taylor swift stan account

Calm. Cool. Casual.

Polite wave. Happy smile. Yes, I will get that recipe from my mamá. Yes, my papá is very glad I’m away from that city. Yes, I’m delighted to be back home. 

Wave again. Smile again. Act like your whole world didn’t tilt on its axis when Javier turned and put you on his bed.

Easy.

How many minutes has it been since you left his room? How many minutes until you can go back?

You still want this?

Did he really think you wouldn’t? After that? Did he think you’d change your mind after he’d made it impossible for you to think at all? 

You wish you were still with him, still touching him, still feeling him. Overwhelming and in control and…sweet? The way praise had tumbled from his mouth and fallen right into your eager ears. You weren’t sure what you had expected. In all the times you’d pictured what it would be like to…

Perfect. He’d told you that you were perfect.

“Why are you smiling like a lunatic?” 

You jump before you turn to glare at Gabe, your brother who is closest to you in age and who has sidled up next to you as you stand on the edge of the patio with a new bottle of water. God, you’re so freaking thirsty, and you don’t think it has anything to do with the heat. 

“I am not.”

“You are. And you can’t possibly be enjoying yourself that much at this party…right?” He raises his eyebrows at you, and you roll your eyes before looking quickly away.

I wouldn’t be so sure.

You make a noncommittal noise. “It’s just nice to see everyone, that’s all.”

Gabe looks skeptical. “Is it?” 

“Yeah…” Your eyes land on Javier across the patio, stuck in another conversation that he’s doing his best to pretend to be interested in. And because he’s distracted you let your eyes linger just a bit longer. 

Was his shirt that unbuttoned before or…You bite your lip, remembering how good he smells right there in the hollow of his throat. How his skin feels under your fingertips, how it feels to be under him entirely…

“You okay?” Gabe asks before taking another drink of his beer. “Maybe you need to get out of the heat.”

No, I tried that. Had the opposite effect.

You shake your head at him and give him what you hope is a convincing smile. “Yeah, fine, I—um—I’m just glad to be back. That’s all.” 

Gabe scoffs. “Sure.”

Are you really this bad at lying?

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

He shrugs, and with more seriousness than you’re used to hearing from him, replies, “I wouldn’t be.”

You frown, feeling a familiar nagging guilt that you had at least gotten away for college while Gabe never had.

He shakes it off just as quickly though, carefree grin retaking its rightful place in his expression. “At least, you’re not the only shiny attraction. Poor Javi is probably saving you from at least a dozen painful conversations.”

You look back at Javier, and he’s smiling but there’s something missing when he does it…like a light with a dimmer switch flipped on. He shifts in place like he’s trying to keep himself from taking off, his right hand coming up to cup and rub the back of his neck. You take another big sip of water.

Do not think about his neck. Don’t think about trailing your mouth along it…or your teeth. Don’t think about it.

“I gotta say I didn’t really think he’d ever come back. Not after so long,” Gabe says, seeming absentminded as he takes another pull from his beer, but the thought sobers you up just enough to try to redirect your attention.

“Me either,” you agree, sounding more wistful than someone who hasn't been pining for him for nearly a decade might. You cough. “Good that he is though.”

Javier’s gaze moves from the person in front of him to you, and you suck in a breath at the instant crackle of electricity under your skin. He wets his bottom lip as his eyes hold yours for just an instant before he looks away again. 

How are you not supposed to think about it? To think about what it feels like to have his tongue on your lip instead of his? To feel his mouth on yours, on your skin, whispering in your ear.

You going to let me fuck you, sweet thing?

You bite back a whine, covering it with another drink of water. If you don’t get out of Javier’s general vicinity in the next three minutes, you are going to give yourself up and how bad would it be for someone to know something is going on before you even really know what that something is?

Not to mention how horrible it would be for it to come out in front of all these people. What a nightmare.

“Well I’m going to go walk around a bit, I think,” you tell Gabe. “Stretch my legs.”

Gabe smiles and gives you a quick nod. “Have fun. I’m going to go see how mad I can make Aarón with my suggestions for his fantasy football league.”

You groan. “Gabe, if you tick him off again, all of us have to live with it.”

“Yeah, but he’s already always ticked off,” he replies, unmoved. “And at least I get to have some fun this way.”

You make it just a few steps, hardly any sort of escape, before your mamá intercepts you, asks you to go get more paper plates from the car. Napkins, too.

“I told you we would need them.”

“You can be right while you go get them, mija,” she tells you with a soft pat on the cheek. Then she’s moving again, getting swept up in something someone needs. 

“Just set them on the table,” she calls back over her shoulder as she leaves.

You walk out front, the people disappearing and the sound of music fading as you do. You nearly get taken out by a pack of children racing around the house as you walk, the same group that nearly does it again on their next lap while you’re making your way back, plastic bags full of party supplies dangling from your hands.

You spin out of the way to avoid them, laughing as you do, and collide right into…

“Easy, bonita,” Javier murmurs, hands brushing yours as he takes the bags from you. “What do you have here?”

“Oh, um…” You’re all flustered again, a bundle of nerves as he looks down at you with a growing smile. Like he knows exactly...

His eyebrow quirks up at you, and you realize you never answered him. “Oh, plates and napkins. I guess we’re running out.”

Javier calls after the retreating children, a small boy near the front immediately perking up and sprinting back.

“Paco, can you take these to the food table for me?” Javier crouches down and asks the kid once he reaches the two of you. “Would help me out.”

“Sure!” The boy beams, takes the offered bags as if he’s been given a sacred mission. “You got it, Javi!”

Then he’s off again, the other kids trailing behind him as they head for the back patio.

“Thanks,” you tell him warmly as he stands back up, “I could’ve done that.” 

“Nope, I need you for something else,” he says, his voice shifting to a lower register with higher urgency. 

He looks around once more before he grasps your hand in his and starts leading you in the opposite direction of the party and out across the side yard. 

A whip of excitement races up your spine as you walk, one you try in vain to dampen in case he really does just need you for something that isn’t going to make your heart race. Not that you can really think of what that might be, not that he’s ever needed you for anything before, but the two of you were just together so if his thoughts aren’t headed the same way as yours, that’s fine. It’s totally—

He tugs you around the corner of one of the outbuildings, and your back hits the siding with a soft thud and an exhaled gasp, the end of which disappears into the press of his mouth against yours. A movement he echoes down the rest of his body as he cages you in, and you’re not sure which is more unyielding: the wall or him.

“Give me a little more, bonita, so I can make it through the rest of this fucking party,” he tells you, hands framing your face so he can angle you just how he wants.

You nod, heart racing after all, as your hands find their way to buttons and urgently bared skin. 

He follows your lead, wide palms skimming along and slipping under the same clothes he had stripped off of you a couple hours ago but perhaps even more impatient this time. 

“You know how much it’s been killing me to watch you walk around this party and pretend like I’m not picturing having you back in my bed?” He asks, his voice a low rasp.

You whine as his fingers dip below the waistband of your shorts. “I think I might—” 

Your head tips back and your words roll into a moan as his hand goes lower, cupping you between your thighs, fingers parting you. He let out a low hum of satisfaction at what he finds. 

“You’re still so wet, cariño,” he murmurs in your ear as he gently pushes a finger inside. “You ready? You think you can can take me again?”

“Yes, yes, yes." You reach up on tiptoes so you can run your mouth along his throat just like you'd thought of doing earlier, but despite your fervent reply, he still leans back and holds your chin so he can meet your eyes, checking to be sure. 

