“I ate enough stuffed cabbage to feed three people. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Smiling at Oliver’s grimace, Felipe offered him his hand. “Come on. Let’s get off the floor and go to bed.”
With Felipe’s help, Oliver got to his feet with a groan. Any lingering fear Oliver had had of being too close in their room had gone when he pulled Felipe in for a kiss. The tether tightened beneath Felipe’s heart at the slide of Oliver’s hand on his hip and the dart of his tongue against his lip. If they were at the society, he would have pushed Oliver onto the bed and kissed him until he could no longer remember why he was worried, but that would have to wait. Pulling back, Oliver rested his forehead against Felipe’s.
“I really don’t want to leave town tomorrow. We’ve come this far with the case, and I wanted to take you to the pharmacy to get a soda. That way you can see the photograph too.”
Mr. Turpin’s words echoed through Felipe’s mind as he nudged Oliver toward the bed. “We’ll see, but no promises. I know it would set us back to bring in other investigators and get them up to speed,butI refuse to put your life or Gwen’s at risk for a case. I’ll talk to Mr.Allen and figure out what the dangers truly are. Does that sound fair?”
Oliver nodded as he untied his robe and hung it on the bedpost. “Tomorrow?”
He had been planning to go downstairs the moment Oliver got settled in bed, but at the silent plea in Oliver’s eyes, Felipe untied his robe and hung it beside his. “Fine, I’ll talk to him first thing in the morning.”
Pulling back the covers, Oliver and Felipe slipped into bed as they did every night back home. Oliver wrapped his arms around his partner’s middle and intertwined his legs with his until they were nestled flush against each other. As Oliver released a contented sigh and rested his chin on Felipe’s shoulder, Felipe’s eyes burned at the realization that they had come so close to never doing this again. Hugging Oliver’s arms, Felipe focused on the familiar, steady beat of Oliver’s heart against his back until he slipped into sleep, and they beat as one.
Chapter Seventeen
Trapped
Ducking into the empty church, Felipe listened for any sign of his uncles or cousins. They rarely showed their face in the last remnant of the old Dominican mission before Sunday unless they were going on a trip and needed to pray for divine protection. His aunts, on the other hand, were often at the chapel altar with their rosaries in hand. He glanced into the baptistry and toward the altar but found no one. One way or another heneededto be alone, and he couldn’t risk running into his cousins. He could do what he had to do behind the stable or in a storeroom, but there was always a chance someone would walk in on him. When training ended for the day, he made certain to obscure his path, so no one noticed where he had gone. If anyone did notice him missing, at least they wouldn’t think to look for him in the old campanario.
Silently shutting the door to the tower behind him, Felipe climbed the steps to the platform as quietly as a cat. His entire body ached, but those pains were nothing compared to the tightness in hischest. By the time he reached the top, he could scarcely breathe. He could still feel the wounds he received the day before just below the surface. It had been a mistake, a stupid mistake. He looked away for a second, but that was enough. Galvans didn’t make mistakes. The punishment he received was far worse than any his cousins got. His uncles and father thought he must not feel it if the wounds or bruises didn’t leave a lasting mark, so they let pain be the reminder. The lashes he received were long gone, but the wounds remained as an invisible ache that had spread into numbness. Today, when he and his cousins had been forced to stay in the same position for hours without moving or letting their discomfort show, it had been too easy to slip into that state where he could pretend he was a statue or a corpse, a shadow hovering outside his body. His father and uncle had praised him for it. He should have been happy. He should have been—
Felipe’s hands shook as he sank against the cool plaster wall and rolled up his sleeve to reveal an unblemished arm. Pulling the knife from his belt, Felipe only paused long enough to confirm no one was downstairs before slicing into his forearm. Blood blossomed along the length of the wound a second ahead of the searing pain. Felipe bit his lip and savored the rush of calm that followed. The knot in his chest finally loosened as he did it a second and third time. By the time he dragged the knife across his arm for a fourth time, the first wound had healed, and he could breathe for the first time in days. The lingering numbness had sharpened into clarity and relief.
Blood dripped onto the wooden floor as the last two wounds knit shut before his eyes. At least dried blood wouldn’t draw attention. In the Galvan compound, it was everywhere. The floor of the campanario was already spattered with it from the other half dozen times he had snuck up to be alone, but without windows up there, he could always blame it on a bird or bat. Wiping his knife off on his handkerchief, Felipe stared at his bloodied arm. The wounds had disappeared, but the blood and sharp echoes of pain remained. He knew he should stop. His family would punish him for it if they caught him, but this pain was his own. He couldn’t control whether he spent his days in the hot sunor got a beating for tripping over his own feet. What he could control was how deep the knife went or how many times he drew blood looking for some semblance of release.
