Page 3 of Keepsake

“I want a chance to fulfill my best friend’s wishes.” I was nearly begging.

Silence followed my request.

“Mamá?” Alvaro sighed, making me glance his way. My memories of Alvaro Castillo were fragments of a tiny TV screen, rather than a complete person. He was long gone from the house when we were teenagers having sleepovers, but Sofia adored him. He was her hero. Her mother hated what he had done with his life, but we used to watch his MMA fights on the VCR in secret.

“She’s not a mother,” Caridad declared.

“Sofia wasn’t a mother at first.”

“Sofia was an excellent mother.” Caridad reeled back, and Alvaro sighed again.

“She was, Mamá. But Sofia needed to learn. Why can’t Logan learn too?”

I bit on my cheek to keep from smiling. Big brother was helping. He was the first person who didn’t sound disgusted with the idea of me raising those kids.

“I can learn,” I said quietly, trying to put as much humility as I could into my words. Caridad needed to see I wasn’t above groveling.

The woman broke eye contact with her son and turned to me, hatred steaming off her. She always disliked me, even when I used to sleep at her house and was her daughter’s best friend. She always refused when Sofia asked to come over to my house. Now, it wasn’t just a birthday or a trip Sofia was asking of her mother. It was to give her grandchildren to me.

“You chose career over family, Logan,” the woman said. “You have a life in the city and a demanding job. You can’t take three kids and think they’ll fit in with your life. They need to stay where they feel comfortable. They need to…”

“I told you I don’t want to uproot the children.” I tried. “I want to get to know them first and…”

“First and then what?”

I frowned. “Try to be there for them—”

“You’re never going to be their mother.” And without any more words, Caridad left the bedroom.

I heard the door click behind me and then, only then, I let a tear fall. It wasn’t her harsh words that affected me. I knew I’d never be a replacement for their mother, but it was the raw quality of her voice.

I sniffled, and the rustling of fabric reminded me Alvaro was still in the room. “My mother is grieving,” he explained, but I couldn’t look at his face.

I nodded, eyes cast down. “I know.”

“I’ll talk to her,” he promised.

I nodded again, words failing me.

We were stuck in place, my hands shaking and his breathing coming through in big gulps of air. Finally, he moved. I heard the door clicking close behind me once again. Only when he was gone did I stop to think it was his bedroom that I made him leave.

Ididn’tsaygoodbyeto the kids.

They didn’t know me, and I couldn’t anger Caridad again. My shoulders were heavy as I went to my car and drove to the hotel.

My hands gripped the wheel in front of me and I blew out an exasperated breath. This feeling? I had never felt like this before. It was eating me alive, distorting my beliefs. I blinked like it would make me see things better, but if I was confused before, now after talking to Caridad, I was even worse.

At the hotel, I took my time with a long shower until my skin couldn’t take the scalding water anymore. My tears ran freely down my cheeks, my hands balled into fists, pounding the tiles in front of me.

Sofia was a better person than me. She deserved to live. She hadsomethingto live for.

My funeral clothes were tossed to the side. All I wanted was to burn them. I squeezed myself into jeans and a top, my hair up in a bun and my face devoid of makeup. I went downstairs pretending to look for the restaurant, it had been a week since I had a proper meal.

I parked my ass in a booth in the most secluded space of the hotel bar and bistro. When the waitress arrived to take my order, I didn’t order food. No, it was whiskey I needed, and it was whiskey she brought me.

I sipped it and let it burn on its way down. I never liked the drink, but it worked like a charm.

My fingertips touched the glass in front of me. Caridad was right. I was unfit to raise those kids. But so were all of us.

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