It’s been a long eight years. Yet, not so long the sun warming my face should feel illegal. But it does. In prison, spending time outside was a reminder that I was caged like an animal, with controlled hours when I could enjoy the simple things I once took for granted. So, standing outside of the walled structure where I spent years counting down the days to my liberation, feels like I shouldn’t be allowed to bask in the warm rays this freely. 

My ride finally pulls up, so I chuck my cigarette at the ground and stub it out. Who would have thought that me, of all people, would pick up a smoking habit? It was hard not to give in. Nicotine wasn't just a form of currency in prison. It became a way to pass the time and to soothe anxieties.

In a way, it became a friend when I had no one else.

“Ahhh!” Angie leaps out of the car, and I’m surprised she shifted the gear into park with how excited she is. “My Handsome is free!”

We run to each other, and she flings herself into my arms, her legs hooking around me as I spin her around. She smells so good, so I bury my face in her neck. Behind her, Ana is filming us with her phone, and her boyfriend David emerges from the car, holding a bundle of balloons. They’re cute together. They met at a special needs vocational school a few years ago and worked their asses off to become Veterinary Assistants. Angie couldn’t be prouder. They also encouraged her to adopt a puppy.

Two years after I went to prison, Angie was finally diagnosed with a severe case of Endometriosis. I used Augusta's money to pay for the best specialists and tests, but ultimately, they recommended she have a hysterectomy. Angie cried for days. Deep down, she still hoped she could have a baby, but we agreed her health was more important, and she had the surgery. Since then, the pain she lived with for years has vanished, and now she pours her mommy love into that spoiled canine she calls Daisy.

With my arm draped around her, we walk to the car, where I hug Ana. Daisy barks at me from the window, her tail wagging. It fills my heart with a warm happiness that spreads across my chest. Familia.

I am now complete.

This is what life is all about.

“What’s my mom up to?” I ask Angie.

“She had to take Steve to the hospital for his Chemo treatment. She wanted to be here, though.”

“Hey, she’s where she needs to be. I’ll talk to her later.”

“What do you want to do first?” Ana asks. “Are you hungry?”

“Honestly, I just want to go home and take a long, hot shower and put on real clothes.”

“Then let’s go!” Angie wraps her arms around my torso and squeezes me with a delighted sigh, “This is the best day ever.”

And it is, but it doesn’t feel real yet.

Things are just different—even the cityscape that whips by as we head home. There’s new construction everywhere and new apartments and strip malls where there used to be none. When we cross the bridge into San Francisco, it feels like home with its familiarity, but there are new skyscrapers and much more traffic than before. As Angie drives us through the city, it’s too noisy. Busy. 

So I close my eyes to block it out.

“Tired?” She squeezes my knee.

“Yeah. I’m ready for a real bed.”

She brushes her fingers across my knuckles, where the letters of her name are tattooed. Who would have thought I’d leave prison with more tats than I went in with? My mom hasn’t seen the portrait of her face I had done on my right shoulder blade or Cha Cha scrawled in cursive right next to it after the poor old girl passed away. 

We pull into a gas station to buy smokes, and it’s a bit embarrassing that Angie has to hand me her card since I don’t have any of my possessions or money yet—just the clothes on my back. When I come back to the car, it’s like I’ve walked in on a conversation I wasn’t supposed to hear because Angie quickly readjusts herself in her seat to retake the wheel, and Ana smiles like she’s guilty of something, while David fusses with the balloons. 

But I’m too tired and overwhelmed by the bustle of the city to question them. Angie shifts the gear into drive, and we exit the gas station for the final stretch home. 

As we enter Golden Gate Park, I’m relieved to find it the same with its lush greenery and trees that sway in the breeze, like arms waving and cheering at my arrival. I roll down the window and inhale a deep breath. I can almost taste the salt from the ocean that isn’t too far from here. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll walk over there and let the frigid waves lap at my feet before checking in with my parole officer.

The mansion’s security gate rolls open as we pull up, and my heartbeats go from calm to a frantic staccato in seconds. Angie tosses her keys at one of the guards, and he catches it mid-air before hopping into the car to park it in the garage. Another guard drives us up the path in a golf cart to the house, and the rose garden whips by like time never stopped. Gardeners prune the bushes and weed whack the edges, but some stop to tip their wide-brimmed hats at me.

When we reach the front steps,  memories I’ve tried to suppress flood to the forefront, like seeing Augusta’s brain explode right in front of me. Sometimes, I still see it in my dreams, and I wake up thinking I can feel her warm blood on my face.

Was she truly carrying my baby at the time?

I guess I’ll never know.

The last time I climbed up the mansion steps, it was for the gala, and now the place is different yet the same. A guard calls me Jefe, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being referred to as Boss. While I was gone, Angie called the shots on the mansion's renovations. So she’s the real boss, and she ressusetsted this place after so much tragedy and betrayal turned it dull and dreary. The shades of yellow on the exterior remind me of a sunflower in a field standing proudly amongst the many green trees. Coincidentally, Angie renamed the property The Sunshine Estate of Golden Gate Park.

And I like it.

“Welcome back, boss,” two security guards say before opening the massive front doors. 

I’m only a few steps in when a boisterous SURPRISE has me jumping from my flesh as friends and family emerge from different corners. A giant Welcome Home banner unfolds from the ceiling with confetti raining down like we’re at a parade, and my mom’s new dog comes charging at me and bites my ankles. 

“Tito!” she scolds.

