just like heaven

Frankie stares at you with a stunned expression. You trust him enough to where it didn’t take much convincing for you to get in the car with him.

Now, the two of you sit in the driveway of your home, his mind trying to wrap itself around everything you’ve just told him.

“Di algo, por favor (Say something, please),” you murmur, watching his grip on the steering wheel tighten until his knuckles are white.

He lets out a harsh exhale, shaking his head slowly. “Nunca esperé que hicieras algo tan estúpido. (I never expected you to do something so stupid.)”

“No es estúpido (It’s not stupid),” you claim.

“No?” he looks at you dead-on, raising his brows. “You just signed everyone’s death certificate, Mimi–”

“Do you think I’d let anything happen to you?” you query, narrowing your eyes by a fraction. “I’ve thought this through, Francisco.”

He presses his lips into a thin line, averting your gaze. 

All you can do is watch.

You really have thought this through. Javier, Steve, and whatever cops they can muster up would start picking off the labs one by one, making your father weaker business-wise. There’s a big chance that he’ll throw a party for damage control, trying to prove to the other cartels that he hasn’t lost his touch and he isn’t as weak as they think.

Being viewed as a weak kingpin is the last thing Jerónimo wants, and you’re going to make sure it happens.

As for you, you have to get involved in business without actually doing anything.

How?

Your father is only going to let you in if you learn first. There’s no way he’d let you handle anything major straight off the bat. He’d probably put you with a family member instead of himself because he rarely gets his hands dirty unless it’s absolutely necessary, like killing an enemy, for instance.

But the only way all of this can happen, is if you get Francisco to cover for you. Technically, you can order him to do so since he works for you and not your father. But you need to know that you can trust him 100%. If he comes to the conclusion that this is the best option on his own, then you know you can.

You need one last person to prove that they aren’t a complete disappointment to you, and you’ll be set to take down your father and his cartel. 

You’re aware of how all of this could backfire: Javier could be lying to you again, you can end up caught in the crossfire, ending up being brought down alongside your father. 

To keep your sanity, you’re choosing to believe that the American isn’t lying to you yet again. Agents are just as greedy as the criminals that they’re paid to capture, but no one would speak of that.

“Bien (Fine),” Francisco finally sighs, locking eyes with you, “Pero lo hacemos de manera inteligente. (But we do this smart.)”

You beam, clapping your hands together, “Sabía que cambiarías de opinión. (I knew you’d come around.)”

He shakes his head slowly, “I still think this is stupid. We could be killed for this.”

“Don’t worry about that,” you reassure, “I’ll make sure none of this falls back on you, and you get away scotfree.”

“What about you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Don Jerónimo will not go lightly.”

Instead of answering, you put your sunglasses back on, exiting the car. Frankie scurries to follow behind you, carrying your bag.

“First rule: don’t question my decisions,” you announce, sauntering towards the front double doors like you own this very land. Your heels clack on the smooth pavement, Frankie’s dress shoes sounding at the same time as your shoes.

He stays quiet, keeping your pace while you continue.

“Secondly, I will handle my father personally. Don’t bother talking to him, because last time I checked,” you turn around, stopping in your tracks, “you work for me, not him.” 

Frankie freezes – actually freezes when you turn around. His lips are slightly parted, eyes flashing with recognition of someone he used to know.

You furrow your brows, “Frankie?”

He hums in acknowledgement, blinking rapidly. “¿Sí, señora?”

“¿Me oíste? (Did you hear me?)” 

He nods slowly, clearing his throat. “I did. It’s just…” he trails off, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Just what?” your patience grows thinner, wondering why he looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

Francisco is quiet for a moment, eyeing you from head to toe. You don’t move under his gaze, but you do tilt your head to the side in curiosity.

“You look just like her,” he whispers.

Your breath catches faintly at the whispered statement, knowing exactly who he means. No one besides your father ever openly talks about her in front of you, so this is a first. An unfamiliar ache tugs at your heart; not necessarily grief, but more like honor. An honor that you’ve kept her alive through yourself and it’s visible to others.

Perhaps this is your way to start chipping at your father’s throne from the inside. If Frankie thinks that you look like your mother, then everyone else will too. 

It’s worth a shot, at least.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, not quite acknowledging the somber feeling that rolls over both of you and smothers your chest. The feeling presses in on all sides, like a brewing storm creeping in and turning the sunny sky grey. 

“You’re the only person I trust here,” you admit quietly, swallowing your pride, “Please don’t screw me over.”

Despite the weight on your shoulders, understanding passes between the two of you, Frankie nodding his head once in acknowledgement.

You school your expression, slipping into character behind your sunglasses as you both walk to the door. Your dark brown fur coat sits on your shoulders, giving you a sense of authority in your own mind.

This is your game and you aim to win.

Frankie unlocks the door for you, your duffel bag dangling in his hand. You give each other one last lingering look before you open both doors, sauntering into your home. Your heels sound in the foyer, catching the ears of your family members gathered in the living room. They openly gawk at you, watching Frankie stand behind you, his posture rigid.

It’s only then that you remove your sunglasses, putting them on top of your head and flipping your hair. “¿Dónde está? (Where is he?)”

One of your younger cousins points upstairs, earning glances from your tíos and tías.

You huff faintly at their faces, spotting your leather jacket draped over the back of an armchair. Finding out who stole it is a conversation for a different day. Right now, you need to talk to your father.

You swipe it before you disappear upstairs, Frankie trailing close behind. You slow your steps so he can walk next to you, your father’s office door just down the hall and ajar. 

“I need to talk to him alone,” you murmur, looking over at him. “He’ll ask about you most likely, but I’ll cover for you. You don’t have to answer to him because you don’t work for him, okay?”

He doesn’t respond but he does glance at you sideways, giving you the faintest nod. You can tell that he doesn’t want any part of this, but this is how you escape – it has to be.

Without another word, you walk down the hall, your mind whirring as you put your sunglasses back on your face. You have to trust that Jerónimo will believe you. Honestly, he has no solid reason to believe that you haven’t blabbed your mouth to the Americans, and he’d be right to do so. But this stopped being about politics for you a long time ago.

You’ve been good for too long, doing what you were told without complaint, bathing in shiny silver things, letting other people do the heavy lifting – the picturesque dutiful daughter.

People whisper around you, keeping secrets, talking about you, about your mother, about your legacy. They’d never speak about you to your face, too afraid of hurting precious cargo and in return, dealing with your father’s wrath.

But it’s time to take your life into your own hands.

You want to see everything your family has built be burned to the ground. Everything that has been so carefully crafted, every dollar made, every house built, every frenemy made, every piece of designer that was bought to keep your mouth shut – all of it has to go.

If that means you go down with it, then so be it. Death is inevitable regardless.

You open the double doors without announcing yourself, seeing his face drop in real time when he realizes you’re there. He nearly drops the landline, his skin a little pale, hair mussed. He looks like a fragile version of himself, like he’s holding himself and the cartel together with toothpicks.

A smirk almost tugs at your lips but you keep your expression neutral.

Francisco takes your coat off of your shoulders, closing the doors behind you so you can talk to him alone.

“Hola, papá (Hi, dad),” you say sweetly, tossing your jacket onto a chair across from his desk and plopping down into it. You cross your legs, resting your arms on the chair, bringing a hand up to your face to hide the curve of your lips. “¿Me extrañaste? (Did you miss me?)”

He clears his throat, hanging up on whoever he was on the phone with. “¿Dónde demonios has estado? (Where the hell have you been?)” he queries, his voice rough.

You shrug feigning offense, “Tuve que reflexionar un poco después de que mi padre me llamo puta. (I had to do some thinking after my father called me a whore.)”

The bastard doesn’t even look apologetic, intertwining his fingers and placing them on the desk in front of him. “¿Cómo está tu pequeño estadounidense? (How is your little American?)”

Your face nearly drops, but you know there’s no way he knew where you were. Not if Steve was sitting in the parking lot for those two days.

“¿Cómo podría saberlo? (How should I know?)” 

The furrow between his brows deepens, doubt clouding his mind. “Porque sé cómo eres. Probablemente pienses que él está enamorado de ti. (Because I know how you are. You probably think he’s in love with you.)”

You stay silent, allowing him the space to get everything off his chest. His words hurt – what he’s saying now and what he said before you left – but you refuse to let it show. You clench your jaw, the muscle visibly ticking as you continue to listen to him.

“Crees que el romance todavía existe hoy en día (You think romance still exists these days),” he scoffs. “Pero déjame decirte algo, cariño (But let me tell you something, sweetheart),” he leans forward, his lips curving slightly under his thick mustache, “Él solo quería meterse en tus pantalones, y tú te le diste entrada en un suspiro. (He just wanted to get in your pants, and you gave it up in a heartbeat.)”

You shift in the chair, inching yourself back and feeling the microphone in your jacket poking the back of your upper arm. The reminder that Javier used you to get ahead in his career gnaws at you once more.

Are you making a mistake by trusting him?

God knows you’ve done it once before already and look where that got you.

You just have to hope that you’re not completely wrong about him; that he’s not going to fuck you over entirely and get you killed in the process.

“Maybe that’s true,” you murmur, “Pero es lo mismo que hizo mamá, ¿verdad? (But it’s the same thing that mom did, isn’t it?)”

Jerónimo narrows his eyes, his gaze darkening at the mention of his late wife. “Deberías avergonzarte de ti misma (You should be ashamed of yourself),” he spits, “Sacarla a colación en cada discusión solo porque quieres tener la ventaja. (Bringing her up in every argument just because you want the upperhand.)”

The conversation is getting a lot heavier than you intended, a familiar lump forming in your throat as you process his words. He’s right, you use your mother’s name in vain to get a hold of the argument when you don’t want to speak to him anymore. He never really responds when you bring her up, seeming to shrink into himself at such a low blow from you.

She wouldn’t be proud of either of you, and that hurts more than his words and actions ever could.

You want to make her proud, you just don’t know how to without the proper guidance. Your father is not someone you’ve ever looked up to – it’s always been Sara. Though, now you have to look up to him… or at least pretend to.

A single tear slips from your eye and you wipe it from your cheek quickly. For a moment, his mask slips and he looks at you like you’re still a child; his baby girl that had a nightmare and needed consoling to fall back asleep.

