Page 141 of Painting Celia

“You stop this craziness right now, Celia Rose.”

Celia breathed. “No.”

León finally took his eyes off her mother, risking a look at Celia. She met his dark, ready gaze and understanding flared between them. He inclined his head slightly to the door, raising his eyebrows. She replied with a barely perceptible nod.

León took Celia’s mother by the elbow. She jumped, mouth open, but didn’t struggle as he firmly walked her out of the building.

Twenty Eight

León dropped Celia’s mother’s arm in disgust the second the door banged behind them. The terrible things that had come out of her mouth!

She stuttered to a halt on the wet sidewalk, her feet slapping through the shallow stream crossing the sidewalk from Incubadora’s gurgling downspout. Rounding on him in outrage, she stepped back out of the water, cheeks fiercely red. She gaped as León planted himself solidly in front of the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice shrill. “That’s my daughter.”

A young Latina walking on the other side of the street, carrying a sleepy toddler, looked over as the sound carried. León caught her eye as she passed, and she moved on.

“Let me in!” Celia’s mother demanded, leaning forward, her bag nearly dragging in the wet puddle in front of her.

León checked inside through a tall window. The overcast sky reflected back, but he could just make out Kelsey with an arm around Celia’s shoulder, talking earnestly. She was in safe hands for now.

What would Celia want him to do? Get rid of her, surely.

“Celia will call you if she wants to talk,” he said, standing taller and crossing his arms over his chest.

She sneered, looking him up and down. “What are you, her bodyguard?”

He snorted. Celia needed a bodyguard, around her! She’d told him what this woman had done, breaking wooden spoons on her lost little daughter. She looked so normal; nondescript, no horns or pitchfork. Yet she had hurt his Celia badly.

“Why the silent treatment?” she railed, indignation kicking in. “I didn’t do anything! I deserve an answer! She can’t just pretend I’m not here!”

Not with that screeching voice, she couldn’t! A mustached man and his dog, clad in matching raincoats, approached from behind Celia’s mother. León wanted this scene over before neighbors started noticing Incubadora kicking angry white women out.

“Celia said no,” León said grimly. “That’s all I need to know, all you need to know.”

The man and his dog passed them, startling Celia’s mother. She waited, eyes narrowed, until they passed out of earshot.

“She didn’t mean what she said,” she hissed.

The negation flared in León’s blood. She wanted a fight, did she? “Don’t ever come back here,” he growled, eyes narrowing. “Ever! If you show up again without Celia’s personal invitation, we’ll have the police on you.”

She stiffened, meeting his glare. “It’s not illegal to come to see my own child.”

León pointed at her, fierce, his voice a snarl. “This isn’t a fucking joke!”

Her eyes bulged as she retreated a step. That shut her up!

“Go home now,” he gritted, “and don’t come back.”

He glowered as she gaped in disbelief, but faced with his immovable stance, she ran out of steam. She watched him warily as she hitched her bag higher on her shoulder, then turned and stalked away, head high.

What a bicha! Did she talk to Celia like that all the time? His mother would never dream of using guilt as a weapon. She would never call him crazy, no matter how loco he acted.

Oh, Celia.

He clenched a fist. He couldn’t fix the past, but he’d fight a hundred demons until Celia had what she wanted. It felt good—right—to fight for someone besides himself.

The wretched woman stopped halfway down the block, her bag swinging. She was a ‘last word’ type, for sure. “This isn’t right,” she shouted. “She’s my child!”

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