#coco fic

The Rivera kitchen smelled faintly of soap, warm sun, and a pot of café con leche that had gone cold long ago now. It was a quiet afternoon in Santa Cecilia - clothes were out on the line, dinner was on the stove - and the table was buried beneath half-finished baby clothes, scraps of brightly coloured cloth, and a mountain of idle chatter turned gossip. Imelda, eighteen, sat at the head of the table, posture prim as ever despite the baby weighing almost painfully against her spine. Cecí, her closest friend since infancy, sat loyally at her side, sewing far more with her mouth than with her needle. "It's true! Maria told Lucia who told Sofia who told me..." She paused to take a breath. "She saw him sneaking out through the back door at dawn." She told the group in a half-whisper, Francisca setting down her sewing in surprise and Alba chuckling under her breath, shaking her head.

"¡Dios mio!" Imelda rolled her eyes. "Santa Cecilia is going to run out of secrets at this rate, the way you sniff them out. Like a street-dog to a trash can."

Cecí gave her a look. "I kept yours. I seem to remember you nearly breaking your neck climbing out of your window for a certain troubadour one night. I never said a word."

"Gracias, Cec..." Imelda muttered through gritted teeth.

Julia, rocking her nearly asleep baby boy in her arms, laughed at the other end of the table. "We all knew, Melly. The whole town knew. That esposo of yours doesn't shut up."

Imelda felt her cheeks burn as she brought the needle in her hand through the little nightdress for the hundredth time, running her thumb over the delicate little stich. "Remind me again what I was thinking when I decided to make you godmother," She glanced at Cecí, feigning annoyance. "You're going to fill my child's head with all sorts of nonsense."

"Believe me," Cecí laid a hand on her bump beneath the table, giving it a gentle pat through her dress. "You and Héctor are going to be singing my praises when the little one is here. If he or she ends up being anything like you and I were when we were little, both of you are going to need all the help you can get, corazón, I promise. We were tiranas."

They all dissolved into quiet laughter, hands working stitches carefully as they went on swapping more stories and whispered secrets they had overheard around town. Before long though, the back door opened and their chattering died down. Ernesto wandered in first - like he owned the place - his grin far too wide and far too familiar, his gaze shifting straight to where Imelda was sitting and lingering upon her a fraction too long. She felt it instantly. The little hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. That prickle of annoyance she'd known since the afternoon she met him. Once upon a time, he'd sniffed around her like a dog. He'd cornered her in side-streets. Made drunken promises of fame and riches in an attempt to win her over. He hadn't realized - well, actually, it had probably been more that he simply hadn't cared - back then that she had already given herself, at least in heart, to Héctor. The one the women of Santa Cecilia actively ignored. The one who followed him around like a shadow, playing his guitar.

He'd had a rude awakening though when she'd made a show of leading Héctor off into a dark corner of the plaza after a dance one night, leaving him in no doubt that he was the one she truly wanted. She'd made sure he had been watching. She'd made sure he'd realized that he hadn't won. For the first time in his life, she imagined, he'd been denied something he craved. Something he believed he was entitled to. And, she was certain, he'd never quite forgiven her for doing that to him. Not even now, two years on.

She was pulled from her thoughts when right behind him came her husband himself, guitar slung clumsily across his back, sandy from the plaza, dark hair sticking to his brow with sweat, and that stupid smile of his softening when his eyes found hers. He moved around Ernesto then, forgetting for a moment he was even there, and approached her, bending to capture her mouth with his in a soft, tender kiss. It was enough to make Ceci roll her eyes and Julia avert her eyes politely, clearing her throat. He soon pulled away, the hand cradling her cheek moving to brush a raven curl behind her ear. "I missed you this morning." He mumbled as he dragged his knuckles down her cheek, voice gentle enough for only her - and a smirking Cecí - to hear him.

"Stop distracting us. If we don't get these finished soon, this child of yours will have nothing to wear," She half-scolded, smiling for a moment before it faded. "Mi amor..."

He didn't even have to turn. "Ernesto."

His friend laughed it off, reaching back to rub at the back of his neck while pretending to busy himself.

Alba, now holding Julia's sleeping son so her friend could drink her coffee, broke the tension. "So, Rivera. You ready for one of your own?"

"Not that he has much choice in the matter." Imelda added as she looked up at him, making her friends chuckle.

Héctor's expression softened and he ran a hand slowly over her hair, letting it settle on her shoulder through her shawl. "A little nervous. Well, terrified," He admitted, Imelda reaching up to rest a hand over his own. "But I've been ready for this since the day she told me. She'll be so much better at this than me anyway, so I'll just follow her lead."

Cecí tutted. "Listen to him. Encantador. Haven't you got pesos to go and play for?"

"Alright, we're going," He laughed, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at her before turning back to his wife for a second and kissing her forehead. "Try to rest this afternoon. I'll stop by the panderia on my way home and bring you something."

"Mmm, and don't you dare end up down at la cantina!" She called after him as he and Ernesto made to leave.

He could only chuckle as he followed behind his friend, making his way out of the door as the kitchen filled with quiet chuckles and hushed whispers once more.

—————

He shut the bedroom door carefully behind him, wincing as it clicked quietly into place. The room was dark except for a sliver of moonlight across the floorboards, silent except for the sound of her slow, steady breaths. He took off his hat and toed off his shoes, slightly unsteady on his feet due to the three - maybe four - shots of tequila he'd had but determined not to wake her. For a moment, he stood there next to the bed, simply watching her sleep. She was curled up on her side, a hand warmly cradling her bump and her long curls like an ink spill across her pillow. Even in sleep, she was divine. He still had no idea what he'd done to deserve her, truly, nor the life he was creating with her, but he'd do it again in a heartbeat if the need arose for him to do so. Without question. Without hesitation. He would.

He knelt on the edge of the mattress, feathering a kiss against her cheek. He should have come home hours ago. He should have been obedient and just said no when Ernesto dragged him to la cantina for 'one drink' on him. He should have been at home with her. Looking after her the way she needed. Letting her put her feet up for once. As he moved to stand again, the bedframe groaned under his weight and Imelda stirred, blinking in the dark. "Héctor?" She managed, voice heavy with sleep and laced with a familiar annoyance. "What time is it? You've been drinking."

He shrugged. "Maybe one or two. You should have seen Mariachi Plaza tonight though, amor, it was alive. So many tips. I did stop by the panaderia, but it was closed and—"

She sniffed the air, brown eyes narrowing at him as he perched on the edge of the bed and cupped her cheek beneath the curtain of her hair. "Tequila again. Ay mi, Héctor."