“I know,” you whisper, sniffling, “I’m sorry.”

You’re unsure whether the tears are real or not at this point, knitting your brows together to keep your emotions at bay. “Sé que te he decepcionado, papá (I know I’ve disappointed you, dad),” you admit, “Pero estoy intentando. (But I’m trying.)”

He’s silent as he takes in your words, trying to figure out if you’re serious or not. “¿Cómo sé que puedo confiar en ti? (How do I know I can trust you?)”

You swallow the lump in your throat, straightening the way you’re sitting because you know he’s caving. This may actually work the way you want it to.

“Because I’m your daughter.”

The police station bustles with life: cops in Search Bloc gearing up for yet another raid. Javier and Steve have been working closely with Carrillo for the last month, going over all the information you gave Javier and putting it to use. Carrillo and his men were already gathering possible lab locations, but now their findings are confirmed from your cooperation. 

This is the beginning of the end of Sombras de la Cruz, and they couldn’t be happier. The cartel has been looming over Colombia for far too long and it’s about time that they take their country back.

Carrillo loves to remind Javier and Steve that they are the gringos in this case. When all of this finally ends, he wants a Colombian police officer standing over the bodies of Jerónimo and the rest of your family. 

Javier can understand that, but it also reminds him that the Colombian officers have more to lose down here than he does.

Well, that was the case before, at least. Now, there’s a big chance that he can lose you.

He doesn’t want to fail you and leave you to fend for yourself, but he also knows that there’s no possible way that the two of you can work outside of this world. You’re used to wealth and prosperity, and he can’t give you that life. He remembers the things you’ve told him about the life you’d rather live, but that’s all just a dream, right?

You may be rid of your family after all of this, but the Cruz bloodline will never leave you. 

An unused signal crackles to life on the wiretap reels when everyone begins to fizzle out, your voice coming in barely audible and hushed. Some shuffling is heard before a loud slam… followed by your father’s voice.

There’s no time to think too much about it before they have to get going, adjusting straps on bulletproof vests and loading into squad cars. 

The roads are bumpy, jostling Javier and Steve in the front seat. He looks over at his partner in the passenger’s seat, deciding to speak up about something that’s been gnawing at him since the very beginning of this whole operation. “I’m sorry for getting involved with her when I wasn’t supposed to approach her.”

Steve huffs, shaking his head and looking over at Javier. “No you’re not.”

A smirk tugs at his lips, putting his eyes back on the road. “No, not really.”

They share a laugh, appreciating each other without ever saying the words. Steve has been Javier’s best friend down here in Colombia, and he felt horrible about betraying his trust… for a little bit, at least. Now that Steve’s met you, he feels better about the decision he made for the case. It got them their biggest lead yet.

Everyone parks a good distance away from the lab, wanting to get the element of surprise. Snipers hide in the hills, while everyone else is running boots on the ground. 

Javier leans against a wall, gun in hand as he waits for a sniper to take out the two guards blocking the door. Once they’re out, they can move in. The men drop like flies, silent bullets taking them down and giving everyone else the go-ahead.

The doors bust open at the same time, and the team get to work. They aren’t like the cartel, no. They only kill when it’s necessary. Javier doesn’t hesitate to take a shot at whoever’s shooting at him first.

Colombian officers spread across the lab, covering it inch by inch, floor by floor. Javier stays downstairs while Steve and Carrillo go upstairs. He studies the cocaine the men were making, the strong stench of chemicals giving him an instant migraine. He doesn’t stay inside the lab longer than he needs to.

Some people are killed but most of them are taken alive… including you.

He freezes when he sees your tear-streaked face, wondering why you’re here when you’re supposed to be keeping a low profile.

You don’t want to do it, but your father insists that this is the way to prove yourself. He instructs you to spend the day by the side of your Tío Andrés and get a feel of how business is handled.

He could’ve put you with anyone but he put you with his brother. To say you hate the man is an understatement. Andrés has always looked down on you, seen you as less than everyone else in the cartel. Whether it’ll benefit you today or not, you don’t know. Maybe you can get away with doing absolutely nothing.

Jerónimo has been locking himself away in his office since the big move. Either that, or he’s nowhere in the house. You have a feeling you know what’s going on but you probably won’t know for sure for a while.

Being his latest project also means that you haven’t seen Javier in a month. The pager he gave you has been your best friend lately when it comes to contacting him. He’s convinced that it’s best for you to lay low until they can get to your father. But you grew up around the man. You know that if you sit around and do nothing, he’ll get suspicious of you and think that you’re waiting for something major to happen.

It’s best if you’re getting involved. At least that’s what you keep telling yourself.

Lying low was what you did while your family was moving house. Now it’s time to get your hands dirty.

After rummaging through boxes of your mother’s clothes, you settle on a short white dress and thigh-high stockings. Small black polka dots are scattered along the length of the dress, black lace framing the hem of it. 

From what you remember, this was an unreleased dress from Sara’s fashion line. You remember seeing her make it for the first time when you were a little girl. You sat in her office chair while she stuck it with pins and needles, making her sketch of it come to life. Watching her turn her favorite thing to do into her job was almost like a dream to you. It reminded you that if you put your mind to something, you could achieve it regardless of how many people told you you weren’t capable of doing so.

While you’re in the closet, you decide to hang up a few things on the empty side. It’s a giant walk-in closet and all this space is going to waste, so you might as well, right? Lord knows that your father isn’t going to unpack any of her stuff.

You only put a dozen of dresses on the hangers, each piece of fabric carrying an old memory with your mom. You like to think that she’d be proud of you. Maybe not with trusting an American agent, but at least with who you are as a person. 

Her and your grandmother were so persistent about you getting out into the world and exploring. After they passed and you were left with your father, you lost your way. The spark you envisioned the world with dimmed completely until everything was just dark. 

Now that you potentially have a way out, the light is slipping through the cracks again. 

For how long? Who knows.

You take out one final dress, sending an old jewelry box tumbling out of the cardboard. Slowly, you place the dress on top of the counter in the middle of the room, picking up the box with careful hands. The material of it is cracked from use and love, a little gold heart standing out to you. The initials ‘SVC’ are embroidered in white underneath it, making it clear that it belonged to the woman who gave you life.

You hesitate but eventually open the box. White pearls, diamonds, and gold stare back at you: probably thousands of dollars in the jewelry box alone. They all still look the same as they did all those years ago. Your father never gave his wife fake material assets. Not when he could afford it a million times over because of the endless amount of money made from selling drugs.

It’s unsure to you how long you spend going through the box, but you’re sitting on the floor now, your legs criss-cross. You pick up a double pearl bracelet at the bottom, the piece reminding you of a ring that she gave you when you were younger. Your fingers were too small for the ring so she kept it in a drawer for you until it was able to fit you. 

But now that you’ve moved, you have no idea where it could possibly be now. Without a second thought, you slip on the bracelet, setting out to find the ring that matches. Naturally, you start in your father’s room, rummaging through the drawers of his dresser. All you find is clothes, so you move on. 

The next place you think to look in your room is the box of your mother’s things that you keep under your bed. You don’t ever remember putting the ring in here but it doesn’t hurt to look for it here.

The box is filled with photographs, handwritten letters she’d give you before school, the pincushion she used to hold her needles, faded receipts for the hotels you stayed at with her, and various other things, but no ring.

Before you look in the next place, you close the door to your room, not wanting anyone to walk in on you. In the old house, you had a loose floorboard in your room that you’d hide things under. The new house didn’t have that so you had to lift one yourself.

You press your stocking-covered foot against one side, the other lifting with ease. The things you have under there are all things none of your family need to see: your gun, wads of U.S. dollars, the bag Javier gave you, a pocket knife, and other items you’d need if you were to leave. 

It’s not there either so you move on to your closet, pulling out the duffel bag you used when you ran away some years ago. You remember tossing jewelry into the bag without really looking at it. Maybe you tossed the ring in here and didn’t realize.

Relief floods your senses when you find it in a side pocket, slipping it onto your finger with ease. It finally fits, the singular pearl white and shiny. You fidget with the band, staring down at it on your finger. Like you thought, it goes with the bracelet perfectly.

In a way, wearing Sara’s things makes you feel closer to her; like you’re keeping her beautiful spirit alive through yourself.

If she was still here, would you still be going through with this?

Your mother was innocent all the way to her death, but a part of you still wonders.

“Vas a convertirte en una mujer muy fuerte (You’re going to grow into such a strong woman),” she told you once. Tear tracks streaked your face and she wiped them away with the pad of her thumb.

You didn’t want her to go; the two of you were supposed to have more time together. When she’d repeat to you that it was just her time, it made you frustrated at everything: the world, her, yourself – it didn’t matter. The most important person in your life was being taken and you had no control over it.

You miss her tremendously and you wonder if she’d be proud of the things you’ve done in life.

Eventually, you get up to go downstairs, but you stop in your doorway. Your father’s office door is ajar, no sound coming from inside of it. Briefly, you get an idea, looking back at the loose floorboard in your room.

“That is a transmitter. I need you to plant it for me.”

Javier’s words repeat in your mind, making you realize that you never went through with it.

After grabbing the transmitter, you slip into your father’s office, finding it empty for once. Quickly, you move over to his desk, noticing a thick file on top of it. You flop down in his leather chair, looking for an unnoticeable spot to plant the bug. Though, your eyes keep landing on the file, curiosity gnawing at you despite you knowing better.

You pull open the middle drawer, feeling under it to see if there’s any dead space you could put it in. You study the bug, trying to figure out how to turn it on. It’s all confusing to you but you just press the obvious red button in the middle. It flashes at you, signaling that it’s on.

“Javi?” you ask quietly, knowing that you’re not going to get an answer back. “I don’t know if this thing is on, but if it is, I did what you asked,” you murmur, sticking it on the bottom of the drawer.

“¿Qué haces aquí dentro? (What are you doing in here?)” the sound of your father’s voice makes you jump out of your skin, slamming the drawer shut.

Quickly, you slip off your mother’s ring and hold it up for him to see. “Estaba buscando esto. (I was looking for this.)”

You stand up when he doesn’t answer, putting it back on. “It was mom’s.”

“I know,” he murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Andrés te está esperando abajo. (Andrés is waiting for you downstairs.)”

