Page 42 of The Last Sunrise

“This is a small island, and the service industry is even smaller. My friends were working on the boat and said some American dove off a big yacht and swam out to Julián’s boat. Obviously, that has to be you.” Her grin is contagious.

“Didn’t you encourage me to stay away from him when we met?”

“Oh, that.” She waves her hand. “I was just trying to warn you, but you can clearly handle yourself. I don’t want you to get tangled up in something that could hurt you, but you seem to be thriving. If that changes and he fucks with you, I’ll kill him and dump him in the ocean. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Amara’s gaze goes over my shoulder.

“Incoming,” she warns, nodding behind me.

My mother waltzes into the lobby with an entourage of men in suits behind her like an army. Her expression is serious and determined, slightly murderous, even. She’ssnapping orders to Lena, who’s struggling to keep at my mom’s pace as they cross the concrete floor, heading toward the door.

I consider attempting to hide, but my mother is in full work mode. She barely makes eye contact for a second, nods, and keeps walking until she’s out of sight.

“Yikes. I feel for whoever has to deal with her today,” I sigh, sending Lena strength.

“Has she always been like that? The whole boss-babe, badass, take-no-shit vibe?”

I nod. “Mostly, yeah. I vaguely remember her being a little less work obsessed when I was really young, but sometimes I question my own memories, unsure if that actually happened or not. What about your parents? Are they also work obsessed and that’s why you move around?” I ask.

“The opposite. My mom, god love her, she has zero ambition, zero passion for anything outside being drunk and, on occasion, high. Work injury led her to pain pills, which led her to living in a constant state of zombiehood. My dad works but hates his job and my mom”—she smiles—“but puts up with her, thank god. So I moved away the moment I could and will never,ever, move back to my hometown. Sorry, I know I unloaded my mommy issues on you before, but it’s a habit.” She smiles again.

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Thanks, and that’s life. I’m just grateful I get to live it.”

I lean onto the cold marble between us. Looking up at her in admiration. “Do you feel like that every day? Grateful to be alive, even if life isn’t everything it should be sometimes? The ups and the downs? They’re worth it to you?”

She nods and begins to gently caress my hair. Her affection heals a part of me that has been longing for a friend since I lost my dearest one, bit by bit, stroke by stroke.

“I’d rather live in chaos and uncertainty. Hearing my own laughter, tasting my own tears, falling in love and back out again, heartache, being loved, all the ups and downs. I can’t waste my life wondering what would have happened if I didn’t live that way. You know?”

I sigh, closing my eyes.

“I love your outlook on life. I admire it,” I say through barely parted lips, hoping to feel that way one day. Less afraid, less trapped in my own body and mind.

Now is the perfect time to explain to her about my very different outlook on life. How unfair it can be, how cruel its expiration date comes to some of us. But when I open my eyes again, she’s looking so affectionately at me, almost like she knows I’m hiding something but isn’t judging me for not sharing it, so I keep my mouth closed and do my best to etch this moment into my memory while I still have time.

“I’m so grateful I met you.”

“It’s mutual, babe,” she says as the phone begins to ring between us.

“I swear if it’s that fucking tiger guy I’m going to lose it.” She groans but changes her voice immediately back to her perky customer-service voice.

“Moltes gràcies per trucar a l’Hotel Maricel, com et puc ajudar?”

I wave goodbye to her and head out toward the pool.

Due to my mom’s busy day, my morning is free. I pick the lounge chair closest to the edge of the infinity pool and placemy bag down, kicking off my sandals. The cement is warm, the grainy texture alive under my bare feet. The sun is high already, though it’s barely nine. A group of seagulls converse above me, flying low and steadily in a swoopy circle. There’s only one other person at the pool, a man whose face is covered by a newspaper, presumingly asleep.

As I walk over to a lounge chair to put on a fresh spray of sunscreen over my layer from after my shower, my impulse to message Julián has fully taken over my mind. I want to show him the pool, the birds, even the view of the sea that he sees and lives on daily. I don’t want to come across as clingy, but truth be told, the only thing I want in my life right now outside of world peace and a magical cure for my medical crap is to cling to him as hard as I can.

What the hell, who cares if he thinks I’m clingy? He showed up on a damn boat yesterday. So why am I nervous to message him? I grab my phone from my bag and send him a picture of the pool.

Want some company?

His immediate response eases my nerves. I nod, laughing at myself for being so giddy and not realizing he can’t see me.

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