Page 48

“You don’t have to come in.” The words come out in a panicked rush, as the driver puts on the hazard lights. “Just stay in the car and I’ll⁠—”

“I’m coming in.” Sebastian is already unbuckling his seat belt.

“Sebastian, really.” I put my hand on his arm, then jerk it away like I’ve been shocked. “My mother isn’t like people you know. She’s messy. She’s going to be a wreck, and I⁠—”

“I’m not a porcelain doll, Isabella.” He glances back at me, already halfway out the door. “I’ve seen my father drunk enough to forget his own name, and I've dragged my half-conscious, drugged-up brother out of more than one club. I’m coming in.”

I blink, stunned by the intimate information he just shared. I concede, knowing I won’t win this fight, but I'm still terrified he’s going to take one look at my life and very quickly turn in the opposite direction.

The scent of my childhood hits me in a wave as I unlock the door. Fake lavender, stale cigarette smoke, cheap candles, and cooking grease. The home is cluttered, like always. Too many photos, too many trinkets collecting dust, too much life packed into a space that’s already too small.

It’s not hard to find Mom. She’s collapsed on the old floral sofa in the living room, under the dim light of a dusty Tiffany lamp. Her eyes are swollen, her hair a chaotic nest of gray-streaked brown. Multiple cigarettes are still smoldering in the overstuffed ashtray, and a half-empty bottle of cheap alcohol sits on the floor beside her.

“Mom?”

Her eyes crack open, bloodshot and unfocused, and she lets out a fresh wail.

“He took the jewelry! And the emergency cash in the back of my closet. He said we were going to Florida. But then he left! He just… left.” Her words dissolve into a jumbled confusion of sobs and Spanish I’m glad Sebastian can’t understand.

I would love to be able to rush to her side and tell her it will be okay, that Tony was an asshole and isn’t worth the pain. But as I watch her fall apart, I don’t move. I can’t move. I’m old enough now that I see the pattern. I see how Mom does this to herself over and over, then expects me to come to the rescue. It’s manipulation, and it’s finally starting to lose its power over me.

I stare at the woman crumpled on the couch and feel nothing but a heavy, cold exhaustion.

“Mom.” My feet finally move. I kneel in front of her, trying to force myself to put a hand on her shoulder, but I can’t quite bridge the gap. “You’re drunk, and you’re not thinking clearly. You need to sleep.”

“I loved him!” she wails. “I thought he was the one.”

“Mom.” I press my lips together to keep the frustration from spilling out. “You’re just saying that because you were caught up. Remember Jack? Diego? Xavier? You realized afterward how terrible they were to you.”

Mom’s sobs grow louder.

“Come on, Mom. Would a good guy steal your jewelry? You know⁠—”

“You don’t understand, Isabella!”

Here it comes. I steel myself for the next part of the cycle.

She turns on me, rage flashing in her glassy, bloodshot eyes. “What would you know? You’ve never had a relationship like mine. You’ve barely had any relationships at all. Men run from you. You drive them away!”

I clench my jaw. Her words hit exactly where she knows it hurts. Her tirade continues in Spanish, and it stings just as badly.

Then Sebastian’s commanding voice cuts through the room. “If he stole jewelry and money, we should call the police.”

Mom’s histrionics slam to a halt. Her eyes dart to Sebastian, who is standing in the doorway.

“Who the hell is this?”

“He’s, uh—” I stammer. “I work with him.”

Mom’s eyes narrow, taking in the suit, the watch, Sebastian’s sheer presence. “You work with him?”

“I’m just the driver tonight,” he says, cautiously stepping closer. “Your daughter and I were working late when you called. Do we need to notify the police, Mrs. Medina?”

“Just Miss,” Mom mutters, her eyes glued to him.

I sigh, standing up. “How about I make you some coffee, and you go to bed? Sleep it off. I’ll put water and Advil on the nightstand. I’m sure Paloma will be here soon.”

I’d texted my sister an SOS, and to my relief, she actually responded.