Page 4 of Miguel
Her response was to lean forward and swat me hard against the head.
“Ow!” I rubbed the spot. She still had a heavy hand. “The fuck was that for?”
“For not using a condom.”
“Fuck you. I always wrap it up.”
Her hand shot out again and slapped me upside the head. “That’s for having that dulce niño here for days and not letting me know until now. Pendejo.” Her hand whipped out for a third time, and this time I mustered the energy to dodge her wrath.
“Now what?” I demanded. “What’s that last one for?”
“For cussing at me.”
“You cussed at me too.”
“Because you’re being a pendejo. I’m not.” She pressed her hands against her hips and darted her dark gaze around.
I took a moment to observe her. Rich, brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail, giving her a severe, wrathful expression. I knew what was under that dramatic makeup she wore, what soft panes composed her face and dark hair that curled around her neck. She looked so much like our mother. Hell, now that I thought about it, Zeke had the soft, childlike features that Camila did.
“So, where’s my nephew?” she demanded.
I sighed, eyes closing. Pain was beginning to pulse a dreadful beat behind my temples. “Sleeping. Finally.” He’d cried himself to sleep again, barely looking at me, barely responding to anything I said. Like he didn’t want to listen to me or accept anything from me. Could I blame him? I was practically a stranger.
Camila didn’t give me any more shit. She plopped down next to me and enveloped my hand in hers, threading our fingers together to give mine a gentle squeeze. It reminded me of when we were younger and held hands just like this, lending one another strength when things got too hard after our papá died. It was a show of solidarity when words weren’t needed to convey it. This touch was enough.
“What are you going to do, Salvador?” she whispered.
I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to sleep for five years and wake up and have my problems magically solved. It was such a coward’s way of thinking, I knew. But I was feeling so out of my element that everything in my mind was a fucking mess.
“What do you think I should do?” I asked instead. Maybe because I wanted her to solve my shit for me, because I was too tired to make decisions for myself. Mostly, because I valued her opinion more than anyone’s. And she’d never steered me wrong before.
“I can’t tell you what to do, Salvador. Besides, I think you already knowwhatyou want to do.”
I groaned at how right she was. If anyone other than Loco knew me, it was her. “I’m going to raise him,” I confessed.
It was a wild notion. I’d never stopped to think about what it would be like to be a father before. It was never something I really wanted because it had never felt like the right time. Now, fatherhood was suddenly thrust upon me. These past few days had been so fucking hard, and yet… that empty space that had been nagging me for months was surprisingly quiet.
“That’s my hermanito.” Her free hand reached up to pat at my cheek in a motherly gesture, giving me a soft smile. “I knew you’d do that right thing.” Suddenly, her hand pulled from mine and she was pushing to her feet, all business once again. “Now, we have to figure shit out.”
“Camila, it’s late–”
“Cállate and listen. Your house is a fucking mess. This is no place for a kid to live.”
I knew what her underlying words meant and I immediately shook my head. “I’m not moving back in with you, Cami.”
I’d left our childhood home years ago to buy this small, shitty apartment and have a place to myself. It wasn’t as if there wasn’t room living with Cami, but after our ma and pa died, I thought it was best to give the both of us the privacy we deserved.
I’d gotten this place when I was still in my partying phase, too. I’d wanted somewhere I could bring girls to fuck without worrying I’d wake my sister up from the other side of the house.
As dilapidated as this place was, it was mine. The light pink and white, water-stained walls had grown on me. So had the crumbling brick on the outside and the small balcony that overlooked the little community.
Cami sighed as if I were an insufferable asshole. “Fine,” she conceded. “How old is he?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know… Five?”
Her glare would have scorched my balls off if I’d had the energy to care. “How do you not know how old he is? When did you fuck this woman? Do the math! Where’s his birth certificate?”
Jesus, she was making me feel like shit with her judgment. “I haven’t had time to look through all the paperwork his mom left.” I pointed to the kitchen counter where I’d left everything and prayed they weren’t dirty with peanut butter from the sandwich I’d made earlier for Zeke.
