and the pain stilled me. “Good,” Reagan whispered, pulling me into a protective embrace. “Good. Calm down.”
I wasn’t too proud to bury my face in Reagan’s chest and release an anguished sob. My knuckles hurt, and I knew I’d split some of the skin. Fuck. Fuck! It had been so many years since I’d reacted with my fists. I thought I’d put that kind of violence behind me, but this was just like that time when I was younger, when anger guided me instead of maturity and common sense, and suddenly I was scared, so scared, that I’d gone too far. Just like the last time.
I shook as I dared to look at Kyle.
The man was on the ground, groaning, but he didn’t look terrible. Just bruised and angry. What hooked my attention most, though, wasn’t Kyle. It was Gordo, kneeling next to the bastard, reaching out to help him.
And it was the final straw. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t be stuck in Gordo’s web, available for him whenever he wanted a sure thing and discarded as soon as something better came along. My heart was shredded beyond repair—and that was a good thing, because I refused to try and survive any more hurt after this.
“Can I stay with you for a while?” I asked Reagan, turning my back on Gordo and Kyle. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Of course,” Reagan said, putting a protective arm around my shoulders and leading me away. “I don’t want you to be alone.”
But he was wrong. I was alone now, and it was for the best.
I didn’t go into the shop much. I knew that Reagan had explained to everyone what had happened, and they were careful to give me space. But knowing the documentary was going to start filming soon gave me something to focus on, and I threw myself into my designs.
Normally, I tried to keep everything crisp, the colors bright and the designs clear. But I let my heart guide my hand, and the stuff I was churning out was jagged and dark, an edgy fever dream of despair.
“Those are, uh, a new turn for you,” Reagan said over my shoulder. I was at his dining room table, surrounded by sketches. “Do you think you’re ready to talk about it?”
Setting down my pen, I turned to him to sign. Speaking was just… it was too much of an effort for me right now. “I don’t need to talk about it. It’s over and done and I’m moving on. Lesson learned.”
He frowned. “Bottling up your feelings isn’t good, Javi. You’re too smart for this.”
“No. I was stupid to take a chance. I knew better.”
He sighed like I was being a child, and for once, I really hated him. It was just a blip, and it scared me, but I couldn’t stand being treated like I didn’t know myself.
“Javi,” he said as he scrubbed a hand over the red stubble on his jaw, “You’re hurting. And for a damned good reason, too. But what we saw… I don’t think it meant what you think it did. And even if it did, you aren’t just leaving Gordo behind. That sweet girl you love is a part of this, too. Are you telling me you can just walk away from them without finding out what happened?”
“Stop trying to be my dad. You’re not even that much older than me.”
That made him chuckle, which in turn made me see red. “Javi, I’m not your dad. I’m your friend. And as your friend, I’m saying take a few more days, but then give yourself a chance. It will feel better, I promise, and I don’t want you to regret not confirming what you think we saw.”
“How can you say that?” He was trying to be mature, but instead it was coming off as patronizing. In the moment, Reagan was pushing more buttons than he was soothing. He should be in my corner, not fighting for Gordo. It was too much, and I just… I didn't want to feel better, not yet. In that moment, too jacked up on adrenaline and nauseous and reeling, I needed to be angry.
Reagan was trying to offer me hope. I wasn’t sure that I wanted it.
25
Gordo
For three days and nights I tried calling Javi, but he never answered, and his truck never pulled into his driveway. Seeing the empty driveway and dark windows next door made me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t bear that a miscommunication was driving