Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lucas

New York. The Big Apple. The City That Never Sleeps.

Anywhere I looked, there were either people rushing through the day, vehicles dashing through the streets, or buildings bustling with activity and…

Noise. So much noise.

It was different from every other American city I’d visited during the first half of my trip and a far cry from home.

Home. Spain.

But that had been the whole point, hadn’t it? A change of scenery.

I had willingly exchanged waking up to the waves crashing against the shore for skyscrapers and hot dog vendors. I had willingly left behind the freedom of taking the coastal road and driving whenever and wherever I pleased and committed to an itinerary of sorts. I had traded Taco and my people for crowds of faceless strangers.

And the only reason I had done any of that was because that peace, that freedom, that scenery I knew like the back of my hand, and the people who loved me—or the version of Lucas I had been—were no longer comforting. They loved someone who now felt like a stranger.

New York City was my last chance to escape. To postpone the inevitable. Of everyone finding out the real reason why I’d taken this trip. Of them wanting to fix it. To fix me. Because that was how the Martín family operated.

Just like Abuela said: “Ay, Lucas, no vas a arreglar nada tumbado ahí como un monigote.”

You won’t fix a single thing lying there like a stick man.

But there was nothing to fix. I sure as hell didn’t need fixing, either. That would mean that the possibility to restore what I’d lost existed. And it didn’t. I couldn’t get on a board anymore. I couldn’t do the one thing I knew how to do. Surf. The one thing I loved and was lucky enough to make a living doing. The one thing I had thrived doing. The water, the waves, feeling the roughness of the wax under my feet, the sand sticking to my skin. It had been my life. The adrenaline, the constant traveling. I had just reached peak performance, and even in my early thirties, I’d had a few more good years in me. Releasing a rough breath as I stood on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge, I noticed I’d been staring into the swirling water of the East River for what had to be an unacceptably long time.

I checked the time on my phone. It was early enough to cross one more city sight off my list: either walking around City Hall Park or checking out the Charging Bull on Wall Street. Both attractions were free, which was a requirement since I was still waiting for my replacement card. Rosie had lent me more money—money she’d slipped in my jacket when I hadn’t been looking and which I planned to return with interest—but that was reserved for public transportation.

She might be right. I was one. Purposeless. Just like a plastic container in the river. Floating around with no course. Just being dragged around and… existing.

I was tired. Exhausted, really. And now the simple thought of going sightseeing, drifting in the current of strangers didn’t seem like something I could do.

Rosie’s face popped up in my head. Unexpected. I’d promised her that I’d be out of her hair during the day so she could work, and I’d had every intention of keeping that promise. Today was an exception. Today, I was feeling extra sore. So much so that I’d be shocked if I didn’t end the day with that goddamn limp that had taken me weeks to lose.

Today, I felt extra lonely, too.

And Rosie was good company. Sweet, smart, and… Lina’s best friend.

Something I should make sure to remember. Not because I had intentions of being anything else than roommates with Rosie, of perhaps becoming friends, good friends, but because… Because what, Lucas?

With a shake of my head, I opened the maps app in my phone, checked for the best route back to Lina’s place, and started for the closest subway station. Forty minutes later, and with the start of that goddamn limp already affecting my pace, I finally spotted Lina’s building.

Pulling my keys out as I stood on the narrow steps before the entrance, I could almost taste the wave of relief from sitting my ass down when a blur of dark curls slammed into me.

Still plastered against my chest, the mass of curls shifted, and a wave of sweet peaches I immediately recognized hit me right in the nose.

I breathed out a laugh. “I’ve missed you, too, roomie.”

Rosie, whose face was still inserted somewhere between my right pec and collarbone, cursed.

Without thinking about it, I threw my arms around her shoulders and shifted us both off of the steps and onto the sidewalk.

Ignoring how soft she felt against me, I released her. “If I’d known you’d be welcoming me home like this, I would have come back earlier.”

