Tug Page 21

  His voice is like ice cold water. My eyes pop open to Tori’s horrified expression. What in the hell just happened? Whatever it was, it can never happen again. I quickly scoot my chair back and stand up. My breathing is erratic as I rake my hands through my hair furiously.

  “Hey, Uncle Tug,” Drew says oblivious to the fact I nearly kissed his mother.

  “Hey, buddy,” is all I can reply with. My brain is a cluttered mess of scattered thoughts—What in the hell’s? and, Oh fuck’s!

  “Andrew,” Tori says, standing from the table and cupping him on the shoulders. “I’m ready, go grab your backpack.”

  Drew leaves and she stares at me with her hand over her mouth. She drops it and says, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know …”

  “Stop!” I shout, causing her to flinch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you, but this is no big deal. You’re emotional and it was nothing.”

  “Right …” she smiles at Drew when he returns with his backpack. “Ready, kiddo?”

  “Yep.”

  He gives me a hug, and as they walk out the door, Tori glances over her shoulder at me, her expression conflicted. She mouths, Sorry.

  She closes the door, and I collapse into a chair at the kitchen table. That was awkward, but thankfully not as awkward as it would have been if we’d actually kissed. Would I have kissed her? I’m not sure. Am I that stupid? Probably. Fuck! I love Maria, I remind myself and head out of the house to work.

  We arrive at Tug’s loft after three and he takes Javier’s hand. “Before the movers arrive, I have something I want to show you.”

  “What is it?” Javier asks, his voice full of anticipation. I’m curious, too. Tug didn’t mention anything to me.

  “Come on, let’s find out,” Tug says, leading Javier down the hall. He glances my way. “You too, Mama.”

  I smile and follow the two of them. We stop in front of the door that used to be the guest room.

  “Go on, open the door,” Tug tells Javier, the smile on his face as big as my son’s.

  Javier turns the knob. When the door opens, he lets out a loud squeal and runs into the room. I step inside. My mouth opens as my eyes wander around the room. I can hardly believe what Tug has done.

  The room is floor to ceiling trains. The entire back wall has been made to look like a brick train station with windows, and a tunnel carved out. The large train extending from the tunnel is a bed. Behind the mock station is a raised platform with another bed, which Tug informs us is for when Drew sleeps over. Below the bed is a desk and large toy box filled with toys. In the corner of the room is an intricate train table with track, all pieced together, containing magnetic train cars, miniature people, cranes and other props. The bedding is trains, the lamp shade, even the plate that covers the light switch is trains. It’s incredible, and judging by the look on my little boys face, he may never leave his room.

  Javier jumps into Tug’s arms. “This is so awesome! Thank you, Daddy. I love it.”

  My eyes were misty, but now they’re full on waterfalls. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  He sets Javier down, who quickly runs over to play on the train table.

  We leave Javier to explore in his new room while we wait for the movers. I curl up on the couch next to Tug.

  “Do you like the room?” he asks me.

  “It’s perfect,” I say, removing my shoes and tossing them across the room to get comfortable. “And you’re amazing and I love you.”

  He grabs my chin and kisses me. “I love you back.”

  My thoughts are all so happy, and I still can’t believe this is my life, that this is my man. I feel like I could burst with happiness and then Tug says, “I invited your father to dinner tomorrow.”

  I slap his hand away from my face, my skin on fire. “What? How could you do that?”

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t,” he says with that fucking smirk, that usually makes me melt, but right now I can’t stand the sight of it.

  “I can’t even … I’m so angry … I …”

  “Just hear me out, okay?” My lips mash together, and I cross my arms. I glare at him without saying a word. “He contacted me about Gibson handling his portfolio.”

  “You’re not going to take it, right?” His eyes leave mine and he looks away. “Oh, my God! You can’t do that. His money is dirty.”

  “Money is money,” he says, his follow up laugh clipped. “We don’t care where it comes from. Our job is to make more of it and in turn make our own. That’s how it works.”