“Yes, Javi, I want to,” you tell him again. “Please.”

A second finger joins the first as soon as the last word leaves your mouth, and you press your forehead into his chest as the feeling of him moving inside you starts to cascade out. 

How will you ever live without this again?

“Come on, baby.” His thumb finds your clit, knowing to keep the pressure light due to how sensitive you already are. “Let me see you come again.” 

It doesn’t take much more before you’re sagging back against the wall, pushing his hand away when it becomes too intense.

“Good girl, done so good for me today. You’re fucking perfect.”

Perfect. There’s that word again, all the more devastating when you realize that you don’t just want to be good or perfect but good and perfect for him.

He slips a condom out of the pocket of his jeans, and you give him a questioning look, knowing he had to grab one from the nightstand before.

Javier chuckles. “I ran back into the house before I went looking for you again. Hoped a second opportunity might present itself.”

He drags down your shorts and his jeans. And while he’s able to keep his mostly on to make this work, you have to slip completely out of your shorts. For the sake of future speed and practicality, you make a mental note.

Skirts. Skirts from now on around him.

He lifts you up, bracing you back against the building and wrapping your legs around his waist as he fits his thick width to your entrance. He’s no easier this time to take as he starts to press in, if anything the stretch is more intense because of the position. 

But you like it, like him inside you, and how complete it makes you feel when he’s all the way in as close as his body can get to yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Come here.”

His mouth slants against yours, absorbing every little cry and whimper that escapes as he starts to move. Just when you think you’ve adjusted, he bends slightly, driving up as well as in. Each thrust hits you deep and right against that spot that makes your vision blur.

“Good girl, take it just like that.”

You clench tight around him as you come again, and he groans, the sound along with his continued steady rhythm extending how long it takes you to come back down. You may not be sure how you can live without this again, but you’re also not sure how you’re going to survive with it.

“Javi.” Your nails claw at his back, scratch along his scalp as you ride it out, and he grunts into the curve of your neck, his thrusts becoming less uniform. Another mental note added.

Nails. He likes when you use your nails.

His fingers dig more firmly into the soft flesh at your hips as he finds his release, holding you hard against him with barely enough room to breathe between you. 

You brush the side of his face with your nose, inhaling how good he smells. He turns his head to kiss you again, longer than is wise under your current circumstances.

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he murmurs when he lets you come up for air. He’s still inside you, apparently not yet ready to pull away. You don’t mind even if your hips and thighs are aching from being held so wide. You would stay like this, wrapped up in him, for as long as he’ll let you.

Eventually he does set you down, helps get you fully dressed again for the second time that day. He sighs as he pushes you back up against the wall once more, kissing you deep. 

He groans after a few minutes, his forehead pressing against yours. 

“Alright, bonita, before I’m even more tempted to push our luck a third time today, why don’t you tell me when I can see you again?”

Should you play it cool? How soon can you say without sounding too… “I’ll be here on Wednesday?”

He shakes his head, kisses you again. “Too long.”

Your heart skips. “Tuesday?”

He shakes his head again and nips your bottom lip. “No.”

You laugh, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. “Tomorrow?”

One of his hands traces up your side, the other still bracing above your head as he stares down at you with brown eyes that heat up when you tremble. “Almost.”

“Tonight?” 

You don’t remember much of Aarón’s tenure as town hero.

With thirteen years spanning between you, most of his high school football games had passed by while you were running around under the bleachers, chasing after Gabe and the rest of your cousins. 

There are a few moments from his senior year that you remember: Aarón standing in the middle of the field and shouting out plays as quarterback, Eli excitedly bouncing up and down on the JV bench, your mamá muttering prayers under her breath, your father and Gabe pacing down at the fence. 

You’ve since heard stories about how your dad always just barely held it together during Aarón’s games…and about the times when he didn’t. 

What you remember the most is the sound. The small town chorus of your brother’s name being chanted over and over, a teenage boy held up as a patron saint. The eldest son of an eldest son taking his rightful place in the pantheon.

Every now and again he would let you see the world from the top of his shoulders. See the way everyone waved and congratulated him. Told him they couldn’t wait to see him play, couldn’t wait to see him go pro.

Every now and again he would let you into his room. Quiz you on team helmets, show you his playing cards (if you were very gentle), watch the sunlight from his window reflecting off his trophies.

Every now and again he didn’t find you so annoying. He’d pass you candy from the hidden shelf, run behind you while you learned to ride without your training wheels, lift you onto his horse with him so you could go flying.

Every now and again, Aarón wasn’t all bad, even if he makes it hard to remember.

Unfortunately, he also wasn’t good enough. There was no torn shoulder, no poorly timed sprain, no epic ending. There were just letters in small envelopes. Phone calls that never rang. Silence where there had once been chanting.

Congratulations eventually turned into polite nods. Trophies moved from top shelfs to closet boxes. No more time to take you flying.

So falls the town hero…until the next one comes along.

 ***

We’ll figure this out.

You shut your eyes and press your head back against the headrest of your bus seat. An hour into the ride back, you’re still turning those words over again and again. 

Had he really meant…

Even as a swell of hope crawls its way into your chest, you frantically try to wall off its way forward.

Because…how? 

Your family would freak, not to mention everyone else in town. The gossip would be sipped down like sweet tea on a summer day. A news bulletin discussed in open air and hushed tones as if it were still a secret. They would analyze your age difference, debate your degree of innocence, speculate on just how long the two of you had been sneaking around, wonder if your father had reached yet for his shotgun…

All their imagined evidence would be placed in the court of small town justice, where the right to face your accuser was more for their benefit than it was yours, where they wouldn’t have any qualms about posing their interrogations as well meaning inquiries. 

A nightmare.

And for Javier… You swear that you can still feel the cold spray striking you as you’d stood in that shower with him and tried to remind him how to breathe, willed him to not push you out of the way as it all came down.

How can you ask him to let his home turn into another place he can’t hide, to be the favorite study of the town magnifying glass twice over?

How could you be enough to balance that sort of scale?

You look over at your purse in the seat next to you and pull it into your lap so you can take out the book you’ve got stashed in there. Javier had laughed when he’d realized part of the reason your suitcase weighed so much was because you’d brought three books on the journey with you. Just in case… 

Well, four actually counting this one, which you’d thought too painfully perfect to not bring along.

A Room with a View. Well worn from being well loved and now…You let it fall open to reveal the page-pressed daisy. The same one that Javier had tucked into your hair this morning while you’d fretted over your flowers.

“They’re going to be ruined,” you’d said sadly, touching the blooms with a reverence fit for a holy relic as they lie in your suitcase. 

To make them as comfortable as possible, you had shoved what felt like more than half the contents of your suitcase into Javier’s once efficient and organized overnight bag. In the process, you might have also swiped one of his shirts. A soft white cotton that smelled of him, the same one you had tugged up and over his head that morning after he set you up on the bathroom counter, kissing you lazily while waiting for the shower to warm up. Both of you letting the heat and steam roll over you, both of you pretending like you weren’t still shivering from the last time you’d been in there.

“I’ll give you more, cariño,” he’d reassured you before reaching over your shoulder, snagging the daisy, and placing it just above your ear with an accompanying kiss on the cheek. He had still been wet from the shower, his hair damp and curling at the ends, water droplets running that you wanted to chase with your tongue. When you had turned into him, he’d immediately sought your mouth, his wide palm resting against the side of your neck. 

