Heat

by ROGUEFURY

You don't expect to be pulled into a heated gravitation with Agent Javier Peña, and the more you both try to navigate your lives around each other, the clearer it becomes that your feelings go beyond the torrid desires you both are able to ignite in each other. Will the heat of your passions win out against the tribulations that threaten to pull you apart?

39. Chapter 39: Longing

Warnings: Mentions of diet and food habits, exercise routines, masturbation and previous sexual encounters. Descriptions of depression, emotional trauma, angst, unhealthy coping mechanisms, resentment, and regret. Allusions to past trauma, loss of spiritual faith, toxic relationships, and unexpected health concerns. Depressed!Javi, Hopeful!Javi, Stubborn!Javi, Angry!OFC.

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Chapter 39: Longing

The feeling looming darkly in the distance had been deafening in the chaos swirling around you.

You were running again, desperate to get out of the darkness and away from the screams that were rattling through you, but unable to understand why the tunnel had become the road – why you were seeing the upturned taillights of the car flaring like warning beacons in the fog.

Not here. I don't want to be here—

The alarm clock goes off, and you jolt in bed, brow perspiring and hair clinging to your sweaty neck.

Sitting up in bed, you bury your face in your hands and concentrate on breathing. The anxiety kicked up by the nightmare was manageable compared to what the horrible dream had become the last several months, but it still left you winded and shaken.

You chalk it up to it being the first time you've been back in the apartment since the wedding.

After everything that had happened, you'd managed to leave Colombia with a hopeful and positive outlook thanks to having mended things with your father. It had surprised you how easily forgiveness had come to you, and how receptive he'd been to apologizing.

Really, you both had felt the ice thaw after you'd called him and asked him for his help. Having to listen to him coldly calculate the damage he would inflict to the people who'd wronged you had made you crack and exactingly tell him he would not interfere in your plans. Instead of fighting you, he'd agreed to help, and had asked if you both could speak again soon.

You hadn't expected for him to make good on it and show up in person to the house in Medellín. After your emotional reunion, he'd made up for lost time as best as he could, and you'd let your guard down enough to accept he was making an effort, especially when you both went to the family tomb so he could pay his respects. Overcome, you'd cried on his shoulder, and told him how much you missed everyone.

"I miss your mother every day. She and her family were important to me, tesoro. I need you to know that."

You'd sighed, nodded, and murmured, "'Buela had a picture of you on her altar. She prayed for you every night…I wish you'd been here."

He'd hugged you tight, acknowledging your statement with a raspy hum, but answered, "I'm here now. I want things to be different. Eres mi única hija, y te amo con toda mi alma."

You're my only daughter, and I love you with my entire soul. His voice was unwavering and genuine. It had made it easy to lean into him and promise to work on your relationship. To call, stay in touch and visit.

He'd tried to convince you to leave Colombia with him, but you'd decided you wanted to go back to the capital and spend Sasha's last few days there showing him around and decompressing from everything. You'd even taken him to Don Gilberto's, where he was smitten with the coffee and a glutton for the pandebonos.

Saying goodbye to the kind owner had surprising been emotional, seeming to represent everything you'd be missing from living in Bogotá.

Sasha, as always, was able to cheer you up though, and from the time you both sat in first class on the flight to New York, to the limo ride to his mother's place on the Upper East Side, he had you in stitches over all the latest gossip and details you needed to be caught up on regarding Irina and Aslan's upcoming nuptials.

Shira Cohen Ivanov – Sasha's mother – was already waiting for your arrivals, and rolled out the red carpet for you. She was so much like her son, but looked like an older version of Irina, and her ability to mortify them both was a charming trait that you reveled in spectating.

"—Your abba is coming to dinner, bubbeleh, so please behave and let him think you finally wore this one down to be your romantic intended?"

"Ima! Blessed hell, you're embarrassing me—"

"What?! You two have canoodled—"

"Mother, please—"

Your giggles only spurred her on, and by the time Irina arrived with their father, you settled in for quite the eccentric dinner.

After weeks living the city girl life running around with Irina to do all the maid of honor duties, you'd surprised her with a lavish bridal shower, and soon enough, you were in the Hamptons at the wedding rehearsal.

Having accepted the career opportunity a month prior, you'd ended up having to travel back and forth on weekends for weeks leading up to the big day. The unconventional bachelorette and bachelor parties aside, you were most crunched for time between work and the wedding events the closer you came to the long weekend everything would be happening.

When said weekend finally arrived, you'd flown into JFK and been picked up by Sasha to then take a helicopter ride out to the exclusive beachfront country club, gotten quickly dressed, and headed down to the sprawling hall the vows would be taken. It had been wonderful to see your friends so happy as they conglomerated together after so long being apart. Their father, Volodymyr Ivanov, was in the advancing stages of his illness, but you wouldn't know it by how boisterous he was, and the sheer delight in Irina's eyes was enough to make you joyful by osmosis.

The day of the wedding, you were happy to take Sasha's arm and head down the aisle lined with lovely roses in hues of white among sprays of ivory, wearing a sultry black gown that matched with the other bridesmaids. Aslan was dressed dapperly, and for the first time since you'd known him, he looked fidgety and eager, nervousness flushing his cheeks and making the blue of his eyes stand out as he squeezed his clasped hands behind his back absently.