  “It’s wrong.”

  “I knew you’d feel that way, so …”

  I interrupt, insulted by how little he thinks of me. “You did it anyway, because a fat bottom line is more important than my feelings. Wow! That makes me feel great.”

  His features shift from smug to disbelief. “No, I told him, I couldn’t take the account without your approval.”

  “Oh.” Well don’t I feel a bit like an ass. “What did he say?”

  His lips curve into a wicked grin, which I quickly remove with a sharp jab from my elbow to his ribs. He laughs. “Ouch! He said I was a smart man.”

  “My father and I agree on something.” I laugh more at how absurd the situation is than because I find humor in it. “And how did you being so smart lead to you inviting him to dinner?”

  “A business decision is never made without a meeting first,” he says, and the condescending undertones silently point their finger. He might as well say, “Gee, Maria, you’re so naïve.”

  It takes me a minute, but when my anger subsides, I figure out I’m being played and this so called meeting is a game.

  “Oh, I see. Finally—a hustle from you. I told you everyone has one.”

  The muscles in his neck tighten. “I’m not hustling you, damn it!”

  “Then why?”

  “I just think you should hear him out,” he says, his voice softer and his expression relaxed.

  He might actually believe what he’s saying. Time to call him out on his shit.

  “You want me to make nice with the man because it benefits you. You get a client with a huge portfolio and he gets his way. He hustled you, and now you’re trying to hustle me.”

  Tug inhales slowly. I know he’s trying to stay calm.

  “Would you stop being so goddamn cynical! Hear what he has to say and then decide how you feel about him.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Everyone deserves a chance to be heard.”

  He’s so sincere that I want to cave and just agree to have dinner with my father, but I’m hurt that he’s trying to manipulate me.

  “I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation. Is this account that important to you?”

  The vein in his temple bulges and I know I’ve struck a nerve.

  “I don’t give a fuck about your father’s money, or landing his account. Gibson is a profitable company without it.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that? I’m sure my father’s account would bring Gibson a small fortune, but I have nothing to say to my father. He’s a drug-pushing murder.”

  “Who became that way because he was once dirt poor and desperate and trying to claw his way out of the ghetto, which is how you ended up a goddam hooker. Some things in life aren’t planned. They happen, and by the time we realize how bad we fucked up, we’re in too deep to change it. You know how that feels. I know you do. I’d think you could be a little less hypocritical and give the man an hour of your time.”

  His words rip through my heart, shredding it into tiny pieces. I start to yell at him, but nothing comes out. The giant lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow. His hand reaches out to touch me, and I finally find my voice. “Don’t fucking touch me right now.”

  He ignores my heated request and pulls me close to his body. My hand flies up to slap him. Before it connects, he grabs my wrist and pins my arms at my sides, his stare dark and intense. “Don’t ever tell me not to touch you.”

  Te
ars leak from my eyes, brought on by my resentment and an overwhelming feeling of betrayal. “I hate you!” The words linger in my mouth, tasting like acid. I have no idea why I said something so hurtful. Anger, fear, insecurity maybe, but as Tug storms away from me, I’d give anything to take them back. His office door slams shut, the force causing a large, framed picture to fall from the wall. The glass shatters on impact, sending slivers across the floor that catch the sunlight and reflect rainbow ribbons on the wall. I drop to my knees and sit back on my heels. My emotions feel like they’re on a tilt-a-whirl and if I don’t get off soon, I’m going to spin out of control.

  “Mommy,” Javier sounds terrified and I turn my head toward him. He stands in the hall, his little face frightened. “Is Daddy mad? Is he going to make us leave?”

  The ache in my chest weighs me down as I stand. Before I reach Javier, Tug opens the door and kneels down next to him. He holds Javier’s tiny hands close to his chest. I hate the doubt squeezing my lungs, choking me. I don’t want it to be there but it is, and it’s certain Tug is going to tell my son he can’t be his daddy anymore.

