He abandons his fork loaded with his own carne asada. “I have to admit that I’ve seen his letters before.”
“You have?”
Guilt passes through his features, but he nods. “I didn’t read them. But I saw the address.”
Of course that’s the mail of mine he sees, and not my invoices for my flour shipments and the standing freezer I just purchased. “It must look so familiar.”
“Different place, but same thing basically.”
That sums up how I feel about the letters. Same feelings, basically. “What are the odds?” My half-hearted comment lands flat between us.
He smiles anyway. “Seems to be a hundred percent. It’s just one of the many things that drew me to you. Like you had things in your past you didn’t want held against you. People who did bad things that you want nothing to do with.”
There’s always been a connection between us. I fought it for too long, but I’m glad he didn’t give up on me. I need his patience just a little longer. I’ll tell him everything once I get rid of my Damon-and-Dwayne problem. “I don’t reply. I don’t email him, and if he tries to call, I don’t answer.”
“My dad does the same. Why do they keep trying?” He grabs his fork and stuffs his food into his mouth. “I mean,” he says around the mouthful, “we’re not reciprocating.” He sits back, embarrassment filling his eyes, and he brings his napkin to his mouth. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Talking with my mouth full.”
That hurt little boy makes appearances at the most startling of times. Talking about guys in prison must do that to him. “I’m honored you felt comfortable enough around me to do it.”
“Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
“It’s the time,” I say, tilting my head toward the stack of mail. “They have nothing else to fill every facet of the day. For Dwayne, it used to be how he could swindle money andresources. How to make a quick, easy buck. It was a game. Constant mental stimulation. Now... he’s cut off. The same for your dad?”
“I’m sure he’d disagree.”
“Do you...” How do I even ask this? I haven’t been completely honest, yet I’m going to prod at a deep wound. How much has he stuffed away about his dad? How bad is it for him? I used to struggle with what was real between me and Dwayne, and it’s easier to assume nothing was. But for Cruz, it’s his dad. The prison situation has to be harder for him. “Do you have good memories of him?”
His brows pop. “Good? Of my dad?” Disgust drips from his tone.
If I could claw the question back, I would, but it’s out there. If I explain more, will that help? “I dated Dwayne for too many years, but once I learned of his true nature, it was easier to divorce myself from him, if that makes sense. Your dad is an awful person, but he’s...”
“A part of me?”
“I think you got the best of him. You and Lane are what he and your mom could’ve been.”
His features soften. “Never thought of it that way.” He pushes his food away and crosses his arms.
Did I rob him of his appetite? I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but discussing how he handles a person in jail who used to be close to him is soothing for me. It shows that it’s not just me. A good guy like Cruz has done bad things in his past. He was mostly a kid, but the parallel makes me feel less foolish.
“Lane has more memories,” he finally says. “It’s one reason why he still talks to Dad. The guy walked out before I was three. When he tried to come back into our lives, it got ugly, and then he was in jail before I got out of high school.”
“It’s valid. However you feel? Totally valid.”
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “That’s what my school counselor used to say. I thought he was full of shit.”
A giggle bursts out of me.
He laughs, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I can see now I might’ve been wrong about Mr. Bauer.”
Scooting his food back in front of him, he eats some more. Good. I didn’t ruin our meal together.
When we finish eating, I start to gather our empty containers. “Thank you for dinner,” I say as I rise.
“He used to bounce me on his knee.” Cruz doesn’t look at me.
