Light of Day (17 page)

I stared at him. “Who said it wasn't enough?”

“You did. We've been together less than a month, and you're already trying to plan my future and my brother's.”

I was speechless.
Is that what he thought I was trying to do? To control him?
My mouth opened to speak, but my throat closed up.

“I think you'd better drop me off at home,” I said finally.

“Are you sure? I didn't mean to—”

“I'm sure. I'm tired.” The truth was, I was holding my emotions in, and I'd prefer not to burst into tears in front of him.

We were silent the rest of the way to my house. When he parked in the driveway, he turned to me. “You said I have to be honest, Gabby. So I'm being honest. I wasn't trying to hurt you.”

“I know. You don't need to explain. Good night.” I quickly kissed him on the cheek, then got out of the car. I ran inside and slipped upstairs to my bedroom. That's when I started to cry.

I lay on my bed, going over what had happened, trying to understand how it had gone wrong.

We've been together less than a month, and you're already trying to plan my future and my brother's.
That really got me. I wasn't sure if I was more hurt or angry. I'd wanted to make him feel good about his art and what he could accomplish. He'd interpreted that to mean he wasn't good enough just as he was. It was ridiculous.

Or maybe . . . maybe he was right.

I was hopelessly in love with Jackson, and it was a hell of a lot easier to think of him as a struggling artist than as a gang leader. But the Destinos were his calling. He had no interest in a real career. If that's what I was hoping for, I was going to be disappointed.

I remembered him telling me about Lobo, the former head of the Destinos. Jackson had turned against him for leaving the Destinos and starting a new life with a girl. In spite of that,
I'd still secretly hoped that Jackson would do the same thing. That I'd be enough to make him change his life.

Was I supposed to envision him as a Destino five, ten years down the line? How long could he play this cat-and-mouse game with the local pimps before it caught up with him?

The truth was, he was already a target.

I sank back against my pillow. Tears streamed down the side of my face. I'd made a huge mess of what started out as a great night.

Sitting up, I was about to text him when his message appeared.

I screwed up. I'm sorry.

Tears filled my eyes again, this time with relief. I texted back:

No, it's my fault. I came on too strong.

I shouldn't have shut you down. I just got freaked out. Think I was afraid you were gonna try to convince me leave the Destinos. I can't do that.

I'm not asking you to. But it scares me to think you're in . . . forever.

I don't know where I'll be in a few years. I take it day by day.

Then I will too.

He was leaving the future open, thankfully. He wouldn't necessarily be committed to the gang for life. I couldn't ask for more than that.

So we're okay?
I texted.

Of course we're okay. Now come and give me a real goodnight kiss. I'm parked across the street.

I bolted to the window. His car was there. My heart soared.

On my way down right now.

THE NEXT NIGHT, AS I
breezed into the hot pink offices of WKTU, I realized that something was different.
I
was different. For the first time, my stomach wasn't knotted with nerves.

Caballero once told me that confidence is what happens when you forget to second-guess yourself. He was right. I was looking forward to tonight's show without any of the usual anxiety.

Just before nine, I stood in the doorway of the control room. Caballero did his sign-off and put on Chromeo's latest track. He must've seen my reflection in the glass, because he immediately spun around in his chair. “Yo Gabby-Gabby.” He rocked a vintage red velour leisure suit with white stripes up the sides. Another piece of Caballero wisdom—when
your butt is in that chair, comfort is key. “You gonna wow us tonight?”

“You bet your ass.”

He grinned. “That's what I'm talking about.” He got up to leave the room, then paused in the doorway. “When you gonna bring that Kaden back? He was something else, that kid.”

I smiled. “I'll let him know you said that. He says he's going to pass all his classes this year. Then he'll be back.”

Olive made a hand signal, and I knew it was ten seconds to launch. Nine, eight . . .

“Miami, it's me. You know, Gabby Perez. The Sunday night second-in-command of the WKTU spaceship. The verbal virtuoso of the airwaves. The Latina lover of the—okay, you get the picture. Tonight we're talking about fate. Do you believe in it? Is everything happening the way it's supposed to in your life?

“There's something I never told you. I've been too embarrassed to tell you until now. Confession time: I'm no radio star at my school. I'm a social pariah. You see, I broke up with the best-loved guy at school last spring. And everybody wanted to punish me for it. My former friends completely turned their backs on me. And so, coming into senior year, I was alone.

