because this shit happened.”
Mari looked over at Graciela. She watched her and Camila splash water at each other, the drops catching the sun in small arcs that broke apart before they hit the deck. Graciela’s laugh carried across the pool, high and loose, and Camila answered it with a shriek that sent a wave across the surface.
“You know I know how you feel right now. Running to something to get your mind off it isn’t a thing. You’re just going to be thinking about it doing something else. Especially dancing. That’s mindless.”
“The semester is going to start soon,” Sena said. “Just focus on school and give yourself time to heal.”
Mireya sighed. Her fingers moved on Sena’s side, her thumb tracing a line along the skin above the waistband of Sena’s shorts, the motion small and steady. She looked at Mari.
“Ale, Haylz and Bee are in Atlanta right now. Four grand a fucking piece. Two nights. I could be out there.”
Sena’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened a fraction and closed. She looked at the pool.
Mari shook her head. “It’s just not worth it. But you know my opinion on everything. I gave it up for a reason.” She turned her head toward Mireya. “Maybe this is your time to give it up.”
Mireya shook her head. She looked back to the pool, her eyes finding Camila and Graciela. They’d moved to the wall at the far end and were hanging off the edge with their arms folded over the concrete lip, their chins resting on their forearms, their feet kicking behind them in a pattern that sent ripples across the pool in overlapping lines. Sara stood near the shallow end with her arms crossed, watching them, her body framed between two of the fence posts. The sun had moved far enough overhead that the shadow from the roofline cut a diagonal across the deck, the concrete warm where the light held and cooler where the shade reached the edge of Mireya’s feet.
The three of them sat without speaking for a few beats. The pool pump hummed somewhere below the deck. Mireya’s fingers moved up and down on the skin of Sena’s side, the touch tracing the same path, her thumb pressing gently against the ridge of a rib before it slid back down. Sena’s breathing had settled into the rhythm of the touch, her chest rising and falling in time with the press of Mireya’s hand.
Mari dropped her voice. “¿Jaslene sabe de ella?”
Mireya shook her head. “Los dos hemos estado con otras personas todo este tiempo.”
Mari nodded. Her eyes went to Sena for a second, reading her profile, then came back to the pool.
Mireya looked over at Sena. “Hey.”
Sena looked at her. Her eyes were still carrying whatever had moved through them at the mention of Atlanta, the widening not fully settled back.
“Thank you for being here, baby.”
Sena smiled. It came slow, pulling at the corners of her mouth before it reached her eyes.
Mireya leaned over and kissed her. Her hand tightened on Sena’s hip, her fingers pressing into the skin, and she held the kiss for a beat before she pulled back.
Sena pulled back and touched her own lip with the pad of her finger. “In front of everyone?”
“Yeah, because you mine.”
Sena shook her head. The smile was still there, sitting small on her face, her eyes dropping to Mireya’s mouth and back up. But she let Mireya pull her closer, her body shifting on the deck until her shoulder pressed against Mireya’s, her head tipping toward the space above Mireya’s collarbone.
~~~
Caine sat on the edge of the lounger with his elbows on his knees, his feet flat on the deck. Autumn sat behind him with her back against the cushion, her legs running along either side of him, her phone in her hand, her thumb moving across the screen in short pulls. His weight tipped the front of the lounger forward enough that the back legs lifted a fraction off the concrete each time he shifted.
He watched Camila in the pool. She was at the far wall with Graciela, the two of them hanging off the edge, their legs kicking behind them in tandem. His eyes flicked from them to Mireya and Sena on the other side of the deck, Mireya’s arm around Sena’s waist, her head tipped close to Sena’s, then back to Camila.
He turned his body toward Autumn, his hand coming down on her thigh, his palm resting against the fabric of her shorts.
“I’m gonna stay here now that Mireya’s out the hospital since Camila ain’t gonna wanna go to mi mama’s.”
Autumn looked up from her phone. “You getting me a hotel room then, nigga?”
Caine snorted a laugh. “If you can sleep in mi mama’s house, you can sleep here.”
