Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(24)

By the way his glare cuts my way, I don’t think she’s kidding.

She slips out of my truck, shutting the door behind her. I’m supposed to speed away now, seeing how that’s what any reasonable, non-wanting-to-die kind of guy does when an angry Latino father catches him trying to make-out with his daughter. So what do I do? Jump out of the truck, of course, and jog around to the other side.

I hop onto the sidewalk as Sol and her papasito start speaking rapidly in Spanish. “Hey,” I say, causing them both to freeze.

Sol shoots me an apprehensive glance before sighing and turning to face me. Her father faces me, too, albeit in that same looming “What are you doing with my daughter” way he’s supposed to.

“Finn,” Sol says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is my father, Lino Marieles. Papi, this is Finn. Sofia’s brother in law.”

I hold out my hand. “Hola, Se?or Marieles. Como le va la noche?”

Having grown up with Sofia and her family across the street from us, I picked up on enough Spanish to ace it in school and usually charm. Yeah . . . my “Hi, Mr. Marieles. How’s your night going?” does jack to impress Sol’s father.

He scowls at my hand as Sol mutters in Spanish, “Papi, behave.”

Not only does he not behave, he crosses his thick arms and resumes his glare. I keep my grin. “He’s going to hunt me down and chop me into hamburger with his machete, isn’t he?” I ask Sol.

“And make it look like an accident,” Lino answers for me.

It’s then I lose my smile. Funny thing, Sol just laughs. She strolls up to me, clasping my elbow as she stands on her toes to give me a kiss. “Goodnight, Finn,” she says.

It’s just an innocent kiss, likely no big deal around most other dads with grown daughters. But this is a very traditional Latino father so I pretty much think I’m about to die.

“Let’s go, Papi,” she says, hooking his arm with hers when he takes a step toward me.

He surprises me by following, and not dicing me to chunks, muttering something in Spanish about making sure “they never find the body”.

Her father just threatened me. I should just get in my truck and haul ass. But I can’t. I watch her cross the street, grinning when she tosses me one last smile before slipping inside her house. It’s that smile I hang onto. That, and her last kiss.





CHAPTER 10


Sol



I shut the door behind me. Finn can’t see me, not anymore. But that doesn’t stop my smile. I shrug out of my jacket, a thick one I could probably use to trek through the South Pole. It’s not flattering, and it’s definitely not cute. But Finn didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, he thinks I’m pretty.

“Pretty.” It’s a sweet little word I haven’t heard in a long time, and probably haven’t felt in even longer. But I did tonight because Finn makes me feel it. The way he looks at me is something I could really get used to. So is the way he holds me.

“Your mother’s upstairs,” my father says, instantly erasing my smile.

“She’s here?” I ask, my hands slipping away from my jacket.

“She was discharged a few hours ago.”

“Oh,” I respond, well aware of the disappointment lowering my tone. This is supposed to be good news. But I don’t take it that way, worried she was discharged prematurely.

“How is she?” I ask.

“Stable,” he answers.

He means so drugged she can’t hurt us. So numb, there’s nothing left of her. God, I hate that word.

“Do you think it’s a good idea? To get involved with a boy like that?” he asks.

I turn away from the small closet and face my father. He’s leaning against the staircase wearing his uniform of choice: a white collared dress shirt and tan slacks. Sometimes his slacks are brown, olive, or even black. But the shirt is always white, ironed to precision and perfection.

As stupid as it sounds, it’s seeing him in that shirt that causes the happiness Finn gave me to fade even further. My father is the foreman at the local canning factory. It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s a big deal to us. As an immigrant from Cuba, his first job at the factory was as a canner, barely making enough to give us a home, and food on the table. But he worked hard, stayed extra, and proved his worth until he was promoted to line supervisor, and then ultimately to his position now.

He takes his duties and his role seriously, leaving the house freshly groomed, and somehow returning the same way. My mother . . . she was the one who used to iron all his shirts. She was the one who’d kiss him goodbye. She was the one who’d hurry from the kitchen to welcome him home and draw his smile, gushing about her husband, “the big boss”.

Yet she no longer does that. She hasn’t in years because she can’t.

But I really wish she could.

“Sol?” my father says.

I bow my head, not wanting to think about the first time my father had to iron his own shirts. He doesn’t know I saw him cry. Yet I did, crying enough for both of us when I ran back to my room. “He’s a nice man, Papi,” I say.

“He’s a fighter.”

Which is one of the reasons I like Finn. He’s strong. I could use some of his strength . . . especially now. “That doesn’t mean he’s not nice.” I lift my head. “Or that he would hurt me.”