You shift in your seat, your body reacting like he’s still murmuring words against your skin instead of just in your memory. How can you miss him so much already?

You had told yourself over and over that you’d make your peace with it, with whatever time you were given, but all it had taken was the impending threat of a return to scraps after days of feast to prove you a liar. 

You know now. You know what it is to have him in easy reach, to fall asleep beside him, to wake up with him. You know what it is to walk with him, his arm around you, to be kissed like you don’t care whose eyes see. And now that you know…how can you forget? How can you go back?

You hadn’t been ready, had dreaded and tried to delay all morning what it would feel like to step back onto this bus. You want five more minutes back in that room with him. And then five minutes more. Five hours more. Five days more. Five weeks more. Hell, five years…

Fuck, that ticking clock. That constant drip, drip, drip of your time running out every time you are with him. You hate it.

And that’s how you know that no matter how impossible it seems, if he were to ask, you would try.

You press your fists against your eyes as if you can push back time along with the tears.

Let me go back. Let me stay. Please. I’m not ready.

But when you open your eyes again, all you see are familiar fields through a dusty bus window.

****

Gravel and dirt crunch beneath the tires of Javier’s truck as he pulls into his driveway, letting out a deep sigh as he flips off the ignition.

He hesitates getting out, almost as if the second he does, he’ll be required to take some sort of action. And after two and a half hours of stewing in his thoughts, he is no closer to a solution even if he has made a decision. 

A sharp rap on his driver’s side window makes him jump and let out a loud curse. 

His dad grins at him through the glass before stepping back so Javier can open his door. “What’re you doing creeping up on people, papá? Don’t you have better things to be doing?”

Chucho pays him no mind as he walks back towards the house. “Not hard to sneak up on you these days, Javi. Your mind is always somewhere else.”

Javier grumbles out an unintelligible response, grabbing his bag from the truck bed before loudly swinging his door shut. The old truck barely rattles, but his father stops on the porch and looks back at him with a disapproving frown. Always has been prickly about his machinery.

“You know for a guy that got away for the weekend, you look pretty beat,” his father tells him, waiting for Javier to meet him. “Must of been an exciting expo.”

Javier pauses briefly on the stairs, though not enough that he thinks Chucho notices. Fuck, he can’t remember a thing about it. Expo, what expo? 

“Oh, yeah, it was…something.” Shit. That felt like a lifetime ago, all the information about new supplements and devices pushed out in favor of things his brain had decided were more pressing, such as…the exact shade of your eyes and every spot you’re ticklish.

You’re so fucked, Peña.

Chucho chuckles, the sound of the door creaking open not loud enough to cover it. “I’m looking forward to you telling me all about it at dinner.”

****

“Take these plates in,” your mother tells you, passing you the same stack of dishes she’s been passing you since you were old enough to not topple over from their combined weight.

You had barely had time to stash your bag in your room before you’d been roped into the kitchen. Your flowers hastily plopped into a large Mason jar, pencils and pens from your desk rolling out in every direction as you unceremoniously dumped them and once again fetched water from the bathroom sink.

“Mija, are you coming?” She’d shouted again just as you walked back into the hall, careful to click the lock on your door as you went.

“Yes, mamá.”

Now, about an hour later, you can hear the distinctive thuds and scrapes of four sets of boots and jackets being removed in the back hallway.

Gabe is the first to appear in the kitchen doorway, quickly making his way to the stove and shoving you out of the way with his hip, fingers snagging bits of meat and roasted pepper before your mom can smack his hand away. 

“Gabriel, not before grace,” she scolds him, and the way she effectively shoos him into the dining room would make any one of your cattle dogs proud.

Aarón is through the door next, his mouth running and Eli nipping at his heels. “I’m telling you, pop, it would be more than worth the investment.”

“I’ll look into it, Aarón, I said I would,” replies your father, bringing up the end of the procession and looking like he’s already had his fill of whatever Aarón is selling. He beams when he sees you. “Ah, muñequita, you’re home. How was your trip?”

I spent most of it with Javi on top of me, Dad. Thanks for asking.

“It was good. Yeah, good.”

He puts his arm around you before kissing the top of your head. “Your mamá told me you worked everything out with your diploma. Did you tell them what I told you to say?”

“Of course, papá.” 

What had that been again?

Before you have time to think of it, he’s already moved on, giving your mom a kiss before heading into the dining room after his sons. 

Your eyes slide to the clock over the sink. A few more hours…

“Mija, plates. Dining room,” your mother repeats, sounding exasperated. “I’m making you a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. You look so tired all the time.”

“Thanks.”

****

“So there was…some fencing.”

Javier’s dad stares at him from across the kitchen table, the worn wood marked up with years of various objects being tossed haphazardly onto its surface.

It used to drive his mamá nuts, never being able to keep it cleared for more than five minutes. 

“Keys go on the hook! Change goes in the jar! What are these papers, Chucho? Javi, why are your books on my table?”

The Peña men would both quickly remove the offending objects with muttered apologies, although never quite understanding why the table couldn’t be used to actually hold things. It just didn’t make sense to either of them. However despite the fact that Maria Peña had been gone for nearly twelve years, Javier still notices that his father will randomly jump to clear it. 

Just like he notices that when Chucho prays the rosary, regardless of blasphemy, he prays to his Maria and not the Virgin Mother. Not that Javier blames him. He would, too, if he still prayed.

“Fencing?” His dad asks before slicing off another piece of steak.

“Yeah, might not fall down every time there’s a gust of wind,” Javier continues, grateful that the details had managed to pop back into his brain.

“Hm, maybe so.” There’s a long pause, not uncomfortable, but Javier knows his father is chewing something over along with his food. “Anything else?”

Javier runs his hands up and down his face. “I don’t know, pop, in all honesty…” He huffs out a breath. “A lot of it just seemed pretty flashy. I’m not sure what would be worth it.”

How to determine if a lead was reliable in an investigation? That he knew. But what will make the difference back home? He still feels like he’s playing catch up out here.

Chucho nods. “Most of it’s not. But I’ve always been of the don’t fix what’s not broken mentality. That’s why I never go to those anymore.”

Javier sits back in his chair, takes a long pull of his beer. “Then why send me?”

“Oh…” His dad shrugs. “Thought you might need to get out a bit.”

Javier’s jaw tenses, the hand not clutching his beer tapping on his thigh under the table. “Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s how you’ve been since you were old enough to open a door handle. We had to keep every door in the house locked or you’d make a break for it.” Chucho shrugs. “I just figured—”

“I’m good, Pop,” Javier says, cutting the conversation off at the pass. He doesn’t need to hear it again. He already knows every line.

“Alright…but if you weren’t—”

Javier stands bringing his half-eaten plate to the sink. “I’m not going to let you down. I said I’d be a partner.”

“Javi, that’s not…” Chucho sighs. “Alright, well, anything else you want to tell me about this weekend?”

Leaning back against the counter, Javier crosses his arms, and maybe it’s the look on his dad’s face or maybe it’s just that Chucho has asked so many times for Javier to tell him something… anything. But Javier almost tells him. Almost tells him everything, what happened before, what’s happening now.

But then he doesn’t. And it’s for the best, because what can really be gained? Why should his dad get dragged into the blast zone for whenever the bomb drops?

Plausible deniability.

Javier shakes his head. “Nothing.”

