Grandma knocked once and came in before I could pretend to be asleep.
Her jasmine perfume drifted through the room. She strode to the window, yanked open the curtains, and more sunlight poured over me. I groaned.
“Come on.” She nudged my arm. “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s sit in the courtyard and chat.”
Chat. She’d run out of patience. I’d been here nearly ten days and barely spoken to her. Now that school was out and she was on summer break, my excuses had run dry.
“Five minutes,” I grumbled.
“No.”
I cracked an eye. “No?”
Grandma sighed, bracing her hands on her hips. “You’ve haddays. You’ve slept more than I’ve ever seen, and you barely eat. Get your ass out of bed. We’re talking.”
No point arguing. I sat up, rubbed my shoulder. It still ached sometimes—a reminder of one more fuckup.
“Te molesta?” Grandma asked.Did it bother me?Everything fucking did.
“No.” I shoved my feet into black flip-flops and pulled on a white shirt.
She led me to the courtyard, where a table waited in the shade of a fig tree.
A pitcher of sangria. Plates of Serrano ham and cheese. Fresh bread.
Too bad my appetite had vanished.
Grandma poured two glasses, slid one to me. “Salud, mi niño. Por ti.”
There was nothing to cheer about. I took a sip of the fruity wine and forced down a bite of bread so the weak drink wouldn’t hit me too fast.
Her gaze pressed on me. “Why are you here?”
I swallowed. “Fed up with me already?”
“Kind of.” She winked, sipping her sangria. “But that’s not why I asked. Can you blame me for worrying? First the accident. Now this.” She gestured at me like my whole sorry state explained itself.
I looked like shit, sure. But still.
“I’m more perceptive than you give me credit for.”
No lie there. She’d always been scarily good at reading me.
“Nothing went the way I wanted.” I traced aimless shapes on my glass. “The injury cut my season short. Ale couldn’t land me another team.”
And my mother’s new husband had blackmailed me into leaving his daughter.
Smirking, Grandma reached into her pocket. “I was doing your laundry. This fell out of your pants.”
She set something on the table, and I nearly choked. “Abuela, joder.”
It was the tiny picture of Kaia I always kept in my wallet. I’d taken it after our first time—her smiling, flushed, wrapped in a white sheet. The sheet wasn’t in the shot, just her bare shoulders and that radiant face. She’d looked so beautiful I hadn’t been able to stop myself. I’d wanted to keep that moment forever.
“Who’s she?” Grandma asked.
“That’s Kaia. Russell’s daughter.”
“And your reason to sink,” she said knowingly.
