Page 18 of The Slayer
“No, I’ll send it to you.” Her voice was tight with pride. “I don’t need your money. I never needed it. You always think—”
“Please,” he said as he took another deep breath. “I have enough mierda to deal with. Let me just know you’re okay. Can you do that for me?”
“I don’t need you,” she said in a quivering voice. “If you want to live in the snow, then I don’t need you. Ineverneeded you.”
He arched an eyebrow and waited for a long moment before he asked, “Do you want to say sorry for that?”
“I guess I’m sorry.” Her voice was still quivering. “Are you going to be okay?”
“If you promise to take the money, I’ll be okay.”
She was silent now, still breathing heavily as if fighting tears, though Chuito knew she wouldn’t cry. She never did. He’d only seen her cry once in his entire life, and he never wanted to see it again.
For something to take down Sofia Garcia, it had to be truly horrific.
“I’ll take the money,” she whispered.
“Good.” He nodded and took another deep breath as he admitted, “I love you, Mamá. Visit Marc for me.”
“Every week,” she promised.
“Okay. I’m hanging up now.”
“I’m not going to say I love you too, ’cause I’m mad at you,” she told him, and she didn’t even hesitate about it. “You have to earn it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
“Ay,bendito, you better win.” Her voice was stern, unbending. “Kick their asses. Promise.”
He smiled in spite of everything. “I’ll win. I promise.”
“I raised you strong so the world wouldn’t hurt you,” she told him firmly. “Don’t let them hurt you now.”
“I won’t.” He was confident about it too. “The world never hurts me because I’m weak.”
She was quiet, as if hearing the unspoken accusation Chuito had leveled at himself. “I have to go back,” she said and then hung up before Chuito had a chance to say good-bye.
He let it go without getting too upset about it. His mother was prideful. She was willing to take the money. It was a fucking miracle, and Chuito would take his miracles where he could find them.
They were few and far between.
He picked up his bag and set it on the table. Then he unzipped it and dug through it. He pulled out a coffee tin and stared at it for a long moment, still feeling that horrible rush of loss hot against the back of his neck.
His younger brother and aunt had died three years ago in a drive-by that haunted his dreams every time he closed his eyes.
Chuito had done blow every single day since. It was the only reason he was still alive. If it wasn’t for the euphoria of drugs, he would’ve eaten his gun a long time ago.
Who said self-medicating didn’t work?
Chuito knew a clinic in Miami where, for enough money, they’d make sure anyone would pass a drug test. He was clean from diseases. He was careful as hell about that shit because his mother had scared the ever-loving fuck out of him and his cousin when they were young teenagers, but he had to pay to pass the drug test for Clay Powers.
Still Chuito knew this was coming. Professional sports took this shit seriously, and there was no one here to pay to pass. He’d known when he left that this was going to have to happen. It was part of the reason he’d done it.
But as he stared at the can, he was starting to question staying here.
Quitting cold turkey.
That was…