Her laugh was self-conscious, and her cheeks a deep shade of pink. “Oh, funny. I didn’t see you there, obviously. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have plowed into you.”

I nodded my head. “The little incident that wasn’t so little. I remember. That’s good news, though. It means things are moving forward?”

I frowned. “Moody?”

My right knee throbbed. “Perfect. Lots of snooping around your place,” I countered, taking a few steps backward and keeping the grimace off my face. “You know, as the newly established town gossip and all.”

As anticipated, Rosie’s landlord—a man that had introduced himself as Mr. Allen—wasn’t only moody. He was also a verified asshole. One that apparently owned the entire building, as he made a point of sharing immediately.

Not a moment too soon, a dark-haired man around my age arrived, dressed in dark cargo pants and a hoodie with Castillo & Sons printed across his chest.

Asshole remark, when Mr. Allen himself had just gotten here.

The contractor was quick to ignore that, though, and moved straight in Rosie’s direction.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was shifting closer to Rosie and shoving my hand in his direction. “Lucas Martín.” I paused, making sure I met his gaze. “A good friend.”

Aiden took my hand in his without missing a beat, pinning me with an understanding glance that automatically made me feel like a jerk for whatever the hell I had just tried to pull off.

¿Pero qué coño haces, Lucas?

Scolding myself internally, I shook his hand and a few moments later, we were inside and Aiden was on the move, pulling out a pad and pen.

Mr. Allen, who started pacing behind us, released a long sigh. “We’re meeting the tenant upstairs, too, so make it quick, yeah?”

The contractor ignored that, too.

Rosie, on the other hand, worried her lip as she glanced back at a restless Mr. Allen.

I wasn’t lying, it was a nice apartment. Also in Brooklyn, but a different area. Roomier than Lina’s, which wasn’t hard, but also homier. Rosie’s place screamed comfort and calmness, everything about it—from the plush-looking chaise longue to the soft buttery glow of the lamp and the little trinkets and books she had lying around—as if designed to provide solace. A home.

And it… suited her. It fit her perfectly.

Parking that thought aside, I pointed my head to the left. “Especially that one picture hanging over there.”

It was a framed picture of her and Lina—shockingly large in size—where they were dressed up as Minions. They even had their faces painted in yellow and had two toilet paper rolls glued over their eyes. The costumes were ridiculous, but the fact that this was two adult women proudly staring into the camera was… captivating. Goofy.

I snickered, feeling a strange satisfaction at the lightness in her tone and the way she’d seemed to forget about the other two men in the room.

Collapsed?

Hadn’t Rosie talked about a crack? With all my focus on keeping an eye on her, I’d forgotten to check that myself. I glanced up, searching the ceiling and I—

Mr. Allen scoffed at me, and Rosie shuffled to Aiden’s side. “Yes, that’s all.”

A strangled sound climbed up my throat.

Rosie shook her head. “Just this. Or at least, this is all I could see.”

The contractor slipped the notepad he had been scribbling on under an arm. “All right. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a look in all rooms. Would that be okay?”

With a nod, Aiden turned around and left the room.

Rosie’s lips fell, pressing in a tight line.

Getting a hold of my shock and, quite frankly, frustration at her downplaying the risk when she could have been hurt, I regained the distance she’d put between us and nudged her shoulder with mine. “Hey.”

She glanced at me, her expression neutral, seemingly passive, but her eyes telling a whole other story.

She shrugged a shoulder. “You shouldn’t apologize.” Her lips turned down. “Or get mad over nothing.”

I ignored that, the need to make her smile sprouting deep in my gut. “I can’t believe I missed it when I came in,” I started, and she looked over at me. “Who knew that I had a thing for women in yellow paint,” I added as casually as I could. “And by women, I really don’t mean my cousin.”

She blinked, then let out a half laugh, half snort. “Feeling funny today, huh?”

A shrug. “Yeah.”

She held my gaze, as if she wanted to say something, but she seemed to change her mind. “This.” She threw her head back and looked at the hole—and definitely not just a crack—above us. “This is nothing, really. No big deal. Just a little inconvenience. It’ll be fixed in no time.”