****

“Did you go out after I talked to you on Saturday, mija?”

“Hm?” You’ve been pushing your food around your plate, not really listening, just waiting for enough time to pass by until you can be excused.

Gabe kicks you under the table, and you jump. “What? Sorry?”

“I asked if you went out on Saturday? With your friends?” Your mom asks again. Five sets of eyes stare at you, and you’re somewhat surprised. Aarón for one rarely listens when anyone else talks.

“Yeah, we did.”

Your mom continues smiling and nods, your signal to continue.

“We went to a tex-mex place and, um, earlier did some shopping.”

“Find anything good?”

“Just some clothes,” you reply, thinking of the couple outfits you’d gotten in addition to your gift for Javier while trying very hard to not let your mind linger there.

“Oh, good. I hope you got a new dress for church. You’re helping me give communion next Sunday. You can show me after dinner?”

“Yes, I—” Damn, they’re all in Javier’s bag. “Yeah, tomorrow, mamá. I’m pretty tired.” You yawn to emphasize your point.

“Sounds pretty eventful,” Aarón chimes in. “And then to take the bus on top of all of that…” He shakes his head with a sympathetic frown. “Would’ve been nice if I could have at least given you a ride back.”

Your hands fall into your lap, fingers twisting as your stomach does. “Oh, that’s okay. I’d already bought my ticket, and my friend’s parents offered to take us to mass so…” The lie tumbles easily after so many times repeated. “I’m sure you wanted to get up and get going this morning anyway.”

Aarón leans back and shrugs. “Well, I had planned to leave pretty early, but there was something else I ended up needing to check on.”

“Oh, really?” Calm down. He could mean a hundred different things.

“Yeah, busy morning.” It was amazing how much implied self-importance he managed to cram into three words. “I made a few appointments with some suppliers I met at the expo, so I thought the timing might work…You know I even called mom this morning to get your bus info. Thought I might catch you before you got on board.”

Your blood runs cold. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Did he see?

“But the meetings ran long so…” He shrugs. “Sorry.”

Your palms are sweating as you try to slow your pulse down. Had you really come that close to getting caught? That close and gotten that lucky? “Yeah…Well, that’s okay. I told mom you didn’t need to worry about it.”

“That’s what she said but…” He smiles again, that syrupy smooth grin that gets your parents every time. “What kind of big brother would I be if I didn’t try to take care of my little sister?” 

What a change that would be.

“It was very nice of you to think of it, Aarón,” your mom tells him, reaching over to pat his hand like he’d just offered to heal the sick.

“You kids will have to plan better next time.” Your dad tacks on. “Would’ve been safer than that bus, muñequita.”

“Yeah, wish it could’ve worked out,” Aarón agrees, sounding contrite. 

“The bus was fine, papá.” You dare a glance at Gabe seated next to you, and the fact that he’s not scarfing down another helping faster than he can spoon it onto his plate tells you he’s listening just as carefully.

“Heck, we could’ve even carpooled with Javier,” Aarón continues with a laugh.

Gabe’s hand covers yours under the table, squeezes once, as your stomach drops yet again at the mention of Javier’s name. 

“Oh, was Javi at the expo, too?” Gabe asks, keeping his eyes on his food and feigning boredom.

“He was,” Aarón confirms. “I offered to go out and get a beer with him after but…seemed like he had somewhere else to be.”

Your dad scoffs, annoyed at the perceived slight to his golden son. “He’s barely left the ranch since he came back. Hardly anyone in town sees him out. I was surprised when I asked Chucho if he was going to the expo, and he told me he was sending Javier.”

“Well Javi’s been through a lot…probably still adjusting to being back.” Your mom says, and you wish you could hug her. “He’ll come out of it.”

“Oh, I’m sure, mamá,” Aarón says, his smile a warm reassurance that he has faith all will be well. “I’m sure he’ll continue to make us all proud. Anyway…”

His eyes flick to you once more before sliding to your father. “You about done, pop? Kickoff is in five.”

Your dad nods, setting down his napkin and pushing back his chair. Aarón and Eli quickly follow while you stay glued to your seat. 

Was that…was that it? You’d been sure for a moment there that you were about to meet your end.

“Mamá, why don’t you go sit for a bit? We can take care of the dishes,” Gabe offers, and your mom looks surprised but grateful, already starting to clear.

“Don’t you want to watch the game?” She asks him. 

“No, I’ve already seen that one.” He gives your hand another squeeze before releasing it and standing to usher her into the living room.

Your mom looks at him, confused, as he leads her away. “It’s a live game.”

“Yeah, but you know…run, kick, pass, whatever.” Their voices trail off into the other room. 

You try to steady yourself as you too stand up, but your hands are shaking as you reach for your plate.

“Let me get that,” Gabe says quickly, appearing back at your side. “Broken dishes will definitely raise some alarms. Go in the kitchen and walk it off.”

You nod, moving quickly, with Gabe a few steps behind.

“Shit,” you say once you’re sure the two of you are out of earshot. “Shit, I thought for a second…”

Gabe nods. “Yeah…I kept waiting for the axe to fall.”

“If he had something, he would’ve said, right?” You ask, afraid to hear the answer. “I’m okay?”

Gabe stares at the floor, considering. “All he’s talked about since he got home is that damn expo. You’d think he’d attended a gathering for the UN. Plus, he got home after you, said the same thing about having meetings…Could’ve just been making dinner table conversation.”

You wait, trusting his judgment better than your own racing thoughts.

“Javi didn’t let anything slip, right? When they ran into each other?” He asks, and you note that at the very least you and Gabe have dropped the pretense of pretending he doesn’t know.

You shake your head. “He said he handled it. Maybe I’m being paranoid?”

Gabe sighs and rubs his forehead. “No, Aarón’s always had a weird competitive thing with Javi, and I’m sure what happened when they came over for dinner piqued his interest. You know, when Javi almost punched him and unfortunately didn’t?”

“Surely someone almost punching him is a regular occurrence though?”

“Not regular enough apparently.” Gabe frowns. “I think for now just be careful. And keep an eye on him. I’m sure if he does get something, you’ll find out, and not in a way you’ll like.”

 ****

Javier walks back into his room after his shower, clean again after evening chores. From the hallway he could hear the TV blaring away in the living room along with the sound of Chucho snoring. Most nights he’s as likely to fall asleep out there as he is in his own room, and Javier has long since given up trying to wake him when he does.

Javier’s bag is still sitting where he left it on the bed, waiting to be unpacked, and he decides now is as good a time as any. It’ll be a bit still before you show up at his window.

He pulls your things out one by one, placing them in neat stacks on the bed. Some of your clothes still have the tags on, purchases from your trip to the mall. His favorite item from that venture is currently in his hand, the soft fabric running between his fingertips. 

Had that really only been last night? 

Maybe he should keep it here, along with a few of your other things. You tend to end up here most nights anyway. You’d made the call at the start that your house had too many people to risk him trying to come there.

At least ranch life comes with a consistency that the two of you have been able to plan by. You know exactly what time evening chores will end, what time everyone will turn in for the night, when it’s safe for you to duck out of your farmhouse, cross your yard and start your car in its spot on the far end of the garage. You know how far to drive with your headlights off, to take the back lane out that doesn’t pass by the house. You know which outbuilding to stash your car behind once you reach Peña land. You probably even know the exact number of steps from your car to his window. And you know exactly how early you have to be back before the first of your family are up for morning chores.