He chuckled sheepishly. "Lo siento. You know how persuasive Ernesto can—"

"Ah-ah-ah!" She swatted his chest, though it was clear her frustration had begun to settle. "De La Cruz is a lot of things, but he is not to blame for you not having a backbone. I know you heard me say not to go down to la cantina before you left. We need the money. We can't afford for you to throw it all away. Next time, you listen to me. You say no."

"Yes, Señora." He teased, kissing her clumsily on the mouth before climbing over her to his own side of the bed when she shoved him off, tutting, tasting liquor on his tongue. The old mattress dipped under the added weight and she grunted, tying to find a semi-comfortable position a second time while he got himself settled beneath the covers.

She felt him move closer to her once she'd stilled, lacing an arm around her waist and pulling her back against him. Her nose wrinkled. "Ugh. You smell like a cantina floor."

He laughed aloud, muffling the sound in her hair, and then brushed a warm, clumsy kiss against her neck. She felt a shiver run through her as his hold of her tightened, his thumb tracing the curve of her belly through her nightgown. "I'll bathe first thing. Promise. You won't have to make excuses for me with your mamá and papá again."

Despite herself, she relaxed beneath his touch, his mouth on her skin slowly soothing her annoyance. His voice sounded small in the darkness. Innocent, eager for forgiveness. She sighed into her pillow when he found that little spot behind her ear only he knew about. "Sometimes—" She paused for a moment. "Sometimes, it's like I married a child." She reached back, threading her fingers through his hair as he dotted sweet little kisses along her shoulder. She felt more than heard his sigh as he buried his face in her neck.

"I know and I'm sorry," He murmured, his tone more serious. "This is it now though, I mean it. I'll stop being an idiot. I'll bring tips home. I'll be everything you need me to be."

She rolled in his arms to face him - a struggle at eight months gone, but she managed - and they shared a smile when she ran the back of her hand down his cheek. "I'm not sure how much I believe the 'I'll stop being an idiot' part, but I believe all the rest," She whispered. "You have always been everything I've needed and much more, mi cielo."

"I have?" He stroked her hair from her face.

"Mm-hm," She nodded. "And you will be again for this little one. I know you will."

"I love you," He sighed, bringing a hand between them to rest tenderly upon her bump. "Both of you."

She smiled. "We know. We love you too."

He rested his lips against her forehead when she snuggled into him, sighing against her skin as he put his arm around her. "Sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

Imelda mumbled something into his shirt - something about daft men and insufferable musicians - but her voice tapered off, sleep pulling her under again, soothed by him. In the silence, he brought his hand back between them and laid his palm flat against her stomach, feeling for the faintest flutter that never came. Their little one, for once, was sound asleep.

“Look at me, querida.” Coco whispered, his free hand coming up to gently grip the sides of your neck, squeezing a little as your eyes met his. Coco swore he could cum just by watching you get your release, just by the way you looked at him like he had hung the moon and stars just for you.

But as your breathing quickened and you began to whine softly, quickening your movements, Coco pushed you off his lap and stood you up against the desk, your hands clinging to his shirt as you tried desperately to grind yourself against him while you both were standing.

“Look at’chu, don’t get bratty ‘cause I ain’t giving you that release.” He chuckled, amused by how needy you were getting and how much he loved that you thought you could get away with it by riling him up like he had done with you.

“Coco, please.” You whined softly, pouting at him as you trailed your touch over his jeans, your fingers tracing over the outline of his bulge. The Mayan eyed you, a mischievous smirk slowly forming on his lips as he allowed you to slide your fingers into his jeans.

He couldn’t resist you and he knew it, Coco was weak for you and you both knew he was putty in your hands as soon as you whined his name like that, as soon as you begged for him. The look in your eyes softened him and the way you spoke his name in that little begging tone drove him crazy. “Alright, corazon, okay, I got you.” He whispered, leaning in to kiss you as he pulled you into his embrace, carefully lifting you and walking you over to the nearby bathroom before helping you up onto the counter.

“How do you always make me give in?” He muttered, lifting your legs and sliding your underwear off before he pushed his jeans and boxers down. Of course, you both knew the answer to his question, Coco was wrapped around your finger and he knew it. Everyone did.

“Fuck, oh fuck, you’re tight, baby.” He groaned, your gasps filling the bathroom, though neither of you could have cared less if anyone could hear you as he slowly inched himself into you until he was fully seated.

“Please move, Coco.” You spoke in a breathy whisper, the Mayan immediately pulling out and thrusting heavily back into you, pulling a drawn out moan from you that echoed against the tile. “Fuck that’s good, so fucking good.” He muttered, throwing his head back as he thrust into you, your walls fluttering around him as you squeezed, Coco’s hands clinging to you as he fucked you closer to your orgasm, his fingers finding your throat and tightening as he helped you both climb closer to your release.

“Fuck, Coco I’m gonna cum, please let me.” You moaned, convinced for a moment that he might stop, that he might pull out and not let either of you finish, but Coco kept going, thrusting relentlessly into your core, his cock hitting the spot that made you roll your eyes back with pleasure and the sight only brought more encouragement to Coco.

“Cum for me, princesa.” He whispered, watching as you reached your peak and suddenly, your orgasm hit and you clenched him tightly as he thrust into you, Coco groaning loudly as he reached his own release as you pulsed around him. Coco slowed, allowing you both to ride out your highs, the biker leaning over you and capturing you in a passionate, loving kiss before he carefully pulled out.

“No cleanin’ up until we get home.” Coco smirked. “That’s your punishment.” He winked at you, not even giving you a second to react before he brought your panties back up your legs and slid them onto you. “That pretty pussy better still be full of my cum later so I can take my time cleanin’ you up later.” Coco smirked at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he turned away to pull his jeans up.

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               Héctor waited for Miguel to turn around before offering him an apologetic smile to go with the fruit cup he held out to him. He relaxed slightly as Miguel took it without hesitation, already pulling a chunk of melón verde out as they walked back to the apartment. Héctor watched him for a moment, hands in his pockets.

               “I really am sorry, Miguel. I—”

               “It’s fine. Tía Imelda told me everything. Do you want my pineapple?”

               “Qué?”

               “My pineapple; it makes my mouth itchy and…”

               Héctor shook his head, stopping in his tracks and setting his hand on Miguel’s head to stop him as well. “No, not the pineapple. Tía Imelda told you…everything?”

