Page 12 of Ugly Truths
And the first way I wanted to use it was to start paying back the person who has been housing and feeding me for a month.
Though Peter more than likely thinks I’m dead, I can’t be too careful. I knew that if there were any people out there who could help me set up a new bank account and show me the best ways to transfer the money without drawing attention, it’d be Corey and Ben. Unsurprisingly, they’d done something like this before and felt confident in their process.
Once we had everything set up, I began making small transfers, just enough to avoid raising any suspicion. In a month or two, I’ll have everything cleared out. Eventually, I’ll go back to Arizona to retrieve theitems in my safety deposit box—the only other piece of my old life I left behind—but for now, going to one of the big branch locations in Breckenridge and working with a teller instead of the machines will do.
Luis steps fully into the room now, the door closing slowly on its own behind him. “I already told you, I don’t want your money. I have more than enough of it.”
“AndIalready toldyouthat I owe you. So take it.”
“You don’t owe me a damn thing,” he snaps, though the words sound tired. “I don’t know what it’s going to take to get that through your head.”
I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Luis,” I say softly, “I’m never going to stop. Just like with the groceries, it’ll be easier if you let me help where I can.”
His frustration gives way to something softer. “You do know that friendships aren’t supposed to be transactional, right? I didn’t help so you would owe me something. I helped you because I care about you.”
The tender words crash into me in an almost violent wave. Luisismy friend, but I’ve always tacked on other descriptors too—colleague, ally, strategist. We’ve never had the chance to only be friends, because friendships without strings or expiration dates aren’t something I know how to do anymore. Not really. The idea of being that and nothing else makes my skin heat uncomfortably.
I fold my arms across my chest. “It doesn’t change the fact that I want to show you my appreciation,” I mutter.
Luis's expression is unreadable as he steps closer to the bed. He sits on the edge, the mattress dipping as he pulls one of my arms loose to hold my hand in his.
“El.” His thumb brushes against the back of my knuckles. “When I invited you here, I meant it. What Peter did to you,” he pauses, jaw clenching briefly before he continues, “I just want you to feel like yourself again and figure out what you want to do next. None of this comes with strings attached.”
His sincerity chips away at tiny pieces of the walls I’ve been carefully reconstructing since June. I smile faintly, squeezing his hand in return. “I know. You have no idea how much that means to me. Really.”
My answer gives way to a moment of silence, and Luis nods. I start to relax, assuming that he’s receptive to my answer. The feeling fizzles out when his lips turn up on the corner.
He huffs out a laugh. “I can’t even pretend like I’m agreeing with you. I’m still not taking your money,” he admits.
I roll my eyes, tugging my hand from his to cross my arms again. “Over my dead body.”
Luis grins, leaning back on one hand over the top of my legs. “Nowthatfeels dramatic.”
“Says the man who just made a speech about friendships not being transactional,” I shoot back, blinking incredulously. Still, my own smile widens at his amusement.
He lets out a low chuckle, tongue scraping against his top teeth. The hand he isn’t leaning on moves—quick and precise, to latch onto the top of my knee and squeeze just enough to make me jerk.
I yelp, fingers curling around his wrist instantly. “Luis!”
His smirk grows, full of unrepentant delight. “Oh, so youdohave some nerves left under all that ice.”
My fingers tense around his wrist in return and glare at him, even as a reluctant laugh bubbles up in my throat. His grip loosens. “That was uncalled for.”
Luis lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “So is trying to bribe me.”
There’s no stopping the long exhale I release while I search for the words to tell him it isn’t a bribe, but they on my tongue when I look back up.
Luis is close enough that I can catch the faint scent of his spiced cologne and the subtle flex of his jaw, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking between us, where his hand still rests on my bare knee, my fingers encircling part of his wrist.
He lifts his gaze to mine. His eyes have shifted from teasing into something almost nervous. They track every feature of my face, studying it, as if seeing something for the first time and trying to decide if I see it, too.
My breath catches, and suddenly, I’m not in Alma anymore.
I can feel the air rearrange itself. Luis’s curls darken, taming themselves into something neater, more intentional. His soft brown eyes deepen into pools of ink, framed by glasses and sharper features I know far too well. I can almost hear Silas’s reassuring voice, low and smoky, as he tells me he wants me. Us.
I blink once, then again, harder this time. Silas’s face melts back into Luis’s, but the expression remains. Restraint of wanting to say something but holding it back.
The weight of Luis’s touch feels too warm. Too intimate.
