Page 69 of Miguel

We got back into the car after walking around a bit longer, and Miguel drove towards a house. The place was nice. It wasn’t rich or ostentatious, but the construction of it was at least finished, which was more than a lot of other homes could claim. The outside was painted a bright orange, and flower beds surrounded the property. It was a one-story, but with ample patio space.

Miguel parked the car in the garage and got out, opening the door for me before unbuckling Zeke in the back.

“This is where I grew up,” Miguel offered.

He led me inside, where the scent of food clouded through the air. I took a deep breath, my stomach threatening to rumble with hunger.

“Salvador, that you?”

“Who else would it be?”

Cami came out from a curtained doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She froze when she caught sight of me, surprise flashing in her gaze for a brief second before she smiled. “Hey. Just in time, I made arroz con pollo.”

“Smells good, hermanita,” Miguel said. “Can you fix Zeke a plate? I need to go find some batteries for his hearing aids.”

“They’re in the drawer over there.”

Miguel was already in motion, rummaging through said drawer and pulling out a pack of batteries. I watched with close attention as he changed them, placing the circular silver batteries into the aids before he went over to Zeke and put them on.

“There we go. Better?”

Zeke flashed him a thumb’s up before he rushed towards Cami, wrapping his arms around her legs.

“Hey, do you think you can do me a favor and watch him for a little while? We’re gonna head out for a bit.”

I felt my face flame at the mention, and Cami shot me a knowing look, a smirk kicking up on her lips. “Sure, but come and eat first, then you can leave.”

Right then my stomach chose to let out a growl.

Miguel laughed. “Food sounds pretty good, yeah?”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah. I could eat.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Lorena

Thearrozconpollowas perfectly seasoned and flavorful, spices exploding against my pallet with every bite. The food was good, and the company was even better. I watched with rapt attention as Miguel and Camila volleyed back and forth, regaling tales of their youth.

I could vividly picture them as children in my head. The wildness of their youth, dirty hands and scraped knees, afternoons of playing futból in the cornfields with neighborhood kids.

We’d all had similar childhoods full of sun, dirt, and fun.

Somehow, the picture they painted eased the nerves that had built up inside my chest. For a moment, everything about Miguel and his life seemed surreal. Overwhelming and chaotic. Yet when they recounted these things, it made him more… human.

Camila tossed her head back and laughed. “The last time we played futból was in the summer, remember? How old were we? Like sixteen? It was raining and we tracked mud into the house. Mamá was so pissed.”

“You didn’t play again after that?” Up until that point, I’d been content to watch them, interjecting on occasion if only to share my own similar experiences with my siblings and family.

At my question, both Camila and Miguel fell silent, and I wondered if I’d committed some sort of faux paus. The tense silence felt oppressive for a moment as Miguel and Camila took one another in.

“We stopped playing games after that, yeah.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why, but Camila answered my unspoken question. “Our papá died,” she supplied. “And then right after…”

Miguel let out a deep sigh. “Loco was sent to prison.”

A gasp bubbled out of me. “He was only sixteen!”

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