Page 126 of Espíritu

“I’m sorry,” he said again. And this time it landed like a promise, not just an apology.

Yadriel nodded slowly, something loosening in his chest.

“I appreciate it,” he said quietly. “And I get it. I do. I’ve been scared, too.”

Yadriel hesitated, the next thought already churning in his chest like a storm cloud. “But I’m not the only one you’ve been shutting out.”

Enrique’s brows lifted. “What do you mean?”

Yadriel took a breath, bracing himself. “Julian.”

Lita, who’d been standing silently by, tilted her head. “What about him?”

“He’s unraveling,” Yadriel said, the words spilling out faster now. “He’s trying to hold everything together, but he’s haunted. Literally. He’s in pain. And he’s scared. But the worst part? He’s doing it alone. Because we made him.”

Enrique’s expression shifted, still uncertain.

Yadriel pressed on. “I know we’re not supposed to tell outsiders about us—about what we are. But Julian’s friends are his family. And they don’t know anything. He’s lying to them, keeping secrets, pushing them away—because we told him he had to. Because we told him he couldn’t trust them with the truth.”

Enrique’s mouth opened.

Yadriel held up a hand. “I know the rules. I do. But how can we keep asking him to carry this when the people who love him the most have no idea what’s happening to him? How can we call ourselves his community if we don’t let him have his?”

Yadriel kept thinking about the look on Julian’s face when he clutched Luca to his chest—the panic, the helplessness. The way he never let himself break down in front of anyone, always trying to hold it together. Always pretending he was fine.

But he wasn’t fine.

And if things kept going the way they were, Julian would fall apart—and no one would be there to catch him. Not unless they let the people who already loved him step in.

Wasn’t that what they were all fighting for? To protect the people they loved?

Yadriel wasn’t going to sit by and watch Julian be torn apart by the very rules that were supposed to keep them safe.

Lita sat down beside Enrique, brow furrowed, lips pursed.

“He needs them,” Yadriel finished. “And they deserve to know. They’re already in this—whether we want them to be or not.”

The silence this time was thicker, denser. Lita and Enrique exchanged a long look. Enrique’s jaw worked.

When he spoke, his voice was careful.

“I hear you,” he said, “but this isn’t small. If word spreads—”

Lita cut in, dry as flint. “We tell people when love brings them to us—spouses, adopted kids, friends who are family. We already make room.” She flicked a look at Yadriel and added, “And no, they’re not getting married yet—”

Yadriel nearly choked, his face setting on fire.

“But he belongs to Julian,” Lita said, nodding to Yadriel. “And Julian belongs to them.”

“I’m not asking to make it public,” Yadriel said. “I’m not talking about posting it online. I’m talking about his brother and four teenagers in East LA who would rather die than betray Julian.”

Enrique stared at his son, something easing in his face. “You’re right—it isn’t fair to him. He’s kept every promise we asked of him.” He nodded once, decisive.

Something in Yadriel unclenched. A knot he’d carried since Día de Muertos. This wasn’t permission, it was trust.

“Thank you,” he said, voice steady. “Tomorrow, under vow.”

Enrique nodded. “Tonight, we have much work ahead of us.”