“It’s a little different being in a guest room with your mama down the hall and being in a guest room with your baby mama down the hall.”
Caine nodded over his shoulder toward the other side of the deck. “You see my child’s mother sitting over there kissing on a woman, right?”
Autumn rolled her eyes, her head tipping back against the cushion. “Like it ain’t every nigga’s dream to have a threesome with two bitches.”
Caine snorted a laugh. “If I was going to do that, ol’ girl wouldn’t be the one I’d be trying to do that with. It’d be you and Mireya.”
Autumn sucked her teeth. “You’re not selling this well at fucking all.”
Caine held his other hand up. “This house big enough. The master one side the house upstairs and the others on the other. Worst case scenario for you is that Camila come kick you out the bed.”
“I can just get a hotel room if you don’t want to pay for it,” Autumn said.
“I want you where I’m at.”
Her thumb had stopped on the screen, her phone resting against her thigh. “You getting possessive on me, nigga?”
“What’s mine is mine.”
Her eyes held his face, her jaw working once, the muscle at the hinge of it tightening and releasing. Then she nodded.
“I’ll stay tonight then play it by ear. If shit get weird then I’m going straight to the nearest hotel and you putting me up in a suite.”
“Works for me.”
Caine turned back around and called out across the deck. “Mi vida, ven acá.”
Camila looked over at him from the pool wall. She let go of the edge and pushed off, her arms cutting through the water in wide strokes until she reached the shallow end. She pulled herself up the steps, water running off her swimsuit and pooling on the concrete around her feet, and ran toward him, her bare feet slapping the deck.
“Cuidado.”
She stopped running. Her stride broke into a skip and she covered the rest of the distance that way, her hair bouncing heavy with the water in it, her arms swinging wide at her sides. Caine pulled her into a hug as she stopped between his knees, her wet swimsuit pressing against his shirt, the fabric darkening where her body met his. He held her for a beat, his arms wrapped around her back, her chin resting on his shoulder.
He leaned back, his hands settling on her arms. “¿Te estás divirtiendo?”
She nodded. Water dripped from her curls onto his forearms and ran down to his wrists.
“I’m gonna sleep here tonight so I can cook you breakfast in the morning.”
Camila’s face opened. “Really?”
Caine nodded.
Camila cheered, the sound carrying across the deck loud enough that Sara looked over from the fence. Caine caught Sara’s eye and nodded. Sara smiled and turned back to Mari.
Caine nodded over his shoulder. “Have you met daddy’s friend, Autumn?”
Camila looked past him at Autumn. She shook her head, her wet curls swinging against her neck.
Autumn smiled and waved, her fingers lifting off her phone in a small motion. “Hi, Camila.”
“Daddy goes to school with Autumn in Los Angeles,” Caine said.
Camila looked at Autumn, her eyes moving across her face. “Are you going to be a nurse like my mami?”
Autumn shook her head. “I’ll help people a different way.”
Camila nodded, her chin dipping once, her expression settling into something that looked like understanding. Caine’s mouth pulled at the corner.
“Bueno, ve a nadar, mi vida. Mami y yo vamos a ir a ver a Mica en un rato y luego volveremos para abrir tus regalos.”
Camila’s smile split her face wide enough that her eyes creased at the corners. She turned and ran back to the pool, her feet hitting the wet concrete in quick slaps, and jumped back in at the shallow end. The splash sent water across the deck in a sheet that reached the base of the lounger. Graciela was already swimming toward her.
“Y’all taught her Spanish,” Autumn said.
“Yeah, everyone in both our families bilingual.”
“Interesting.”
Caine looked back at her. “What that mean?”
Autumn shrugged, her shoulders lifting and dropping against the cushion. “I’m just evaluating your parenting, nigga. Carry on.”
Caine snorted a laugh.
~~~
Caine had the wrapping paper balled in one hand, the scraps pressed together into a tight wad that he fit into the trash bag hanging from the cabinet handle under the sink. Ribbon and tape and the torn corners of cardboard packaging went in after it. He pulled the bag free, tied it off, and set it by the back door. The counter still had crumbs and frosting smeared across the marble in a thin film from the cake. He pulled a dish towel off the oven handle, ran it under the faucet, and started wiping the counter down in long passes, the cloth dark against the white stone.
