There is a strong urge to walk out of the apartment and head to the bar down the street to get hammered. But there is also a  considerable chance that either my mom or Angie would find me and drag me back home by the ear. Hell, they might even tag team to get the job done. Instead, I close the door behind me, hang my leather jacket on the hook, take my boots off, and go to the kitchen, tossing my keys onto the counter. 

Angie stands at the stove, stirring a pot of beans, glaring. “Where have you been, honey?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“Miguel, please sit.” My mom motions across the dining table from her and Steve. “We need to talk.”

“You’re asking me to sit at my own damn table, in my own damn home?” 

“Don’t you dare give me an attitude! I haven’t seen you since that man took you away at gunpoint. Now sit.”

“Fine…” I scoot out the chair and plop down. “What’s going on?”

“Steve told me what you told him.”

My gaze slides to the old detective who is now banging my mom. “Thanks a lot, Steve.”

“Come on, Miguel. You know I had to tell her.”

My mom takes his hand. “Steve can help you.”

“No. Absolutely not,” I say.

Angie approaches the table, her hand sliding around my shoulder. “Help with what? What did you tell him?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” I say, but I should know better than to dismiss Angelina Mendoza.

“No. We’ll talk about it now.”

My mother waves her hands between us, trying to shut it down. “Listen, Angie, this is between us and my son. So please, give us some privacy.”

“Ma,” I warn.

“Privacy? Um, no,” Angie sasses right back. “I live here, and he is my boyfriend.”

My mom’s gaze snaps to me. “Boyfriend?”

“Yes, Ma.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “Angie is my girlfriend now, so I need you to be respectful.”

“Respectful?” my mom repeats and looks at Steve as if I’ve asked her to amputate her arm. “Mi culo! Tienes la audacia de decirme que debo ser respetuosa?”

“Ma, you’re in my apartment. So, yes, you need to be respectful to the woman I’m dating.” 

Before my mom can retort, Steve takes her elbow. “Your son is a grown man. We can’t choose who he dates, but we can help him with the problem we came here to discuss.”

My mom huffs, “She’s the one who got him into this mess. I will never accept her.”

“You told them about that?” Angie gasps, her attention shifting to me. 

My mom circles her finger at her. “Yes, we know all about your little tricks and deceitful ways. You’re lucky I haven’t clawed your eyes out.”

“No wonder she hates me…”

“She doesn’t hate you,” I say.

“Oh, yes, I do!"

“Ma!” 

“She’s worse than Celia."

"You can't be serious. Celia cheated on me for years and terminated pregnancies I didn't know about."

My mom's head reels back with a shake. "What?"

"Nevermind. That's a discussion for another day. Right now, we're talking about how you need to chill."

Angie’s gaze is at our feet when I look at her, and I haven't seen her this sad since finding out Jeremiah has been body-shaming Ana. So, I take her hand, but she slips away from me and steps back from the table.

“I’ll give you privacy.”

“Wait. Where are you going?” I reach for her again.

“The bedroom.”

“Let her go,” mom says. “She’s caused enough trouble.”

“No. You don’t get to come into my home and make her feel bad. I know who she is, and whether you like it or not, you will learn to respect her.”

Leaving the table, I head down the hallway after Angie, but her short legs are pretty fast, and she’s already in the bedroom, closing the door. I push on it and slide inside. She’s tugging her clothes out of the dresser with tears streaming down her face. So I yank the shirts out of her hands. My mom was rude, but I didn't think it would affect my strong, stubborn Angie like this.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re fooling ourselves if we think this will work.”

“Angie.” I take her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at me, but she avoids my gaze. “Talk to me. What are you doing?”

“No. What are we doing? Look at how we started, and we’re only just now being kind to each other. Not to mention, your mom hates me, and she has every right to.” 

“She’ll get over it.”

“She’ll never accept me. She said so herself. How is this supposed to work if I’m driving a wedge between the two of you? If it were Ana, I wouldn't think twice to break things off. She's too important to me, and your mom is too important to you.”

"Wow."

"Yeah, so we should quit while we're ahead."

“Stop.” I cup her face, but Angie jerks away, so I weave my arms around her, and she fights me on that, too.

"This isn't going to work, Miguel." She shoves my chest. So I drop my hands, back up and let out a calm breath while she glares at me with eyes saturated in tears.

"Angie. It’s just a hurdle. We’ll get through it. My mom can be a stubborn asshole. In fact, I probably got it from her, but she has a big heart. We just need to give it time so she sees what I see.”

