Page 89 of Hidden Memories

What if this is a mistake? What if I’m leading Theo straight into another storm, just because the walls are thicker at Monarch Hills? Just because I want to believe Santi when he says we’re safe?

And yet, I know deep down that staying at Julia’s wasn’t an option anymore. The cameras, the constant threat hanging over us—it was too much.

When we pull up to the gate, the guards see it’s Julia’s car coming and head straight into the hut beside. The tall, robust wrought iron gates begin to open.

“Why do they have all this security here anyway?” I ask.

“The business Enzo and Rio are in…”

“GhostEye?”

Julia blows a guard a kiss on the way through. “Enzo is especially paranoid about safety. He’s been that way because of things that happened in the past but also, I suppose since they’re active in bringing down so many crime rings, he believes there are criminals out there with a target on his back. Rio’s back.”

I laugh sarcastically. “And this is where we’re safer.”

“Those guards might blow me kisses but don’t get twisted. The boys have got the best of the best pacing the perimeter of this place. Not to mention now that both Gabriel and Anton are living here, you’ve got two trained Navy SEALs for neighbors.”

As solid as Julia’s front door lock was, this trumps it.

She continues up the long driveway toward the cluster of houses, it’s a lot like driving into a cul-de-sac. Here are the six houses Santi built for his family, just like he said hewould under our tree. I’m truly in awe of his determination. His grit. Shit, even his luck to have stayed on enough bulls to get here.

Julia throws her old Chevy into park. We’re in front of the house which must be Santi’s. Of course we’re bunking with him because there’s no explanation why Theo and I wouldn’t stay with myfriend.

His house, like the others, is Spanish style with a stucco exterior and arched windows, wide patios and ornamental ironwork that showcases he’s a cowboy with attention to detail. Beyond it, the hills roll on forever, dotted with grazing horses and sturdy wooden fences. It’s beautiful, peaceful, and completely unlike the chaos of the past few months.

Santi steps onto the porch, broad shoulders framed by the glow of the setting sun. He leans against a beam like he owns the entire sky, easy, controlled, the kind of calm that says nothing shakes him. His black t-shirt hugs his biceps and is tucked into jeans that are a perfect fit around his tight, muscular waist. At his feet, Mila watches him the way everyone else does—like he’s the one who knows what to do.

His expression is unreadable, but his presence is absolute—rooted, immovable. He’s part of the land itself. The kind of man you could lean on, even when you don’t want to. Even when you shouldn’t.

Keeper bounds out of the car as soon as Theo opens the door, racing toward Santi, who crouches to greet my dog with a few firm pats. Then, the two dogs make a tornado playing with each other.

Theo steps out slowly, his gaze darting around as if unsure whether it’s safe to relax. I follow, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Santi’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. Thememory of his kiss flashes through my mind, making my cheeks heat, but I quickly shove it aside. There’s too much at stake to get lost in that now.

Santi comes down the stairs, takes my bag from me then heads to the flatbed to grab our suitcases. I say goodbye to Julia, and she heads over to park at Luis’.

“Welcome,” Santi is loaded up with all our belongings. “Come on inside. I’ve got rooms set up for you both.”

He starts up the path, his forearms flexing with our most precious objects hanging from his hands.

Inside, the house smells like cedar wood and something faintly spicy, like cinnamon. It’s both expansive and cozy, with high ceilings and soft, inviting furniture. A fire crackles in the stone hearth. And art… There is art everywhere. It’s not tasteless in placement, or encroaching upon the minimalistic feel, but it’s clear he’s an enthusiast.

“Theo,” Santi says, kneeling to meet him at eye level. “I set up a room for you upstairs. Keeper can sleep there with you if you want. And I’ve got something else I thought you might like.”

Curiosity flickers in Theo’s eyes. Santi leads us up the stairs and opens the door to a room that takes my breath away. It’s simple but thoughtful, with a hand-knitted, soft quilt on the bed, a shelf stocked with books and a small wooden desk that holds a whittling kit neatly arranged on it. Theo’s eyes widen as he takes it all in.

“I bought the supplies yesterday so we could get started,” Santi says, his tone casual but his expression hopeful. “Did you bring your wood back with you?”

Theo’s eyes shine with something I haven’t seen in too long—wonder. He doesn’t say anything at first, just steps closer, like he’s afraid if he moves too fast it’ll disappear. His fingers brush over the tools, slow and reverent.

He offers Santi a thin-lipped smile. “Thanks.”

God. That small word breaks me. Because it’s more than thanks. It’s trust. It’s a kid who has had too much taken from him realizing someone just gave him something back.

Santi’s shoulders relax slightly. “Anytime, little man.”

The dogs chase each other into Theo’s new room, and Keeper jumps up on the bed.

“Sorry…” I rush to scoot him off.

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