“Okay,” you whisper, slipping past him.

A relieved exhale escapes you, though you feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull.

The ride with your uncle is excruciating. He wouldn’t stop asking you questions about Javier and whether you’re still in contact with him or not. You don’t blame the man for being suspicious, but it gets to a point where it’s just annoying. 

The warehouse smells of must, chemicals, and gunpowder; 3 rows of wooden workbenches sit on the first floor, men sweating bullets and listening to music as they make what you assume is cocaine. 

A vulgar, drawn out whistle cuts through the room, directed towards you. The sound makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, the building full of men looking up from their work and finally noticing the woman they’ve never seen before.

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling like a piece of meat under their intense stares. One even goes as far as licking his lips as he looks you up and down, the hunger evident in his gaze. “¿Cómo te llamas, linda? (What’s your name, little mama?)”

“Ya es suficiente (That’s enough),” your uncle scolds, though you know he hates your guts and would never defend or protect you unless he was asked by your father.

Just thinking about it makes you sick.

The sharp scent of acid gives you an instant headache, making you cover your nose as Andrés leads you upstairs.

“Deja de ser dramática (Stop being dramatic),” he tells you, eyeing you over his shoulder.

You place a hand over your stomach, nearly starting to feel nauseous. “¿Por qué huele tan mal aquí? (Why does it smell so bad in here?)”

“Te acostumbrarás (You’ll get used to it),” is all he says, opening the door at the end of the hallway.

Naturally, you roll your eyes at him, following him into the dark room. He yanks open the curtains, drowning the room in sunlight. You squint your eyes, adjusting to the bright light before you realize what’s in there. Andrés pulls off the sack over a man’s head, revealing his battered and bruised face. He’s bound to a chair by thick rope, dried up blood staining his shirt, duct tape covering his mouth.

“What the fuck is this?” you ask your uncle, meeting his eyes with wide ones.

He pulls out a pocketknife from his back pocket, flipping it open and pointing behind you with it. “Close the door.”

Your eyes dart between him and the terrified man, his wide pupils staring deep into your soul.

“Ahora! (Now!)” your uncle yells, making you jump and scramble to close the door.

You keep your palm on the cold metal of the frame, trying to keep your emotions from bubbling up your throat. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, disgust and distress. You don’t exactly know what your uncle is going to do, but you have a pretty good feeling. You’ve gone your whole life knowing what bad people your family are but it’s different actually seeing it.

Andrés ripping the tape off the man’s face brings you back to reality, the detainee groaning in pain. You turn around slowly, still cautious to not get your dress dirty, your hands behind your back. 

You’re not sure what your uncle is saying to the man, effectively drowning out his voice while your heart pounds in your ears. The sight of him has your stomach churning violently; you can barely keep the bile down your throat.

This isn’t your scene and this shouldn’t have been the first thing your father sent you to do. If anything, you would’ve been fine with going with him rather than your uncle because you know he only gets his hands dirty on rare occasions. 

“¿Qué hiciste con el dinero? (What’d you do with the money?)” your uncle asks the man, holding his knife way too close to his face for your liking.

The man cries out, begging you for help, but you’re stuck in place, unsure of what to do.

You know this is wrong. You know you should do something to stop Andrés, but then what? He can easily knock you down if you try something and he has enough pent up rage to nearly kill you. 

Before you can even utter anything, doors burst open downstairs. Your uncle swings the door open, slamming it against the wall and assessing what all the noise is downstairs. Gunshots are fired, leading your uncle to stab the hostage in the neck. A sharp gasp leaves you, unable to take your eyes off the man struggling to breathe with your uncle’s knife in his neck. Andrés yanks it out, thick gushes of blood exiting the deep wound.

The bile threatens to come up in full force now, covering your mouth to contain it and also muffle your cries. Hot tears stream down your face as you back into the corner, nearly beginning to hyperventilate. The only person you’ve seen slowly die in front of you was your mother. But even then it wasn’t as brutal and bloody as this. 

The day it happened, you were out with your grandmother. During that time in your life, she’d take you out a lot to get your mind off of your mother’s state. Sometimes it worked.

Sometimes.

You stay put when he leaves the room with his gun drawn; your back against the wall, hands shaking as you watch the light leave the man’s eyes and his lifeless body slumps forward in the chair. Your breath hitches before a shuddering cry escapes from your lips, suppressed by the palm of your hand. 

Jerónimo set you up – had to have. He’s more than well aware of how violent your uncle is, and he sent you with him. What made him think that this is what the first thing you tagged along for should’ve been?

You don’t hear much outside the room until Andrés comes bursting back in, tossing his handgun onto the floor and putting his hands up in surrender. “Tranquilo (Calm down),” he repeats over and over, grunting when a beefy cop hits him in the head with the end of his gun.

He drops to his knees, the cop’s narrowed eyes noticing you in his peripheral vision. They snap to you, his hard features softening slightly when he realizes the state that you’re in.

“Levantate (Get up),” he orders, his gun still trained on your uncle, though his eyes are on you.

Another cop trails in behind him, cuffing Andrés and pulling him out of the room roughly.

In the state that you’re in, you barely register when your hands are cuffed behind your back: the metal biting into your skin. You’re led downstairs, being traded off to another man in a green uniform.

Finally, you can see what all the noise was. The warehouse was raided, the men that were making cocaine either have bullets in them or are being dragged out of the building in handcuffs. You can hear your uncle’s loud mouth outside, yelling obscenities at the officers, threatening to kill them and their entire families.

The sun blinds you when you get out there, squinting your eyes and stumbling in your heels. The cop tightens his hold on you, keeping you upright as you make your way down the stairs, only to be met with Javier’s face. His lips purse under his mustache, brows knitting in confusion.

You should feel relieved at seeing him. But after what you just witnessed someone you used to call family do inside, you don’t feel anything.

“Uncuff her,” Javier tells the man holding you.

He furrows his brows, “But-”

“I said uncuff her,” he repeats, leaving no room for questioning.

The man hesitates again before he ultimately reaches for the key on his belt, freeing your wrists from the handcuffs. Instinctively, you rub the raw skin, soothing where the metal was biting into.

Javier’s expression softens the moment he walks away, leaning in closer to murmur to you. “Why are you here?”

You shake your head faintly, not answering him as you watch the SUV your uncle was shoved into drive off. For some odd reason, you feel responsible for getting him caught while you get off scotfree. 

But then something dawns on you.

Within all the locations you gave Javier, this wasn’t one of them. You didn’t even know about this place until today. So how did he find it?

“Who told you about this place?” you ask quietly, not in the mood for another fight but you want answers. “I didn’t tell you about it and I didn’t know about it until an hour ago.”

His jaw ticks once, averting your gaze for a moment, eyeing someone over your shoulder. You turn around to see who’s caught his attention, spotting the man who restrained you in the first place.

“That’s Horacio Carrillo,” he informs you, “He’s the head of Search Bloc.”

Something in you shifts. You can say that you don’t care about who knows about you. You can reassure yourself that you’re fine a million times but you know none of that is true. The last few weeks have been difficult – the last few months, actually. To get through this, you need as much mental and physical strength as you can muster up. But after today, you’re not sure how you can keep going.

It took one hour.

One hour for your entire view on your family to change.

You knew they were all bad but this is another level of evil, and you still have a role to play.

Truthfully, Javier felt shitty for what you went through earlier today. None of it is necessarily his fault but he couldn’t protect you from the horrors of the cartel. Just like he couldn’t protect you from himself. He consoled you as much as he could afterwards. You just seemed so… numb. From what you told him, your uncle killed someone in front of you. Just from the look on your face, he could tell that the level of violence that extreme is something that you’ve never been around.

All of this was a bad idea. It’s been a bad idea since he followed you to that club, he just didn’t want to admit it. He was so convinced that this would be easy: he’d use you to get to your father, you’d hate him and go your separate ways. Never did he think that real, deep-rooted feelings would get involved and make things more difficult.

He knows he’s being selfish and unethical for wanting a life with you after all of this. 

Will it actually happen? Who knows.

The longer you’re around him, the dimmer your light gets. Your family plays a role in that as well but it’s only getting worse with him being in your life. He draws one tiny paper cut in your soul and they retaliate by cutting a gash.

A cigarette dangles from his lips, pointer fingers jabbing at the keys on the typewriter as he fills out a report. He doesn’t mention you by name in it, just “CI” for ‘confidential informant’. Regardless of everything and his doubts, your safety is still his number one priority. 

Steve walks down the steps, exhaling harshly when he flops down into his office chair. Javier slows his movements when the blonde man reaches for the bottle of whiskey on his desk, looking at his partner through his lashes.

Upon returning to the station, Carrillo asked Javier if he wanted to join him in the helicopter with your uncle. He hesitated, considering it before he ultimately shook his head. Steve jumped at the opportunity to be more involved and took his place without second guessing it.

Javier has already told Steve about the… creative ways Carrillo prefers to get information. That didn’t seem to stop him though, and now he regrets it.

“He pushed him out,” Steve utters after downing two fingers of the brown liquor, clearing his throat. “Andrés is dead.”

You lean over the railing of the balcony, looking out at the city of Medellín. The stars blink above you, the moon bright and full tonight. The weight of the day you had sits heavily on your shoulders. A cigarette lays idly in your ashtray, lazy tendrils of smoke swirling up into the air.

When you got home, you didn’t speak to anyone. Your father wasn’t home, Francisco tried to talk to you but you went straight up to your room. Immediately, you stripped to take a shower, washing away the dirt and guilt. 

You shouldn’t feel responsible for Andrés being arrested, you hadn’t even told anyone about the warehouse. But you do anyway.

Neither him or your father probably thought about the damage seeing all of that would do to you. “You wanted to be included,” they’d say as an excuse… as if you didn’t witness the man murder somebody in cold blood today. And for what, money?

It’s all fucked.

Perhaps you deserve it. You’re turning your back on your own flesh and blood for someone you don’t know all that well. Sure, you’ve gotten naked for Javier plenty of times, but you don’t truly know him. Not to mention the fact that you’ve fallen in love with him regardless of the lack of knowledge.

You take a drag of your nicotine stick, blowing out clouds of smoke.