“And what do you see? Why would you want to be with someone who manipulated you?”

“We both played dirty games and said awful things, but we did it from a place of hurt. We’re better now.”

“Are we?”

“Angie…” I furrow my brows, the knot in my stomach still twisting. Despite the wall she's putting up, I take her face and wipe her tears with my thumbs sweeping across her cheekbones. “If you truly want out, I won't stop you, but if you're saying all of this because you're scared, then I'll fight for you. I'll even ask Gwen to do couples counseling with us. So tell me. Do you want to be with me?”

Her watery eyes search mine. “I do want to be with you, and I am scared.”

“I am, too, but I want to see where this relationship goes. Don't you?" Angie closes her eyes, causing tears to roll down her cheeks, but she nods a yes. I kiss her salty tears away and embrace her. "Good. Now stop with this crazy talk, and put your clothes back in the drawers. I promise that my mom will come around. You trust me, right?”

“Yes,” she says softly.

“Alright. Stay in here and relax while I talk to them. Everything will be okay.”

"Wait." She tugs my arm. "What happened tonight? Where did you go off to?"

"We'll talk about that later. One shit show at a time."

When I exit the room, my gut is still churning. I feel better about where Angie and I stand, but something is on the horizon. Something I won't be able to control, and it will fuck me hard with no lube. Between getting questioned by detectives, Augusta offering me to work for her, and the Evan situation, I feel all sorts of anxiety twisting me in different directions. 

I take a deep breath before heading back to the table.

“Everything ok?” Steve asks.

“Not really, but let’s get this over with, and Ma…” I look at her and take a seat. “Can you please try to get along with Angie? I’m begging you. I’ve got way too much shit on my plate. So the last thing I need is for you to lock horns with her.”

My mom is about to say something, but Steve refuses. “She’ll do it.”

“I will no—”

“Yes, you will,” Steve says sternly, and my mom shuts her mouth. “Now, where were we?”

“You wanted to help me,” I say.

Steve nods. “Yes, you need help. You’re in deep with some bad people, and the only way out is to work a deal with the police.”

I skyrocket from the table, causing my chair to slingshot backward. “Are you fucking kidding me! You want me to cooperate with the cops?” 

“Miguel, I don’t think you realize how dangerous your situation is.”

“Oh, I do know.”

“These people don’t play games. We have stacks of files at the precinct with unsolved homicides, missing person reports, and all sorts of other things we can't even prove, but it all traces back to the Abramovitz, the Italian mob, and the Cartel. Not to mention all the factions underneath them, like the Hellions and the Reddy family. One misstep and we might find you dead in an alleyway with a needle in your arm as if you were just some strung-out drug addict who overdosed.” 

I spin around and snatch a bottle of rum from the buffet table, then grab a rocks glass. “You think I don’t know? This is why I can’t become a rat. They’ll find out and slit my fucking throat!” 

“We can work a deal so you get out of this without having to serve time. We can place you in witness protection—”

“Absofucking not!” I slam the rocks glass, causing my mom to flinch as shards explode in different directions.

“Miguel, think of your mother.”

“I am thinking about her. If I go into witness protection, she’ll never see me again, and I won’t be able to protect her.”

“She’ll have me. I’ll protect her.”

“No!” I glare, my fist clenching the bottle of rum. Fuck the glass all over the floor. “You expect me to uproot my life, leave everything and everyone I love behind? Are you senile, Steve?”

“Angie could go with you,” he suggests.

“Ma.” I look at her. “Why are you so quiet? How are you not chewing his ass off for suggesting I become a rat and go into hiding?” 

My mom sighs heavily with her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee as if she’s warming them, even though it probably went cold long ago. “If it keeps you safe and alive…”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Mijo…” She looks up at me. “You know it’s not what I want, but I would rather miss you terribly, knowing you’re somewhere safe than miss you because you’re dead.”

“Jesus Christ.” I bite down on the cork sealing the rum bottle, yank it off with my teeth, and spit it to the side.

"Your life depends on it," she adds.

"No." I take a big gulp of the rum.

“Forget your pride, Miguel,” Steve says. “What’s the harm in having a sit down with the detectives and seeing what they have to say?”

“No.” I wipe my mouth, the words coming out like sandpaper, thanks to the alcohol burning my throat on the way down. “I’m not going to die because I’m not going to cooperate with the cops.”