Sena walked into the kitchen and stopped, her weight settling back onto her heels. Caine looked up from the counter.
He gestured toward the table with his chin. A phone sat face down on the surface near the far edge, the case catching the light from the pendant above it. “Guessing that’s yours.”
Sena hesitated. Her eyes went to the phone and back to him. She nodded and walked over to the table, her steps measured on the tile and picked it up. Her thumb pressed the screen and the lock screen lit her face for a second before she turned it back off and held it against her thigh.
Caine went back to the counter. He finished the long pass with the towel, wrung it out over the sink, and moved to the section near the stove where a row of mugs sat along the backsplash. He leaned down and lined them up, his fingers on the ceramic, moving the first one a half inch to the left, then the second to match it. He moved them apart. Pushed them back together. Reset the line, his thumb on the handle of each one, turning them until all four handles faced the same direction at the same angle, each one a finger’s width from the next.
Sena watched him from the table. Her phone pressed flat against her thigh. She watched his hand go back to the first mug and adjust it again, the handle turning a fraction, the ceramic sliding against the marble with a sound that barely carried past the counter.
“Do you have OCD?”
Caine looked over his shoulder at her.
“Sorry.” Sena’s hand tightened on her phone. “I shouldn’t have just blurted that out.”
Caine stood up from the counter and moved to the section near the sink, the towel going back to the marble in even strokes. “Habit from being in prison.”
Sena’s thumb stopped against her phone. “You were in prison?”
“For a year.” He finished the section and turned around, leaning back against the counter, his palms flat on the edge behind him, the towel draped over one hand. “Mireya ain’t tell you?”
Sena shook her head. “It’s usually Camila that tells me about you then Mireya adds to it.”
Caine nodded. His eyes went to the hallway that led to the stairs. “She was too young to remember that. I think she has bits and pieces of me being gone, though. She’s got abandonment issues.”
“I’ve noticed.” Sena shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Not that I’m saying you’re a bad parent or anything. Just—”
Caine held his hand up. “You good. I know what you meant.”
Sena’s shoulders dropped a fraction. Her thumb found her phone screen and pressed against it, the nail whitening at the tip.
“I’m sorry about how you found out about me. I”—she paused, her eyes dropping to the tile between them—“I didn’t know that she was going to say that.”
“Mireya does what she wants.”
A corner of Sena’s lips tilted up for a second, the pull small and quick before it settled back. “Yeah, she kinda does.”
“I ain’t gotta understand y’all’s relationship. I ain’t even know she was into women like that.” He folded the towel over his hand once and let it hang. “As long as you better than the last motherfucker she was with then I’m cool with it.”
Sena’s eyes came up from the tile. “The guy who died?”
Caine nodded. “He was a piece of shit. Got what he deserved.”
Sena nodded, her chin dipping and rising once.
Caine looked at her. “You always dated women?”
“Yeah.” Sena’s thumb moved across the edge of her phone case, her nail tracing the seam where the silicone met the screen. “But not like publicly. If that makes sense.”
“It does.”
He set the towel down on the counter, folding it over on itself, pressing the crease flat with the heel of his hand, the edges lined up. He pushed off the counter and started toward the entryway. He stopped at the threshold and turned back.
“Thank you for helping with Camila. She really seems to like you.”
Sena smiled, the pull reaching her eyes. “It’s really no problem.”
Caine nodded and headed for the stairs. His footsteps crossed the hardwood through the living room and started up, each one landing even and measured, the sound thinning as he climbed.
Sena stood in the kitchen. Her thumb rubbed along the edge of her phone, the motion slow, her eyes on the doorway where he’d been. Then she turned and walked to the living room.
~~~
Autumn walked down the hallway with her feet bare on the hardwood, the floorboards cool under her soles. She opened a closet door and found it empty, the shelves bare, the rod holding nothing. She cursed under her breath and pulled it shut, her hand trailing along the wall as she moved on.
