Page 87 of The Kiss Principle

“Half-brother.”

Zé leaned his head a little more heavily into mine. “And you love him.”

“Debatable.”

“If he comes back, we’ll ask him to give you power of attorney for Igz.”

I tried not to say what I was thinking. I tried to be positive, because Zé was always positive, always patient, always kind. Unless you brought home a bag of Mr. Taco tacos, and he ripped you a new asshole because you’d been doing so good on your diet, and why do you need a bag of greasy tacos? Because they’re delicious, I’d tried to explain. It hadn’t gone over well.

“You don’t know how Chuy is,” I said. “You don’t get it. He might come back and decide he wants to be her dad.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“What if he takes her away? God, Zé, he’d lose interest in her in about a day, and he’d drag her to those filthy fucking squats, with God knows what kind of people.”

Zé’s arms slid around me.

“I know.” I bit the words off. “I can’t control what other people do.”

He nudged me with his forehead again.

“I can only control myself.”

He kissed my nose.

“You know this psychobabble is about as useful as shit in a paper bag.”

“Fernando.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and then another. I concentrated on his arms around me, the points of contactbetween our bodies, the feel of the ground beneath my feet. After a while, I nodded.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said again.

“I know.” Then my eyes opened. “What time is it?”

Zé knew me well enough to be suspicious.

I checked my phone. “Shit, we’re going to be late for your PT.”

“We talked about this. I can miss—”

“Nice try.”

“One time won’t make or break—”

“We’re not going to have time for dinner, so we’d better grab something fast.” I did a quick scan. “How about that taco truck?”

“It would have been more convincing if you hadn’t started drooling when we pulled into the parking lot. We did something important today, Fernando. We took a big first step. Let’s celebrate with a nice, healthy meal instead of jamming fast food down our throats while we drive.”

“You’re going to PT.”

“No tacos.”

“You’ve got to eat something; you’ve got work right after.”

Zé’s face changed at the mention of his job. He looked, well, happy. It was only a few afternoons and evenings a week, and it was easy to plan my appointments and meetings around it. It wasn’t a lot of money. He’d started doing surfing lessons, working with a local surf shop. They’d been understanding about his knee, and so far, Zé had been careful, mostly working with the kids on land as they learned the basics about their boards and about surfing, and occasionally helping with the lessons in shallow water. He’d promised to be careful, and from what I could tell, he’d kept that promise. It was worth it, seeing his face transform like this every single time he even thought about the job. Getting part of his life back. And, of course, he was a natural with kids.

Then his face shuttered again. “No tacos. We’ll pick up protein bowls from that place near the house.”

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