               Miguel shrugged. “I mean, I kinda already knew, but she said that it’s been a long time since you’ve seen your mamá, so you lost track of time.” He dug out a grape, rolling it nervously in his fingers before looking up at Héctor. “I mean, I was a little worried when you didn’t call…”

               Héctor swallowed. Oh, he hadn’t even thought of that; calling when he’d gone anywhere had become second nature since Miguel had moved in, and he’d left his phone at home like an idiot. “Ay, Miguel, I…”

               “Bu-ut, I mean, not that much. I mean, you just went to that café you and Tía Imelda always go to, yeah? And I wanted to stay up until you came back, but she told me I had to go to sleep. And then you were here this morning so it was fine.” He popped the grape in his mouth, relaxing again. “So you don’t need to apologize, Tío Héctor. We’ll go to the movies later.”

               Héctor pressed his lips together hard. Okay. Okay okay. So he hadn’t heard everything. That was…well, it’d be a hard thing to talk about, but at least he got to tell Miguel himself. That was a good thing. Probably.

               He glanced down as he saw a pineapple spear being waved in his general direction, and he smiled at Miguel as he took it, then ran his free hand through his hair. “Why don’t we sit for a minute, chamaco?” He nodded at the low wall behind them. “Fruit tastes better when you’re sitting outside, anyway.” He sat down on the edge of the wall, hand automatically going out to make sure Miguel didn’t topple over as he hopped up. “I…I actually had a really interesting talk with Mamá yesterday.”

               “Was she nice?”

               Héctor’s eyebrows rose at the defensiveness in Miguel’s question, and he laughed a bit. “Sí, sí, she was very nice.” He took a bite of pineapple, chewing for a moment before adding, “Does she seem…not nice to you?”

               Miguel squinted. “I guess not. She kept trying to kiss me like Abuelita does.”

               Héctor chuckled. “Mamá likes to make up for lost time with kisses and presents. Whenever she visited, I always looked like I had the chickenpox with all her lipstick.” He smiled as Miguel laughed, then took a breath. “Anyway, I talked with her yesterday, and…there’s some stuff I want to talk to you about from that conversation. It turns out, Mamá has a friend who lives over in Morelia, who’s an agent with a record label. And…she wants me to talk to him, to see if Ernesto and I can get signed on with them.” He paused, glancing over to gauge Miguel’s reaction. “If we get signed on, that means they’ll make CDs of our songs, and being musicians would be our full-time job. Está claro?”

               Miguel nodded. “So…you’d stop being a teacher?”

               “Yes, exactly.” Héctor fiddled with his pineapple chunk. “But…that also means that I’ll probably be travelling a lot. Ernesto and I would be touring a lot.”

               “That’s fine. I don’t mind travelling. We went on a road trip last year and I didn’t even get car sick like Abel did, so…”

               “You…wouldn’t be travelling with us, Miguel.”

               Miguel froze for a moment, and he looked up at Héctor. For the first time in the conversation, Miguel looked hurt. “What? Why?”

               Héctor rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, for one, it’s not safe. And two, you still have to go to school, and I wouldn’t have the time to homeschool you.”

               Miguel frowned, then he gave a little huff. “I guess I could stay with Tía Imelda, but…”

               Héctor grimaced. “Not…quite. Since she and I aren’t married, she’s not your guardian. So…”

               “So then marry her?’

               “I wish it was that easy, chamaco. What’ll probably happen is you’ll…go back to Santa Cecilia.” Héctor’s stomach twisted as Miguel sent him a look that bordered on panic.

               “What? So are you not adopting me?”

               “No, no, I am! Cálmese, cálmese.” He went to set his hand on Miguel’s head, but pulled it back as Miguel ducked away, inwardly cringing at the fierce look the boy gave him. “Escuchamé, Miguel. It would just be for a couple years. A-and we’d have so much more money. I’d be able to marry Tía Imelda, we could get a big house—maybe even in El Distrito, who knows!—and then we could be a real family.”

               Teto, I know I said I’d visit, but soon, mí corazón, I’ll have plenty of money. And once I come get you, we’ll have a big house in El Distrito and be a real family!

               Héctor froze as the words rang in his head, heart flipping in his chest. Had he really said that? But…no, this was different. He had a plan. It really would only be a couple years.

               He wouldn’t…he would not be like his mother.

               He blinked a few times, coming back to himself as he noticed the look on Miguel’s face—he hadn’t seen that sort of skepticism on a kid since he’d first brought Miguel back home. He swallowed.

               “Look, Miguel. I know it’s not ideal,” he said quietly. “I…I get it. I really, really get it. Getting moved from place to place…es pésimo. It’s…” He sucked in a breath. What was the best way to approach this to an eight-year-old? “That’s what happened to me, when I was growing up. And I never, ever want that to happen to you. But…look, your papá wanted to give you the world. And if I can do that…if I can earn enough money to get us a stable home and everything we need to be an actual family, then…then I think it’s gonna be worth it. Even…even if it’s hard right now.”

               He let out a quick, wheezing breath as he finished, then watched Miguel with wide eyes. For several minutes, the kid did nothing but turn his empty fruit cup over in his hands. Was he in shock? Was he thinking? Would he agree that it was a good idea? Would he lash out and say that it was unfair and why would Héctor even think something like this was a good idea?

               Was it bad that a small part of Héctor hoped he would do the last one?

               “Miguel?”

               This time, Miguel let Héctor’s hand land on his shoulder, and he sniffled before he could stop himself.

               “You said you weren’t ever leaving again.”

               “I’m not…I’m not leaving. It’s not…I’m still adopting you. And when I’m not touring I’m going to be right by your side. A-and then in two years or so I’ll just stay home and song-write.” He squeezed Miguel’s shoulder. “It’ll take a little longer than planned, but it’ll be worth it, Miguel. I promise.”

               Miguel didn’t reply, but as he looked up, his thoughts were plain as day on his face: You promised we’d go to the movies, too.

               Héctor’s eyes flicked over Miguel’s face, and he felt himself wilt. It was worth it. It had to be. Good things always came with growing pains, right? They just had to get through it. The both of them had been through so much already, it should be easy.

               Maybe.