Angie sides up to me with a sympathetic half-smile. “I’m sorry. A party seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“It’s fine.” I shake my head and engulf my mom, who has tears in her eyes. “You look great, Ma.”

She holds my face, studying every curve and line. “I’m so glad you’re home, Miguelito. It’s finally over.”

“Me too.” I look around. “And Steve?”

“He’s in the kitchen harassing the caterer. He wants to make sure they cook his steak medium-rare.” She shakes her head.

“How’s his cancer?”

“It’s fine,” she sighs. “He’s stubborn and strong. He’ll beat it.”

“Just remember, whatever he needs, I’ve got it covered.”

“We’re fine, Mijo. Steve has great health coverage through his retirement pension.” 

"But still. Anything I can do to help."

“My man!” Jackson pushes his way to us, with Alma in toe. 

Their eight-year-old and six-year-old boys walk sheepishly by his side while Alma carts their three-year-old daughter on her hip. We hug, and they introduce me to their brood.

“I can’t believe you have another one in the oven!” I laugh, rubbing Alma’s swollen belly. 

“I can’t either,” she huffs and does a hair flip, the giant rock on her finger catching the light. “Someone, please snip Jackson already. I can’t take it anymore.”

They married when Alma found out she was pregnant with their second baby. I missed it, but from what I hear, it was a beautiful celebration, and I’m glad I could at least gift them a beautiful wedding ring set. It enraged Angie, though. She’s still a little bitter about things, but not like before. Evan strides up and sticks out his hand while saying it’s great to have me back, but I slap his knuckles and pull him into an embrace. Despite what the cops said, he never ratted on me or Jackson. That was all Chloe. Over the years, he would visit me in prison, and we had great heart-to-hearts. 

We became friends again.

“Alright, everyone,” I say. “I need a hot shower and to get out of these old clothes. Give me about thirty minutes to get cute?”

“You’re always cute, Mijo.” My mom kisses my cheek. “But go on. Go shower.”

I jog up the stairs, leaving my guests behind, and it still hasn’t fully sunk in that I’m free and this is my home. The last time I climbed up these steps was to find Lucas because I thought he killed Augusta. When I reach the atrium on the third level, I take a deep breath, then proceed toward the double doors for Augusta’s old bedroom, but I don’t enter. Instead, I poke my head inside and study the remodel Angie did. 

The room looks nothing like before. Instead, it has a lux, five-star hotel ambiance. In fact, everything I’ve seen so far reminds me of a lavish hotel, but some of the old Victorian charm is still here, like the original wood beams, paneling, and tiles. Angie should have a TV show. She's good at renovations and decorating.

“What do you think?” Angie says behind me.

“Looks great, but now I don’t know if I want to nap or shower first.” 

“We can try out the bed later.” She nudges me toward the bathroom, where all the gold accents are gone and have been replaced with a modern touch.

I’m relieved. 

The last time I showered here was to wash Augusta off of me. But I see no trace of her as I look around, and I spend a good ten minutes letting the water jets hit me from various directions. I keep my eyes closed and enjoy the peace. 

I am free.

Yet not completely.

I whip around and jump back, ready to fight, but find a naked Angie standing there, wide-eyed. 

“Fuck.” My shoulders slacken, remembering I'm in the safety of my home and not the prison shower. I lower my fists and relax my hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“I barely touched you…” she whispers.

“Just…” I take a deep breath. “Don’t sneak up on me while I’m showering. At least not for a while.”

Her brows furrow as she steps closer, her hands tracing scars on my body that weren't there before. I have a story for each one and the kind of shank that was used in some asshole's failed attempt to assassinate me. She glides her hands up my chest and to my face.

“You’re not there anymore. You’re here. Safe with me.”

“I know.” I kiss her palm. “Just not used to everything yet.”

“Sit.” She nods at the built-in bench seat, covered in tile. 

“Yes, ma’am.” I ease down, and she slides onto my lap to straddle me, the water jets splashing her back.

“You’re home, Miguel.” She reaches between us, taking my girth in her hand with gentle strokes. I’m instantly hard. “Here, you have control. You’re the boss—the shot caller.”

“I don’t know about all of that.” I swallow, my voice a deep rasp. “You and Bernard were the ones who oversaw things while I was in there.”

“But you were the one calling the shots. It’s why Jocelyn tried so hard to have you killed in there.”

“She almost succeeded, too. She had Chavez killed two years ago, and it left me vulnerable.”

Too vulnerable. The last twenty-four months of my sentence were the hardest, but I haven’t told Angie just how hard.

"True." Angie node. "Jocelyn went into hiding when Emilio sent his dogs after her, and they almost killed her. Again. She's a coward.”

“I think she’s dodged Emilio’s hired hits as much as I’ve dodged hers.”

“She’ll never get to you.” Angie looks deeply into my eyes, her hand ghosting along my erection, eliciting heavy breaths from me. “She can try, but she has no power anymore. Jocelyn only has Kay and the few men who remain loyal to her for whatever reason.”

“Enough about that woman.” I nip at her bottom lip.

Angie grins wickedly and begins stroking herself with the head of my cock, and I’m going to burst if she keeps toying with me. I grip her hips, my fingers digging into her ass. 

“I think you want me,” she whispers, her lips skimming mine.

“Very much.”

“Good.” She crashes her mouth to mine and slips me inside her. 

Our kiss deepens, but I erupt in seconds, and Angie is utterly content with herself as she laughs between kisses. We embrace, with her head resting against my wet chest while I caress her back as the water rains down on us. 

“I love you, Mr. Gomez,” she says.

“I love you, too, Mrs. Gomez.”