The primary bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door open. She walked in and stopped a few steps past the threshold. The room was furnished but spare, a bed with a dark comforter pulled tight at the corners, two nightstands, a lamp on each one. A framed photo of Camila sat on the nightstand nearest the window, the only picture in the room. The curtains were sheer and the streetlight outside pressed through them in a wash of orange that lay across the carpet in a long rectangle.
A bottle of perfume sat on the dresser beside a tray that held a few pieces of jewelry, rings and a thin chain, nothing else. Autumn picked up the bottle. She brought it to her nose and pressed the nozzle once, the mist landing on the inside of her wrist. She held her wrist up and breathed in. Her chin dipped once. She set the bottle back on the dresser, turning it so the label faced the same direction it had been facing when she picked it up.
She crossed the bedroom into the en suite bathroom. Tile under her feet now, the surface colder than the hardwood. She turned past the vanity and into a walk-in closet, her hand finding the switch on the wall..
Designer goods lined every wall. Clothes hung in rows along three sides of the closet, the hangers spaced evenly, the fabrics running from cotton to silk to mesh to leather. Purses filled a shelf that ran the length of the far wall, the hardware on them catching the light in small points of gold and silver. Shoes were arranged on a rack below the shelf, heels, boots, platforms and flats, the soles facing out, the pairs set close together. Autumn trailed her fingers through the clothes, the fabric sliding off her knuckles as she moved down the row. Crop tops. Bodysuits cut low at the front and lower at the back. Skirts that would end above mid-thigh. Dresses slit to the hip. Mesh panels. Cutouts. The occasional pair of jeans or hoodie tucked between pieces.
“You got lost?”
Autumn turned. Mireya stood in the doorway of the closet with her shoulder against the frame, her arms at her sides, her eyes on Autumn.
“Yeah, I was looking for bath towels.”
Mireya turned and walked to another closet across the bathroom, opened it, and pulled a set of towels from the shelf inside. She came back and held them out, the towels folded and stacked, her hand flat underneath them.
Autumn took them. “Thanks.”
She held the towels against her chest. She nodded over her shoulder toward the walk-in closet behind her. “All this from Caine?”
Mireya snorted a laugh, the air pushing through her nose. “He ain’t get rich until January. My ex-boyfriend bought a lot of it. I bought a lot of it. He bought some of it, though.”
“What did your ex do?”
“Sold crack, heroin, coke, fetty, pills.”
Autumn blinked. Then she laughed, the sound coming short and surprised, her head tipping back a fraction. “You’re fucking with me, right?”
Mireya shook her head. “It is what it is. He ain’t here to be mad about me telling his business.”
Autumn studied Mireya’s face. She held the look for a moment, her eyes moving from Mireya’s mouth to her eyes and back, looking for anything that would tell her whether the words were a joke that had gone on too long or something else. Mireya’s face gave her nothing.
Mireya gestured around them, her hand sweeping the bathroom, the bedroom beyond it. “Do you like my house?”
Autumn nodded, the towels shifting against her chest. “It’s nicer than I expected houses in New Orleans to be.”
“Yeah, but probably not as nice as in Los Angeles either way.”
Autumn shrugged, one shoulder lifting. “It’s got its charm.”
“Why did you fly out here?”
Autumn looked at her. The question had come without a change in Mireya’s posture, without a shift in her voice.
“I felt like Caine…” She adjusted the towels in her arms. “And you… could use all the support you could get.”
Mireya nodded, her eyes staying on Autumn’s face. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Autumn, pulling her into a hug. Mireya’s body pressed against the towels between them, her arms closing around Autumn’s back.
Autumn’s body went rigid. Her arms stayed at her sides for a beat, the towels pinned between their chests, her fingers tightening on the terry cloth.
Mireya stepped back. Her hands settled on Autumn’s arms, her fingers resting against the skin above the elbows, holding her at arm’s length. “Did you find what you expected?”
Autumn’s eyebrow came up.
Mireya looked down and patted the towels in Autumn’s hands, her palm pressing flat against the top of the stack twice. “I’ll put some extra in the other closet for you and Caine.”