               Héctor ruffled Miguel’s hair. “Well…tomorrow, it’s just going to be a talk. The agent, he might not even like me. He might think I’m too scarecrowish for songs that don’t include wizards and yellow brick roads.” No reaction from Miguel. Héctor pressed his lips together hard, then put on a smile as best he could as he got to his feet. “And it’s not until tomorrow! We can still go out today. Maybe we could still catch a movie, o-or we could stop by the park…”

               Miguel silently hopped down from the wall, tossing his cup into a nearby trash can without looking at Héctor. After a moment, he quietly asked, “Can we just go home?”

               This was a mistake. It had to be; no one was happy with this.

               But…but they would be.

               After all, just think of what he could give Miguel if he had the kind of money a pro. Think of how wonderful and comfortable his family—Imelda, Miguel, Mari, whatever other kids popped up—could be if he just grinned and bore it for a couple years. And Miguel…he was a smart kid. He’d get that he wasn’t being strung along. It was just some discomfort for the greater good. He’d see that.

               But even so, he wasn’t about to argue that it was really awful in the moment.

               He set his hand on Miguel’s head, ruffling his hair gently. “Sure, chamaco. Let’s head home.”

~

               Discos Fénix was…a lot less glamorous than he’d expected.

               Granted, he hadn’t really been sure what he expected out of a record agency. Maybe some gold-tinted windows, or at least some fancy modern architecture. He squinted at it as he took off his helmet, still half-convinced that the nondescript boxy building he was at was the right address.

               However, he didn’t even have to check the business card again; the trilling “Teto!” was confirmation enough that he was at the right place. He took a breath, tucking his helmet under his arm as he turned and smiled at his mother as she came out into the parking lot. She looked surprisingly professional today in a plain white blouse and black pencil skirt, her hair piled onto her head in a carefully haphazard way. She immediately pulled him into a tight hug.

               “Ah, mi corazón, I’m so happy you made it,” she said with a bright grin. “And is the motorcycle I’ve heard about? Qué chido! You already look like a rock star!” She gave him a wink as she stepped back. “All you need now is the record deal to go with it.”

               “Ah…gracias, Mamá. But today’s…just talking, isn’t it? No deals?”

               “Well, that’s what Andres says, but I get the feeling things might progress a bit more than that. After all, he already knows how talented you are, mijo.” Mari ushered Héctor inside, sending a wave to a bored-looking security guard as they walked in. “This is the son I was telling you about!” she said to him, pointing at Héctor as they entered the lobby. Héctor squirmed a bit.

               “Please tell me you haven’t been telling everyone in the building about me.”

               “Why shouldn’t I? I’m proud of my son!”

               Héctor knew he should be glowing at those words, but…they felt a little more hollow today than they had in the café. He couldn’t put his finger on why exactly, but it seemed more performed today. Or he’d been too messed up a couple days ago to notice the performance.

               But it wasn’t worth worrying over. After all, he couldn’t really say anything here anyway. So he merely shook his head as he stepped into the elevator with her, then let himself be ushered out into the hallway when they got to the fourth floor. She stopped in front of one of the many identical, dark wooden doors, a bright smile on her face.

               “Don’t be nervous, mí corazón,” she said, reaching up to pull him own and pepper his cheek with kisses. “You’ll charm him before you even start talking.”

               Héctor gave her an awkward grin. As if that was the reason he was uncomfortable. But there was no time to say anything before the door opened and a short, pleasant-looking man in neat, casual clothes smiled up at them.

               “Pasen, pasen,” he said, waving them in as he stepped back, then gestured at Héctor’s helmet. “Ah, I see you ride. I had a little moto back when I was your age, too. Here, just set that by the door, then we can start talking. Do you want anything?”

               “Ah…no, no gracias.” Héctor glanced at Mari as he set his helmet down; she made her way through the office as if she owned the place. But then, he didn’t really expect anything less from her. He followed, quietly sitting in one of the very nice chairs at the desk. “And, uh, thanks for seeing me, Alex. Er…Señor Hernández?” He jumped at the loud laugh that came out of the other man as he sat.

               “Alex is what my American clients call me. Apparently Andrés Alejandro Hernández Madroñero is too hard,” he said with another chuckle. “But you are a friend, so you’re more than welcome to just call me Andrés.”

               Héctor gave him a little smile. “Well, gracias, Andrés. I do really appreciate you taking the time to see me.”

               Andrés waved his hand. “Don’t even worry about that.” He leaned forward, leaning his elbows on his desk. “I don’t know if you know this, but your mamá has been singing your praises since the first time we met. And hearing your demos, I can see that you’ve earned her praise.”

               Héctor glanced at Mari. “Have you really talked about me that much?” he asked quietly. She grinned.

               “Of course, mi corazón. I can’t keep talent like yours a secret.”

               Héctor half-smiled, though he couldn’t quite tamp down the curl of discomfort in his chest. After all, Ernesto had said the same thing whenever Héctor’d thought of bowing out of the music scene. He didn’t have long to compare them, though, before Andrés cleared his throat.

               “Now, Héctor, why don’t you tell me about your musical background?”

               “Well, I was classically trained in guitar and piano, and I studied music theory at l’Universidad d…” He trailed off as Andrés laughed and shook his head.

               “No, no, not that. No offense, my friend, but no one except fangirls cares about that.” He leaned forward, brow furrowed slightly. “No, tell me about the music.”

               Héctor drummed his fingers on his knee for a moment. “Uh…well, Cruz y Rivera is me and my friend, Ernesto—which, um, sorry he couldn’t be here today.” He couldn’t fight the glance toward his mother before he looked back up at Andrés. “Something came up. But we try to bring together traditional music styles with modern ones. Ernesto’s a big fan of rancheras and boleros, and I try my best to channel Carlos Santana when I perform, so we do our best to mesh both of those into something beautiful and fun.”

               Andrés nodded. “And have you released anything?”

               “Por supuesto. We have a recording set-up in our apartment, and we’ll do some live sessions on YouTube.”

               “You have a YouTube?”

               “It’s where most people find us.”

               “How many followers?”

               Héctor puffed out his cheeks. “We…just hit 60,000 a couple weeks ago, I think.”

               Andrés raised his eyebrows. “That’s good. You’ve already got a fanbase, then.” He smiled up at Héctor. “That definitely means you’ve got something special.” He turned to his computer, clicking a few times. Music burst out of the speakers; it took Héctor a moment to realize it was one of their songs.

               “This one, I think it’s called ‘En calquier caso’?”

               “Close. ‘Dices cualquier cosa.’”

               “That’s it, thank you. Now, this one is a hit just waiting to happen.”