It’s a routine that sits far too firmly on your shoulders in Javier’s opinion, even if he does understand the reasoning behind it. 

Another thing that needs to change.

Javier sets your clothes on top of his dresser, ready for you to take back with you. All except the light blue lace, a t-shirt and a soft pair of leggings that you’d packed. Those he thinks he’ll stash in one of his dresser’s empty drawers, telling himself it’s practical that you should keep a few things here. After all, he’s got space.

Most of his clothes are hanging in the closet, the same as when he’d first arrived back home. He’s been making do with the same button-ups and jeans he used to wear to work as DEA. He hasn’t added anything new, and in the rest of his room he hasn’t even added anything that’s old. Most of his possessions from his Bogotá apartment are still in boxes in the corner. 

Maybe since he’s already unpacking…maybe it’s time he actually moved in.

****

You can hear the music playing before you reach his window, left slightly open to let in a cool night breeze. When you reach it, you can see he’s up and moving around, not seated at his desk like he normally is when he’s expecting you, his eyes scanning the pages of a newspaper or a book that he quickly sets aside when you arrive. 

You push the window up higher, the gentle slide making enough room for you to boost yourself up on the ledge. Javier hears you, turning from the wall and setting aside the hammer and nails he had in his hands.

You grin at him, and he smiles back before he crosses to pull you through. 

It’s one of your favorite parts. The small fall into his arms as you cross the threshold, an excuse to bury your face in his chest and breathe him in after time spent apart. It always goes by too quick, that suspended moment, but tonight you don’t mind so much, stepping back to take in the changes on display.

“You’ve been busy,” you say quietly before starting a slow circle around the room.

The music is coming from a record player with twin speakers, a stack of records propped up beside them and set up on his dresser just below a mirror that hadn’t been there before. He has a few other things up on the walls, too. Shelves for his collection of books, a collage of photographs filled mostly with people you recognize but some you don’t. On one wall there appears to be paintings of dogs that you will definitely be asking him about later.

It’s not a lot, not compared to the self-expression explosion that is your own room, and the still open boxes tell you he’s not yet done. But for the first time, the room feels less like temporary storage and more like a place to live in.

“I like it,” you tell him, and you’re rewarded with one of those rare flashes of dimple on his cheek. “What made you start this…project?”

He shrugs, and his own tone is just as low when he tells you, “Just seemed like time to unpack.”

Javier picks back up the hammer and nails from where he’d set them on his desk, crosses the room with them before placing them back in an old tool box by the door.

When he turns back around, you’re already there, reaching up on tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him towards you while your heart thunders in your chest. He sinks into your kiss like a man willing to drown, and you let the power whip through you like a current as you nip at his bottom lip.

“Hey, Javi?”

“Yeah?” His voice is laced with a deep rasp that you want to hear again and again, and you had been thinking on the way over of a way to do just that, thinking of a detail from your trip that you haven’t been able to get out of your mind.

“You remember last night when you…” Your head tips back as his mouth moves down your neck, one of his hands at the small of your back and the other wrapped up in your hair. “You remember when you told me to get on the bed or you’d fuck me on the desk?”

He groans, pulling you tighter, and you can already feel him through his jeans. “Yeah.”

“I, um, I would’ve—” Your breath catches as his teeth scrape along your collarbone. “I would’ve let you.”

“Christ.” His left hand slides down into the back pocket of your jeans, squeezing you before pulling you up against him and using his right hand to cup your jaw. “You would’ve let me or you want me to?”

“Both.”

The backs of your thighs hit the desk, just like the night before, only this time there’s no last second restraint. Instead of pulling back, he’s turning you around, pushing your front down against the wood.

His touch is rough as he drags down your jeans and underwear, and you can hear the sound of his belt buckle clink as one of his hands kneads into your ass. You look over your shoulder just in time to see him wet his fingers with his tongue and stare down at you without a trace left of that warm caramel in his eyes. 

“Like you were fucking made to drive me crazy,” he murmurs, and you clap your hand over your mouth as you feel the first finger breach your entrance. “Crawling into my room in the middle of the night and telling me how you want to get fucked.”

You let out a low whine that your palm can’t quite cover as he starts to stretch you open. And even if you couldn’t feel how wet you are, you can hear it. 

He exists. Your body responds. It’s just that simple.

“Fuck,” he mutters with a pained sound, and a second finger joins the rapid rhythm. You arch into the pressure, grinding yourself back against him. “Just look at you, cariño. You ready?” 

You nod, not trusting yourself to take the hand from your mouth long enough to tell him. 

He pulls his fingers out and nudges your legs further apart with his foot before lining himself up. “Hold onto the desk, bonita.” 

You grip the edge of the desk with your free hand, and he chuckles, delicious as sin. “Both hands, baby. You’re going to have to be good and be quiet for me while you take it. Can you do that?”

Jesus. If you weren’t lying half on the desk, you are pretty sure you’d be on the floor. You nod again, your teeth digging into your bottom lip in preparation as you remove your hand and clutch the other side.

The first thrust knocks the air from your lungs, but you manage not to cry out before you gasp a shaky breath back in. “Good girl,” he murmurs, voice strained.

He pulls almost all the way back out before driving in again, and your knuckles go white from how hard you’re holding the desk. He’s so deep like this, almost too much and still making you want more.

“Javi, please,” you whisper, hoping he can hear you. He lowers himself on top of you, pressing you harder into the wood with his chest against your back, and his hand tilts your head back so he can kiss you deep while he starts up a slow circular grind inside you.

A small moan escapes into his mouth, one he swallows down, before giving you one last soft kiss. “Tap the table twice if it’s too much, understand?”

You nod but buck your hips back into him as you do. He grins. “That’s my girl.”

One set of fingers dig into your hip as he stands back up, his other hand reaching forward to bury itself in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling gently but firm enough that you’ll arch your back for him.

When he starts to move, you understand why two hands was his requirement. His pace is hard and fast, his breathing and your own coming in pants. You have just enough mental awareness to stay quiet and to be grateful that the desk is just far enough away from the wall that it doesn’t slam against the wall each time he slams into you.

He isn’t the only thing that takes you hard and fast. Your orgasm does, too. Building heat with each stroke like kindling until it catches fire. He releases your hair as you come down, stroking his wide palm up and down your back as he keeps chasing his own release. When the next wave hits you, you’re not sure if you’re still riding that same high or have rolled into a whole new one. 

On the edges of your awareness, you hear Javier curse. “Get so tight when you come, cariño. Feel incredible.”

He drives into you once, twice more, his pace starting to trip, and you take what little strength you have left to push back into him and bring him over the edge. His hands grab onto your upper arms as he starts to come, tugging you back against him so you’re flush against his chest as he fills you. Then his arms are wrapping around you, his lips pressing into your shoulder as he holds you.

“You okay?” you hear him murmur a few moments later. Your hands are braced on the desk in front of you, holding you both up.

“Fuck, yes,” you shoot back. “Although I think my arms are about to give out.” He grunts, standing up straighter but dragging you back with him so that you’re stumbling and trying to hold in your laughter as he heads for the bed.

The springs creak as you both fall back into it, and you shush him. He grins and points to his ear, telling you to listen. It takes a second, but then you finally notice the sound of an action movie coming from the TV in the living room.