Raising his gaze to the bleak, grey sky peeking through the open arches of the campanario, Felipe let his head fall back against the wall as he held his stinging arm. The first time he had come to the top of the tower, he had debated if he would survive the fall. It was high and the ground was hard, but he would heal before he bled out, and breaking bones that weren’t his neck meant he would have to live with his family knowing what he had done. Felipe sheathed his blade and spat onto his arm as he mopped the half-dried blood from his skin. No, this was far better than the alternative.
Felipe dusted himself off and made certain there wasn’t any obvious blood on his clothes before crawling toward the stairs. He needed to get back before dinner started and his mother sent someone to look for him. As he crouched beneath the window, he stopped when he heard the back gate creak open. Inching over to the back window, Felipe rose on his knees just high enough to see his uncle leave down one of the half-wild paths behind the compound with a bulging satchel on his back and a grey-black goat in tow. Felipe frowned as he backed away from the window and soundlessly padded down the steps. No one went on missions alone, and there was no reason for Ramón to leave with supplies unless something important was going on.
Blessing himself as he left the church, Felipe had scarcely taken a step outside the door when an arm slammed into his chest. He started to reach for his knife when his body registered it was Alfonso before his mind did. When his older cousin shoved him back into the stuccoed brick until he could scarcely breathe, he didn’t fight it. Felipe’s instincts screamed at him to punch and thrash, but it wouldn’t do much good against Alfonso. He was three years older, a head taller, and their grandfather’s current favorite. No matter who started it, Felipe would be seen as the aggressor. After all, he would always walk away without a scratch.
“Sneaking around again, joto? Tell me what you were doing inthere, and maybe, I won’t tell the Patrón.”
“Praying for Señor Quintero as my mother instructed,” Felipe lied as Alfonso pressed hard enough that he thought he heard a rib crack. “Not all of us spend our days chasing village girls.”
“You’re full of shit.”
In one swift motion, Alfonso let him go and flung him sideways. Felipe landed hard in the dirt, pain reverberating through his knees and half-healed arm. As he turned back to his cousin, he forced his expression neutral. Better not to give Alfonso the satisfaction of knowing it hurt, or he would do it again.
“I think you were meeting someone. Antonio from the kitchens? The priest, maybe?” A smirk crossed his cousin’s lips as Felipe glared up at him from his knees. “Yeah, just like that.”
Anger coursed through Felipe’s veins. For years, he had made himself small and kept his eyes off others, yet Alfonso still honed in on the parts of him he had tried desperately to lock away. His body pulled taut with the urge to tackle his cousin and wipe the smug smile from his face. Felipe knew he could. He knew he was faster than Alfonso, and while his cousin had more experience on missions, Felipe was surpassing him during training sessions. They both knew it, which was why he had suddenly become a favorite target when six months ago, Alfonso had barely looked at him. Stuffing down his anger, Felipe slowly stood. He needed to bide his time until he wouldn’t be punished for putting Alfonso in his place. For now, all he could wound was his pride.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been,” Felipe replied, flashing him a barbed grin. “Maybe, instead of bothering me, you should think about practicing more. I heard your father left on a mission and didn’t take you with. I guess he doesn’t even trust you to mind the goat.”
Felipe expected his cousin to punch or shove him. Instead, the venom in Alfonso’s gaze solidified into something shrewder as he looked Felipe over as if seeing him for the first time. He didn’t dare move as his cousin calmly closed the space between them until they were shoulder to shoulder.
“A word of advice, joto, know your place. If you were supposed to know about that, you would.”
As Alfonso shoved past him, Felipe jerked awake at a hand closing around his wrist. He turned, ready to swing, when he found Oliver in his pajamas and robe staring back at him with wide eyes. Felipe’s heart pounded in his ears. That wasn’t right. The clear California sky and dry warmth had suddenly been replaced by darkness and thunder rolling overhead as rain misted his cheeks. Felipe blinked against the sleep-induced haze. He wasn’t sixteen. He was… Grass poked at his bare ankles, and towering over him and Oliver were rows of dark pines and oaks. He was at the Allen Inn in Aldorhaven, but he didn’t remember coming outside. He didn’t remember leaving bed. Holding tight to his panic, Felipe didn’t dare move or breathe for fear that Oliver would sense something wasn’t right with him. He had walked out of bed, out the back door, and was a third of the way to the woods, and he didn’t remember any of it. Swallowing hard, Felipe met Oliver’s concerned gaze in the near dark.
“Felipe, didn’t you hear me calling you?” Oliver asked.
Felipe shook his head. “I— I’m sorry. I was distracted.”
“What are you doing out here alone?”
“Going to the outhouse,” he said quickly, even though it was a few yards to the left.