               Héctor gave a wide smile, sitting up in his seat a bit. “I’m proud of it, actually. A-and it’s one of our most viewed videos.”

               “Well that’s no surprise. Now, is this you singing?”

               “No, I barely sing; Ernesto’s the one with the decent voice,” he said with a chuckle, then held up a finger as a guitar solo started. “That’s me. I write most of our music, too.”

               Andrés gave Héctor a knowing look. “And that is a much more important skill to have. Sure, a nice voice and a nice face is fine—not that you don’t have a nice face, of course, but those things don’t always last. Being able to make music out of nothing, though, that is a skill that will get you very, very far.” Andrés raised his eyebrows. “But you have to get your name out there first. So, here’s what I’m suggesting: we sign Cruz y Rivera on for a five-year contract with Discos Fénix. That’s…about two records, and so two tours.”

               “Two tours?” Oh. That was…much more than he’d initially been considering. Héctor swallowed, then added, “Is it…um, how much travelling would there be?”

               Andrés leaned back. “Well, I can’t tell you for sure. But you’re guaranteed a full tour of México and a few big cities in America. I’ll shoot for Brazil too, if I can.”

               At that point, was it even worth going home? “That’s…a lot.”

               “I know, I know. It’s going to be exhausting. But! Think of all the opportunities you’ll get. And besides, you’re not even thirty yet, right? So you’ll bounce back like nothing.” Andrés smiled. “And, once you put in those five years, I can promise you that you’ll be able to hole up somewhere nice and write songs for the biggest stars around.”

               Héctor pressed his lips together hard. Five years. Miguel would nearly be fourteen by the time this was done—and there was no way he could adopt him if he was constantly gone. And Imelda…would she wait that long to get married? He supposed they could just get married now, and then Miguel could stay with her instead of going back to Santa Cecilia. But…it was still so long…

               But…think of the money. He could buy a house—a nice roomy one. Imelda would get all the lovely, expensive things she always sighed over when they went out—and the school could get a very nice donation from a certain ex-teacher that’d take care of all the maintenance and supplies that were needed. And Miguel! With this kind of money, Miguel could take any music class he wanted. And he could even have a university fund set up so he could study abroad or even at El Conservatario! Not to mention the other kids that would be coming along. Wasn’t that the kind of life he wanted for his future family?

               And not just the family he was making now. This was a guarantee to keep Ernesto and Mari around as well. He really could get everything he wanted, just at the expense of five years. That…that wasn’t so bad of a trade, right? Just five…short years…

               He shook out his shoulders, getting himself back into the present. “Can I…can I see the contract?

               “No need to,” Mari chirped. “I helped Andrés write it up for you. It’s everything you’d ever need to move on to a bright new life.”

               Héctor frowned. “I still want to see it.”

               Andrés chuckled even as Mari looked wounded. “Smart boy,” he said, leaning over to open one of his drawers. “Here’s some free advice, no matter what you end up doing: always read the contract. Even the small print.” He took a glance at his watch as he resurfaced, a thick stack of papers in his hand. “Though…the way we’re doing this is a little…untraditional. So if you could have an answer by tonight, it’d make things a lot easier for the both of us.”

               Héctor’s frown deepened as he took the papers. “What do you mean, ‘untraditional’?”

               “It normally takes months to get an appointment with Andrés,” Mari said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “But he’s dedicated the whole day to you!”

               Héctor swallowed, eyes widening as he looked up at Andrés, who cleared his throat.

               “Mariana, since you already know what’s in the contract, could you go wait outside for a moment?” he said, giving her a pleasant smile. “I’ll send Héctor right out when we’re done, I just want to make sure he understands everything.”

               Mari blinked, then glanced up at Héctor before giving her biggest smile. “Of course I don’t mind. I suppose you are a little too old for your Mamá to hang around for a signing.” She pulled Héctor over to pepper kisses to his cheek, then got to her feet and made her way out with a trilling goodbye. Once the door was closed, Andrés took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

               “Look, Héctor,” he said before Héctor could ask anything. “You’re a grown man. You should know what’s going on.” He looked up at him. “Your mama worked terribly hard to get to know me over the past few months.”

               Héctor blinked. “Are…are you dating her?’

               “No! No, no, I’m happily married,” he said, shaking his head with a laugh before he leaned forward. “Let me tell you something: this industry is built on relationships. And I don’t know how she did it, but she found her way to every event, every dinner, every conference I’ve been to in the past few months. I thought she was playing the game for herself, but…well, I was moved when we finally got to talking and she could only talk about you. Told me about how you played guitar since you were a kid, how you and your friend started your channel and even managed to tour, everything. She was so proud of you.”

               Héctor swallowed, once again drumming his fingers on his knee in a nonsense tune as he processed that. “That…that’s very nice to hear, thank you.”

               Andrés nodded. “You should know she loves you very, very much.” His brow furrowed, and he bit down on the end of his glasses. “But like I said before, this method of signing isn’t typical. And it’s definitely not fair to my other clients if I spend too much time on you and your friend.” He quickly added, “And don’t think this is a pity conference just because your mama worked so hard. After hearing your music, I can tell you would make hit after hit. You especially make magic happen with that guitar of yours.”

               “Thank you.”

               Andrés nodded, setting his glasses back on. “Obviously I want you to look through the paperwork. But, honestly? If I were you, I’d jump on this chance now.” He looked over his glasses. “You probably won’t get a chance like this again, Héctor. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a mother who loves her son this much.”

               Héctor’s heart pounded in his chest. Was this even real? One day to decide where he wanted his life course to go? And what about Ernesto? Well, that was a stupid question; Ernesto would tell him to do it right now, that the contract didn’t matter and this was their step toward becoming the men they’d dreamed of, to having the life he’d always wanted with his friend and his family. He could practically hear him in his head, whispering, “Come on, Teto. You’ve just got to seize your moment.”

               Slowly, he picked up the pen…only to drop it as his phone went off.

               “Sorry, sorry!” he apologized quickly, digging in his pocket to pull his phone out. “Sorry. My primo’s staying with me and he gets nervous if…”

               He went silent as he looked at the screen. Oh. It wasn’t a call, it was an alarm. He squinted at the screen, and his heart dropped to his chest as he saw the words “SOCIAL WORKER VISIT – 4 PM” in big letters on the screen. That was today?! He jumped up to his feet.

               “I-I…Lo siento, Andrés, but I-I have to go. Right now. I’m sorry,” he said, nearly tripping as he turned to the door.