  “No, buddy, I’m not going to make you leave,” Tug says, and both he and Javier smile.

  Relief rushes out of me in a loud exhale that I cover with my hand.

  “Are you mad?” Javier asks.

  “You’re mom and I had an argument. Grown-ups do that sometimes. They get in a fight, say and do stupid things, but then they talk it out and work through what it is that upset them.” Tug shoots me a quick glance, before continuing. “They forgive.”

  Another hustle. That little shit. I can’t decide if I’m angry or thrilled with his using this as an example of why I should listen to my father, but I love the way Javier looks at him, like the he’s the greatest man he’s ever known. He is.

  “But are you mad?” Javier asks, clearly still confused.

  “Do you ever get frustrated?”

  “Sometimes, like when I want a donut for breakfast and Mama says I have to eat oatmeal and fruit.”

  Laughter from both of them fills the air and makes me smile.

  “Exactly, because you and your mom disagree on what it best for you,” Tug explains.

  Javier responds, “I’m going with donuts.”

  “And you’d be wrong. But the point is, your mom and I disagreed about something and we’re both frustrated. I want you to know though, that just because your mom and I have an argument, doesn’t mean we aren’t happy together, or that I would make you leave. This is your home. Got it?”

  “Got it. Can I go back to my room now?”

  “Yep, but I’m going to need a hug first.”

  Javier hugs Tug before disappearing into his room again. Tug and I make eye contact and I feel uncertain—scared.

  “I didn’t mean it.” My voice cracks, and I inhale sharply through my nose. The tears are ready to spill, but I don’t want to cry.

  “No, but you said it,” he says, his voice void of emotion. He goes back into the office without saying anything. He didn’t even glance back, just went through the door and closed it quietly this time.

  I go about cleaning up the broken glass. My brain and my heart are both furious with me. What I said was hurtful, but so is what he said. This is childish, the two of us in separate rooms pouting because we’re both too damn stubborn to admit we were wrong, or maybe it’s ignorance. I’ve never had an actual relationship and it’s not like there’s a how to manual for these situations. I don’t think Tug has any more experience with relationships than I do, making both of us ill-equipped to end this silly argument.

  The movers arrive just before five and I open the door. Tug doesn’t come out of the office, which I take as a challenge. If he wants to see who can stay angry the longest, he’ll lose. I don’t have a lot of things to move in. Sadly, my and Javier’s belongings fit in twelve moving boxes. I instruct the movers to place them off to the side and sign off on the delivery before they leave. My phone vibrates on the counter and I pick it up.

  Tug: You hurt me, and I’m angry, but I love you. Crisis at work, and I’m on a call or I’d come out and talk.

  Maria: I’m sorry.

  It takes me and Javier three hours to unpack our things and eat dinner. My mind drift several times to Tug, who hasn’t left his office. I hear his voice every now and again, so I know he’s still on a call.

  I curl up on the couch and think about the painting in my father’s house, the one he’s kept on display all these years. I remember the joy that sparkled in his deep brown eyes as he looked at it with me and the tear he didn’t care had fallen. His love for me is undisputable, and if I’m honest with myself, I love him too, but the resentment consuming me dominates my feelings. I close my eyes and hear the faint sound of a voice from a long time ago. I can’t even say for sure if it’s my father’s voice, or the one I imagined when my mother shared how he used to sing me to sleep with and old country song called, Forever and Ever, Amen.

  As an immigrant helping my Papa on the farm, my father learned most of his English by listening to the radio, which in a hick town like Watsonville was overrun with county stations. The man I met in a Spanish mansion deep in the mountains of Mexico, and the man who helped bring me into this world, are two completely different men. Reconciling the confident, cartel leader, known to be a vicious killer with a younger version, singing to a baby girl in broken English isn’t all that easy to do. The song talks of a man wild and free. Mama told me he liked the song because I was the reason he settled down and wanted a family—that is until he left us.

