Chapter 27

Mo

"What do you think?"

Stella sighs, taking a sip of her protein shake, "I think you should have come to me sooner."

I raise my brow, "So you could invite me to another ABC party?"

She points her drink at me threateningly, "Don't get snappy with me, brother. My matchmaking skills were in top performance that night."

"I barely saw you at that party."

She smirks, "And yet somehow Nico knew exactly where to find you."

I groan, already regretting my decision to consult Stella about my plans.

"You"re insufferable."

She grins, "I know."

I shake my head, ready to end this conversation when Stella speaks up.

"There's only a couple of unpredictable variables with this plan." She holds up two fingers, counting one off, "Nico being the first. We really don't know where his head is at or how he will react."

She taps the second finger with a grimace, "And the second one being-

"Jonathan." I breathe out my father's name, wishing it didn't trigger a familiar bout of anxiety.

She nods, "Jonathan."

I give her a pointed look, "Those are the only two variables in this situation."

"Well then, let's hope you figure out the best solution to appease both." Stella grins, wiggling her eyebrows at me, "How was that for corporate jargon?"

I shake my head with a laugh, "Father would be proud."

She tilts her head, twirling the straw of her drink mindlessly, "He's not the one I want to make proud."

"Oh?"

My sister smiles, "You are."

Warmth fills my chest as I look at the young woman sitting across from me. We've come so far since that terrible day at the hospital, since the day my title as older brother became something else completely.

Since the day we both became something else completely.

I stare at her, noticing the way her cropped shirt lets the edges of her scar peak through. It might have been Stella"s skin that was ruined, but it didn"t stop me from staying up at night, trying to think of a way to bring back her confidence. It took a long time for me to come up with a solution, and even once I did, it didn"t turn out the way I expected.

The memory washes over me, but for once, I don"t try and fight it.

Pain hits my gut as I meet my sister"s gaze in the mirror. Her dark blue eyes, normally so full of life, seemed dull as she turned to look at the scar cutting through her left side. It was a hideous scar, running from the waist band of her leggings and branching off into a spiderweb of angry scar tissue that disappeared beneath her sports bra.

Stella had finally finished physiotherapy and had been hitting the gym as if her life depended on it. The new, lean lines of muscle made her body a work of art but I could see in her eyes that it wasn't enough.

"It will fade over time." I say the words with as much confidence as possible, wishing them to be true. Stella blinks, turning from the mirror to look at me.

"It will never be the same."

I nod slowly, both of us well aware that her torso will never be what it once was. Just like our family, Stella's side will always be marked with a permanent, ugly reminder of the accident that took our mother's life.

And stole the rest of our father as well.

"I could take you to get a tattoo." She blinks at my words, the tiniest flicker of emotion lighting up her eyes.

"You would do that?"

I nod, "If it would make you feel better, absolutely. Find an artist you like, who has the ability to work with unusual skin patterns, and I"ll take you."

"Deal."

Not two weeks later, my sister came bounding into my room with a studio in mind. We drove for three hours to find the nondescript tattoo studio Stella had found online. There wasn't a moment of hesitancy in my sister's step as we walked inside and made a beeline for the counter. I didn't question her decision to go into the back alone, I simply signed the guardian form and waited until she was done.

Stella didn't say a word when we started the drive back, she just stared out the window, murmuring along to mom's favourite playlist.

When we finally made it home, I turned to her with a tight smile, "Can I see it?"

She didn"t say anything, she just pulled up her shirt. My breath caught when the scar reappeared – it's twisted red lines just as grotesque as before. Stella twisted so I can see her other side and I stared at it with a frown.

"I thought you were going to cover up the scar."

She gives me a sad smile, "So did I. But once I was there, I knew I couldn't erase what had happened with a basic floral design."

I swallow, my gaze tracing the bolded letters, "You picked a good word."

"It felt fitting." She let her shirt fall back down, covering up the damage no therapy or tattoo could ever repair, "Father raised us to take accountability, so this is me accepting what's left."

I pictured the strong print Stella had picked. It was just as permanent as her scar, but this one would serve to fuel her.

Blinking back to the present, I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.

"You have always made me proud."

Stella smiles, her cheeks flushing with the faintest streak of pink, "You make me proud too, Mo. And I know mom would have been as well."

My throat tightens as a wave of grief threatens to breach the surface. My lips start to pull down and my brows pinch together, but I force myself to breathe through it.

"She would have loved to see us now."

Stella sighs, her glistening eyes reflecting all the emotions I refuse to express myself, "Do you think Jonathan would be different? If mom was still alive?"

I swallow thickly, thinking about the last time our father looked truly happy.

"I don't know, Stel. And I'm afraid we never will."

Nico

When I came out as gay, do you know what my mom said?

Love is love, Nico. It doesn't matter who the love is for.