               “So soon?” Andrés asked as he stood up.

               “Sí! It’s…I have an appointment I have to go to!” His fingers slipped over the helmet as he tried to pick it up.

               “Well, if you get the chance, call me later tonight,” Andrés called. “I can’t keep this opening for you forever!”

               Héctor barely heard him as he opened the door, trying to figure out how he was going to pull this off. It was about an hour drive home if he was quick, so he should be able to get there just in time. Could he afford a few minutes to call Imelda? No, probably not, it was better if he just…

               “Ay, mijo, what’s the rush?” Héctor nearly toppled backward as Mari took his arm. “So? Did you sign?”

               Héctor swallowed, looking back at her and shaking his head. “No. I have to get home. I forgot I have a home visit for Miguel, and the social worker will be there at four.  I need to—” He trailed off as Mari waved her hand.

               “Just call and have him come back later. They understand these sort of things, I’m sure.”

               Héctor went still, just barely keeping his jaw from dropping as he stared at Mari. She…she had to be joking. “You…sorry, did you just suggest I reschedule a home visit? In the middle of an adoption?”

               Mari shrugged. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be the first. Just say that something important came up. Or a family emergency happened, if you’re desperate. I’ll vouch for you, mijo, don’t worry.”

               “And you…you think that’s okay?”

               Mari shrugged. “It worked when Elena was taking care of you.” She chuckled. “It took forever for me to get to the court date to sign off the guardianship, I was so busy that year.”

               Héctor stared at Mari in utter disbelief, stomach curling uncomfortably. Static filled his head, drowning out his thoughts. Through the noise, he tried to tell himself that she was kidding, or that she was just trying to keep him there in a bid of desperation, but…no. Her face was too open and genuine; she actually thought this was an acceptable option, and the realization that she had always been like this sucked the air right out of his lungs.

               Ernesto was right. Tía Victoria was right. Tía Elena was right. He’d tried so hard to block out the times they’d told him that she loved herself more, that she didn’t really take being a mother seriously. But now he was seeing it himself, and it was so much worse than he ever thought it would be.

               But there was no time to be hurt. So he pulled his arm away and stood up straight. Just because she couldn’t be a parent doesn’t mean he couldn’t.

               “I’m not signing.”

               For the very first time he could remember, Mari’s composure dropped. She looked as if she’d been slapped, and she sent him a look of panic before putting on a stiff smile. “Ay, Teto, qué gracioso! You always were a funny boy.”

               Héctor kept his face strong. “I’m not signing, Mamá,” he repeated. “I…look, I know I said I wanted to record for years, but…things are different now. I can’t put my life on hold for five years; Miguel needs me.” He swallowed as he rolled his helmet in his hands. “I appreciate what you’ve done, but I can’t. I’m sorry, Mamá.” He turned toward the elevator, but stopped as he heard a choked noise from behind him.

               “So you’re just…you’re just throwing a chance like this away?” Héctor turned around and automatically shrunk back as he saw the look on Mari’s face. For the first time, his mother looked angry—nearly as angry as Tía Elena had whenever she whipped out la chancla. He instinctively flinched back as she walked up to him. “Héctor. You are far too talented to be holed up in a school. And I…I worked so hard to give you this chance. You think it’s been easy? You think you can just waltz on up to someone and ask them to please, please, just take a listen to your son’s music? It took ages, Héctor, and now…are you really that ungrateful for what I’ve done for you?”

               “Mamá, I am grateful. And a few years ago, I would have jumped at this chance.” With a bit of effort, he stood up straight, looking down to meet her eyes. “But Miguel needs a family, and I promised I’d be there for him.”

               Mari shook her head. “He has family. Elena’s other boy, he was planning on taking him in, wasn’t he? And he’d be surrounded by everyone at the shoe shop. And you can still adopt him! Five years is nothing, Héctor. You can visit and then have a nice home ready for him.” She stepped forward to set her hand on his arm. “Escúchame, mi corazón. Think of everything you could give him if you just…”

               “Think of all you could’ve given me if you’d just been there!”

               The words burst out of Héctor before he could stop them, and he immediately covered his mouth, eyes wide as Mari stared at him in shock. He’d never, ever talked back to Mari, much less yelled at her. He almost apologized.

               But then, what would he even be apologizing for? “Sorry for wanting a mother who was around”? No. No, this kind of family dynamic ended with him, right now.

               He swallowed and steadied himself as he stood tall, taking advantage of her stunned silence to talk. “Mamá…I know you did the best you could,” he said. “But…but I don’t want my kid to live the way I did. I don’t want him to know I love him from letters and presents, I want to be there for him. I want a home, one that’s mine and that I wasn’t just…just dumped into.” His voice broke, but he pulled himself together to add, “And I’m really sorry if you can’t see how important that is. For me and Miguel.” When Mari didn’t reply, he let out a soft breath. “I’ll…I’ll see you, Mamá. I’ll write soon.”

               He turned and started walking back to the elevators, but slowed as he heard a sniffle. He glanced over his shoulder, heart twisting as he saw the look on his mother’s face. For the first time, she looked…fragile. Her eyes shone with tears, and her lips trembled as she stared at him. It was the most genuine emotion he’d seen from her, and for some reason that made him profoundly uncomfortable yet unable to turn away.

               Mari wiped her eyes with her fingertips, dark eyes focused hard on him. “I’ve always loved you, mijo,” she said, voice shaking. “I have always wanted the best for you. Nothing less.”

               Héctor sighed softly. He glanced at his watch, then took a few quick steps back down the hall to stand in front of Mari. “I never doubted that. Not once,” he said, unable to stop the sadness that colored his voice. He leaned down, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek before stepping back. “Goodbye, Mamá. Write me when you can. I’ve got to go.”

               And with that, he turned and headed straight for the elevators, ignoring every temptation to look back at her. They both knew the truth now: it was too late. Too late for her to have a son to show off, too late for him to have the kind of relationship with his mother he wanted. Too late for her love to mean anything more to him than a nice sentiment.

               But it wasn’t too late for Miguel. And, by god, he was going to be the kind of parent he’d always wished he’d had. He just had to get to the apartment first.

~

               By some miracle, he didn’t get stopped for speeding or into a wreck as he sped home, and he pulled into the apartment’s parking lot just in time to see Elena Martinez—easy to spot in her bright yellow suit—walking up to the front door. He swerved into his parking spot and nearly faceplanted off his bike as he tried to throw himself off of it.