“That television is up so loud that the barn could explode, and he wouldn’t hear it. I’ve been hammering holes in the walls in here for hours, and he didn’t so much as twitch,” Javier says with a laugh while he pulls you against his chest. “Plus we’ve got the music for a little extra sound proofing now.”

You glare at him. “Then why did you make me stay so quiet?” Your tongue runs along your abused lip, and you’re pretty sure you taste blood.

His grin gets wider, even as he sympathetically traces your lip with his thumb, bends down to soothe it with his tongue. “I just wanted to see if you could, baby. I’m going to store that information away for later.”

You smack his chest, and he laughs as he rolls you on top of him. You can’t help but grin, too, as you stare down at him. That is until his eyes drop from yours, his expression turning more serious.

“I did some thinking on the way back from Austin,” he tells you, and your heart skips.

“Good thinking?” You ask, trying not to let the nervousness seep into your tone.

“What do you think about…” His eyes come back to yours as he tucks your hair behind your ear. “What do you think about trying to get people used to the idea of—well—of us?”

Your answer is a kiss so deep that it doesn’t end until you’re crawling back through his window in the last hour before daybreak. And even then, it doesn’t surprise you one bit to feel his hand grabbing yours before you’ve gotten too far. Just for one minute more.

****

Getting people used to the idea of the two of you seems simple enough… in theory. All news gets old. Word of mouth gets repeated enough that it runs out of mouths. Something shiny and new will inevitably claim the spotlight…eventually.

The problem is that in a small town…eventually can take years. And in the meantime?

Hell.

“Okay, so… tomorrow morning. 8 AM mass. The fourth pew from the front on the right side.”

“Bonita, you’ve told me this at least ten times,” Javier reminds you in return, not actually annoyed, though his nerves are starting to set in a bit. Regardless of if he used to see your family almost weekly, including at mass, for the majority of his life.

However, this is different. This is part of the shoestring plan to somehow get your father and all your brothers to not lead the town mob when they find out he wants to do more than shake hands with you during the sign of peace.

Well, almost all your brothers. You’ve told him that Gabe knows, which actually makes Javier feel somewhat better. He’s always liked Gabe. And that he seems okay with it makes Javier a little less convinced he’s going to burn in hellfire as soon as he steps across the threshold of St. Michael’s.

Braving eternal damnation aside, the idea to just subtly get people desensitized to seeing the two of you together isn’t a terrible one. And so far it’s meant he gets to see you a bit more, even if it’s not exactly how he’d like. 

Earlier this week you had roped him into a staged to run in at the grocery store so you could be seen chatting in the aisles by all the town's busy bodies. No touching, of course, which Javier felt should qualify as cruel. Especially since all he could think about was that first time he’d run into you there. The first time he’d noticed that his touch made you tremble.

On his own, he was also in charge of “getting out more.” Another idea of yours that he had tried very persuasively to change your mind on. Even though he knew it was a good one.

The Ag Hall meeting he’d attended with Chucho so he could be seen as an upstanding participant in society was currently in the lead as the worst of it. Before attending, he’d been pretty sure he could handle it considering the number of bureaucratic bullshit meetings he had attended as a DEA but this…He’s fairly certain he heard them vote on if they could move coat hangers for fuck’s sake.

And now mass. Jesus Christ. It’s like walking into the fucking lion’s den. Most of the town will be there, watching his every move and eager to ask him questions he doesn’t want to answer. But if this works…

He glances to where you’re sitting with your legs dangling off the side of his bed, your dress giving him a substantial view of skin while you watch him reach into the back of his closet, dragging to the front clothes he hasn’t needed to wear for months. 

You’re here earlier than normal tonight. Chucho and your parents had all gone out with a larger group of friends and weren’t expected back until late, and Javier had waited however long it took for the dust to settle behind his dad’s truck before getting into his own and driving to pick you up. Safer than risking your parents coming back and noticing your car gone, and with the added benefit of getting to pull over at least once…or twice.

“Oh, I like that one,” you tell him, getting up off the bed and coming to stand beside him in front of his closet. 

“Which one?”

“This one.” Your small fingers grasp the sleeve of his navy blue suit jacket. “Always like you in blue,” you say with a wink.

He pulls it out and starts looking for one of his dress shirts. 

“And you remember all the moves?” You say nervously at his side. 

He looks back over his shoulder at you. “The moves?”

“Yeah, you know…” You make the sign of the cross, your brow pinched with worry. “Like when to kneel and stuff.”

He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he turns to gather you into his arms, leaning down to murmur in your ear, “Are you saying you want me on my knees?”

You shove at him, laughing now too. “Javi, be serious.”

“I am.” He starts to kneel, and you tug him back up so you can kiss him. He quickly takes over, turning it soft and slow, letting his hands sweep up and down your arms until you seem calmer.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as you press your palms against his chest. “God, I’m just nervous. I know it’ll be fine. It’s just mass. Just feels like a lot of people watching.”

He sighs, brushing your hair back from your face. “What can I do, bonita?”

You bite your lip, look up at him from underneath dark lashes. “You could distract me for a bit?”

“Distract you?” 

“Yeah, just for a bit?” You reach up and brush your lips against his.

Fuck, he likes when you’re greedy, when you so clearly want him. Likes that you’re getting just a little bolder as time goes on.

“You want to stop thinking for a little bit, baby?” He murmurs down to you. “That what you’re saying?”

You nod, letting your mouth drift down to his neck, and as he turns his head to give you better access, his eyes land back on his closet. 

Funny how certain ideas…once they take root, they’re just impossible to shake. 

He tucks his finger under your chin so you’ll look up and meet his eyes. “You trust me?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve it but he would do just about anything not to lose it. 

He steps away from you, reaching back into the closet and pulling out a long, dark red tie from the hanging rack. 

You want to not think for a bit? Maybe a bit longer? He can do that.

He goes slow, giving you time to tell him if you change your mind, making sure you remember your safe word, but you don’t show anything but an innocent excitement as he strips you down, situates you on his bed, and raises your arms above your head. Secured to the headboard, the tie wraps around each of your wrists, tight enough that you won’t easily slip free but loose enough that it won’t hurt you.

He tests it once more, bracing himself over you. He’s stripped down as well and you’re making it hard for him to focus with the way you keep rolling your hips up and brushing against him. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans down to kiss you, and he doesn’t stop until you’re more than a bit breathless. 

His forehead presses into yours. Fuck, he’s going to enjoy this. 

Without your hands on him, he finds he has more patience than he usually does. He’s able to linger a bit longer, savor every reaction.

He works his way down in stages, devoting ample attention to the curve of your neck, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your arms taper into those delicate wrists he has bound.

By the time he reaches that first peak, sucks the sensitive tip of your breast into his mouth, you’re already squirming beneath him, pressing your thighs together as little moans slip free. He lets you…for now.

“Mi bonita,” he murmurs before kissing a path to the other side of your chest, his tongue circling and flicking over your nipple until it’s hard enough for him to tease it with his teeth.

Your back arches, fingers grasping the tie as you try to get him to give you more. And there’s that thrum again in his head to mark you as his, to stake his claim. He's never felt like that before, never thought about it…never thought so fucking much at all during sex until you.

He sinks a little lower, pausing to bite and suck a mark into your skin just under your breast. Easy to hide, just like the first time he gave it to you, but he doesn’t want to hide anymore. 

He runs a path down your stomach, skims down your sides, lifts you with his hands around your waist so that you bow your back as you say his name.

