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Emmanuel “Manny” Méndez-Beltrán

Papáshoved me into my bedroom and I spun around, furious. My arm ached where he’d had a hold on me and I shook it out, but the sting didn’t go away. My swim shorts, the red ones with the hearts that Thio had once told me were cute, slipped down my hips. Even though the shorts were too big, I kept wearing them. Mindlessly I tugged at my waistband, tightening the string in front as we glared at each other.

“What are you doing, Papá?”

“Quédate aquí. I mean it. The men here today are not people I want to see you. To talk to you.” He pursed his lips, and I wondered why exactly that would be, but I was smart enough to keep my questions to myself. Papá slid his gaze down my body, a vee furrowing his brow, and I crossed my arms, frazzled.

More than once I’d heard him say he wished I’d turned out more like him and less like Mamá. I was a foot shorter than he was, at least, and it didn’t seem to matter how much I lifted weights, I didn’t stack on any muscle the way he did. He practically filled the doorway. I tried not to feel self-conscious because I knew there was nothing to be done about the way I looked. He’d spent half of every vacation I’d had at home over the last few years feeding me protein powder and forcing me into the gym with him or the house guards. Most of the time it was Felix—an American who used to be a marine sniper and now worked here—who ended up marching me through weight drills. Sometimes he took pity on me and let me sneak away to the beach.

The beach. The sound of the waves crashing to shore was a drug. We were so far away from it at Thio’s house. “I want to surf. Please?” I tried out my best smile.

Finally Papá must have come to some decision in his head because he shook it as he stared at the white peaked ceiling above us. He glared so hard that I glanced upward to see what was wrong, but as usual the house was pristine.

“You have a whole suite, morrillo. More than any boy your age should expect. You’re well cared for here, sí?”

When he got like this, I knew he just wanted me to agree with him and do as he said, so I grudgingly nodded.

He gave me a small smile, but it did nothing to relieve my stress. “Don’t leave this room until I say.”

Seagulls called to one another outside my window, and one darted past before it flew out toward the ocean. I let out a growl as I turned to watch the glittering blue water roll in the distance outside, far past the lower-level roofs that stretched away beneath the tower of my rooms. My surfboard was waiting, the sun was warm, and all I really wanted was to spend the day thinking about what Thio had said before I came home to visit. I shivered and my face warmed.

“But, Papá,” I said, whining a little but not really caring. “The beach. I won’t cause any trouble. Who cares if someone sees me?”

He laughed and ruffled my hair until some of my curls pushed down to poke at my eyes—I hated that. I shoved him off and he let me. “Mijito, promise me you’ll stay here. You’re a Méndez man, and I know you have your pride—” He gave me a smirk as he said that. “—but do as I say.”

Letting out a grunt, I scrubbed at my face with my hands and then stared at the spotless white tiled floor between us. It felt like a mile of space separated us, yet not enough at the same time. I missed Thio in California. Everything here was cold and too clean. Everything there, where I lived with him, was warmer somehow. Thio’s family and… Thio was there.

“What’s going on? Please tell me.” I tried to walk back outside past Papá, in the hope he’d simply allow it, but he shoved me and crowded into my space. His deep brown eyes, one of the few features we shared, glittered in a dangerous way, and his jaw set. It had been a long time since I’d seen that look on his face. My heart nearly stopped as I scuttled backward. “I’m not a baby. I can stay out of your way. All I want to do is go surf. Thio’s coming to get me on Sunday to take me back to Tío’s, and la playa here is better.”

Papágritted his teeth and his face ran red. “Soon you’ll have all the beach time you want.”

I blinked at him, confused. “Huh? What do you mean?”

He shook his head and let out a harsh breath. “I know you’re used to doing things a certain way, your own way. I shouldn’t have let you spend so much time with Reyes’ son. No respect for your family. No respect for traditions. For me. Did he teach you to disrespect me?” Papá’s eyes flashed hotter and I cringed.

“Thio loves you like his own papá. Tío Luis loves you, and you know that. He doesn’t let me do everything I want,” I mumbled. “Half the time it’s just like living with you. Tía Rosa treats me like one of her sons. They’re as good as family. You’ve always said so.”

Papáspun and swiped the books from a nearby shelf onto the floor, and I stood there, my stomach in a knot, while he huffed at the mess he’d made. He kicked one of my graphic novels and I bit my lip, trying not to draw his attention. He loomed on the spot, shoulders rising and falling, for a long, excruciating minute, and I scrunched my toes away from him in my sandals as far as they would go.

“They’re not your aunt and uncle,” he said, dragging out the words.

“What are you talking about? I mean, I know we’re not blood related, but—”

He lunged forward and shoved me until he had me pinned against the wall between the floor-to-ceiling windows. My heart hammered so hard I could hear it thud in my ears. A breeze blew in from outside and lifted his curls, and he swiped the sweaty mess of hair off his forehead in agitation.

“We’re done with Reyes and everyone connected to him. Thiago won’t set foot in this house again. You’ll continue your education, here.” He pointed sharply at the floor, as if there was any way to misunderstand his shouting. “There will be a new tutor Monday. You should have fucking finished with high school work already, but they let you take your time. Let you be coddled and lazy.” He scowled. This was the first I’d ever heard him take a single interest in what I was learning—fast, slow, or otherwise.

I gaped at him as he turned and strode toward the door. My legs felt like Jell-O. “But—”

“The end, morrillo. And stay the fuck inside today. I repeat, the men here are not good ones, and I have no interest in keeping wandering eyes off you. Maybe if you weren’t so….” He let out a frustrated sound. “Do not make me tell you again.”

He slammed the door on his way out, and I stared after him, terrified he’d come back—and I was also pissed off, not only because of what he’d yelled, but because of what he hadn’t said about me. I’d always been a little afraid of him, even though he’d never hurt me too badly. I didn’t need Thio to tell me that my father was dangerous when I saw how the guards acted like he might murder them all on his bad days.

My legs slid out from under me and I found myself sitting on my butt on the floor, not one-hundred-percent sure how I’d gotten there. Thio was my best friend in the world, closer than a brother, and I wasn’t going to see him again? That was fucking cracked. Couldn’t be happening. I scrambled to my knees and then my feet. Precious seconds ticked by as I clambered over the book mess and sprinted after Papá. I yanked the door open. He wasn’t far down the hall yet, and he stopped in his tracks when I called for him.

“Papá, what happened?”

He didn’t turn around this time, but his shoulders slumped. I’d never seen him look so defeated, not even when my grandfather, his father, died at our kitchen table during our Three Kings Day party when I was twelve. Grandpa had faceplanted into his Rosca de Reyes and everything. Mamá didn’t serve it after that, and even the year she died, she didn’t make it.