               “Señora Martinez!” he called, causing her to stop as he ran up to the door. “Don’t…don’t go in yet!”

               Her eyes were wide, and she automatically took a step back as he approached. Why…oh. His helmet was still on. He quickly took it off, taking a deep breath as she let out a laugh.

               “Oh, Héctor. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you with that on.” She looked at Héctor curiously. “Is something wrong?”

               “No! No, nothing’s wrong. Just…” He let out a breath, running his hand through his hair as he gathered his thoughts. “There was…a little bit of a family emergency.”

               “Dios mio, is everything okay?”

               “Sí sí sí, everyone’s fine. Just…I need a few minutes to check in with Miguel. Is there any way I can have just five minutes before you come up?”

               She smiled, then checked her watch. “Well, I have a little wiggle room today. How about I come up at 4:15? Would that be all right?”

               “Perfecto. Muchas gracias.”

               “Of course.” As Héctor started to go into the building, she added, “Oh, and Héctor?”

               He stopped and turned, eyes wide. “Sí?”

               “Call me Elena, not Señora Martinez.” She smiled. “I’ll be up in just a few minutes.”

               Héctor smiled, nearly going limp from relief, then entered the apartment building. He took the stairs two at a time—earning a grumble from Chicharrón somewhere around the third floor that was promptly ignored—and reached the apartment in record time. He paused for a moment, gathering himself.

               Qué día.

               He still had to figure out how to best tell Andrés that he wasn’t signing the contract. And how to tell Ernesto that he wasn’t signing the contract. And, of course, he had to unpack everything that had happened with his mother, which was going to take a while and possibly a therapist and definitely a long phone call to Tía Elena.

               But that could all wait. For now, there was something much more important.

               He’d barely gotten the door unlocked before it burst open, with Miguel launching himself right at Héctor’s middle. He stumbled back with a laugh, automatically hugging the boy to him.

               “See, I knew all that noise was you! I heard the motorcycle and Tía Imelda wouldn’t believe me but I told her.” Miguel looked up at him with a big smile, but it slowly began to fade. He let go of Héctor and stepped back as he asked, “So…are you leaving?”

               “I…”

               “Dios mio, Miguel, I step away for two seconds and…” Imelda walked to the doorway, eyebrows raising in surprise as she saw Héctor. “You’re back already?”

               “I told you, Tía Imelda.”

               Héctor automatically ruffled Miguel’s hair as he looked up at Imelda with a half-smile. “It, uh, well, my phone reminded me that we had a home visit today. Past me knew I’d forget, I guess.”

               Imelda’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth. “That’s today?” She pressed her thumb to her brow. “Dios mio, with your mother and the spring fair, I…”

               “Tranquilo, tranquilo, diosa.” Héctor finally pulled away from Miguel to set his hands on Imelda’s arms. “I ran into the social worker downstairs, she’s gonna come in a few minutes. We’re fine.” He rubbed her arms as he kissed along her hairline. “Everything is going to be fine.”

               Imelda pulled back, brow furrowed. “But what about the record deal?”

               “I’m calling him back tonight. But…” He looked between her and Miguel. “But I’m not signing.”

               “What?” Héctor looked down at Miguel in surprise. “But you could’ve been a rock star!”

               Héctor half-smiled. “And let Profe Gustavo take over the estudiantina for five years? I couldn’t do that in good conscience.”

               “Five years?” Imelda whispered. He nodded.

               “Mm. It’s too long.”

               “And…how did your mother take it?”

               Héctor sucked in a breath, pressing his lips together tightly. “She…well, that one is a long story.” He ruffled Miguel’s hair again. “Tell you what, once this visit’s over and I’ve given Andrés a call, I’ll tell you both all about it. And you, chamaco, can show me that song I’ve heard you plucking at over the past few days.”

~

               For all the fuss at the start, the visit itself went outrageously smoothly. There was a little explanation about Ernesto moving out and Imelda had to have a little conversation about her new status as future guardian, but in all, Elena Martinez said that they should be in the clear, and Héctor would be getting more information in a few days.

               And now, after the stress of the day, Héctor found himself on the roof of the apartment, phone in hand and breathing in the cool evening air. Miguel had been practically buzzing to show off the song he’d written, but Héctor had asked for just a few minutes to call Andrés about the contract before that. And he was going to do it soon, but for now, he took the time to breathe in the cool evening air and enjoy a moment of stillness.

               Qué día.

               The conversation with Mari still hurt, but not as much as he’d expected it to. He’d known for a while that this was the kind of person she was, even if he hadn’t admitted it, and he’d known he’d never get what he wanted from her. Not…that he really needed it. He already had someone who’d given him everything a mother could give.

                Vaya, he really needed to call Tía Elena.

               But Andrés first. He pulled the card from his shirt pocket, squinting at the numbers in the dying light. It’d be quick, he’d apologize for wasting his time, and…

               “Imelda said you’d be up here.”

               Héctor jumped, and he turned around to see Ernesto walking out onto the roof. He automatically got to his feet, tucking the card back into his pocket.

               “Hola, Nesto.” He gripped his right arm, unsure of what else to say. Given the way Ernesto seemed to be looking at everything but Héctor, he was in the same boat. “Um. I’m just…if you want to sit for a minute up here…?”

               “No. I’m just staying for a minute.” He pulled a stack of cash from his pocket, silently counting out the bills before he held them out to Héctor. “Here’s my rent for the month. From now on, you’re on your own with paying it.”

               Héctor glanced down at the money, then up at Ernesto. “So you really are moving out?”

               “You waited until my stuff was practically gone before asking?”

               “I mean, you can be a little dramatic.”

               Ernesto rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m moving out.” He looked away as he shrugged. “You’ve got your life plan, I’ve got mine, and they’ve gotten more and more different over the past year. I don’t think either of us really have a place for the other now.” The words sounded rehearsed, but then, they usually were when he got serious like this.

               Héctor swallowed. Ernesto…wasn’t wrong, but still. He’d been around for so long that he couldn’t really think about what life without his best friend would look like…even if they weren’t, strictly speaking, best friends these days. He stuck his hands in his pockets.

               “Where are you moving to?”

               “Just outside Guadalajara. My friend Carlos—he’s downstairs—he lives out there and I’m going to stay with him for a bit.”

               “Nice, nice. It’s a good city, you’ll like it.”

               Ernesto nodded, still not looking at Héctor, and they fell into a long, uncomfortable silence. Just as Héctor was about to say he needed to make a call, Ernesto asked, “So how did the meeting go?”