When Irina emerged through the glass doors with her father in the ethereal-yet-timeless wedding gown and veil, your heart gushed as she walked down the aisle to the instrumental procession. Sasha stood at Aslan's side, looking reserved, but his eyes glistened with unshed tears, and by the time Volodymyr was handing Irina's hand to him, he was close to blubbering. Attention riveted on the bride, Aslan's expression softened and stayed fixed on Irina's demure smiling features behind the lovely veil.

You manage to make it through the ceremony without shedding a tear, but as soon as the rabbi pronounced them man and wife, and Aslan stepped on the napkin-wrapped glass, tears were rolling down your cheeks.

The reception was an opulent affair. Truly, every socialite and who's who was there, and after tons of champagne, you'd found yourself standing by the French doors that lead out to the deck in order to gaze out at the scene.

Your heart was heavy as the buzz of the champagne made you reminisce about the last wedding you'd been at, and unbidden, memories flashed across your mind like a kaleidoscope. Seeing Irina and Aslan have their first dance had you thinking of Javi spinning you in his arms. Watching the photographer take candids throughout the crowded ballroom made you picture cozying up to Javi for the photo with your grandmother.

But seeing the happy couple hoisted in the chairs and propped merrily up while the music hit a crescendo that had you envisioning what it would've been like had you and Javi been surrounded by family and friends after tying the knot? That had you feeling overwhelmed with melancholy and regret.

So much so, that you didn't hear Sasha calling for you from the bar when you pushed open one of the French doors and ran outside into the chilly night. You've ambled down the steps and onto the beach in your heels, and when they obstruct you from continuing further, you yank them off and run to the shore, where the breeze is the briskest and punishing, to try and decompress from the heat that rose up in you and started to make your pulse race.

You hear your name shouted over the blustering ocean air that's whipping your hair and dress about, but you don't turn until Sasha's warm hand is on your bare shoulder.

"What's happened?! Are you alright, ketsele—?" his inquiries died off when he saw your eyes crinkle woefully before your features fell. Upset, he pulled you into his arms as he crooned, "Hey, hey, no, come here."

"I'm s-sorry, it all just came over me and I c-couldn't stop it—"

"Jesus wept, am I that much of a shitty date?"

Your sniffling laugh is muffled against his chest before you wrap your arms around his waist and shake your head, hiccupping, "N-No, you d-dork!"

He chuckles and kisses the top of your hairline before shedding his tuxedo jacket and pulling it around your bare shoulders. "It's fucking cold out here. Come, let's go back in," he rumbles as he tucks you against his side and escorts you away from the damp sand of the shore.

"No one noticed me run out like an idiot?" you mumble as you scrub the curve of your thumbs across your tear-streaked cheeks.

"Darling, everyone is smashed already. The caterer had just brought in a fourth crate of that fancy Dom vintage champagne when I was at the bar calling you over. Everyone is either dancing like drunken fools or schmoozing shamelessly," he told you amusedly as he helped you up the steps and crouched down to dust the sand off from your soles before taking your stiletto heels to slip them back onto your feet, one by one. "So, at the very least, you and I can filch a bottle for ourselves and go back to the suite – after you let me spin you around the dance floor for a bit."

Squeezing his shoulders and snickering, you nod and smile when he stands from his crouch to chivalrously loop your arm in his in order to escort you back into the ballroom.

You'd danced until late with him, laughing and giddy as he'd pick you up and swung you around like he used to in the old days while the sultry disco mix the DJ was playing filtered dizzyingly over the warm and crowded room. When it was finally time to see the couple out, you both gave Irina big hugs before she was whisked away by Aslan to their first night together as husband and wife. And before he could be cornered by his parents, Sasha had grabbed your hand and towed you in a rush out through a secluded stairwell and up to sneak off to your suite. You were so tipsy that you hadn't even noticed he'd pilfered a bottle of champagne and had it hidden under his tuxedo coat that was flung over his forearm.

When you'd entered the suite, he'd plopped the bottle down on the nearest table and hastily yanked off his bowtie while he kicked off his formal dress shoes. Comically, you'd tried to bend forward to remove your heels but ended up toppling sidelong into the plush couch with a yelp.

Sasha's deep, velvety laugh made you snicker. "Blessed hell, my love. Here, let me help you," he chuckled as he took your heels off and tossed them before shifting you to recline on the sofa. When he'd just been about to stand straight to go retrieve the bottle of champagne, you'd tugged him back down by the pleated collar of his tuxedo shirt. With a grunt, he'd failed to stop himself from ending up sprawled on top of you. "Ooof, sorry, mmph—"

Your lips crashing against his had snuffed his husky retort, and activated that attraction he always was able to store or unpack whenever you both found the gravitation between you shifting from platonic to carnal. And right now? You'd needed to feel the weight of him on top of you, to get lost in the warmth of his mouth on your own and the desire to feel wanted.

His hands assertively grabbed you up so he could adjust you in order to reach for the zipper in the back of your gown while deepening the kiss. But then, when he dragged his ravenous mouth down to suckle nips into your neck while he tugged the zipper down whilst also slipping his other hand up your dress, you'd lulled your head back and clung to his muscled back with a reedy mewl.