Then he moves lower again, settles himself between your legs, kisses and nips his way up your inner thighs. You can’t press them together now, the next time you get relief it’ll be from him.

His tongue drags through your folds, his fingers parting you so he can get every drop that’s been waiting for him. You’re so slick, so wet that his fingers slide in easily, letting him press against that spot that makes you whine while his mouth works your clit.

He knows the second you’re about to tip over the edge that first time, feels you tensing, the way your body feels taut and your breathing picks up, and he waits, waits until the last instant…then he pulls away, rests his cheek against his leg as he watches you. 

You lift your head up, staring down at him, dazed. You look so pitiful as you try to wrap your head around what’s happened that he almost forgets the whole thing. 

“Javi, what are you…”

He kisses the inside of your leg. “I’m making you forget how to think.”

He’s true to his word. By the time he slowly works you back up to that edge again before quickly pulling away for a second time, need is occupying nearly all your instincts. Including the one for speech.

He’s always been addicted to the way you sound, since the beginning it’s shot straight through him. And right now as his name mixes with a steady stream of moans and whimpers, the mattress he’s pressing himself into offers little in terms of reprieve. 

One more time, one more time, and there won’t be a thought left in that pretty, smart head.

“Come on, baby, give me a little more, and I’ll let you come.”

Your thighs press against both sides of his head as he puts his mouth back on you, and you’re shaking slightly as you plea with him not to stop. 

It doesn't take much, you’re already wound so tight. Just a bit longer and…

The sound of the front door shutting breaks into his brain. Oh, fuck…

He raises up on his knees, and judging by the way you whine, you’re not remotely aware that the two of you are no longer alone. His hand clamps across your mouth as you stare up at him with desperate eyes. 

Was Chucho back early or had he just lost track of the time? Javier keeps listening, hoping to hear the TV but instead just hears noise coming from the kitchen as he settles himself back beside you. 

“Cariño, you have to be quiet, okay?” He whispers to you, keeping his hand over your mouth while the other dips back between your legs. You whimper against his palm. “I know, baby. Just like we practiced, remember?”

You nod, your eyes squeezing shut and your head tipping back as his fingers find your clit. He murmurs to you the entire time, right up until he feels you about to break, then he replaces his hand with his mouth. 

Your cry is silent when the force of it hits, but still he feels like he absorbs it, the impact magnified and amplified by how long he kept this from you. And when your eyes open again he can see that they’re blind. 

He tugs at the tie, the knot falling loose, so he can drag you up against him. And as soon as you’re free, your hands grip his arms, his chest, scrambling against him for purchase on a still crumbling cliff. 

“Good girl. Did so well,” he tells you again and again. “Perfect girl.” 

Your breathing starts to even back out first, long before your body fully relaxes into his. It’s even longer before you speak. Half words and sentences as you drift.

The house is quiet again by the time you start to stir. And he’s half-asleep himself, though still hard and aching for you, by the time you say anything that he can really make out.

“Javi…”

He lifts up, separating from you just enough that he can stare down at your face. He’s been hesitant to let go of you, but now maybe he can slip away to get you some water, grab a washcloth to clean you up and take care of you.

But you tug back at him, shifting until he’s on top of you. “Javi,” you say again, “need you.”

He doesn’t hold anything back from you now, gives you everything even as he keeps the same slow pace he’d had before. Your freed hands run along his skin, fingers pressing into his back, his arms, palms holding the side of his face. He moves, and you move with him.

“Need you. Need you. Need you.” The words keep tumbling out of your mouth, and he’s afraid to admit how much he needs you, too. To you or to himself.

Because what if he loses you?

Your fingers are in his hair, just the way he likes as you pull him down to you, press your forehead against his as you trade air back and forth. 

“Javi,” you murmur again, “you don’t have to think either. Not right now.”

When your mouth meets his, he lets you strip it clean.

You fall asleep next to him after, his body curled around yours as you wrap yourself around his. You haven’t asked to be taken back yet, and he’s not about to volunteer, not when you’re comfortable and warm against him, a small satisfied smile on your lips while you sleep.

Just before the sun starts to rise, you both wake, some internal alarm clock reminding you both that time is running out. But you still slip your clothes on as slowly as he’d undressed you the night before, his fingers skimming along your spine as he zips the back of your dress up for you and places a kiss at the base of your neck. 

He pulls up to the back corner of your property about 20 minutes later, and you give him one more kiss before you prepare to make a run for it.

“I’ll see you in a couple hours, okay?” he tells you as you hesitate with your hand on the door. 

You nod, no tears this time at least. “See you at the church, Javier Peña.” You wink at him and jump out, before leaning back in to tell him, “You better be on your best behavior.”

He grins, but makes no promises. Although he thinks of plenty on the way back. 

The sun is fully up by the time he gets home, and Javier sinks down on the front porch stairs before he heads inside, pausing for just a few minutes to collect his thoughts. And perhaps, given the week he’s had, it comes as less surprise than maybe it should that he hears the front door creak open a minute later, the slow stride of his father before he sits down beside him.

“Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you, Javi?”

Javier props his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands. “How long have you known?”

“Since the kitchen, mijo. And before you ask, yes, I know you’ve been sneaking her into the house practically every night. The least you could do is have her park in a different spot. She’s killing my grass behind that barn.”

Javier drags his hands down his face, laughing at himself. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Do I ever?”

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, and just like always, Chucho is the first to break it. “I didn’t say anything because when you started seeing her, you stopped spending every night staring at a whiskey bottle.”

Javier nods, accepting the truth of that, but it takes him a few more minutes before he offers, “I didn’t want you to get caught up in it if things…I didn’t want you to have to deal with it.”

“Javier, does it ever occur to you that I want to deal with it? That it’s actually worse for me to watch you deal with it alone?” He sighs. “Just…just tell me one thing. Do you know what you’re doing here? With her?

“No,” Javier says, staring out at nothing in particular. “I just know I can’t do it without her.” 

“What?”

Javier thinks of you pressed against his back, arms wrapped around him and palms on his chest, your steady presence pulling him back from his nightmare.

“Breathe.”

****

Best behavior. You’re certain those are the words you used. Although apparently the interpretation of those words was up for debate.

You can’t believe he’s doing this to you. And yet…

The absolute nerve of Javier Peña. Walking into church with his father. Smiling like the devil. Wearing that tie.

You know it’s the same one because not only would you recognize it amongst fifty others, but when he saw your eyes drop quickly to it and back up as he walked up the aisle, he actually winked at you while he straightened the knot.

How are you supposed to act like nothing is going on, like you’re simply old family friends getting to know each other again, when you’re thinking of how much you’d like to bite him?

“Well, well, well, if it isn't the messiah,” Aarón smirks, seated on your right side, and your focus snaps from Javier as you turn to glare at your eldest brother.

Seriously? Javier attending church offends him now too? 

Aarón had been intolerable this week. Even more so than usual. Even after his Ag Hall meeting, which normally puts a spring in his step since he gets to boss people around for a few hours, his mood had been black. A kettle on a constant roiling boil.

Fortunately, your mother also seems to have had enough for once as she leans over you to shush him. Unfortunately, Aarón just rolls his eyes, and Eli snickers.

What would happen if Eli actually developed a personality outside of being Aarón’s sidekick? Does he even have interests apart from kissing Aarón’s ass? He really should have gone away to school. It might have helped. They all should’ve, but when Aarón didn’t get into where he wanted, he didn’t go. So then Eli didn’t go. And then Gabe…well he had a hard time convincing your father that he needed to go when his two older brothers hadn’t. 