               “I’m not signing.” The words came out with surprising ease; he’d been prepared to circle-talk his way around it in his original plan to break the news. Ernesto nodded, unruffled.

               “I had a feeling you wouldn’t. You never liked touring. How long did they want to sign us on for?”

               “Five years.”

               “Five? Ay, one of us would have killed the other.” Ernesto shifted. “How’d he take it?”

               “I haven’t told him yet. I was just about to call.”

               Ernesto’s eyebrows rose. “Do you still have his card?” Once Héctor pulled it out, he took it with a smile. “Look, just because you don’t want it doesn’t mean the chance should go to waste. I’m not suddenly getting saddled with a family; five years is nothing.”

               Héctor blinked, then smiled as he stuck his hands in his pockets. “Adelante, Nesto. If anyone could make a solo career work, it’s you.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And I think you should show him that song you’ve been working on. It’s good.”

               Ernesto’s carefully maintained expression dropped, and he looked genuinely shocked. “You…heard it?”

               “You never put up the foam, of course I heard it.” He smiled. “More like that, and you’ll end up throwing my songs out.”

               “Basta.” Despite the way he waved his hand, he looked genuinely touched. Héctor’s smile widened before he pressed his lips together.

               “You were right. About Mamá,” he said softly. “And…I think I always knew it, but…” He looked up as Ernesto took a step forward, setting his hand on his shoulder.

               “Escúchame, Héctor. I know…I know what I said a few days ago, but you are nothing like her.” His mouth pulled back into an almost-smile. “You’re already doing better than both of our parents. I think you have a shot at…at actually being a decent parent. If you remember to pay the rent on time.”

               Héctor smiled, relaxing immediately at the assurance. “Gracias, Nesto. That…it really means a lot.”

               “I know.” Ernesto stepped back, staring at Héctor for a moment before he held out his hand. “I’ll text you what the agent ends up saying later tonight, okay?”

               Héctor looked down at Ernesto’s hand, then took two steps forward to throw his arms around Ernesto in a tight hug instead. “If he doesn’t sign you on, he’s a hack,” he said, giving him a squeeze before letting go and giving Ernesto a big smile. “I fully expect to see your stupid face all over México in a couple years, bien?”

               Ernesto blinked, clearly caught off-guard with the sudden display of affection, but gave Héctor a smile in return. “And I’ll try to carve out some time for your wedding.” He pulled out his phone, already dialing the number on the card. “Anyway, I’ve got an agent to call. Hasta pronto, Héctor.”

               Héctor gave a wave just as Ernesto turned back to the doorway, letting out a breath as he disappeared down the stairs. But, just as Ernesto’s footsteps faded, a second set came rushing up, and Héctor gave a wide smile as Miguel ran out onto the roof, guitar in hand.

               “Tía Imelda said we should come up and check on you, but she’s being so slow,” Miguel said breathlessly as Héctor walked up to him. “Are you done with your call? Can I show you my song?”

               “Por supuesto, chamaco, my evening’s all yours,” Héctor said with a laugh. “Come on, I think there’s just enough room over here for the three of us.” As he guided Miguel to the spot, he looked down at him. “Are you loosened up?”

               Miguel nodded, shaking out his arms and shoulders to demonstrate.

               “Perfecto. But I think you could be a little looser. Why don’t we pull out el grito?” He took a deep breath, then let out a loud grito. Miguel joined him, trilling out a cry that was just as loud as Héctor’s. They both stopped and turned, though, at the third voice that echoed out from the doorway. Héctor grinned.

               “Was that a grito from La Directora?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. Imelda shrugged with a smile as she walked over to them, his guitar case in hand.

               “Well, if everyone else is doing it, I figured I might as well give it a try.” Her dark eyes glinted as she looked up at him, standing up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. “Sorry to keep you waiting, cariño, but someone needed to grab your guitar.”

               Héctor gave her a bright smile and a quick but enthusiastic kiss as he took the case. To think, he’d thought being away from this was a good idea. He cupped her face as he looked down at her, thumb brushing her cheek.

               “Why don’t we get married right now?” he asked softly. “Just run down to the courthouse before it closes.”

               “Well, aside from the fact that the courthouse is closed, I don’t have a ring, and you still haven’t even met my parents, I think we at least need to tell our soon-to-be son what’s happening,” she murmured, then took Héctor’s hand and kissed his palm a few times. “Then we can discuss what a bad idea that is.”

               Héctor smiled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Fair enough.”

               He took her hand and pulled her over to their spot, smiling as he saw Miguel carefully tuning his guitar. “Hey, chamaco, before you start, there’s something I wanted to tell you. Well, that Imelda and I wanted to tell you.”

               Miguel looked up, brows furrowed. “Is it bad?”

               “No, no! It’s not bad at all. It’s…” Héctor smiled at Imelda, then looked back at Miguel. “Well, Tía Imelda and I are…we’re planning on getting married.” To his surprise, Miguel rolled his eyes. “What? What’s wrong, Miguel?”

               “Well, I already knew that. You made her shoes,” he said matter-of-factly as he continued tuning his guitar. “Everyone knows what that means.”

               Imelda frowned slightly as she sat down on Miguel’s other side. “Am I the only one who didn’t know that shoes mean an engagement?” Héctor gave a smile and a shrug.

               “Well, now you’re qualified to be a Rivera.” He caught Imelda’s hand as she shook her head, pressing a kiss to it. “And now you’ll know what it means when Miguel makes someone shoes.”

               Miguel made a face. “No way. That’s gross.”

               Héctor laughed. “Well, that’s a long way away.” He opened up his case and pulled out his guitar. “Now, chamaco, let’s hear that song you’re writing.”

               Miguel wasted no time in strumming out his little tune, and the night passed wonderfully with Héctor helping him, with several duets between them and even a few songs coaxed out of Imelda. In all honesty, it was the happiest Héctor had been in a long, long time. He had his family. He had more music than he’d ever dreamed of.

               And finally, finally, after all these years, he didn’t need to worry about saying goodbye.

~

Fin.

[From both me and @im-fairly-whitty, thank you all so, SO much for joining us on the ride that is Teacher!AU. It’s been an incredible year and a half with all the stories, asks, drawings, and friends that have come from this AU. Thank you for sticking out long hiatuses and for being so understanding when we needed extra time. Thank you for your enthusiasm and likes and reblogs. And of course, THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING!!