"Mmm, Javi…"

Sasha froze in his groping, lips unlatching from your neck as he exhaled a drunk, flustered grumble before deadpanning, "Well…alright, then."

The sound of his voice yanked you back from your proverbial drunken haze. "Oh my god…oh jeez," you'd embarrassedly hissed and covered your flushed face in mortification. "I can't—I'm so-oh my god—"

Acerbically, he'd sat up and flung himself backwards into the opposite side of the plush sofa. "Way to kill my boner, mon chéri," he quipped drolly. At you exhaling in self-reproachful consternation, he'd rolled his eyes and reached his hand out. "Hey, come here. Cut it out. I'm not mad."

Begrudgingly sitting up, you let his hand guide you by your shoulder to come stretch out and cuddle against him, tucked between his muscular frame and the cushions of the couch.

"…I am," you finally mumble. When he grunted in confusion, you elaborated, "I am mad. I'm so stupid—"

"Stop it! You are not. I won't hear you bashing yourself for feeling a longing—"

"I'm sorry," you whisper and curl into him, nuzzling his shoulder when you feel the sting of tears cresting up in you.

Sighing, he rubbed your back, rasping, "Come, I'm going to tuck you in."

You'd let Sasha guide you up from the couch and through the suite to bed, where he helped you shed your gown before tending to taking off your earrings and the bobby pins out from your styled coif in order to let down the rest of your hair, and then pulled the comforter back for you to crawl under and curl onto your side. Dimly, you'd heard him strip out of his clothes, run the shower, and eventually flop heavily onto his side of the large bed. After a silent while, he rolled over and spooned you, and the scent of his clean skin and the comfort of his body heat lulled you into a deep slumber.

Before you'd relocated for your new job, those several weeks in the city had seen you splitting your time between staying at Irina's chic apartment and Sasha spacious loft. And when you'd been at the latter, you'd often end up sleeping in the same bed with him. Either because he'd hear you tossing and turning in the guest room and would crawl into bed with you to cuddle until you both dozed off together, or you'd wake up from nightmares so upset that you'd tiptoe into his room and get under the covers with him. Regardless, your friend would lovingly tuck you against him, or he'd spoon you protectively until you settled down and fell back asleep.

It'd been no different when you'd all gone down to Miami for the opening of 'Worship' a few days after the wedding.

Irina and Aslan had accompanied you both before they'd jet off to their European honeymoon, eager to see the installation. The night before the showing, when you'd both ended up crawling into bed together to eat room service on top of the covers while the TV droned on, Sasha had stretched out with his glass of wine and eyed you with his dreamy, blue-eyed pout.

"Come away with me for the holidays."

You'd paused with the forkful of risotto pursed at your lips as you stared sidelong at him. When you realized he wasn't being cheeky, you popped the fork in your mouth and used chewing as a diversion to think of an answer.

"C'mon, kitten. Irina will be on holiday with Aslan and his family in Monaco. I don't want to be alone with my parents," he'd argued, making a compelling case when he admitted, "I don't want to be without your company, is all."

Frowning, you placed your dish aside and snuggled up to his side to wrap your arm around his waist. "You've been without it a month since I took the job—"

"Yeah, and I've been bored and lonely, so I have no problem guilting you into spending more time with me," Sasha grumpily huffed as he gulped the rest of the wine in his glass down.

"I can't. You know I promised to make more of an effort with my father. I agreed to spend Christmas there," you tell him gently, and when he glowers and casts his sad stare back to the TV, you kiss his cheek and grunt for him to return his attention to you before proposing, "What if you come spend New Year's with me?"

His features soften before he gives you a wolfish smirk. "Yes! I'd love that," he pecks you on the lips. "You can finally show me your roots!"

Snickering, you'd resumed eating and discussing plans for the following day.

As you're pulling yourself out of bed now to trudge to the bathroom to shower and get ready for work, you can't help reminisce on how serendipity had struck at the opening at the gallery, when a fellow artist had been admiring Sasha's piece, 'Worship of Man' and had done what no other patron had – walked the circumference of the piece and spotted the hidden phallic symbol embedded in it that only reveals itself in the prismatic reflection of the glass that surrounds it.

Sasha had stared from afar, and had whispered to you, "Does he see it? No one else has!"

"I think he does, velvel," you'd conspiratorially whispered back before giving his forearm an affectionate squeeze. When he'd looked at you curiously, you'd gestured with the tip of the chin that he should go over and find out. "He's cute. See if he'll mention it!"

Sardonically scoffing at you, he indeed walked over and struck up a conversation with the man. Your friend couldn't fool you. The quick appraising glance he'd given the man when he'd been whispering to you told on him. Sasha did have a type. You watched as he spoke with the handsome, swarthy, athletically-built man with the dark curls and the light brown eyes that flared the color of honey when the lights above head caught in his irises.

Turned out, the handsome trigueño was a Puerto Rican artist known for his artesano pieces and expansive murals. You'd actually walked through a hall with a massive floor to ceiling mural of various illustrations of Sun Gods from around the world that belonged to him, as you'd found out after Sasha hit it off and brought him over to introduce you.