“But there were these people at school—people I might not have gotten to know otherwise. They let me sit with them,
hang with them, join their club at lunchtime. They never judged me because they were used to being judged themselves. I'm lucky to call them my friends.

“That's fate, people. If I'd never gone through the difficult breakup, if I'd never been treated badly by my former friends, I wouldn't have found the true stick-by-you kind. The keepers.

“So tonight, let's talk about fate. About how sometimes that crappy thing that happened to us ended up being for the best.”

I glanced through the glass, and saw the surprise in Caballero's eyes. My confession had been as much for him as for my listeners. Somehow, it was easier to say it on air than to his face.

Olive sent through a caller.

“Hey, caller one,” I said. “What's your name?”

“Um, Britney,” said a girl about my age. She sounded a little shaky.

“Do you have a story about fate for me?”

“It's more of a question. What happens if you miss your fate? Like if you made the wrong decision and you regret it and you keep suffering for it?”

The word “suffering” brought my antenna up. “Can you tell me about that wrong decision?”

“It's, um, it's . . .” Then a dial tone.

“That's too bad,” I said. “I wish you well, Britney. I'm sure
that whatever decision you made, you can turn it around. Next caller—Hi, this is Gabby Perez. What do you think about fate?”

“Hey, Gabby. I loooove your show, by the way. A couple of years ago I had to find a new apartment really fast, and I found this place on Craigslist. When I went to see it, the guy I'd be living with seemed kinda shady, but I didn't have much of a choice, and I could afford the rent. Well, the day I was supposed to deliver the deposit check, I waited at the bus stop for like, an hour, and it never came. Then I got a call from a friend whose roommate had left her high and dry.”

“So you moved in with your friend and not the shady guy?”

“Exactly. If the bus had shown up on time, I'd have already given him the deposit check. How weird is that?”

“Very weird. I love that story.”

I took more callers, and heard story after story about how a twist of fate made things turn out for the better. By the end of the show, anyone who wasn't a believer in fate might have changed their mind.

When ten o'clock came, I handed off the reins to Caballero. He put up a finger to stop me from leaving, making me wait until he did his intro and put on a song. Then he turned the chair to face me. “There's this Ani DiFranco song you should listen to. It's called ‘32 Flavors' and I used to play a pop
version of it in the late nineties. It goes, ‘God help you if you are a phoenix and you dare to rise up from the ash. A thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy while you are just flying past.' That's you, Gabby.”

I could've hugged him. “Thank you.”

“Now, this might shock you, but I was no prom king myself. It's all right, though. People like us, we win.” Then, with only a second to spare, he turned back to the microphone and continued his show.

With a smile on my face, I went out to the car. I loved driving on a clear night with the windows down and good music blasting. The only thing that would make it sweeter would be if I were heading to Jackson's instead of going home. But he had Destinos business tonight. I'd see him tomorrow night for sure.

As I drove, it struck me that my eighteenth birthday was two weeks away, and I was in a better place than I could've ever hoped for. My radio show was going strong. I had a new group of friends. JC and I had made peace.

And I had Jackson. And Jackson had me.

I'd only been driving two minutes when my phone rang. I figured it might be one of my friends calling to say they'd heard my tribute to them on the show. But it was a private number.

I put the Bluetooth on, turning down the music. “Hello?”

“G-Gabby, is that you?” It was a panicky female voice.

“Yes, who's this?”

“It's me, Bree.” She was panting, as if she'd been running. “I got away from him! You said you'd help me. I called your show and . . . I don't know what to do.”

My stomach clenched.
Oh my God. It was Bree.
“Where are you?”

“I'm at Los Pablos on Miracle Mile. It's at the corner of . . .”

“I know it. I'm three blocks away. Wait for me. Don't go anywhere.”

“Y-you promise?”

“Yes. Two minutes. Stay on the phone with me. I'm about to park the car.”

Adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I parked the car crookedly, then ran the last block to Los Pablos. There was a blinking sign outside, saying “Two for One Tacos.”

I walked into the crowded restaurant, blaring salsa music filling my ears. I scanned the place twice before I spotted her.

Bree was sitting in a booth at the back of the restaurant. Her blond hair was unbrushed, and she wore rumpled gray sweats.

