Page 98 of Perfect Playbook

Logan mirrors my thoughts exactly. “I want him back, but that’s the paradox of death, isn’t it? I want everything I have now, but I wish I didn’t have to take the path that brought me here. You know?”

“I know.” I take his hand and kiss him. “I deeply, deeply know.”

He puts the photo back in the box. A seriousness fills the room with intense meaning. “Now we’re where we are, and I’ve stopped wishing we ever broke up, too. We have Nino because of it.”

We.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Luis has been hostingthis celebration for years, and the altar, though still familiar to the one I remember from years ago, has new decorations. Candles glow, bunches of marigolds are dotted about in every container he probably has that can hold water. Candles are on every shelf and mantelpiece. Traditional mariachi music plays, and there are at least thirty people here.

Everyone is dressed to the nines in skull motifs or simply wearing colorful dresses, charro suits, tunics… the display is a celebration of culture for those to which it belongs, and the Mendez invitation to be part of what and who they are, even if you’re not.

Ranch hands and their families fill the living room. Nino sits with another boy on the couch, both playing with Rubix Cubes. Diana, who owns the café in town, is here with her girlfriend, and other neighbors I vaguely recognize mill about, drinking, doing the two-step while chatting.

Luis is inviting, inclusive, and sentimental.

But his sons are not.

And there they are. Standing on the far end of the living room. All four of them in a menacing line of black suits, ties, and shirts. Their eyes are black circles painted as skull sockets, their faces bearing bone-like designs drawn to commemorate the celebration, or perhaps to test my mettle.

Shay already warned me they might not go easy on me. I’d expect nothing less. If Jolie didn’t marry my best friend, I’m not sure what kind of man it would take to jump over the hurdles us Hunter men would erect.

Shay leans in to speak quietly, “They typically wear all black to this. And that face paint. Don’t be vain. It’s not just for your benefit.”

A smile dances on my eyebrows. “Got it.”

She sucks in a deep breath and lets it out.

I thread my fingers through hers. “Hey. I’m not nervous.”

“I am.”

“You don’t have to join me, but I’m going in.” I dart my eyes over to the row of men standing there, expressionless skulls but exuding some kind of dare despite it. They’re ominous and still, like they’re someone’s tombstones. But I’ve always had confidence in my ability to win people over. Being a brother myself, I know what’s going through their heads.

Just then, Nino slides between our legs. He’s dressed to the nines in a suit like his uncles, though his shirt is whiteand he wears a matching bow tie. A white flower adorns his lapel, and Shay outdid herself with his Day of the Dead face paint

“Logan! Where’s your skull mask? I picked out a skull for you with Mom.”

I lift it in my hand. “Got it here, bud. I’ll put it on soon.”

“Then let’s take a selfie!”

“Definitely. I’m just going to talk to your uncles and then I’ll find you.”

It’s unlike Shay to shy away from conflict, but she takes the opportunity to split. “Mijo, let’s get you a drink.”

“I’m not thirsty.TíoSanti got me one.”

“Okay, then Mama is thirsty.” She steps away with Nino toward the kitchen and mouths over her shoulder: “Good luck.”

I spin on my heels and head straight for the brothers. It’s a little hard to make each one out as I approach, since they all look like reapers, but they become clearer the closer I get. Santi is definitely on the end. I recognize him best because we were in the same year and his eyes are brightest in the frames of his black sockets. He has Luis’ eyes, a lighter amber shade of brown, a bit like mine. The others stare at me, onyx irises almost invisible if not for slivers of white semicircles lining their lower eyelids.

Rio and Enzo, the eldest twins, who must be nearly forty now, lean against the wall at the end, arms crossed, and watch me approach as predators watch prey. Gabriel, the middle brother, who was a year ahead of me back in the day, lifts a finger in way of greeting.

But as expected, Santi is the first to speak. It would be messed up to ignore me. “Logan,” he says, like he’s been expecting me.

I suppose they have.

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