It wasn’t little. It really wasn’t.

Mr. Allen, who had been surprisingly quiet, scoffed, reminded us of his presence. “There’s nothing little about this, Miss Graham.”

Upper lip curled upward, he appeared in front of us, his fingers tightening the knot of what looked like an expensive tie. He reminded me of the crazy guy from that black comedy horror movie from the early 2000s. The one with the psychopath.

And while I agreed with him on this one, I still took a small step forward at his tone.

Mr. Allen’s gaze bounced from Rosie to me before returning to Rosie. “I suppose you don’t own property, Miss Graham.”

Rosie’s answer was quick. “I completely understand that. I’m not here by choice, either. I’m not the one that caused—”

I sensed Rosie’s body freeze in place at Mr. Allen’s last words. So I looked over at her, finding her staring back at him with a hard jaw and a serious frown. At first glance, one would have thought she was unbothered, handling the news like a pro, but then a shaky breath escaped her mouth, and her eyes blinked a couple of times. This was her brave face, I realized. She was putting up a façade, for whose benefit, I didn’t know. But I happened not to care, because my hand left my side and reached out in her direction, landing softly in the middle of her back. Right between her shoulder blades.

She didn’t move or give me any indication that my touch was doing anything to her as she laser-stared into space, but I kept my palm where it was. Drawing slow circles and letting her know I was here if she needed me, that I had her back.

Rosie’s voice was rocky when she answered, “Thank you, Mr. Castillo.”

Aiden slipped the pen in the side pocket of his pants and turned toward Psycho Landlord. “After that, I’ll get my crew in.”

Mr. Allen clicked his tongue. “What about the quote? You won’t get any crew in without me getting a quote first, Aiden.”

Rosie sucked in a breath, but she recovered quickly enough to say, “There’s no reason to be unreasonable and—”

The man held my gaze, but there was no mistaking how his throat bobbed.

The man limited himself to gawking back at me, not responding. Slowly, ever so slowly, even daring to smile. Just like the Psycho Landlord he was, he fucking smiled.

I felt my body move forward, eating away the last inches of space between us, to do what exactly, I’d never know, because something stopped me before I could find out.

Delicate fingers wrapped around my forearm, pulling at me. When I didn’t back down, they pulled again, and that second time it was hard to ignore what they meant. Stop. You’re crossing a line. Back down. But I didn’t want to. I’ve never liked bullies.

But Rosie pulled at me again, so softly I barely felt it, and I had no choice but to return to her side.

I expected Rosie to side with him, as I probably would have after what I’d just done, but instead, her fingers shifted, gripping my wrist. The pad of her thumb slipped inside my sleeve, falling against my skin and grazing it softly. As if she was trying to tell me that it was okay and that she wasn’t mad.

And because I clearly had no respect for boundaries, I turned my hand and clasped hers in mine.

A part of me wanted to take notice of that, to look at her, but Psycho Landlord said, “Aiden, let’s go. Mr. Brown is waiting.”

And with that, he turned around and headed for the door.

Only after he disappeared, Aiden said, “He’s an asshole.” He sighed. “I’ll try to get that quote as soon as possible.” And with a nod of his head, he disappeared after Psycho Landlord.

Rosie stepped away, severing the contact between our hands. When I finally glanced at her, she was looking up at the ceiling.

I frowned at that.

Free? I didn’t like where this was headed.

And I liked it even less when Rosie’s brows met in her forehead as she inspected her ceiling, thinking really hard about something. And—

A sound must have come out of my mouth because Rosie’s attention was back on me. “Are you okay?”

Was I? “Please tell me you’re not thinking of staying here.”

She worried her lip but didn’t answer.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression one of shock. “You don’t need to worry about me. Or babysit me.”

It was my turn to look perplexed. “But we’re friends.”

Before I could say anything else, a voice came from… above us. “What’s all this shouting about?”