  Maybe knowing now that Mama wasn’t entirely truthful with me is where some of my anger stems from. If she’d been forthcoming with me, then maybe I could have contacted my father when she died and he could have helped financially. Maybe Papa wouldn’t have lost the farm, and then maybe we wouldn’t have moved to Oakland, and maybe I would have never met Eduardo Montez.

  I suppose it’s natural for the mind to be curious about the maybe’s and the what if’s in life, things that should have turned out differently, but they don’t influence the right now’s, and wasting time pondering what could have been is pointless. Mama didn’t tell me the truth, and I should be grateful. If I’d never met Eduardo, I wouldn’t have Javier, or Tug for that matter.

  Giving real thought to what Tug said about my father proves difficult as my mind rebels. I was desperate, and dirt poor, and I made bad choices. If I’m considering the maybe’s, then I have to be truthful and admit that when I needed the money for Papa’s surgery, I would have done anything to save him, including getting involved with the cartels. I would’ve sold my soul to the Devil himself, and in a way I did. Who am I to judge what road my father chose. At the very least, Tug is right—I should hear him out.

  It’s quite a little revelation I’m having, and I feel lighter, as though the weight of my anger was with me so long I never noticed it until it was gone. I struggle to keep my eyes open when I hear the office door open. Seconds later, Tug stands over me. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes never leave mine as he lays on top of me.

  I start to say I’m sorry when he puts his index finger over my lips to silence me.

  “You can be angry with me if you want, freak out and hit me even. You can yell at me. You can call me every filthy name you can think of, but never say you hate me.”

  My smile is just about to form when his mouth covers mine and he kisses me like it’s been years since we’ve seen each other. I kiss him back with equal hunger, winding my arms around his neck. And then, because I don’t feel close enough to him, I wrap both legs around his hips and squeeze until I can’t draw him any closer. He groans, his mouth moving over mine so passionately I can barely catch my breath, but I don’t care.

  Who needs air when they have Tug Hunter?

  It is a good thing Javier’s room is in the back of the loft and he’s sound asleep, because neither of us is quiet as our hands move all over each other. I can’t get enough of her lips, her taste—h
er smell.

  From the office, I hear my phone ringing. I know who it is. For the last few hours, I’ve been on the phone with Tori, and I lied to Maria, which makes me a complete ass. I end the kiss and go to answer my phone because if I don’t, I’ll be thinking about Tori while I make love to Maria and that’s even worse than lying to her. Maria follows me to the office, and the guilt I already feel gets thicker as I answer my phone.

  “Hey,” I say, realizing I’m winded from kissing Maria. Tori asks me to come over and I agree. I end the call and Maria studies me.

  “Tori?” she guesses.

  I nod. “First night alone and she’s not doing so well.” I scrub my face and decide to come clean. “I’ve been on the phone with her all night. There was no crisis at work.”

  “Why’d you lie?”

  “I have no fucking clue. I wasn’t ready to talk to you and she called upset. I guess I figured if I told you I was talking to her, you’d take it wrong.”

  “Like you’d prefer to talk to a woman you loved most of your life, rather than settle an argument with the woman you currently share a home with. Yeah, I might have taken that wrong.”

  “That’s not true and you’re not just a woman I share a home with. You’re a woman I can’t live without.”

  She rolls her eyes, her slight smile conflicts with what I’m expecting.

  “All right, look. This is your one free fuck-up, and only because you told me the truth. Don’t hide things from me where Tori is concerned. It isn’t good.”

  “I know it isn’t. I’m sorry.”

  “I have to ask you, are you completely over her?”

  “Yes. She watched some Hollywood gossip show that did a piece on the band. There was my brother and a lot of women and she freaked out. I told her I’d come over because she doesn’t want to be alone.”