Spade
I’VE ALWAYS HAD two families: the enormous, demanding one I was born into and bound to through blood and obligation, and the family I chose. Growing up, my second family consisted of a rag-tag group of boys and girls from the neighborhood. With that crew, I drank my first beer, smoked my first joint, and eventually tried my hand at grand theft auto. Thankfully, I was still a minor without a record—and had a father who promised the judge he’d bring fiery hell down on my head—so my first offense only earned me a joyriding misdemeanor. Several of my accomplices weren’t so lucky. Three of them ended up in jail.
One was shot and killed while we were trying to outrun the cops.
Shit got real in the weeks that followed Coby’s death. Court, the disappointed looks from my family, guilt—that shit was nothing compared to the pain and regret I felt while standing graveside and staring at the casket of one of my closest friends. I realized my life needed to change, so I cut ties with my bad influences, got my shit together, and focused on graduating.
After high school, I did eight years in the Army and gained a new second family. I would have stayed in longer, but duty called. I came home to help my father with the family business, but still craved the brotherhood and structure I’d grown accustomed to in the military.
That’s why I joined the ranks of a club for military veterans. And on days like today, the accountability provided by the Dead Presidents Motorcycle Club was the only thing keeping me from losing my mind.
“Don’t forget about your cousin’s quinceanera, Tonio,” my mother said, carrying plates of food into the crowded dining room. “Josephina will be there, and she’s looking forward to seeing you.”
Mom set a plate of chorizo con papas—sausage and potatoes—in front of me and it was all I could do to keep my mouth shut. I wasn’t hungry, a fact I’d been trying to convince her of since I arrived, but one simply did not enter my mother’s house without gaining five pounds. The woman had two major goals in life: to home-cook every meal her six children ate and to get all of us married off, so we’d breed and give her a house full of grandbabies to cook for. I loved her cooking, and I wasn’t opposed to finding a wife and fathering a few ankle biters of my own, but I wanted my future bride to be an educated woman with meaningful goals and interesting hobbies.
In short, I wanted a bookworm with a career.
I’ve always had a thing for nerdy women, an attraction that stemmed from my eighth-grade crush on Ms. Rosales. She was a brilliant young teacher with perky tits and a narrow waistline who wore low-cut, tight blouses, and dark-framed glasses that made her eyes look big and innocent. Every time she removed them and sucked on the earpiece tips, I almost blew my load. I beat the shit out of two of my classmates to earn the privilege of sitting in front of her desk and getting a front row seat to her cleavage peep shows.
I jacked off so many times that year, I fully expected to go blind. Needless to say, I debunked the fuck out of that superstition.
Smart, sexy, career-oriented women have been my temptation ever since.
Josephina’s parents were friends of the family, and Mom had been trying to hook me up with the girl since high school. She had a great body and a nice smile, but she had no interest in college or a career and was boring as hell to talk to.
“I told you, Madre, Josephina isn’t my type.” We’d had this conversation so many times I was considering recording it so I could replay it every time the topic came up.
“You can take me to the quinceanera, Tonio,” my youngest sister, Rosalie, said, smiling up at me. “I’ll be your date.”
Rosalie was my favorite sibling. I was fifteen when she was born, and I’ve always been protective of her. When she was born, her upper lip looked like it was missing a chunk. The doctor called her condition a cleft palate and lip and prescribed several expensive surgeries to correct it. They started operating before her first birthday and didn’t finish until she was seven. I’d spent many nights rocking her to sleep and many days threatening school bullies who wouldn’t leave her alone. Her lip was barely noticeable now, but no matter how many times I told her she was beautiful, she didn’t believe me. When she looked in the mirror, all she saw was that messed up lip.
“Deal.” I booped her on the nose. “I’ll pick you up and you can ride with me.”
“Josephina is a beautiful woman who can cook and carry babies,” Mom said, apparently unwilling to let the matter drop. “She comes from a good family full of hard workers. What more do you want in a bride, Tonio?”
Brains? A sense of humor? Interesting life goals? “Not Josephina Gomez.”
Dad’s eyes lifted from his phone long enough to cast me a glare. “Watch your tone,hijo.”
I was twenty-eight, didn’t live at home, and we were discussingmylove life, yet he somehow managed to make me feel like a rebellious teen again. If dads had superpowers, that was his. “Yessir. Sorry, Madre, I didn’t mean to sound disrespectful.” I replied, digging into the breakfast I didn’t want.
“Don’t worry, Madre, I’ll keep Josephina company,” my brother Miguel chimed in. Two years younger than me, he’d spent his childhood tattling on my every move. When I enlisted to serve our country, he called me selfish and accused me of hating the family and running from my duties. He was wrong about the family. They drove me crazy and sometimes made me want to drink battery acid, but I loved the hell out of every single member of the Fernandez clan. Even Miguel the kiss-ass.
The family business, however, I could do without. Unfortunately, it was Dad’s dream. He’d legally changed the name to Fernandez and Sons Construction within a month after Miguel’s birth. He’d brought the two of us into the business when we were still kids, and talked constantly about us taking it over some day. His heart was in the right place—he’d grown up poor and wanted to ensure that we were taken care of—and I couldn’t find the words to tell him I didn’t want to be a carpenter for the rest of my life. For now, it paid the bills and kept the family happy.
“Thank you, Miguel.” Mom patted him on the shoulder. “Such a good boy. Always so helpful.” Turning her attention back to me, she asked, “You willbeat your cousin’s quinceanera, right?”
Guilt was my mother’s superpower. Well, guilt and cooking. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And what about dinner tonight?” Mom spent her days running a food cart with my twenty-two-year-old sister, Maria, and still wanted to come home and cook giant family dinners. She was a wonder, for sure.
“No, ma’am. I’m working tonight.” Becoming a bouncer at the Copper Penny was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. It gave me an excuse to get out of most family functions, and having a second job was something my hardworking parents respected and never questioned.
Yeah, I loved my family. But I loved them more when I didn’t have to be around them twenty-four seven. No family should have to liveandwork together. If I hadn’t moved into the old fire station that served as club headquarters, I’d probably be wearing a straitjacket by now.
After breakfast, Mom handed us all sack lunches and sent us on our way. Yes, I was a grown man whose mom still made his lunch. I should probably be ashamed of myself, but adulting was some hard-ass shit, and I didn’t turn my nose up at a free meal. Ever. Even when I wasn’t hungry, as I’d proven by cleaning my breakfast plate.
Dad, Miguel, and my eighteen-year-old brother, Felipe, went straight to work while I drove the second work truck to drop Rosalie and my sixteen-year-old sister, Abril, off at school before joining the guys at the construction site.