You weren’t safe today. You were with family and you still weren’t safe. But neither was Andrés. All of this is making you wonder if you’re any better than them: turning them in with the expectation that you’ll live a free, normal life. 

“Ahí estás (There you are),” Jerónimo’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his body mimicking your position on the railing.

“Aquí estoy (Here I am),” you murmur, taking another puff from your cigarette. Honestly, you’re not in the mood to have a conversation with him, so you stay silent and let him ramble on about whatever he needs to.

Jerónimo is quiet for a moment, looking out at the city alongside you. “How was your day with my brother?”

A huff escapes through your nostrils, shaking your head slowly. 

When you don’t answer, he continues. “How is it that you made it home but he didn’t?”

“The cops didn’t have a reason to hold me,” you finally meet his eyes, his brows raising by a fraction when he takes in the exhaustion on your face. “Thanks for the set up by the way.”

His gaze darkens, not entertaining the bratty comment just yet. “¿Así que crees que está bajo custodia policial? (So you think he’s in police custody?)”

You furrow your brows, confused by the question. “Ahí fue donde lo vi por última vez. (That’s where I saw him last.)”

“That’s not where he is,” he informs you, making your stomach drop when you stand up straighter. “Your cop friends killed him.”

A harsh breath leaves you, running a hand through your hair and looking into the house. Faint cries from inside reach your ears, but it’s nothing like your heart pounding in your ears, telling you that you may have just been caught… again.

“So I ask you again,” Jerónimo starts, towering over you, “How did you make it home and not him?”

part 6 - series masterlist - main masterlist

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Your whole relationship with Frankie had been like chasing a storm from the beginning. Despite living in Florida, the sunniest place either of you had ever known, the rain always found you faster than you could prepare for it.

Some storms arrived quietly.

Others kicked the front door off its hinges.

This one had come in the shape of a tiny plastic bag tucked inside the pocket of his jeans.

***

Frankie was dead silent the whole drive. While the first traces of sunrise bled orange into the sky, turning it into something that looked like a watercolor painting, you couldn't bring yourself to appreciate it today. His knee bounced the entire drive, his foot tapping relentlessly against the floorboard. His shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat despite the air conditioning blasting at full volume.

"You know, you don't need to do this. You could just... drive home."

You shook your head immediately. "And then what?"

"I can do the rehab at home."

"Like the last time?"

He flinched at the memory, just a little.

"I don't do this to punish you, Francisco."

He scoffed, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip as he stared out the window, watching the landscape blur by.

"I don't see what's gonna be different there than when I lay in my own vomit at home."

"They're professionals, Frankie. You can talk to someone who can really hold you through this without falling apart alongside you."

"Mhm."

"Frankie..."

He shook his head. "Don't use that tone on me."

"Which tone?"

"The pity one."

"I don't—" You exhaled. "I'm sorry."

"'s okay." And he sounded honest. "I'm the one who should be sorry."

"You're sick, Frankie. You didn't choose this."

"I am a fuck up, cariño."

Your eyebrows furrowed. You bit your lip before blindly reaching for his sweaty hand, squeezing it while keeping your eyes fixed on the road—even as your vision began to blur with uninvited tears.

"No, you're not. You survived things most people couldn't even imagine surviving. Somewhere along the way your brain found something that quieted all that noise, even if only for a little while. It may have chosen the wrong thing but that doesn't make you wrong. You're still you."

"What if this is all I'm gonna be now?" His voice barely rose above a whisper. "This washed-out version of me. I'm farther away from the man you fell in love with than ever..."

"Hey, hey," you reined him in gently. "No, that's not true. He's still in there. He just needs a little help finding his way back to shore, hm?"

You squeezed his hand again. "And there's nothing wrong with needing help sometimes. The strongest people do. And you, Frankie Morales, are one of the strongest people I've ever known. I'm so so proud of you."

You weren't able to look at him as the sun climbed higher, promising another day of scorching heat. But you heard a small, broken sound that sounded suspiciously close to a sob. Without thinking, you took the next exit, still twenty minutes away from the rehab center. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as you pulled onto the shoulder and finally looked at your boyfriend.

Despite his broad frame, he suddenly looked so unbearably small in the passenger seat of his own truck. He looked hollowed out by the weight he carried. By the guilt clawing at him for failing you. He looked lost.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and leaned toward him, still holding his hand before pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

"Look at me," you pleaded.

He shook his head stubbornly. So you cupped his cheek with your free hand, gently guiding his face toward yours. His soulful dark eyes shimmered with tears, red-rimmed and exhausted. The sight hit you straight in the chest.

"How can you..." His voice cracked. "How can you still stay? Why didn't you just leave already?"

A watery smile tugged at your lips. "Because, unfortunately, I love you a shit ton."

A weak laugh escaped him before his face crumpled again. He took your hand between both of his and kissed it with all the devotion only he had ever shown you.

"I'm scared."

"I know you are."

You brushed your thumb across his cheek. "I am too."

Silence settled between you for a moment. "But I think we just need to do it anyway. Even if we do it scared."

He closed his eyes. "I can't do this for you. God, I wish I could." Your voice wavered. "But this is something you need to do for yourself. For the man you've always told me you want to be. Not only the one scarred by war and loss."

You rested your forehead against his. "And I believe in you."

A tear slipped down his cheek. 

"I'll always be here, rooting for you."

"You're truly too good for me, mi amor."

You smiled—a real one this time—and shrugged. "Maybe."

Another shrug. "Guess you're just a lucky bastard then."

"The luckiest on this fucking planet," he murmured.

Like magnets finding their opposite, you drifted toward one another. Your hand rested against the back of his neck, your thumb brushing behind his ear, tracing the small letter tattooed there for you. Matching the one you wore in the same place, even if you'd gotten yours weeks later. Your foreheads touched in a grounding gesture.

He let out one long, shaky breath. "I love you."

And you knew he meant it. God, he meant it with every bruised piece of his heart.

"I love you more," you whispered. "Always more."

You smiled through tears. "And now I'll drop you off for your very expensive extended holiday."

That earned you the smallest huff of laughter.

"I'll be right here picking you up when you're ready, okay?"

You felt his nod more than you saw it.

***

A few minutes later, you watched him disappear through the doors of the rehab center. Only then did you realize your hands were still gripping the steering wheel so tightly they hurt.

For a long moment, you couldn't make yourself put the truck into gear. Watching the biggest part of your heart walk away was hard. Trusting that he was walking toward himself again was harder.

The whole drive home you cried, singing along to your shared playlist between shaky breaths, selfishly wishing that, when all of this was over, you'd get the love of your life back whole instead of only living with the fragments addiction had left behind.

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist • ko-fi

Javier could hardly wait to see you again since the kiss. He’s been antsy – his daughter even pointed it out. Caffeine has been his holy grail because of it. 

Thoughts of you haunt him at night, leaving him tossing and turning until sunlight peeks in through the curtains. Then he can’t go back to sleep because it’s his week with your daughter. 

He goes through the motions of getting her ready for school; watching her brush her teeth, helping her pick out an outfit, taming her unruly curls, making her breakfast, packing her lunch. After dropping her off, he drives to his father’s ranch to work. 

Since resigning from the DEA, helping out on the ranch has been his only source of income. Although it pays decently, he still feels like the itch for action isn’t being scratched. The adrenaline from his old job is something he longs for every day, but he’s also very aware that it’s the main reason why the two of you drifted apart.

He’d come back to the apartment drained from his day at work. One thing leads to another, and the two of you are arguing for the millionth time that week. He’d push, yelling at you, only for you to push back harder.

He loved the fire you had – he did. But when it came to arguments, you never backed down when it was obvious that he was tired. 

His footsteps would carry him to the bedroom, you tailing on his heels, voice getting louder and louder now that his back is towards you.

During times like these, he regretted getting married to you fresh out of college. The two of you were still babies and didn’t know your position in the world yet. You didn’t hesitate when he asked you to go to Colombia with him, telling him that you’d follow him wherever he wanted you to. He appreciated it at the time, but over time realized that you resented him for uprooting your life before it even got started. 

You never spoke those words outloud, but he knew. It was written all over your face.

Then you got pregnant with your baby girl, keeping it from him for weeks until it wasn’t easy to hide anymore. 

His career was at its peak, the scent trail on Escobar closer than it’s ever been. He wasn’t home, wasn’t present. When he was, the stench of alcohol on his clothes made you gag in your mouth. 

The news hit him like a punch in the gut, his drunken mind not completely processing the pregnancy test you were showing him. His red-rimmed eyes darted back and forth between the word ‘PREGNANT’ and your stomach. 

It wasn’t until your palm splayed against the fabric of your shirt that he breathed, realizing what you were telling him.

He blinked, meeting your teary eyes.

“I’m pregnant, Jav.”

He did what he always did: ran.

According to Steve, he got so wasted that night that he blacked out. Javier obviously doesn’t remember that, but either way, he’s not proud of how he acted.

Now, he stares out at the Rio Grande, watching the same kind of people he used to catch for a living smuggle drugs into the country. Not only did he make a promise to himself that he wouldn’t go back to that life, he made a promise to you and his daughter.

The greenland expands in front of him, water rippling as the men move out in their small boats. 

They’re right fucking there, Javier thinks to himself.

His younger self would’ve already had them cuffed, faced down in the dirt. But he’s not that ambitious 30-something year old anymore. He’s 41, has a child to look after, a house to maintain, family to spend time with, and perhaps a relationship to mend with you.

How fast the two of you went from strangers, to lovers, to enemies gives him whiplash whenever he thinks about everything that went down. You’ve been divorced for a year now, but you haven’t really been a couple for a lot longer than that.

Guess you could blame his job for that.

The old thoughts of his job is something he allows but that’s all they are – visitors rather than something permanent.

“Javier!” his cousin, Ricardo, calls out to him, pulling him from his thoughts.

He turns around, walking up the small hill. “What?”

“A few of the cows got out. We need help herding them.” Ric announces, watching his cousin with narrowed eyes against the harsh Texas sun.

Javier nods, pulling off his work gloves to pocket them.

“You okay?” Ric asks, looking over Javier’s shoulder and spotting what he was staring at. “You know, it’s okay to go back, right?”

He shakes his head faintly at his cousin, clapping the man on the shoulder as he passes him. “C’mon.”