Your father hadn’t wanted you to go either, even with everything paid for through academic scholarships and the meager earnings of your part-time job and a few loans (though you don’t tell him about those). But you’d slowly worn him down. Or your mother had. One of the two. Maybe both.

“I’m just trying to figure out why everyone is so fascinated,” Aaron continues, speaking directly to Eli now and continuing to ignore your mother’s dirty look. “I mean, you heard him say it. He wasn’t even there when they shot Escobar.”

Of course, of course, that would be a hang up for Aarón. If you’re not holding the trophy at the end then what else matters?

“And still everyone is falling all over themselves to shake his hand. Just look,” Aarón says with disgust. You follow his eyeline and see that Javier has settled into his pew and is indeed being bombarded by people on all sides.

Knowing he is likely miserable with the attention, you decide it’s okay that he wore the tie if it helps him survive the morning.

“I mean how do we even know that he did anything down there?” 

You stare at the prayer books and wonder if they’re heavy enough to cause a concussion, one mild enough that you won’t have killed someone in a church but severe enough that Aarón will shut the fuck up.

“Could all be made up. Pretty sure there’s still a drug problem,” Aarón says with a laugh, and you very nearly manage to still keep it bottled up until you notice that your dad is nodding along with him.

How is this ever going to work with Aarón constantly being…well, himself?

“Javi’s work helped catch Escobar and bring down the Cali cartel,” you argue, knowing there’s unchecked emotion in your voice as you do. “People should be proud of him. Who cares if he fired the fucking bullet?”

“Mija, we are in church,” your mother warns again.

Aarón turns to look at you as if he’s just remembered you’re there.

“You two…So protective of each other,” Aarón says to you, his voice low enough that only you can hear it now. “How cute.”

The panic pours over you like a bucket of ice water, only this time you know it’s not paranoia. “What? What do you mean–:

“Oh, nothing,” he taunts, giving you a slick smile. “At least nothing I’m willing to discuss right now.”

The church organ blares to life as mass starts, and he stands while you stay seated until your mother pokes you in the arm.

Oh shit.

Gabe catches your eye from your mother’s other side and gives you a questioning look, and you try to scream it at him through your returning gaze alone.

He knows. He knows something.

You don’t know how or what he knows or why he seems to be holding onto it, but if he’s holding it over your head like his favorite toy…What does he want? A bribe? What do you even have to offer?

You stare at the back of Javier’s head, try to think of ways you can pull him aside, slip him a note, give him a signal…something. But he’s not looked back at you once. In fact, he’s doing a very good impression of someone who is attentively listening. On his best behavior after all.

Damn it.

He’s not close enough for you to shake his hand during the sign of peace, not without having to very obviously climb over several parishioners to do so.

When it’s time for you to help pass out communion, you think you might have your chance. But of course, there’s practically a race within the female ranks for who will get to give communion to the still single Javier Peña. And given that you’re handed your goblet of holy wine last, you are assigned the opposite side of the church.

Your first opportunity doesn’t come until everyone is filing ouside, and you’ve almost caught up to him when one of your mother’s friends steps in front of you, pulling you to the side to ask you if you’re still offering babysitting.

By the time you shake yourself free again, he’s already in the parking lot. Close enough to be in shouting distance. The only problem is that Aarón is already a hell of a lot closer.

****

When Javier had missed you exiting mass, he’d decided to make his way over towards your family outside. His intention was to say a quick hello, smile and be on his way. After all, he was here. He’d been seen. No need to try to cram everything into one go.

But he’d stopped dead when he’d seen Aarón leaning up against his truck. Bright red and as big as his ego.

Not just his truck. The truck. The same one he’d seen in his rearview mirror as he’d watched you get on the bus. The same one that had nagged at him until he’d brushed it off because trucks in Texas are as common as cattle.

Now he knows where he’d seen it. Aarón’s truck. The same one he’s had since high school. And even if it has been eight years since he’s seen it last, he’d know it anywhere now.

Fuck.

Aarón’s lip curls as if he knows exactly what Javier is thinking, and maybe he does, maybe you’re not the only one with a bad poker face anymore. Javier stands his ground and waits as Aarón pushes himself off the side and starts walking over, his leisurely pace not even fast enough to kick up gravel from the lot in his wake.

“Javier, great to see you out and about so much this last week,” he says cooly. “First at the expo then at Ag Hall and now at mass. Nothing for eight years, and now you’re everywhere.”

“Aarón…” Javier warns him, his eyes automatically scanning for you as his instincts register the impending threat. Fuck, where are you? 

Aarón stops right in front of him, close enough for an easy swing, and though Javier doesn’t see you yet, he does see Eli waiting in the wings. Meanwhile your parents are distracted, talking to another couple from church along with Chucho, which means the only other person paying attention–as of right now–is Gabe, who has already started to move this way, his trajectory taking him closer to Javi’s side of the starting line than Aarón’s.

“I feel like I saw you one other place…It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Aarón crosses his arms across his chest, kicks the toe of his boot into the ground like he’s thinking hard even while aggression is filling out every inch of his frame. Still it’s the fact that he’s toying with him, playing him, that has the hair on the back of Javier’s neck standing up.

Asshole. Javier’s fists tense at his sides, and he tries to push the urge away, that consuming black threatening to pull him in. He feels like there’s a weight at his back again, that if he just reached for it he’d feel it in his palm, even though he knows it’s not there.

A car starts nearby, engine backfiring, and Javier jumps before squeezing his eyes tight shut for the second he allows himself.

This isn’t Colombia. 

“Aarón.” Gabe is at Javier’s right now, nearly level with him. “For fuck’s sake, what are you doing? Besides being a jackass.”

Aarón’s eyes narrow as he stares his brother down, and his voice gets a little louder before he speaks again, “Do you know what he’s been up to? Our town hero?”

Hero. The word wraps around Javier like barbed wire. When will people stop calling him that? Well…maybe, today.

“Aarón, let’s talk…somewhere else,” Javier tries, extremely aware of the eyes starting to turn their way. Unfortunately, he’s not the only one who sees them.

“Oh, I remember the other place I saw you,” Aaron exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You had my little sister pressed up against your truck in the middle of San Antonio last Sunday.”

There it is.

People are starting to murmur all around, the whispers reaching your parents and his dad as the fallout radius widens. Maybe you saw what was happening and ran…maybe you were tipped off first and decided to watch from a safe distance. He doubts it but…he can hope.

As Aarón stares at him like he’s just won, Javier says nothing. Doesn’t try to deny it. Because he knows. He knows Aarón saw. That stupid fucking truck. Why didn’t he recognize it sooner?

While Javier’s been making plans, Aarón’s just been waiting in the wings for the perfect opportunity to knock him off a podium Javier never wanted to climb. And now it appears he’s found it. The ultimate upperhand in a schoolyard game of gotcha playing out amongst grown men. 

How can the two of you be so different? You and your brother? And why is it that it’s so much harder for Javier to believe the version of himself he sees in your eyes than the one he sees in Aarón’s?

Perhaps the second one just matches his own better.

As if on cue, he hears you running up behind him, the soft call of his name that was enough to yank him back last time reaching his ears, but this time…Aarón takes another step forward, anger snarling out along with his words. 

“Is that what brought you to church, Javier? Asking forgiveness for turning my sister into your whore?”