My hair piled on my head, a loose red wrap dress I got off one of the plaza vendors months ago covering me, I head outside. The guys are already holding beers and Walker sets down a bowl of some of his homemade tortilla chips and salsa for us to snack on. A few coconuts wait for us to hack into by Trips’ hammock—turns out that I love coconut water. Just past everything sits Walker’s easel.
RJ snags my wrist as I pass him, tugging me into his lap, and I’m happy to be there. The guys have found a balance with me, and I don’t feel overwhelmed by their attention, and none of them seem to feel left out. Except Trips, but we both understand why.
It hasn’t been that way the whole time, though. Those first few months were all about healing. Ourselves. Our relationships. Our team.
But that time has come to an end. And I’m the one who has to pop the bubble we’ve been living in. Sun, beer, music, art, sparring, running, laughter, and sex. Even if that has been sparse until recently.
It takes time for scars, even invisible ones, to heal.
Jansen hands me a beer, and I take a swig, prolonging the moment. Only, I’ve always been more of a ‘Band-Aid off quick’ kind of girl. “Paula found me today. And about a week ago, someone came looking for us.”
This gets everyone’s attention. “A week ago?” Trips asks.
“Yeah. Tía Maria was there, and she lied for us. We got lucky.”
“Between you and Jay, this whole town loves us,” RJ says.
“Don’t forget that the parents around here consider you spending time with their kids, keeping them out of trouble, a blessing. Or that Matteo and Walker don’t have some sort of artistic soul connection.”
The circle is quiet as we realize we’ve found a place here. We’re not local, we never will be, but we’re liked. At least enough for people to lie about the fact that we’re here. At least enough to accept that I have a gaggle of guys instead of the typical one.
If I’d grown up in this town, I’m sure they’d think differently. But Marcy Montgomery is equal parts free-spirit and sweetheart, and American to boot, so they just rolled with it.Would they judge more harshly if they knew my abuelita’s family came from not too far away?
I guess I’ll never know.
“So, we’re leaving?” Jansen asks, breaking the silence.
I nod. “We’re leaving. But we have one last thing to do before we go.”
“What?” RJ asks.
“How do we feel about rescuing Paula’s sister from her jackass of a husband as a parting gift with La Pieta?”
Jansen’s grin tells me he’s all the way in, like I knew he would be. Climbing with Walker hasn’t done much to curb his need for danger, and stealing from these people would be cruel.
Walker exhales, scooping up the bowl of chips. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we be packing up and heading out tonight?”
“Paula deserves better than simply praying her sister will live another year. The people here have given us more than they needed to. We can’t give back much right now, but we can give them back one of their daughters. Keep her safe.”
“What are you thinking?” RJ asks, pulling me closer.
“I think this guy probably has a ton of dirt on him we can use, based on what Paula knows about him. She’s only eleven, so her parents are sheltering her, but he’s trouble.”
“Kill trouble? Because we all know the cops down this way are a joke.” Trips closes his book, giving me his full attention, his eyes silver against the tan of the desert behind him. He’s not wrong. We bought them off just last month when RJ caught wind that Trips’ dad’s guy was getting close. We weren’t ready to leave yet. But now?
We’re as ready as we’re going to be.
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s done something that would get him in trouble with the US? I need more information. I can dig into him tonight. But you guys should at least scout out his house before it’s dark.”
Jansen pops up, walking to one of the dirt bikes we got a few months ago. “I can go.”
RJ groans, standing up. “I’ll join you. We probably should reinstate buddy rules, just to get in the habit for when we get back.”
Walker beckons, and even though I roll my eyes, I cross to him, perching on his lap.
“Where are we headed?” Jansen asks, swinging his leg over the back of the bike. I point in the direction Paula indicated. “About an hour up the mountains. I’ll text the address when I get it.”
They pull on their helmets, the engines revving, and they’re gone. Walker urges me to my feet, trailing me as I go into the RV and boot up the laptop. “You’ve got this,” he whispers before kissing the top of my head and heading to the bathroom for a shower.