The two of them walk in silence, work boots crunching against the soil as they make their way towards the barn. Chucho owned the biggest plot of land in Laredo, making it difficult to herd the animals once they got out – which was extremely rare.

He can see his other family and ranch hands trying their hardest to get the cows back, only to be met with moos instead of movement. The sight causes a small chuckle to escape his lips despite himself.

You stand in the kitchen of your apartment, hands gripping the edge of the counter. The sink drips every now and then, a reminder that you’ve been meaning to call someone to come fix it, but haven’t because you’ve been so busy and caught up with legal things.

The divorce took a toll on you. Not only did it have to make your child suffer, it had to take your dignity as well. You can hardly remember the last time you felt like yourself, and that’s the last thing you ever wanted.

Dishes that you’ve just washed sit in the right side of the sink, waiting to be rinsed and placed in the dish drain. But you’re too busy reminiscing. 

Liquid courage has been your best friend lately, though it also means that buried feelings tend to come up to make you feel something. You and Javier used to be a picture perfect couple; the one your friends would admire and wish they had for themselves.

It’s a shame that the two of you ended up the way that you did, because you loved how the two of you were in high school and college. You thought the two of you could conquer the world together, get married, have a big family, and live happily ever after.

Life had other plans apparently.

The sexual chemistry between the two of you never left, but it felt more like a fling rather than a marriage. He was always too tired to do anything, and when he did have energy, you felt like the weekend lover you knew he didn’t have. Like you were just something for him to take his frustration out on from work.

You missed having him around so much that you never said anything about how you felt. Because of that, the two of you became strangers living under the same roof.

Now you’re strangers raising a kid together. You’re sure he’s grown as a person, and so have you, even if you don’t necessarily believe it. 

Besides your daughter, therapy has been a big part of your life for the last six years. It’s helped you at least try to come to terms with what happened. Sometimes, people just fall out of love. There’s no way to know or tell. But now Javier wants to rekindle things, and you’re scared of all your progress being reversed if you let him back in again.

After finishing up the dishes, you grab a pint of ice cream from the freezer and plop down on the couch. A commercial fills the TV screen when you turn it on, lighting up the living room in blues and white. You keep the volume low, not really wanting to watch TV but needing something on in the background to distract yourself. 

This has been your night routine when you don’t have your daughter: eating your sorrows when you don’t feel like drinking anymore. 

After you got pregnant, you stopped caring about your body image, which is why you always thought that was one of the reasons why you and Javier drifted apart. The other night, he convinced you that wasn’t an issue though. 

That made you feel a little better.

A part of you will probably always desire affirmations from Javier in whatever form you can get them in.

Is that horrible and toxic?

Perhaps.

But he does the same thing, so does it really matter?

It’s not like the two of you are dating other people.

The sharp shrill of your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, nearly sending you out of your skin for a moment before you pick it up from the coffee table. You hold it between your ear and shoulder, stabbing at your ice cream with a spoon. “Hello?”

“Hi, mama,” your daughter beams on the other end of the line. “I just brushed my teeth.”

At that, you look up at the clock on the wall, realizing that it’s already well past 8PM. “It’s your bedtime already?” you ask, propping your legs up on the coffee table.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, shuffling on the other end, “Daddy says that Tío Luis’ wedding is this weekend. Are we going?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. If you go to the wedding, that means you would have to see Javier and Chucho. But you also don’t want to deprive your little girl of spending time with her family. This isn’t about you – it’s never been about you – it’s always about her and what she wants.

“Yeah,” you start, leaning your head back against the couch, “I’m sure your cousins, tíos, and tías would love to see you.”

“They’d love to see you too, mama,” she states firmly, probably nodding her head.

A faint smile pulls at your lips at her comment, warmth blooming in your chest from your daughter’s reassurance. “Well, that makes me feel a whole lot better, mi amor.”

She giggles, “I know. I’m always right, aren’t I?”

You laugh with her, the conversation continuing about her day at school before she lets out a loud yawn. 

“You don’t have to stay on the phone with me, baby,” you gently say, sitting up to place your now finished ice cream down.

“I’m okay!” she exclaims, clearly not wanting to hang up just yet. “I just miss you.”

Your heart nearly shatters at that. “It’s only been a few days,” you murmur.

She exhales slowly, “I know, but that’s not what I mean. I miss you and dad… together.”

Oh.

Oh.

You take a slow, deep breath, blinking away the sudden tears brimming your eyes. It was obvious how strongly she felt about this entire situation, but you never thought she would just flat out tell you.

“Y’know,” you start, wiping away an unshed tear, “you’re too emotionally intelligent for your age, mi vida.”

“I know,” she sighs, “but I had to be, in order to survive this.”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Your daughter has rendered you speechless at this point. 

“Sorry, mama,” she mumbles, prompting you to shake your head and stand up.

“No, it’s okay,” you state, rubbing your thumb over your bottom lip – a nervous habit you picked up from Javier way back when. “I’ll speak to him at the wedding, okay?”

Anything to get her to stop talking about it, right?

“Yay!” she beams, pulling a small huff from you. “I think Daddy will be excited to see you. He hasn’t been sleeping much.”

Worry churns in your gut at that, but you focus on her first comment. “You aren’t excited to see me too?” you tease.

She giggles, “Of course I am, mama.” Your daughter goes quiet for a moment, probably chewing on her bottom lip before she speaks up again, “I hope you guys figure things out. I miss how things used to be.”

Your breath catches momentarily, fingers fidgeting with the ends of a throw pillow when you sit back down. This isn’t a conversation you want to have at all, but especially not over the phone. It’ll be discussed when the time is right, and right now, that’s not it.

She truly doesn’t know the worst of what went down between you and Javier. She only saw and knew what the two of you wanted her to.

“Bedtime, mi amor,” you whisper. “I love you.”

You can hear the pout in her voice when she responds, “I love you, too, mama. Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams.”

With that, you hang up the phone, tossing it to the other side of the couch and running a hand down your face.

How are you supposed to face Javier this weekend?

Your love for him has never faded – probably never will. It’s settled deep into your skin, a reminder of the bad decision that you’d make again in a heartbeat.

Javier pulls every button of his red flannel through their designated loops, leaving the top one undone. He’s more nervous than he’d like to admit about seeing you again, leaving his fingers trembling, resulting in it being a little difficult to button up his shirt.

He hasn’t felt like a lovestruck teenager since your wedding. Having it in Laredo, where both of you grew up, made it a lot more intimate and perfect. Not as perfect as how you looked that day but pretty damn close.

It wasn’t anything grand. Fairy lights on his father’s ranch, a wooden dance floor, his drunk cousins promising to protect you as one of their own. 

That was his favorite thing: his cousins always taking care of you when he wasn’t around.

He remembers how scared you were when he was training at the academy. Worried about him getting hurt when you called at the end of the day.

Not getting hurt was always his promise to you. But in the end, he ended up hurting his marriage with you more.

Now he has the opportunity to fix it, and he’s determined not to fuck it up again.

Your therapy sessions have been a pretty big deal to you since then – you’ve always been open about it, not too scared to show vulnerability. And he doesn’t want to reverse any of your progress. 

Besides the few spats the two of you have every now and then, you really have become the best person that he knows. You have been since he met you and it makes him want to do better as well. He knows not to push you, especially when you’re stripping yourself bare in front of him to explain how you’re feeling that day.

Don’t fuck it up, he repeats over and over again in his head, finishing up getting ready before he heads to his daughter’s bedroom.

He knocks three times before he slowly opens the door, peeking his head in. “You just about done in here?” he asks, placing his hands on his hips.

Her face lights up at her father, twirling in her red dress that matches Javier’s shirt. “Ready!”

Javier chuckles fondly, walking deeper into the room when she sits on the edge of her bed. He helps her put on her black boots after she puts on her socks. Her gaze on him is heavy, but he doesn’t say anything until she does.

“Are you nervous to see mama?” she inquires, rocking back and forth in her place.

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, patting her knee once he’s finished putting her shoes on. “Is it obvious?”

“You have that crease,” she points at his forehead, “between your brows.”

Javier relaxes his face at that, realizing that she’s right. “Then I guess I am, mi vida,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She smiles softly, the gap from her missing tooth showing. “That’s okay, daddy. I get nervous sometimes, too.”

He shakes his head slowly, awe spreading across his face as he stares down at his daughter. “You’re too smart for your age,” he gently pinches her chin, earning a giggle from her.

She leans into her dad’s side, wrapping her small arms around him. “I get if from both you and mama,” she looks up at him with her big brown eyes, “You, for your ability to figure out the toughest problems–”

“The math you’re learning isn’t that hard,” he scrunches his nose, shaking his head.

“It’s the ones with multiple numbers to subtract that get me!” she claims, holding up a finger before she continues. “And mama, for her ability to… overcome?” she looks towards Javier, a question written across her face on if she used the right word.

Javier nods slowly.

“Her ability to overcome her feelings,” she states triumphantly.

A smile pulls at his lips, “Yeah, your mom is pretty smart, isn’t she?” he murmurs.

His daughter nods, leaning her head against his side. Javier cards his fingers through her curls, pressing his lips to the top of her head. They’re silent for a moment, breathing in sync as they bask in the warmth of each other.

Javier never thought he would be a good father, but she just makes it so goddamn easy. She lights up every room that she walks into and steals everybody's hearts. She’s… a mini you, so to speak.

After a while, they leave to head to the wedding. Luis and his people rented out the barn at Tacubaya Ranch for the ceremony and reception. It’s a bit out of the way but it’s worth it for the family.

The place is beautifully decorated: multiple round tables with white cloth that can sit at least 8 people per table, warm fairy lights to set the mood, dangling diamonds in the shape of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a dance floor towards the front, and the various food dishes surrounding it on three sides.

Outside, rows of wooden seats frame the long aisle; white rose petals in the grass, a big white arch that overlooks the view of the greenery. 

Javier sits near the front with his daughter and father, waiting for the bride to come down the aisle. He can tell that his cousin is fidgety – the man constantly adjusts his tie and he’s sweating bullets. All with a grin on his face, though.

Despite himself, Javier looks around for you. His arm is slung over the back of his daughter’s chair, craning his neck back every now and then to see if he can spot you. Family come over, greeting the three of them, but never you – the one he truly wants to see.