"—This is Marcos Martorell. He did that amazing mural out in the other hall! And, he spotted it," Sasha is gushing charismatically as you shake the handsome muralist's hand.

With a warm, accented tenor, he'd greeted, "Please, call me Marc."

After chatting a while, you'd learned he's from Ponce, Puerto Rico and that he split his time between Miami and Isla Verde, so you both hit it off while Sasha was forced to have to make a few rounds with the press and gallery attendees. Which worked out, because you get to play matchmaker when you caught Marc glancing over at Sasha, noting how his gaze lingered on your friend.

"He's single, and we're just friends."

His stare had whipped back to you, like he'd been caught taking a cookie from the jar without permission, so you smirked and platonically winked at him.

When Irina and Aslan arrived at the gallery during the cocktail hour, you all made a little social unit together, and seeing Sasha and Marc talk art and gush about each other's work while exchanging tons of flirty eye contact made you gleeful.

You'd spent that night with Irina and Aslan, and are just remembering how much fun you had giving Sasha the inquisition over brunch the next morning when you realize you've been dawdling too long under the shower spray and need to pick up the pace.

The hectic back and forth traveling and working had been a merciful salve to your heartache, but there were still things you couldn't bring yourself to do, for fear of falling too deep into a depression. It'd taken weeks for you to call your cousin after you'd left, because of how much speaking to her drudged up your feelings about everything. And when she'd told you the wonderfully cheeky, albeit cryptic message Marisol had left you, you'd stopped short of calling the woman direct. No, you'd been much too raw still, and needed the emotional distance to heal over.

You'd even avoided delving too deeply into how much of a success your take down had been. The exposés involving Stechner and his fall from spook grace had been something you'd skimmed over, because reading in-depth would resurrect all the anxiety you'd buried, or worse – make you relive all the pain from that tumultuous time. And anyway, it wasn't like you really had to read any of it, not with Ellis telling you all the gossip that it'd unleashed within the corridors of DOJ and DOS from as far as Alaska, or so he'd quipped.

And on top of that, your father had made it a point to tell you where that bastard ended up after he'd been done getting raked over the coals, divested of all his clearances, and left pending numerous investigations that could end with him seeing actual jailtime.

The vindictive part of you enjoyed hearing it, but then you'd feel a pang of dismay from the emotions that would flare up like terrible heartburn, leaving you sullen.

As you left your apartment and descended to get in your car, you couldn't help feel that you didn't feel as raw as you had, but definitely were nowhere near rebuilding your emotional fortress back up to what it'd once been.

Deciding to table any more sentimental reflection for the time being, you focus on getting mentally ready for the busy work day. It was your first day back at the federal building, after all, and the morning rush hour to the U.S. Courthouse campus from your side of town was going to be a spicy one.

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Things hadn't panned out the way he'd hoped.

After he'd spent the whole night thinking about the possibilities of why you would've kept his college shirt – Maybe it was an accident? What if she kept it to test my commitment in finding her and keeping my promise? – Javier had gone to the barn to help his father, but was tired and distracted. So much so, that he'd almost fallen out of the hayloft because he wasn't paying attention to where he was stepping.

Luckily, he'd grabbed the support beam and hooked the heels of his work boots in before he tumbled down.

Chucho had only caught on to it because Javi had gritted out a tense curse before muttering slurs to himself all the way down the ladder. Having had enough of his son ruminating his way into a possible fatal accident on the ranch, he'd called him over and sternly told him what he'd planned on telling him before he'd rushed upstairs with the box the night prior.

"All right. You got back from Colombia without a peep, and I didn't press for answers then. You've been moping around until yesterday morning when you ran out like a bat out of hell to who knows where and came back with that weight off your shoulders. And then the box—"

"Pop, I know. You've been so patient, and understanding, having to put up with me. But, I just…" Javier groused before huffing and sitting down on a hay bale, hands scrubbing tiredly across his tense features. "I went down there. She was already gone. I didn't know what to do. The people I spoke to didn't have her current contact information, and now, after last night? I'm regretting not doing more."

"What else could you have done, mijo?" Chucho had asked with genuine sympathy as he wrung his work gloves absently while Javi propped his elbows at the top of his knees and worried his hands across his stubble-covered cheeks. "It sounds like she left and didn't intend for anyone to know where to—"

"It's my fault she left," Javi stated and looked up at his father. "Everything I was dealing with – all the political bullshit and sabotaging, it started to affect her. She's a private person, and we went through so much trouble to keep our relationship and work separate. But then, it started to bleed over…"

He went on to tell his father about what happened in Medellín. Of how responsible he felt that you became a target for reprisals from Stechner and the cartel. Explained how guilty you felt about it having been too much of a stress on your grandmother. He even told him about what happened at the funeral – how your life in Colombia had become just him and your work. And how his departure had seemingly caused a chain reaction of events that led to you quitting whilst taking down the CIA station chief for what he'd done to you both.

"…I should've gone to Medellín. If I'd gone to talk to her family there, maybe…" Javier had sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration while smacking his palm down on his thigh before pulling himself up to stand. "I don't even know if it would've mattered—"

Chucho clapped a firm hand onto his shoulder and shook him. "Javier, you can't go on beating yourself up. Everything happens for a reason," his father assured, and added assertively, "Punishing yourself is not going to change what's happened, so if you want to do something about things now, then go on and do it."