“Thanks.”
Autumn stepped around Mireya and back into the bedroom, the towels held against her chest, her stride steady on the carpet. She was almost to the hallway when Mireya’s voice came from behind her.
“No hay nadie antes que yo, ni siquiera tú.”
Autumn looked back. Mireya stood at the bathroom doorway, her shoulder against the frame. Her face carried a smile that sat on her lips and nowhere else.
“Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.”
Mireya’s smile widened a fraction, the pull reaching the corners of her mouth. “It’s just well wishes for a good sleep. Good night, Autumn. Thanks for helping celebrate my daughter’s birthday.”
Autumn nodded. She turned and walked out of the room, her footsteps moving down the hallway toward the guest room on the other side of the house.
Mireya watched the hallway until Autumn’s footsteps faded. The smile dropped from her face, the pull at her mouth releasing, her eyes going flat, her jaw setting. She stood in the doorway for a moment, the silence in the house settling around her.
Sena walked into the bedroom a moment later, her eyes looking back over her shoulder toward the hallway where Autumn had gone. She turned to Mireya.
Mireya’s lips pulled back up.
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redsox907
- Posts: 5376
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
American Sun
Mireya staying messy as fuck lmao
telling her BDs GF that she'll never come before her, while having them sleep in her house that Caine bought, with her GF spending the night too
didn't have Caine and Sean getting along the best of the group
also, Mireya never beating the 'tism allegations
telling her BDs GF that she'll never come before her, while having them sleep in her house that Caine bought, with her GF spending the night too
didn't have Caine and Sean getting along the best of the group
also, Mireya never beating the 'tism allegations
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djp73
- Posts: 12660
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
American Sun
They should all just live together now
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Soapy
- Posts: 15367
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
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djp73
- Posts: 12660
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
American Sun
brady bunch
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 15872
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
She can't win around here. She had autism because she didn't crash out. She is messy when she reacts.redsox907 wrote: ↑24 May 2026, 00:48Mireya staying messy as fuck lmao
telling her BDs GF that she'll never come before her, while having them sleep in her house that Caine bought, with her GF spending the night too
didn't have Caine and Sean getting along the best of the group
also, Mireya never beating the 'tism allegations
You struggled with reading comprehension in school, didn't you? It's clear the longest Caine spent not at the hospital in this spell was in that previous chapter because it was Camila's birthday.
Also:
Here is Brice Colton playing football after his baby mama got her wig split and his child was missing and potentially dead and making no effort to join the search for said child: viewtopic.php?f=4&t=1607&p=120867&hilit=skylar#p120867
Here is Brice Colton not attending the funeral of his baby mama who got her wig split while playing house with his pseudo girlfriend and still not looking for said child: viewtopic.php?f=4&t=1607&p=120924&hilit=skylar#p120924
Here is Brice Colton attending business meetings and playing football while a crackhead got his child but he doesn't know that because he hasn't joined the search for said child: viewtopic.php?f=4&t=1607&p=120970&hilit=skylar#p120970
I think Caine, if it had happened, taking a few hours to decompress mentally while his child is safe in a hospital is okay.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7232
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
American Sun
This is the weirdest social scenario on planet Earth and I refuse to be gaslit to think otherwise.
The level of mental illness in that update was also remarkable.
The level of mental illness in that update was also remarkable.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 15872
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
The person pushing this social scenario grew up in a house with 11 people until he was 18 years old. It's almost like in his mind, everyone you care about should be in the same house. The only one who'd push back would be Autumn because she's from the smallest family but she would also recognize through her conversations with Caine that is why he thinks that way. Also, she'd have to do this type of stuff sooner or later if she stays with Caine. What's she supposed to do when Mireya, Sara, Camila and Micaela go to Los Angeles? Just avoid Caine? Her only other option is to break up with him.Captain Canada wrote: ↑25 May 2026, 11:37This is the weirdest social scenario on planet Earth and I refuse to be gaslit to think otherwise.
The level of mental illness in that update was also remarkable.
There was little to no mental illness in that update outside of Caine's self-soothing by making those mugs perfectly straight.