There wasn't a moment of hesitation. There wasn't a single blink of surprise. It was simply a moment full of acceptance, support, and love.

When I told her my sob story of falling in love, do you know what my mom said?

"You're a stupid boy, Nico." She slaps my head, giving me a glare that is neither acceptive nor supportive.

My dad hums in agreement, his comforting hand leaving mine, "You can't expect to be lucky enough to fall in love and keep it. When you find someone worth fighting for, that's when the real challenge begins. You don't just turn and run like a fool."

And to think I drove all this way for some familial love.

My jaw drops, "You're supposed to be on my side! Team Montez till the end."

My mother clucks her tongue, stealing a cookie from the plate in front of me, "How can we be Team Montez when you are clearly in the wrong?"

Well then.

Shaking my head, I'm about to launch into another indignant rant when my father stands up and takes my mom's hand. I watch, stupefied, as he pulls her into his arms and they start swaying together in the middle of our crowded living room.

Planting a kiss on his lips, my mom tosses me a knowing smile over her shoulder.

"You can't be in love if you refuse to let your heart be taken by someone else. It doesn"t work that way."

She lets out a laugh as her husband twirls her, their twenty-plus years of marriage never once diminishing the affection they have for one another.

If my parents weren't so damn cute, this would be sickening to watch.

"Your mother was a difficult one to catch. I had to surrender both my dignity and pride to ask for her hand in marriage." My dad grins when he gets a whack on the shoulder, "But it was worth it. The biggest risk leads to the biggest reward."

I sigh, leaning back against the couch with tired eyes, "What type of reward could be worth the humiliation of rejection?"

She scoffs, "Have we taught you nothing?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

Carlos smirks, giving his wife a pat on the ass before turning his attention back to me, "It's only a rhetorical question if you don"t know the answer."

Coming home was a terrible idea.

I fling myself down on the couch, giving them both the evil eye, "You are no help whatsoever."

My mom sighs, untangling herself from my dad and returning to my side. The couch dips as she sits down next to me, her soothing fingers running through my hair.

"The answer is love, Nico. To love and to be loved is the greatest reward a person can receive."

I frown, wrapping my arms around her waist, "But how do you know if they love you back?"

She clucks her tongue, "You don't. That's why it's a risk."

Talk about shooting your shot blind.

My mom cups my face, her dark eyes twinkling down at me, "Part of the fall is not knowing the outcome. But if you don't take the leap, you will never know if Maurice was the one for you."

Blowing out a breath, I close my eyes. I picture every stolen moment we"ve had together these last few weeks and arrive at one stomach-plummeting conclusion.

That ridiculously handsome resting bitch face somehow became the one thing I looked forward to seeing every day.

Damn you, Maurice.

"You've got to ask yourself, is he worth it?" Her voice floats over me, her soft hands in my hair making me drowsy, "Would you rather risk your heart or lose the potential of something great?"

I open my mouth but she puts a finger against my lips, "You don't need to tell me. Just make sure you tell yourself."

ME: I'm out of town for the week but maybe we could talk when I get back??

I groan, deleting the message before hitting send.

ME: I'm sorry for the other night. I shouldn't have run away the way I did. Forgive me?

Gag. Delete.

ME: I fucked up our first date but any chance we could jump straight to a second?

Have I always been this awkward or is this a new development?

I groan, tossing my phone on my childhood bed just as a notification pings. Leaving my pride at the door, I eagerly grab my phone, pulling up my messages.

WES: Why do I keep getting notifications saying you're typing? We"ve talked about your misuse of this conversation thread.

Disappointment hits me as I register the name.

ME: Sorry not sorry. I was practicing what I was going to send to Maurice.

WES: …

WES: Well, what did you send?

I wince, typing out my confession.

ME: I haven't sent anything.

WES: Dude. Just send the message. Trip keeps giving me dirty looks because my phone keeps going off in class.

ME: I thought you and Trip didn"t have any classes together this semester??

WES: Who said it was my class?

I snort, picturing the snark Wes is getting for interrupting another one of Trip's classes. The man just can't stay away. It's seriously pathetic.

Though speaking of being pathetic…

ME: How have practices been without me?

WES: Are you asking about practice or do you want to know how Mo has been?

Busted.

ME: The second please.

Biting my lip, I watch the typing bubbles appear and disappear. Minutes start to tick by, so I switch to my vision board on Pinterest and add a few more photos to my latest collection. The incoming ping finally sounds and I jump back over, eagerly anticipating the essay Wes no doubt spent the last ten minutes writing.

WES: Come back and ask him yourself.

That bastard.

My thumbs fly over the keyboard, spamming the cruel man I insist on calling my best friend.

ME: That's it??

ME: That's all you're giving me??

ME: Wtf were you doing before sending me that shit response?

WES: I got distracted.

Please. Like we all don't know what that's code for.

ME: You're unbelievable.

WES: Trip just said the exact same thing ;)