Pensively, Javi took his words to heart, and spent the rest of the day thinking on what he could do. An idea came to him when he was washing the dishes after dinner that night. Once he was back in his bedroom, he dug through his boxes for his worn, pocket-sized address book, and then rushed back down the stairs to the phone.

He dialed the number listed for the contact, and held his breath.

The long-distance call ended with a dial tone alerting that the number couldn't be reached. Annoyed, Javier had flipped through pages to find Trujillo's contact information next.

After a few rings, the CNP officer answered.

"—Damn, Peñita! Nice to hear that you're alive," the jovial man had hazed.

"Yeah, haven't been knocked off yet. Listen, sorry to call out of the blue like this, but I was hoping you could do me a favor…"

He'd asked the man if he'd heard from you. Trujillo had explained how he'd helped you with the statement and on-the-record attestation of what happened, but that he hadn't heard from you since. Javier told him he'd tried calling the Medellín house number, but that it seemed to be disconnected. Agreeing to go by and see, Trujillo had called him at the end of the day with the news.

"—Sorry, Peñita. The front gate was locked. One of the neighbors came out and said they were away on a trip. Said it was a belated honeymoon getaway – that they flew out for the holidays. They didn't have a contact number, but said they were supposed to come back after the new year."

Discouraged, Javier had thanked the man before saying his farewell and hanging up.

His father had been in the living room, reading the evening paper while sat in his recliner, when he came in from the kitchen and sat heavily on the couch.

"Son. Maybe it's time to not carry this torch any longer?" Chucho had delicately suggested once he folded the paper down and seen how sulky Javi was. Said sulky expression hardened into a glower at his words, so he pressed, "I mean...she did send your things here. Was there a note? If she wanted you to reach out to her, wouldn't she have written down a way to reach her?"

Frowning, Javi had blurted, "No, but my shirt is gone."

Thick brows furrowing in confusion, his father leaned forward to drawl, "Your…shirt?"

Feeling like a daft fool for saying it out loud, Javier's hands fidgeted as he tried to explain, "She sent all my things, except for my shirt – my old gray college shirt. The one with the school emblem on the front. I just, I don't know…I just can't help thinking it means something. That she kept it…Jesus Christ, I sound like a moron—"

"Mijo."

Looking over at his father and seeing his wry smirk, Javi huffed and sunk heavily into the back of the sofa's cushion, waiting for the inevitable sage wisdom he was about to hear.

"She sounds like a spirited, confident woman who is deliberate about her choices. If you think she kept it? Well, maybe she had a reason to. But until you get to ask her yourself? Best to not twist yourself up over it."

Well…shit.

Javier couldn't find fault in that argument. So, he didn't, and thanks to it, he was able to get his head on straight and focus on what was before him, for the time being.

Aside from sexually starving himself while living back at home in his childhood bedroom, overall, Javier had gotten used to life back on the ranch, and since his trip to the DEA field office, he nor his father had seen another smuggler ferrying up the waters that skirted their property since. It was a small victory he'd needed, and had sent a message all the way back to D.C. So much so, that while Spencer had ceased "checking in" on him, he'd still have junior agents periodically call the house and try to pitch him on certain leadership opportunities opening up in the agency throughout the most sought-after zones for being stationed.

Every time, he'd thank the rookie and just hang up.

Really, the only thing that still hung on him like a weight he couldn't get free of, was his guilt and regret about how terribly things ended with you.

Heart heavy, he'd poured his anger into the pit in his gut – used it to fuel other parts of him that he needed to get him through the hard days.

But, at night…the longing was his mistress. It was never far away, no matter how much he tried to get away from it.

Before long, though, things had stabilized for him. He'd taken to splitting up his time working on the ranch with his father, and after being cajoled by Manny to listen in on a few task force meetings between the Sheriff's department and Border Patrol, Javier had gotten roped into being a consultant for the department. It fed his need for feeling useful, and kept him sharp, as well as helped him keep an eye on the stepped-up enforcement in the region.

It also helped him find a space for himself to be back in Laredo, and to let himself fit in, especially when it came to leaving the trauma of Colombia behind to ground himself in the normal routine of stress-free living. Old habits were able to be set aside for older pursuits, like being social with his buddies and being cajoled into best friend and best man duties.

Still, though, the longing always waited for him; for the right moment to wrap its arms tight and tow him back.

The day of Manny's wedding had been an apt occasion for it to ensnare around him.

He'd woken up early to get his morning run in before he'd be back to help his father with the feed and shoveling the stalls in the stable clean, but found himself staring up at the ceiling in the still dark before dawn, ignoring his cock throbbing for him to take the edge off.

Grumpily, Javi had tossed the covers off of himself and padded out of his bedroom into the bathroom adjacent out in the upstairs hall. The cold shower woke him up further, as did the chore of relieving his sexual desire.

Sure, this wasn't new, and he was always horny, but he'd made the mistake of watching that damned movie the night before – which only exacerbated his longing, and it had made his mind run amuck with salacious filth. He'd jacked off like a goddamned hard-up teen to the fantasies the movie had bloomed in his mind's eye, and even afterwards, he burned with desire to make those fantasies reality.