He leans down to murmur to his daughter, “What’d you and your mom talk about on the phone?”

Her brown eyes snap towards him. “I never tell,” she pretends to zip her lips, tossing the imaginary key.

Javier chuckles, shaking his head. “Did she say she was coming?”

She nods, beginning to look around as well. A small frown forms on her face as she realizes you’re not here yet. The same furrow Javier has between his brows forms between hers. “She promised,” she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chair.

He watches his daughter, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and brushing back her curls. It’s one thing for you not to show up for him, but it’s a whole other thing for you not to show up for your kid.

So where the hell are you?

Your eyes follow Isabella’s form walking back and forth across the room. She’s been pacing for the last 10 minutes according to her mother. The older woman dragged you upstairs the second you arrived, hoping you could calm her down.

“You’re gonna burn a hole through the floor,” you state, walking into the room and closing the door.

Isabella stops dead in her tracks, a loud exhale of relief escaping her when she sees you. “You came,” she jogs over to you, pulling you into a tight hug.

You wrap your arms around her middle, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Bella.”

She squeezes you once before letting go to look at you. “It’s been too long.”

Unfortunately, she isn’t wrong.

After the divorce, you distanced yourself from Javier’s family. It felt like the right thing to do since legally they aren’t your family anymore. They took you in as their own, and that’s how you decided to repay them apparently.

You’re not proud of it – they had nothing to do with you and Javier’s relationship, but you know how they are and how they would’ve pushed for the two of you to get back together. One of his aunts even went as far as telling you that you could get the divorce reversed within the first 30 days and it would be like it never happened.

But it did.

The divorce isn’t something you’re ashamed of – you don’t want to hide it. Hiding it means that you pretend like it wasn’t a major part of your life. All the heartache and tears that were shed mean nothing if you ignore it, right?

That’s not something you’ll ever do.

You and Isabella talk for a while. She’s stopped her pacing and is sitting by the window now, overlooking all the people that showed up.

“How did you do it?” she asks, looking over at you from her spot, “Marry Javier.”

For a long moment, you don’t respond, thinking of the right words to say. On the spot, you can’t think of any. Marrying Javier was probably the easiest thing you’ve done in your life, and you don’t regret it as much as people may think.

The town has their own story of how the divorce went down, but only you and Javier know the truth. There’s no bad blood, you don’t think that he isn’t fit to be a father like someone mentioned to you; that’s the furthest thing from the truth. You couldn’t ask for a better father for your daughter, and you’re forever grateful that the two of you are civil enough to raise her together. Even if you’re separate.

“It was easy,” you finally answer, “I thought long and hard about whether he was the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with…” you trail off, memories of that day flooding your mind.

You were so nervous that you nearly threw up. Your parents were as big of a mess as you were: that was the first time you ever saw your father cry. He barely managed to pull it together to walk you down the aisle. 

Isabella notices the look on your face, straightening up to join you on the couch. She adjusts her dress so she’s not getting it dirty, “So why’d you guys separate?”

That pulls you out of your thoughts, meeting her gaze momentarily. “It just happened,” you shrug, not really wanting to talk about it, “We became different people, I guess.”

Honestly, that’s the best way you can put it without going into detail. Yes, his job played a major role in your divorce. Yes, the pregnancy did, too. But if both of you had put in the effort, you probably would’ve been fine eventually.

To you, arguing with him was easier than admitting your insecurities. No one wants to deal with that, let alone admit it to someone. 

“Do you still love him?” she probes, tilting her head to the side.

“I’ll always love him, Bella,” you answer easily, “He gave me my daughter.”

“But are you still in love with him?”

You take a quiet deep breath at the question, averting her gaze. If you admit it, that opens a fresh floodgate of emotions that you don’t need right now. If you deny it, not only are you lying to her, but you’re lying to yourself as well.

“If it’s meant to be, then it’ll be,” you state, shrugging.

Eventually, the two of you have to go down; you have to find a seat and Isabella has to walk down the aisle. 

You hold your dress so you’re not stepping on the hem of it and getting it dirty. Clacking from your heels sound through the barn as you make your way outside to where everyone is gathered. 

A few heads turn towards you, followed by low murmurs. The gossipping isn’t something that you’ve missed at all.

Instinctively, you look around for your daughter. You have no intention of sitting near Javier, but you still want to know where she is. You spot her towards the front between him and his dad, and you relax your shoulders, taking a seat closest to the aisle in the back.

You cross one leg over the other, resting your hands in your lap. The Texas heat licks at your exposed shoulders, the sun blocked by the patio cover overhead. Thankfully, there are some outdoor fans that make the heat a little more bearable.

You watch your kid swing her legs, her brown hair fanning over her shoulders. She looks over her shoulder, scanning the people before she spots you in the back. Her face lights up and she waves excitedly, beckoning you to come over. The action catches Javier’s attention, his gaze traveling back to you. He doesn’t gesture or mouth anything, but his eyes do soften.

Briefly, it reminds you of how he used to look at you and it tugs at your heart, an unwanted lump forming in your throat.

Without really thinking, you get up slowly, your feet carrying you over to where they’re sitting. There’s an empty seat on Javier’s right side and you swallow your pride to sit down next to him. You cross your legs again, still keeping a respectable distance from him.

The two of you meet each other’s eyes, giving one another a small nod of acknowledgement before you face forward again. Though, Javier doesn’t look away. His eyes burn into your temple, making you wonder what he’s thinking.

His expression is completely unreadable, which is odd to you because once upon a time, you were able to read him like a book.

During the ceremony, tears are shed, whistles are made, family is united. All while you and Javier repeatedly steal glances at each other. You feel like teenagers all over again: too afraid to approach one another because you were scared of rejection.

When everyone stands to head inside, you linger back, needing a moment to breathe. Sitting next to him for what felt like an eternity messed with your mind. His scent clings stubbornly to your memory, cedar with a hint of leather. It sparks up memories that you aren’t sure you want to face yet.

Javier sits at a table inside with his father. The older man is eating the food that is being served while Javier chews on his nicotine gum. His daughter is on the dance floor with her cousins, a big smile on her face. Every now and then, he looks around for you again, unsure of where you went after the ceremony.

The reception is always Javier’s favorite part at a wedding. It was his favorite at yours too. Family get drunk, it’s an excuse to eat desserts that everyone knows isn’t good for them, laughs are loud and genuine, and memories are made. He remembers how chaotic his cousins were during his wedding reception, but they all had pure intentions.

Finally, he spots you talking to a man he doesn’t know towards the very front of the barn. He sits up a little straighter, chewing on his gun a little harder than necessary at the sight. You seem like you know the guy, putting a hand on his bicep when you laugh at a joke. And it’s not just some fake laugh that you give strangers that you no longer want to talk to, it’s your real laugh. One he hasn’t heard in a long time.

He’s almost about to get up before Chucho speaks up, “No lo hagas. (Don’t do it.)”

Javier glances over at his father, shrinking back at his words. “No voy a hacer nada, papá. (I’m not going to do anything, dad.)”

The older man gives him a knowing look, putting down his fork. “You’ve been the same about her since high school,” he claims, watching Javier take a swig of his beer and look back in your direction. “She’ll talk to you when she’s ready, mijo.”

He knows his dad is right, but that doesn’t stop him from getting the urge to walk over to you anyway. He’s also well aware of the fact that he has no claim over you anymore; you’re a grown woman and you can talk to other people. But it’s still not a sight that he likes to see.

To him, it almost feels like a betrayal. The two of you were together for so long that it feels weird not having you within arms reach. His hand would always be on your thigh, or your shoulder, or your lower back. In his own way, it was him silently telling people that you were already taken – if the rock on your left hand wasn’t already obvious enough.

Javier can’t even remember the last time he actually flirted with a woman. It’s only ever been you and he’s not sure if he wants to try with someone else. Not when you agreed to try with him again. He’s been loyal to you since you caught his eye and it will most likely stay that way, even if you don’t end up back together.

Eventually, you walk away from the guy and sit at an empty table. Javier sees this as an opportunity to approach you, regardless of what his old man said. He takes another swig of liquid courage before he makes his way through the crowd to you.

You look up with a faint smile when he comes up to the table, sitting down with one chair in between the two of you. Still giving you space, but leaving the option to move next to him available. 

“Why didn’t you come sit with me and Chucho?” he asks, draping his arm over the back of the chair.

You shrug faintly, taking a sip from your water bottle. Briefly, his eyes drop to the bottle, taking a mental note of the lack of alcohol. “It didn’t feel right to,” you claim.

Javier furrows his brows at that, keeping his gum in the back of his mouth. It’s a subconscious move, he thinks, knowing that you never appreciated when people smacked their gum during conversations. “You’re always welcome to, cariño,” the nickname slips out but he doesn’t take it back, and you don’t comment on it. “We’re still family.”

“Legally, we’re not,” you jab lightly.

“Regardless of that,” he starts, “you’re still family. You shouldn’t feel weird about hanging around us.”

It’s only then that he realizes how much you’re looking around, probably feeling out of place now that you aren’t binded to his family legally. But legality doesn’t choose that, you do. Especially since you’re the mother of his daughter. If anything, that makes you family by blood.

“It’s just…” you trail off, trying to find the right word, “A little strange that I’m here. People are looking at me like I broke your heart or something.” When you laugh it off, it tugs at his heart.

He shakes his head, “Well, they’re wrong and you shouldn’t worry about them.”

“I know,” you whisper, crossing your arms over your chest – a defense mechanism you’ve had since he’s known you. Like you’re shielding yourself from the worst.

Surprisingly, the conversation is still easy with you; no one’s yelling for once and it makes Javier feel at ease. The barn seems like it narrows down to just the two of you. You share laughs, reminisce about old family drama and the days before everything fell apart.

Just easy.

It was always easy with you, and he hates that he ruined things with his job. He still feels incredibly guilty about making you believe that he no longer loved you or blamed you for anything when that isn’t the case at all. 

He’ll always love you, even if the two of you aren’t necessarily together.

“So,” he draws out, deciding to just ask, “who’s the guy?”

You raise your brows slightly at the question, noticing the jealousy he’s trying (and failing) to hide. “Who?”

“The guy you were talking to before you sat down,” he reminds you, knowing that you’re playing dumb to mess with him.

