8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Leo

I walk through the front door, Mykyta trailing behind me. The house is eerily quiet, and dark. I flick on a light in the hallway as I make my way toward the living room where Cat, Stella, and Rosa are huddled on the couch together in the dark, each clutching a pint of ice cream like it’s their lifeline. The three are leaning forward, totally focused on the TV.

My gaze flicks to the screen, and my stomach drops.

What. The. Fuck.

“Cat—”

“Shhh.” Rosa doesn’t even turn to look at me as she shushes me.

I cross my arms against my chest, a muscle near my eye twitching as I press my lips together, exhaling sharply through my nose. “Catharina.”

“Dad, be quiet. They’re about to tell us how the murderer messed up.”

I glare at my daughter, my molars grinding. “Why are you watching a true crime murder documentary? This is highly—”

Cat finally turns her head toward me. “You don’t watch true crime documentaries. You study them.”

Mykyta chuckles and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Jesus, fuck. Cap, you better be sleeping with one eye open.”

I shrug off his hand, my eyes narrowing to mere slits. “Don’t you think this is a little inappropriate for my daughter to be watching?”

My daughter throws her arms up, melted ice cream dripping from the spoon and onto the couch, and she lets out an exasperated groan. “Come on, Dad. Don’t you want me to know how to protect myself?”

“Stella, protecting yourself,” I say, my arm swinging out straight, all fingers pointing at the screen, “and this are two totally different things.”

“Well, we learned about trafficking today. This isn’t as scary.” Her tone is casual, as if discussing the weather.

But my body tenses at her words, heart rate picking up speed by the second. Trafficking? As in human trafficking? My gaze jerks back to Cat.

Her features soften. God only knows what I must look like right now. Probably like I’m about to have a heart attack. Fuck, am I sweating?

“The information is adjusted based on grade level, but all the kids are being taught what to look out for.” Her voice is soft and reassuring, but it does little to calm my nerves.

Fire drills, I get. Lessons on recreational drugs too. But then there was bullying and cyberbullying. Only to be followed up by lockdown drills because school buildings weren’t even safe anymore.

And now human trafficking? It’s like every year the world is becoming more and more dangerous.

My hands clench and unclench at my sides and I pin my gaze on my daughter. “Keep watching.”

Stella smirks, something akin to the Cheshire Cat, and I groan. Part of me wonders if when she was conceived somehow an Alonso ancestor’s soul was given to my daughter because, while genetically she might not be Cat’s, Stella’s attitude is so much like hers and Rosa’s.

My daughter looks over my shoulder and waves, her smirk widening. “Hey, Mosquito. Want to watch with us?”

“No.” Mykyta’s voice is soft and a bit strangled, as if it got stuck in his throat.

I look to my left and find Mykyta a bit pale, expression uncomfortable.

Not like him. Not at all.

“You good?”

He nods but doesn’t say a word. Definitely out of character.

“Mason’s downstairs playing video games. There’s lasagna in the fridge.” Cat smiles at Mykyta. “Enough for both of you.”

“Thanks.”

We head into the kitchen where I make us each a plate of food, heating it up in the microwave, then sitting at the kitchen island. The familiar smell of herbs and cheese fills the air, momentarily distracting me from the weirdness of the evening.

“Don’t like murder documentaries?” I ask, trying to sound casual as I dig into my food.

He shoves a forkful of the cheesy, saucy lasagna into his mouth and shrugs. “Too much blood.”

My eyes narrow a bit as I chew. That's bullshit. I've seen this man get into a fistfight on the ice, his face covered in blood, laughing as if he was having the best time of his life. But I'm not a therapist, so I'm not going to push. Plus, I hate when others try to get me to talk about things, like the death of my wife, when I don't care to.

So, I'll respect my teammate the same way I'd want others to respect me and drop it. We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the scraping of forks against plates.

Eventually, Cat comes in biting her bottom lip, and fuck if my dick doesn’t twitch. Now is not the time.

She tucks a stray, curly hair behind her ear. “Sorry my grandmother shushed you.”

Mykyta swallows his food, then smiles. “Ah, that’s the infamous Grandma Rosa?”

She rolls her eyes, but they seem exhausted. Her shoulders slump, and she pretty much drags herself over to the counter where Mykyta and I are. “Yeah, she fell and was taken to the ER. Stella didn’t make it to dance class.”

I stop chewing and put my fork down, concern immediately replacing any lingering inappropriate thoughts. “Why didn't you call?”