Could anyone really blame him? It'd been months since he'd had sex with anyone, and no matter how much he'd tried to ignore his yearning – to find other distractions, he'd end up with a foggy brain. He'd striven to keep the lust at bay – to turn it into drive for other things.

But when he'd seen the Body Heat cover jacket in the rental store, he couldn't pass up the chance to watch the movie that had made such an impression on you. And then he couldn't stop from clearing his foggy thoughts with the debauchery of his fantasies, all starring you, wearing that hot dress and begging him to fuck you the way Kathleen Turner did.

He was paying for it now.

The routine of jerking off until he spilled in his hand and let the mess swirl down the drain with the rest of his soap suds was not his favorite, but it was a necessary evil for the busy day he had ahead of him.

As he pulls on his gym sweats, his mind reconstructed the dream he'd had of you. He made himself shake his head to loosen the hold of the emotion cresting up in him when he pictured you across the mezzanine, looking so scared.

Most nights, he would fall asleep thinking about you, and when he'd roll over and reach for you across the bed, the panic that would drift across his unconscious would kick him awake. He'd struggle to settle his wired mind and remind himself.

You're home. She's not here.

When he'd just toss and turn, the comfort he'd always seek would be to pull the photos from the clay knick-knack box set on his nightstand. Under the dim moonlight that would come through his windows, he'd gaze at your picture and reminisce about all the amazing, wonderful times you both shared.

And on nights he was surly or wound up, yearning for your naked curves to be snuggled up against him – for your alluring scent and the heat it flooded through his bloodstream, he'd retrieve the panties from the gap between the mattress and box spring.

Reminded to grab the trash bag out of the wastebasket and chuck it in the can outside while on his way to his truck, Javi made a note of needing to stop at the drugstore on his way back as he opened the driver door of the truck and tossed in his gym bag.

Twenty minutes later, he was pulling into a spot in front of the track field to meet Manny. He'd skipped shaving, so his features were covered in dark growth, minus the few errant patches in his beard, as he scrubbed his hand idly over his jaw before stifling a yawn into his palm as he climbed out of the truck with his gym bag to greet his buddy who was already stretching next to his blue Bronco.

The man was jittery with nerves, but overall excited for the impending nuptials, so they'd made their way to the well-worn track field behind their old high school and got their run in.

Since they'd started the ritual – well, more like since Manny had hounded Javier to join him on his runs months prior – he'd noticed his stamina had vastly improved, and it would take several laps now before he got winded. It also helped that he'd quit smoking and drinking. Well, drinking as much as he'd used to, anyway.

The cigarette cravings had waned in severity over time thanks to the occasional nicotine gum fix, but really, all his unhealthy habits had been discarded – the impulsive gratification that each of his vices had once given him substituted for the gains he'd get in redirecting his cravings into other things.

Working out had never been his favorite thing to do, but Manny had coerced him into the YMCA for some weights and 20-minute punching bag workouts on days they couldn't make it out to the track. It had all become a better way to decompress and expend his destructive energy and curb his tempestuous desires – scratched the itch and helped him get the high he used to get from sex with the endorphins that would rush through him after a hearty workout. And, he'd grown to look forward to the cathartic release and mellow calm that would come over him after.

Sure, Manny hazing him about getting a little soft in his middle from no longer being an active field agent when he was down in Colombia did not hurt in spurring his motivation to work at it.

"Whew! I needed this run, hermano," Manny is exhaling jovially as he sits at the bottom of the bleacher and catches his breath.

"Needed the practice in case you decide to book it later, you mean?" Javi quips as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his ratty gym towel before grabbing his water bottle, snorting when Manny shoved him with an irreverent scoff.

"Coño, carnal, we both know the runaway groom is you, not me!" Manny drawled in his playful lamenting singsong before snickering, "At least you'll fit in your spiffy suit, pendejo."

Javier laughed out. "Alright, fresa, I'll pick your ass up later," is his deriding chuckle as he grabbed his keys out of the duffle and waved while heading for the parking lot.

"Don't be late!"

Javier is ten minutes early when his father drops him off in front of Manny's folks' place, having agreed to be the designated driver for his rowdy younger brothers, post-reception. He was already dressed in the light gray suit he'd sprung for to spruce up his tired wardrobe, tie and pocket square matching with the rest of the groomsmen, clean-shaven and moustache trimmed while his hair was a bit longer from skipping trips to the barbershop since he'd gotten back to Laredo.

When he entered the house, he found everyone in a state of rushing about, clearly not nearly ready as they should be in order to be at the church on-time.

"Manny! Javi llegó and we're gonna go ahead to the church so Heidi and her family don't think you're skipping out of town," his mother calls out as she simultaneously kisses Javi on the cheek. She shoots him a referential wink too that has Javi pouting amusedly at the veiled reminder of the last man who skipped out of town on his wedding day. "Ah, pobrecito," she chuckles and pats his shoulder as she herds her young daughters and husband out the door. They each greet him in turn, while Manny's mom barks over the sound of the boys roughhousing in the hall, "You boys get it together already!"