My head jerked, my gaze going up and finding a man dressed in a checkered robe peeking down. My brows shot up my forehead, almost fusing with my hairline.

He continued, “We’re trying to have a conversation up here.”

Unable to believe what I was seeing, I took a step forward. I narrowed my eyes, inspecting the man and—

My mouth opened, then snapped close. I didn’t even know what to say. The only thing I knew was that my flight switch had been flipped, and it begged me to grab Rosie by the waist, throw her on my shoulder, and get her out of there as soon as possible.

A tremor rocked her, and she said, “But all my things are here.”

That got my attention. “What do you mean?”

She shook her head.

More of that jerky head shaking followed, her arms going around her waist.

She didn’t answer; she wasn’t even looking at me.

I tilted my head. “Hey, Ro—”

A shaky breath was plucked out of her, her shoulders now falling and her eyes getting watery by the second. “Nothing’s wrong,” she repeated, right before the dam broke. “There’s a freaking hole in the ceiling of my apartment. These stupid repairs are going to take a much longer time than I thought. I’m inconveniencing you because I’ve been lying to my dad for months and can’t stay with him. I’m pretty sure my brother is in some kind of weird business. And I have less than eight weeks left until I have to hand in a manuscript that’s nowhere near where it should because I’m stuck. I can’t write, Lucas! And here you are, witnessing the complete and utter mess that is my life. Oh, and to make everything even better, I’ve been craving Cronuts ever since I got my period this morning and when we leave here it will be too late to get them because Holy Cronut will be closed!”

Rooted to the place, I could only watch her as she came up for air.

It was the lonely tear falling out of the corner of her eye that propelled my legs to close the rest of the distance between us.

In two seconds flat, my arms were around her shoulders and I was bringing her into my chest. “It’s okay,” I said, moving one of my hands to the back of her head, so I could secure her against me.

Squeezing her a little tighter as her body shook under my arms, I let my chin rest on top of Rosie’s head. “You can lose your shit, Graham,” I told her, as I swayed us left to right. “You’re entitled to that every once in a while.”

A strangled sound left her, warming the skin beneath the fabric of my sweatshirt. “Stop being so nice to me.”

Something occurred to me, something that might make those tears stop. “You met Abuela, right? At the wedding?”

Rosie nodded.

I’d expected Rosie to gasp, or laugh, but instead, she went with a thoughtful, “I love Abuela.”

She let out something that was close to a laugh. Kind of.

Good, as long as she stopped crying I could embarrass myself a little more. “The spoon had been covered in the Bolognese she’d been cooking, and I looked like I’d gotten into a brawl with a can of tomato sauce.” In Abuela’s defense, I’d deserved it. “Oh, and after hitting me, she proceeded to yell, Tontos son los que hacen tonterías. Stupid people are those that do stupid stuff.” I let my fingers reach Rosie’s hair, absentmindedly stroking the soft curls. When she didn’t flinch, I let my hand rest there. “Abuela was right, though. It’s not smart to pretend everything’s okay when it isn’t. When you bottle something up so tightly, the lid will blow up. Sooner rather than later.”

Rosie didn’t speak, and my last statement left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, so we stayed in silence after that, swaying left and right without caring to release each other.

When Rosie finally spoke again, her voice no longer quivered. “Lucas?”

Fully aware that there was no reason to have my arms around her at this point but not caring to move, I answered with a Hmm.

It really shouldn’t have after my almost-confession, but her question caught me off guard. “I…” I trailed off, not following my own advice and shoving everything I’d been keeping locked in even deeper. “I’ll tell you if you stop fighting my help. And if you come back to the apartment with me. You can’t stay here.”

Rosie extricated herself from my embrace, looking up at me.

I met her gaze. “That’s how this works, Graham. It’s a two-way road.”

She considered something for a long time, then said almost reluctantly, “Okay.” She followed that up with a loud sigh. “If that’s your way of asking me if we can be friends, then fine. I guess we can be friends.”

Something raced across my chest, one moment there and gone the next.