She waves a dismissive hand. “For what? I had it taken care of. I mean, Stella missed class, but one time is okay.”

“Cat, it’s not about the damn dance class.” My fingers clench and unclench as I bite into the side of my cheek, trying to stave off the frustration building. “What is with you and asking for help? Why’s it such an issue?”

Mykyta's eyes bounce between Cat and me as he shovels more lasagna into his mouth, clearly trying to make himself invisible. Smart man.

Just then Rosa walks in, her presence filling the room despite her small stature.

“Mi nieta, you better not be gossiping about me.” The older woman sidles up to my teammate, who shoots her one of his signature—and totally obvious—flirtatious smiles. “And who might you be?”

“He’s a fucking pest.”

Rosa whips her head in my direction, her eyes blazing. “And you are an ornery pendejo. Leave the boy alone.”

Cat lets out a long, drawn-out groan that seems to come from the depths of her soul. She pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “Abuela, go sit and relax please before we head home.” Her voice is strained, like she's trying to keep it level but failing.

She turns to me, shoulders sagging slightly. Dark circles under her eyes are more pronounced now, and she runs a hand through her hair, mussing it further. “I'm going to spend the night there if that's okay?” She pauses, biting her lower lip. “Your schedule says you don't have practice until later tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, that’s—”

“Catharina, I am not a child. You do not need to babysit me.” Rosa's eyes narrow, her chin jutting out defiantly. Her small frame seems to grow larger as she squares her shoulders, matching Cat's stance. The air between them practically crackles with tension, two immovable forces facing off.

I stare at Mykyta, now feeling like he must've a moment ago. Caught in the middle of a family drama that I'm not quite sure how to navigate.

Cat's fingers press into her temples, moving in small circles, as a small sigh escapes her lips. “Abuela, please go sit inside.” Her voice is soft, almost pleading.

My teammate pushes his chair back with a scrape against the floor. He stands, stretching slightly before offering his arm to Rosa. “Come, pretty lady. Let's go finish watching that show.” His voice drops to a whisper, though it's still loud enough for us to hear. “Let these children finish talking. You know, they were bickering like a married couple right before you came in.”

Mother. Fucker.

Rosa turns and looks at both Cat and me, and I swear that lopsided devilish smirk and narrowed eyes put me on edge. And fuck if my goddamn evil daughter doesn’t have the same look.

Mykyta and Rosa head back into the living room, and I turn to Cat, trying to ignore the way my heart rate picks up when we're alone. “Stay with her for the night. I also have a spare bedroom if you want her to stay here.”

She snorts. “My grandmother will sneak out and make her way home if I try that. Maybe even steal the car.”

Wyatt told me Rosa is a bit of a handful. Thought he was over-exaggerating. Guess not.

Cat hops up onto the chair, her movements sluggish. She leans forward, her forehead hitting the counter with a soft thud.

My chest tightens at the sight. Something else is going on. “You okay?”

“No.”

“Talk to me.”

She lifts her head slowly, like it weighs a ton. Her eyes are red-rimmed, glistening in the kitchen light. “She fell because she accidentally doubled her dose of blood pressure meds. Not the first time, apparently.” She blinks rapidly. “The doctor says it might be early onset dementia, but either way she shouldn’t be living alone anymore.”

Not sure what to even say to that, so I just nod.

“Then the brochures came out.” Cat's laugh is hollow. “Assisted living, home health aide. She lost it. Cursed out everyone in sight.” She bites her bottom lip. “She did it in Spanish, so Stella didn’t understand.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Her fingers tangle in her hair, tugging slightly and resting her forehead on her palms. “How the hell do you get a woman help when she flat out refuses?”

I quirk an eyebrow, pressing my lips together to suppress a smirk.

She lifts her head, eyes narrowing. “Don’t start.”

“You two are exactly the same, so you probably know the answer.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.”

Her mouth opens and closes, no words coming out, eyes wide.

“What?”

Her head tilts, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You cracked a joke. I didn’t think it was possible.”

A long sigh escapes me. “Why do you all think I have no personality?”

“Because you don’t.”

She says it so casually, it stings more than I'd like to admit. I push down the hurt, reminding myself that now isn't the time for my own feelings.

“Look, Cat. Whatever you need, tell me. If Rosa needs to stay here while you figure it out, fine. I have the room. I’ll help any way I can.”

And I mean it.