"Make sure these knuckleheads don't come in like braying dogs to the church, would you, Javier?" the patriarch of the Miranda clan amusedly remarked as he pulled on his blazer and fiddled with the pocket square.

"Sure thing, sir," Javi chuckles and gives a curt nod when the man ushers the two young girls out to the porch.

Annoyed that no one had acknowledged her last command, Mama Miranda thunders, "John Emanuel Miranda, Michael Samuel Miranda, Thomas Mateo Miranda, Lucas Andrés Miranda – did you hear me?! You better be ready—"

"Ay, mami, we are!" Manny's youngest brother complained back as he ran around them to be the first boy on the porch. "I call shotgun!"

"You go in the back seat, Andrés! Your brother Manny goes in the front with Javi," his mother admonishes as she grabs the keys from the hook and shouts once more, "Hurry up! You're going to be late to your own wedding, Emanuel!"

"I won't, Ma!"

Javi chuckles as he spectates the whirlwind of a family of eight trying to get out the door.

"Carnal, you know how to put this shit on?" Manny was fussing with the cufflinks when Javier lopes over. "Pinche madre, these stupid things—"

He takes them and helps him get them through the fancy cuffs of his crisp dress shirt. Then, he smoothens out the shoulders of his light gray blazer before flicking his silky blue pocket square.

"You look like a real snob, dressed all fancy—" Javi begins to sardonically drawl.

With a mocking scoff, Manny counters, "Hey, I'm trying to impress the in-laws, considering most of them know me as the messenger they wanted to kill when you didn't show up to the chapel the last time—"

"Dude, we gotta go or Ma is gonna kick our asses, so let's go, pendejos!" Matty orders and starts clapping his hands impatiently as he barks, "Let's fucking gooooo!"

Wrangling them all into the Bronco is a feat.

They managed to make it to the church just in time to get filed in and be fussed over by their mother, who straightened collars, slicked back wayward whisps of hair, and hissed at them to behave while the little sisters giggled at their expense and were waiting for her to be done with them so they could sit on the groom's side of the aisle with their father.

Javi took that opportunity to look across the pews, glad to see the place was packed, filled with familiar faces who all seemed excited for the couple. He noticed his father was sitting with his aunt and cousins on the groom's side. He was dressed in his best, hat off and resting on his right knee as he sat semi-sidelong in order to chat with a woman he didn't recognize.

"Who's that?" he asks Manny after tapping his arm with the back of his hand and pointing with his chin.

"Ah, that's Father Benito's younger sister. Remember I told you he was retiring? This'll be the last ceremony he officiates," Manny explains as he nudges Javi to look over by where the organist was. "And that dude? He's gonna be the new Padre. He look familiar?"

Javier squints to make out the tall, muscularly lean man talking to Gladys. Wearing the black shirt and trousers not dissimilar to Father Benito's, but sans the priest collar, he had his hair swept back from his clean-shaven features. Slowly, his mind pictures the man in a blue-and-white varsity jacket, white t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and red Chuck Taylor sneakers. Incredulous, he rumbles, "Wait…is that Gabriel Santiago?"

"Yep! Father Gabriel," Manny chimed before remarking, "Ain't that a trip? He went from captain of the football team to Catholic missionary, and now he's gonna be La Inmaculada's priest!"

"Wow…" Javier balks, elbowing his friend lightly as he snickers, "You're gonna have to give confession to him—"

Scoffing, Manny deadpans wryly, "Dude, it's weird enough to think about my mom telling him her sins. I don't need to think about all the stuff I'm gonna have to omit to him—"

"All right, everyone! Pair up and get ready for the procession," Miss Carmen, the resident Church Lady and boss of these kind of things, orders as she helps everyone link up with their intended escort down the aisle.

Once they're all ready to march down to their places at the altar, Manny looks the most nervous he's been, so Javi put his hand on his shoulder and gives it an irreverent squeeze.

"You ready, hermano?"

Manny sheepishly smiles before nodding and murmuring, "Yeah, I am."

The jitters were gone the minute Heidi appeared once the wedding march music began. Javi watched his best friend look in awe as she walked down, escorted by her father, to the classic procession song played by the organist all the while the snap of cameras echoed in the spacious church.

He could feel the infectious glee from his friend, unable not to smile when they exchanged vows before the priest proclaimed them man and wife.

It wasn't until the wedding reception at Heidi's parent's house, out in their sprawling backward that's decorated with twinkling string lights, with a dance floor in the center of the circumference of big round tables, and the long bridal party table across from the makeshift bar he'd been standing at, that he realized it.

This could've been you.

Huffing, he'd had the first of his three-drink-maximum and watched everyone mingle merrily around the happy couple. Eventually, when the reception was in full swing, the fellas gathering around to razz Manny and shoot the breeze lifted his spirits and managed to block out the melancholy of being stag. Of being smack dab in a happy ceremony not unlike the last one he'd been at with you.

He'd been glancing over to see his father pleasantly talking to the woman he'd seen him conversing with at the church when a hand clapped good-naturedly down on his back.

"—Dude, you check out the bridesmaids? That redhead is killin' me," Dave conspiratorially grouses over at Javi.

"Hm? Nah, I'm on drunk-wranglin' duty for the night," he retorts and nurses his whiskey, raising his brows when Dave snorts brashly at him. "What?"