“Oh, Bree, I'm so glad you called.” I gave her a hug, catching a whiff of perspiration. She felt thin, too thin.

“I'm sorry, Gabby. I wanted to go with you that night, but I was too scared. Milo gets crazy angry . . .” She took a slow
breath. “I can't go to the police. No way. Milo says if I talk, he'll kill me.”

I took her hand, which was clammy inside mine. “Don't worry, we'll figure this out. Let me call a friend who can help.” I slipped out my phone to call Jackson. He'd know what to do.

She shook her head, frazzled. “Please, not yet. I need to think. My mind is so jumbled right now. Do you think they'd give me a beer? It'll calm me.”

“I wouldn't risk it. They'll probably ask for ID.”

“Fine. Can you get me a 7Up?” She patted her hips, as if feeling for some money, but her sweatpants didn't even have pockets. “I don't have any money.”

“Sure.” I flagged down the waitress and ordered a 7Up and a Coke.

“Does Milo know you've left?” I asked.

She shivered. “He'd know by now. I convinced him to let me go buy a snack at the deli across the street. That was over an hour ago.”

Fear snaked down my back. I remembered that terrifying moment when Milo's guys had attacked us at the club. “Could he have tracked you here?”

“No. I got on the first bus I saw. Then I took another bus here. I knew you'd be doing your show and I thought you'd . . .”

“You made the right choice, Bree. We're good. We're safe.” I said it as much to reassure myself as to reassure her.

The waitress came back with our drinks. Bree guzzled a quarter of her soda in one swig. I sipped mine, trying to think of what to say next. I sensed that she was volatile—that the wrong words could freak her out and send her running back to Milo. I had to be careful.

“I won't pressure you into doing anything you don't want to do,” I said. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded. “I trust you.” She looked past me, toward the door, and gasped.

“What is it?”

She put a hand to her chest, shaking her head. “Sorry, I thought I saw him come in. Wasn't him. I must be seeing things.”

My anxiety was spiking. “I think it would be better to go somewhere else. To my place, maybe. Or to your house. Or I could get you a hotel room where you can have some space to think. Whatever you're comfortable with.”

She chewed her lower lip. “Maybe the hotel idea. My mom and stepdad—I don't want to see them. No way.” She wrung her hands. “All they ever did was ruin my life with their stupid rules.”

Is that how she saw them? If so, she'd been damned good at hiding it. Her mom and stepdad had always seemed reasonable to me—more than my parents ever were.

“I understand. We'll leave them out of this. Let's get you a
hotel room, then. Are you ready to go?”

“But I'm hungry.”

I sighed. “Okay, then. Let's order some food.”

If only I could slip into the bathroom and text Jackson to let him know where we were. But I wouldn't dare let her out of my sight. I didn't trust her not to bolt out of here.

Patience, I told myself. Milo shouldn't have any idea where we were. If I could get Bree to relax a bit, then she would eventually come with me.

“How about an order of wings?” I asked her. “Honey garlic?”

“Sure. That would be great.”

I ordered a dozen wings. Then we sat there, sipping our drinks. I tried to find topics that would calm her. I mentioned school, the zombie club, the latest love triangles. But her eyes, like mine, kept darting to the door.

When the wings arrived, Bree picked one up and took a couple of bites. But instead of digging in, she stared into her glass, steadily drinking until the soda was gone.

The next time the waitress came by, I paid the bill—I didn't want anything to delay us getting out of here. I made myself eat a couple of wings, then I balled up my napkin, finished off my Coke, and said, “Ready to go?”

She nodded very slowly. “Almost.”

A feeling of tiredness swept over me. “Okay then. Let me know.”

Bree wobbled. Her face wobbled. I rubbed my eyes, but it didn't clear my vision. Everything seemed to slow down around me. I lifted my hand in front of my face, and it felt like it wasn't attached to my body. When I moved it, it streaked in front of my vision.

Something was happening to me. And I knew exactly what it was.

Bree's face contorted into a wide, joker-like smile. She looked past me, over my shoulder.

I managed to turn my head, bright lights streaking on either side of me. Sitting at the bar, right in front of the bartender, was someone I recognized too well.

Milo.

I placed my hands on the table, and opened my mouth to scream. But instead I saw the table rushing at my head. Then it was dark.