You shrug, leaning back in your seat and sipping on your water. “Oh, that guy.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “that guy.”

A faint but audible chuckle leaves you, shaking your head slowly. “I thought we agreed not to be possessive of each other. I mean, we’re not together anymore,” you murmur.

He weighs his head from side to side, “Yeah, but that was before you said you would give me another chance.”

“Did I say that?” you inquire, feigning innocence. “I don’t think those were my exact words.”

Javier chuckles fondly, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and drawing your eyes there for a split second. “You didn’t flat out reject me either,” he claims.

“True,” you tip your bottle towards him.

He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. “We could’ve worked out, baby – we should’ve been able to fix things before it got to that point.”

You take a deep breath at his words, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the plastic table cover. You barely process it when your nail pokes a hole through it. “We were pretty young when we got married, Javi,” you shake your head slowly, “Not all couples that start like that actually last.”

“We were supposed to be the one that did,” he starts, hearing you scoff and avoid his gaze. “I am sorry for how I acted. I know how hard it was for you to be in Colombia with me, and I shouldn’t have put my job over our relationship.”

“All you do is apologize,” you express, “but you never actually change.”

“It’ll be different this time,” Javier claims.

“How?” you shrug, “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” he states firmly, “Because I’m going to put in the work. Whatever it takes to get you back.” He pauses, studying your exasperated expression. He knows it’ll take more than just words to fix this, so he suggests something. “I’ll go to therapy with you.”

You furrow your brows at that, confusion spreading across your face. “You know, couples tend to go to therapy before they seperate… not after.”

Despite himself, his lips curve into a small smirk. “I know, but I’ll do it; however many sessions of a stranger telling me my problems and how to fix them. I will do that for you.” He trails off, looking over at your daughter on the dance floor and then back to you, “For us.”

Javier has in fact stuck to his word. Every week, without fail, for the last two months, he’s shown up to therapy with you. Your daughter is ecstatic that both of you are putting in the effort to be her parents again… together.

Now that summer break has started for her, she hangs out with her grandpa while the two of you go to therapy. She’s beginning to push for family dinners every Sunday, but you’d rather take it one step at a time.

To say you’re proud of and grateful for Javier is an understatement. Your mother used to always tell you that he’d never clean up his act.

You’re glad that she was wrong.

This Friday, you and Javier even took the same car. It’s your week to have your daughter, so he thought it would be easier and save gas if you took one car. Plus, he had to drop her off at his dad’s and then head back into town to go to your therapist’s office.

Now, both of you are driving back to the ranch to pick her up. Today, it’s been gloomy all day, but that doesn’t dim your daughter’s smile. She nearly knocks the two of you over when she runs up and hugs you.

“Hola, dulce niña (Hi, sweet girl),” Javier greets her, stroking her hair back.

She looks up at the both of you with a big grin on her face. “¡El abuelo y yo hicimos galletas! (Grandpa and I made cookies!)” she exclaims.

“¿Lo sabías? (Did you now?)” you ask, looking over at Chucho when he gets up from his recliner. You haven’t had much interaction with the man since Javier started going to therapy with you, and you can imagine that he has some words he’d like to share with you.

“¿Puedo hablar contigo? (Can I talk to you?)” Chucho says your name in a soft tone, no sense of audible scolding.

You share a glance with Javier before you nod at his father, peeling away from your daughter and following him into the kitchen.

He sets his cowboy hat down on the island, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. You stand with your hands intertwined in front of you, like you did when you were younger and wanted to ask your parents something you knew they were going to say no to.

“You know he loves you, right?” he asks quietly.

The question catches you off guard for a second, not expecting that to be the first thing he says. “I do,” you murmur, fiddling your thumbs as your nerves build.

“So you can understand my concern when I say that I need you to be careful with his heart,” he expresses sincerely, no room for anything that isn’t serious.

You swallow visibly, your eyes not fraying from the older man. 

“I know you’re adults and you can figure out your feelings on your own–”

You exhale, nearly chuckling. “There’s nothing going on between the two of us,” you claim, shaking your head.

Chucho raises an eyebrow, nodding once, “Sure there isn’t.”

You open your mouth to speak again but your daughter comes running into the kitchen, Javier trailing behind her. 

“I’m sorry, I tried to catch her before she got in here,” he apologizes, picking her up and mumbling something in Spanish to her.

You know he’s lying but you don’t say anything. You’re still stunned about what Chucho just told you.

“Um,” you start, clearing your throat and looking back over at the man who was your father-in-law at some point. He’s still giving you that same knowing look, making your mind frazzled. “We should go before it starts storming. Don’t want to get caught in the middle of nowhere with no service, now do we?”

Before Javier can answer, you’re already heading out to the car, leaving him a little confused. He looks back at his father, adjusting his daughter at his side. “What’d you say to her, papá?”

The older man shrugs, “Nothing she didn’t already know. I just gave her a little push.”

On the drive back to your apartment, you stare out the window the entire time. By this time, the sky looks like it’s just about ready to open up. Every now and then, you glance in the rearview mirror, checking on your daughter. She’s not the biggest fan of storms, and her stuffed bunny is clutched to her chest tightly for comfort.

“Hey,” Javier gets your attention, placing a hand on your thigh and sending heat straight up your spine. 

Now that Chucho’s said something, you realize he’s right. It’s not like you ever stopped loving Javier, you just didn’t feel that connection anymore. But he’s been so patient and good to you for the last 8 weeks, that maybe, you are falling for him… again.

Is it even possible to fall for the same person twice?

If it is, that’s what’s happening to you right now.

“What’d my old man say to you?” he asks, glancing over at you when he stops at a red light. 

You give him the best smile you can muster at the moment, shaking your head slowly. “Just to be careful,” you whisper, softening your expression the longer you look at him.

When he turns his head to continue driving, you admire his side profile in the dim lighting. He’s always been perfect – he was your perfect guy. But even if you do get back together, who’s to say that it’ll be the same level of extreme love again. The kind that pressed in on all sides and kept you warm, safe, and comfortable. 

Honestly, you’re terrified to give your heart to somebody again. Even if it’s the same person that had it to begin with. Colombia made you into two different people that ended up growing apart and resenting each other for major things. 

Neither of you are getting any younger, and it feels like it’s too late to start over with someone else. And you have a child to consider.

“Be careful with what?” he probes gently, putting his hand back on the steering wheel.

The loss of warmth hits you like a punch in the gut, “With our hearts.”

He glances at you again and before you know it, he’s parked in front of your building.

“Can we go inside before it starts pouring?” your daughter asks, pulling you out of your daze.

Both you and Javier chuckle, getting out of the car finally. Javier helps her out, and you lean your head back and close your eyes, taking a much needed deep breath. Being in the car was starting to overwhelm you… well, your thoughts were, at least. Along with Javier’s cologne.

You don’t know how long you stand like that, but your face twitches when you feel the first raindrop. You open your eyes, being met with the dark grey sky and a dozen more drops hitting your face. A clap of thunder rumbles in the distance, telling you that the storm has finally rolled in.

“C’mon,” Javier murmurs, placing a hand on your lower back to lead you inside.

Once you unlock the door, you hear the heavy rainfall begin.

The storm rages on for hours, cutting the power and forcing all of you to huddle up in the living room. Javier is on one side of the couch, and you’re on the other, fidgeting with your earring as you stare out the window. The rain pounds on the glass, muffling the sounds outside completely. 

You look over, taking in the way your daughter is tucked into her dad’s side. She fell asleep at least 20 minutes ago, her body limp against Javier’s. The sight brings a small smile to your face. If you’re being honest, you miss these quiet moments within the three of you. Just basking in each other’s company rather than filling the silence with words. 

Javier catches your eyes, his lips curving to match yours. He shifts – careful of his sleeping child – and places his hand in between the two of you, his palm up. An offer to hold his hand.

You hesitate to overthink it. If you take his hand, you’re letting him back into your life intimately. If you don’t take it, he’ll think it’s a cold shoulder and possibly retreat on everything he’s been doing lately.

Fuck, who are you kidding? Javier’s never going to give up on you, whether you want him to or not. You’re the only person he’s ever loved and it’ll stay that way forever, you think.

Tentatively, you place your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. The warmth of his palm shoots straight through you, reminding you of the good days. 

He rubs his thumb along your knuckles, a contemplative look on his face. You wait, wanting him to ask on his own time instead of pushing him. That’s something major that your therapist taught you when it came to you and Javier’s tempers. Both of you are too stubborn to ever admit that you’re wrong, so you argue. Nine times out of ten, those arguments ended with sleeping in different rooms.

You were such different people back then. It feels like a lifetime ago when you were dating through high school and college. Both of you had high ambitions and thought you could get through anything.

But then his job got in the way.

You don’t think that could happen again, but you also know Javier. He can’t sit still for five minutes and constantly needs to be doing something. He’d deny it but you know he misses the DEA. Maybe not the bureaucratic part of the job, but definitely the thrill of the chase.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice soft and quiet.

“Honestly?” you meet his eyes again, your voice matching his tone, “Your job… and how we were before it got in the way.”

He nods faintly, not taking his eyes off of you. Subconsciously, you shift under his gaze, your skin suddenly feeling hot to the touch.

“Do you think we could ever go back to that?” he whispers, thunder rumbling and rattling the glasses in your cabinet. “Be that in love again?”

“I think we’re on the right track,” you admit quietly, “You’ve been so… supportive and patient, and I really appreciate it, Jav. I know I’m not the easiest to deal with sometimes.”

“Don’t sell yourself short like that, cariño.”

It’s things like that that come out of his mouth.

There are a million reasons you could think of, knowing that the two of you wouldn’t work again. But the heart wants what it wants, right?

By your daughter’s bedtime, the storm is still pounding on the glass and your mind is still warring with you.

The future is a scary thing for everyone. The knowledge that the decisions you make every single day either make or break your life. All you can do is hope that they’re the right choices.

So when you make the choice of leading Javier into the darkness of your room, you can only pray that you’re making the right decision for your relationship and your family.

Lightning strikes, lighting up the room as you light a few candles. Javier stands by the door, hands in his pockets, unsure of what’s happening. Hell, you don’t really know what you’re doing either to be honest.

Emotionally, you’re convinced that he wants you again, but you need some sort of physical tell.

