Page 7
Next to me, Yadi drops his chin to his chest. “Coño.”
Millie’s brows angle down as if she doesn’t know what to make of me.
Which makes two of us.
I don’t know what to make of myself right now either.
“I’m okay,” she says eventually, her voice overly loud for it being only the two of us. Well, three, including a nosy Yadi.
“Then why were you crying?”
Next to me, Yadi shakes his head, but I wait for her to answer. And when she doesn’t, I press her. “I saw it. You were crying.”
“Are you always like this?” She wrings her hands. “I’m having a hard time distinguishing your mood from your tone of voice. I can’t tell if you’re angry or…”
I clear my throat. “I’m not angry.”
“Oh.” She relaxes a little, and I hate that I made her worry. Then she smiles, but not as carefree as when she spoke to Yadi. The motherfucker. “Okay, so this is just how you are, then?” When I shrug, she goes on. “I was crying, but I’m fine now.”
“So why were you crying?”
She gives in to a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “You are relentless, aren’t you?”
I don’t move, and she looks to Yadi, who raises his hand like of course. “He is Crazy Train for a reason.”
I’m not crazy, but that’s the moniker I’ve been given ever since the fight with my brother and subsequent trade to this city. It’s a running joke on social media, playing “Crazy Train” over all of the videos with me in them. Doesn’t help that I’m known for being…intense. Add in my heterochromia, and I’m an easy target for internet trolling.
Millie frowns at Yadi. “No one should be calling him Crazy Train. It’s offensive to those struggling with mental health issues, and it’s also patently false. Austin seems in perfectly stable condition.”
Her defense of me makes my skin warm, almost clammy. She’s a complete stranger and defending me.
“Lo siento. You are very caring.”
She accepts his apology with a tip of her chin. “Thank you, but I know what it feels like to be made fun of. It’s not great.”
Yadi takes Millie’s hand, and I barely keep myself from physically removing him from this situation.
And that tightness in my chest? It might as well be cement now. “Who makes fun of you?”
She waves off my question like it’s no big deal. “When I was younger, kids made fun of me. I was weird—am weird, I guess.”
She’s so nonchalant about it, while I’m burning up inside. “You’re not weird.”
“I think it depends on who you talk to,” she says with a self-effacing curl to her lips that nearly knocks me on my ass. Crooked smile and dimple carving her cheek, I am done for.
“I talked to Noah for a bit.” I assume he’s a safe topic. From the way her eyes brighten, it is. “He’s a good kid.”
“He is.” She slants her attention toward the group of little leaguers, and it’s clear the moment she finds her son in the crowd from the way her whole face lights up. “He’s the absolute best.”
When she turns back to me, I incline my head. “It must be because you’re such a good mom.”
Millie blushes furiously, and even Yadi seems pleased by this. I flick my gaze to him, and he raises his brows, silently directing me to ask her out or something. But I can’t. Not when I can’t break through the cement in my chest. “So, why were you crying?”
Yadi rolls his head back. “Ande diablo.”
Mille shakes her head in contained amusement. “Back to this again?” At my nod, she takes a deep breath and says, “I’m happy to see Noah playing and having fun. Sad that he’ll have to stop because I don’t have the money. I recently lost my job, and it’s been a struggle for a while, so—”
“I’ll hire you.”