“Miguel, think about this,” Steve says, but I shake my head.

“Mijo, please?” my mom begs, her hands held in prayer. “Do this for me.” She swallows. “Do it for Angie.” 

I scoff, “Angie would never ask me to do this.”

“Miguel, I know you think you know what’s best,” Steve says and motions between us. “But man to man, you’ve got a lot of maturing to do.”

“Fuck off. You come back into my life after all these years and think you know me?” 

“Don’t talk to him like that!” my mom barks. 

“Seriously?” My eyes widen. “The irony of your reprimand is hilarious!” 

Steve pats my mom's leg. “It’s fine. We ambushed him tonight, and we both know how hot-headed Miguel can be. What did we expect?”

“That he would agree,” my mom says with tears, and Steve strokes one off her cheek.

“We tried our best, but he’s a grown man, and we can’t make these decisions for him.”

My mom shakes her head, and her gaze meets mine as she rises from the table and circles it to where I stand. Her trembling hands go to my chest, her fingers curling into my shirt. “Please, Miguel. Please talk to the police. I don’t want to turn on the news to find out you’ve been killed. Or have you go missing and never know what happened to you. So I’m begging you to trust Steve so he can help you get out of this mess.”

As I look at my mother, it’s not the resilient widow I’ve come to know over the years. Instead, I see the fear her eyes used to carry when Chuck was on a bender and slamming her into walls. 

It kills me. 

It stabs me with a rusty blade so deep that it scrambles my spine, and I must pull away from her before my knees buckle. I walk to the couch with the rum bottle still in my grip, so I tip my head back and take three generous swigs. It scalds my esophagus as I swallow, but I welcome the burn if it means numbing me from this conversation. Leaning forward, I place my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands.

“Please, Miguel,” she begs once more, but I hold up my finger, head still buried in my other hand.

“I’m not saying I’ll do it, but I’ll consider it.”

“You will?”

I look at her and nod. “Yes.”

“Oh, Mijo, I’m so happy!” She rushes across the living room, her arms out like she’s going to hug-attack me, but I hold up my hand.

“I said I’ll consider it.”

She stops dead in her tracks, her shoulders dropping, but tugs on a smile. “Well, that’s still something, and I’m proud of you.”

Down the hallway, the bedroom door creeks open, and Angie’s footfalls become louder until she steps into the living room. Her gaze flashes from my mom to me and then to the floor as she walks past to the kitchen.

“Dinner should be ready,” she says.

The atmosphere needs to shift before I suffocate. So, I follow Angie, my hand going to the small of her back and kissing her temple. “I’ll set the table.”

Reaching into the cabinets, I grab plates while Angie uncovers pots and stirs the steaming contents. My mom peers over Angie’s shoulder, inspecting what she cooked, and I’m ready to pounce if she dares to criticize.

“What kind of beans are those?” she asks, and I clench my ass cheeks. Here we go.

“Frijoles borachos,” Angie mutters.

“I see. And is that Chile Colorado?”

“Yes. The sauce is my mother’s recipe. She used to use add chipotles.”

“Miguel prefers Chile Verde…”

“Ma.” I grip the plates in my hands. “Everything Angie makes is delicious.”

“Well, maybe I can teach her how I make Chile Verde. That’s all.” My mom shrugs.

“I’d like that,” Angie says softly, giving the pot one last stir.

“The trick is to use sofrito in the sauce. A Puerto Rican coworker taught me that. Her mother-in-law was Mexican.”

“Are you and Steve staying for dinner?” Angie asks. “There’s plenty of food.”

“Oh…” My mom’s gaze slides to him. “Were we still going to Sizzler?”

“I’d rather have what Angie made." Steve smiles. "That stuffy salad buffet can wait for another night.”

I grab two more plates, and before exiting the kitchen, I kiss the top of Angie’s head. Tonight was a disaster, but my mom offering to teach Angie how to make a recipe feels like a glimmer of hope that things between them will be okay. 

And I could use hope.

If something happens to me, I want my mom to be there for Angie and Ana. Because in the morning, I'm driving to the Abramovitz mansion to apologize to Augusta like Bernard said I should and accepting her offer. 

It’s the only way I know how to protect and take care of everyone I love.

*
*
*
Ah, the calm before the storm. Miguel and Angie are working through their fears to make the relationship work, and Mama Gomez is putting aside her pride to play nice.

What could go wrong?