You never thought the two of you could come this far in healing. It feels like a big piece of your soul has found its way back to you. That’s what Javier does to you – he makes you feel whole. Whole as a person, whole as a partner, and most importantly, whole as a mother. It’s time for your family to be complete again.

Tentatively, you take his hand, sitting on the edge of the bed with him. It takes you a moment to find the right words, but once you do, you’re completely open and honest with him. “Do you think we’re doing well?”

“I do,” Javier nods slowly, not daring to break eye contact with you. His thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand, easing your nerves. “You make it easy.”

Heat travels to your cheeks in the candlelit room, tilting your head down to let out an incredulous chuckle. “You can thank my therapist for that.”

“No, that’s all you, querida.”

You meet his soft brown eyes again, knitting your brows together when emotion threatens to spill over. “Do you really mean that?”

Javier doesn’t even hesitate to reassure you, “Of course I do. You’ve grown so much – not only for yourself, but for our daughter, too. She’s incredibly proud of you… and so am I.” He pauses, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and taking a chance, “I am proud of the woman that I love.”

Faintly, your breath catches in your throat. You haven’t heard him say that in years at this point. It was always easier for the both of you to bury your feelings than talk about them. They held so much weight that it sank your marriage. Neither of you ever stopped loving each other: Javier thought he was protecting you by pushing you away, and in return, you thought he didn’t want you anymore.

But that was never the case.

Javier wants and needs you so bad that it hurts. Pushing you away didn’t protect you, it only made things worse – he’s realized that now and he has to stop doing it.

Cautiously, he closes the distance between the two of you, still giving you the chance to move away if you want. When you don’t, he cups your face, rubbing your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb as he studies your infuriatingly beautiful features. Features he loves and sees in your daughter.

He shakes his head slowly, astonishment in his eyes. “You’re so goddamn gorgeous,” he whispers.

That’s all it takes before you close the distance completely, locking lips with him. His plush lips are warm and familiar to you, something you’ve missed deeply.

“Tell me you love me again,” you murmur against them, carding your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I love you.”

Kiss.

“I love you.”

Kiss.

“I love you.”

Kiss.

He does the same thing over and over, laying you down on the bed like you’re something sacred. The next clap of thunder shakes the entire apartment building, but neither of you notice, too busy drowning in each other after years of separation.

His hands slip under your shirt, palms flat on your skin and relearning your body. Yours nimbly unbutton his flannel, needing as much of him as you can get. Javier matches your fervor, pulling your shirt over your head and shrugging off his, tossing them both onto the floor.

You pause, noticing the chain dangling from his neck. His silver wedding band stares you dead in the face, making you wonder if he ever took it off in the first place. You wrap your hand around it, pulling him down for another kiss. The second your skin makes contact with his, he groans, lips trailing along your jawline.

“Javi.”

He pulls back at the sound of your voice, giving you his full attention even though he’d rather rip your clothes off and reclaim you as his once again.

“Promise me,” you start, looking up at him with your arms wrapped around his neck, “Promise me that this isn’t just a one time thing.”

“I promise,” he nods immediately, swallowing back his desire when he realizes how serious you are. “I will put you and our daughter above everything else because that’s what you deserve.”

You believe him. You have to. In order for this to work again, you have to be honest with each other and believe each other over anything else, right?

“Good,” with that, you pull him back down for a heated kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Clothes are discarded, tossed to the floor without second thought. God, you didn’t know how much you needed this until the bulbous head of his cock breaches your entrance, stretching you sweetly. You both sigh in unison into each other’s mouths, kissing to distract from the sting of the stretch.

When you grip his bicep, Javier pulls back to make sure you’re okay before he fills you to the brim. He doesn’t move, allowing you to adjust to his girth as he mouths at your neck. It feels right – like coming home after a long day. In this case, it’s been years. You can finally come up for air after suffocating in your own feelings for so long.

He draws his hips back slowly, watching your face contort in pleasure, before he sinks back in, repeating the action over and over. The slow pace allows you to feel every heavy inch of him, your velvet walls pulling him in deeper. 

Your fingers grip his hair, heat churning low in your belly. “Jav,” you breathe, “Baby.”

He groans at the term of endearment, snapping his hips harder but still keeping it slow and deep, not wanting to rush this intimate connection after so long without you. “I’m right here, cariño,” he presses his forehead to yours, his hands hiking your thighs higher up his waist, “I’m not goin’ anywhere ever again, you hear me?”

A breathy whimper leaves you in response, your thighs being adjusted making you open up more. You feel Javier everywhere: his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling together, his thumbs caressing the underside of your thighs, his big hands gripping them tightly. All while you’re pliant underneath him, right where you want to be.

The storm still rages on outside, seeming to get more intense the longer the two of you stay tangled. The lightning is a blinding white, followed by loud claps of thunder that mask your sounds.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Javier rasps, kissing the corner of your mouth and picking up the pace. “Squeezin’ me so goddamn tight.”

The sound of wet skin slapping grows louder, your slick arousal seeping out of you, down to your ass. Every time his hips retreat, you clench around the head of his cock, chasing the feeling of him.

He adjusts the angle of your hips, driving into that sweet spot deep inside you, making stars burst behind your eyes. You shut them tight, unashamed of your noises now as you tilt your head back, one hand gripping the pillow under your head for purchase.

“Fuck,” your voice is shaky, the familiar tingle at the base of your spine growing more prominent. “I’m close, baby.”

“I know,” Javier whispers roughly, “Where do you want me–”

“Inside,” you don’t hesitate to answer, “Please.”

He lets out a ragged exhale, his cock twitching violently inside you. “Are you sure?”

You nod desperately, looking up at him with pleading eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I am.”

At your confirmation, he slips an arm under you, holding you in place, his other hand firmly holding your hip. A bead of sweat slides down his back as he increases his speed, keeping his length deep inside you. He grits his teeth, holding off on his own orgasm as you near yours, your walls clamping down around him.

Your nails rake down his back, vision going blurry around the edges. Breathy moans escape between your lips, spurring him on to get you to your climax. When you toss your head back, a strike of lightning rips across the dark canopy that is the sky, booming claps of thunder following, drowning out your loud shared noises as electricity ripples through both of you.

Javier’s warm seed spills into you in thick pulses, your gummy walls fluttering helplessly around his sensitive cock, milking him completely dry. He slumps against you, burying his face in your neck, peppering kisses along your sweat-slick skin.

It feels like it’s been forever once you’ve caught your breath, Javier slipping out of bed and padding to the bathroom to get a wash cloth.

Despite yourself, a smile tugs at your lips, satisfied not only with the sex, but with the fact that the two of you have grown so much. When he said he would go to therapy with him, you didn’t think he would actually commit to it the way that he has. And just because the two of you have made up physically, you know there’s still some wounds that need to be healed over time.

Now, he lies beside you, your head resting on his shoulder. You lift it to pepper a few kisses along his skin, hearing him let out a sigh of content. “We’re gonna be okay,” he whispers, looking over at you.

You don’t know how much you believe him until morning comes, the sun shining through the blinds, no traces of last night’s storm. You smile at the peace, finally feeling whole again.

᯽ tags: @missladym1981 , @kirsteng42 , @mcthsman , @petalsinblood , @rosharanfiction , @cuteanimalmama , @harriedandharassed , @madpanda75 , @shadowqueen2024 , @picketniffler , @kokoluwie , @reedispunk , @milla-frenchy , @missadangel , @gothcsz , @kai-lovey , @sawymredfox , @baronessvonglitter , @hanahleah , @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 , @joelmillerspnk , @peepawmiller

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Joel Miller

Love Shack by @aurorawritestoescape

You confess to your stepdad about having a crush and he gets angry and horny about it.

Never Tear Us Apart - part 3 by @milla-frenchy

Joel and Ellie settle in Jackson and Tommy becomes a part of his brother’s life again. One day he brings Joel some unexpected news

Season of the Wolf - part 4 by @mcthsman

The giant wolf that has been killing people around town shares a very striking feature with the quiet man that keeps breaking into your home— They both have the saddest, warmest brown eyes you've ever seen.

Taxi Driver by @milla-frenchy

you have an affair with Joel, a taxi driver. He is obsessed with you

trouser snake by @texasafterdark

you ask joel what a trouser snake is...

Din Djarin

Collide by @604to647

Having returned from a long mission for the New Republic, Din shows you how much he missed you.

Love Drought by @604to647

Din returns to Solana, though your reunion is not what you expected.

True Love Never Has to Hide by @604to647

Din finds you, but is it too late?

The Worthwhile Delay by @ghostofaboy

Din and Cobb are delayed in getting back to Freetown after an excursion into the desert. Luckily Cobb thinks of something for them to do to pass the time Shameless smut.

Marcus Pike

Restoration by @peepawmiller

Marcus is a workaholic, and you're not sure your marriage is strong enough to handle the strain.

Dave York

Thirteen Days by @josephquinnswhore

everyday, you live a life of normalcy; children, a loving fiancé, and an incredible home. Nothing exciting ever happened; until you’re dragged into Dave’s personal business. You’re being held for ransom until Dave is held accountable for his actions; he has 13 days to save you.

Frankie Morales

Kiss It Better by @gothcsz

After standing you up on a date, Frankie makes it up to you.

Over the Andes - Ch 2. and Ch. 3 by @bergamote-catsandbooks

To Love Me Is To Suffer Me by @dreamedaboutitinthedark

After landing in the States after the events of South America, Frankie calls you to let you know he's coming home. To his surprise, you come to pick him up from the airport and bring him back to your shared bedroom effortlessly.

weathering by @berryispunk

Loving him was never the hard part. Letting him go was.

Javier Peña

until the end of time by @cozymochaa

You and Javier have the house to yourselves this weekend.

Tim Rockford

The Nebble Files - Ch.46 and Ch. 47 by @inept-the-magnificent

Multi

Lust (Taste in men part 2) by @milla-frenchy

you’ve spent a perfect night with your best friend Javi and your ex-boyfriend Joel, and the next day holds the promise of what’s to come

Self Recs

The Best Man ~ Joel Miller x f!reader

Decades after your hot summer fling, you run into Joel Miller at his brother's wedding.

Guy-Crazy ~ the PPCU guys x OFC Daisy