"Just 'cause the entire Walton clan's here, doesn't mean you can't take a girl home for the night, man," Dave jibes, elbowing Ted to get him to concur. "Amirite?"

"I mean, Lorraine is right over there. I'd hazard to say it'd be fuckin' awkward, bud," Ted drawls in his thick twang, always one to state the obvious.

"So?!" Dave counters, and Javi just shakes his head and looks around for a lifeline. "There are good-looking single gals, and his dumb ass is gonna just stand here sipping his drink like a lonesome ass choirboy 'cause his ex from a hundred years ago is here—?"

"Fuck off, Dave," is Javi's dry retort as he now had to school himself not to look in Lorraine's direction.

After all, it was bad enough they were both at a wedding reception not unlike the one they'd planned on having a decade prior, but the fact he was the best man to the groom who'd just married her cousin after having been the one to cover for Javi when he'd gotten cold feet was not a charming factoid he wanted to take pride in.

"Ah, what're you huevones talking about?" Manny sidled up to the bar with the fellas, having finally pried himself away from his latest mingling marathon with Heidi.

"Just giving Javi shit, per usual," Dave retorts before leaning over to mutter covertly, "Hook a brother up with that cute redhead friend of Heidi's, would yah? I mean, since this guy wants to be a baby angel these days—"

"What're you pig fuckers whispering about?!" Rich brashly exclaims as he suddenly appears on Ted's left side, clearly already toasted.

"Christ Almighty, Rich!" his wife, Jaime, shouted admonishingly at him from the table he'd been sitting at. "Watch your mouth!"

"Sorry!" he called back before whispering, "Now, seriously, what you bitches talkin' bout?"

Javier preemptively elbows Dave in the side, knowing the man's penchant for retorting, 'Your sister,' as a comeback, and thankfully he took the hint.

"Nothing. This one wants to get set up with one of the bridesmaids," Javi answers neutrally as he fans his gaze across the party.

Unlike the other guys, Manny knew why Javier wasn't interested in flirting anyone up, let alone going home with any of the bachelorettes among Heidi's group of friends.

"Alright, everyone, dinner's served!" the maid of honor called out to the crowd, and everyone made their ways to take a seat.

Eventually, it was about that time for the speeches, and as the best man, Javier made his way to the makeshift stage housing the music entertainment for the event, set up on the side from the bridal party's table.

He regales the reception filled with friends and family of the happy couple with the story of how Manny had asked him to introduce him to Heidi, back at a spring fling dance in high school.

"He pointed her out across the gym, and asked, 'What's her name. She's so pretty.' I'd told him, 'Oh, that's Heidi,' and he just looked at me with the most confused, helpless look, and went, 'Hai-what?!'"

Everyone chuckled warmly, while Manny shook his head and grinned.

"After some practice on enunciating her name, he managed to go over and ask her to dance. And for some reason, she said yes," Javi quips, earning a round of laughs from the boys and razzing catcalls from Manny's brothers over the din of the crowd. "I'm glad for it. You two make love look easy, so I raise my glass to you and wish you both all the happiness in the world. To Manny and Heidi," is the conclusion of his toast as he raises his glass for the crowd to collectively cheers the couple.

It's during the maid of honor's speech, when he was picturing you dancing around in that sexy dress you'd worn to your prima's wedding, that his and Lorraine's gazes catch each other, and the unbothered way she smiles at him before glancing back at the cute redhead currently wishing the couple all the best makes Javi feel both off the hook and out of place.

She could've been here with you.

After the toasts, Javi did a lot of people-watching. He noticed his father was in rapt conversation with the people at his table, so he made his way back to the bar for his second drink of the night, having woven through the dancing, socializing attendees to park at the corner and ask for another whiskey.

"Psst! Incomin', Jav," Ted warns from the other corner of the bar.

His brow furrow before he follows the way his friend slid his gaze out to the dance floor.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Tina practically purrs as she comes over to lean against the bar, glossy pink lips smiling and lashes batting at Javier while she fluffed her curly mane over one shoulder. She was wearing a low-cut, short lavender dress with white daisies printed on it, and she pushed her cleavage to flaunt her perky bosom as she silkily drawls, "How yah been, Javi? You didn't come say hello."

He internally curses.

"Well, we're saying hello now," he evenly counters before sipping his whiskey.

"Aww, c'mon, you gonna be like that?" Tina teases as she sidles closer. "I'll have what he's having," she tells the bartender without even giving the man a cursory look, too busy giving Javi her sultriest stare before pursing her lips and whispering, "You look all on your lonesome. Richie said you're playing the designated driver?"

"Yep," is his aloof retort as he fanned his gaze over for any kind of reprieve – some sort of excuse to get the hell out of this conversation with her. "Speaking of which, I should go check on Manny's brothers—"

"Why you always gotta play hard to get with me?" Tina sighs, not interested in feigning any longer as she gives him a doe-eyed look after downing her whiskey in one shot. "We had fun, so let's have fun again tonight," is her proposition as she caresses her hand up his forearm.

Javi can feel all the busy-body eyes watching on all around them, and with a sharp look over at the table Rich is at, he mutters, "I'm busy tonight, Tina."

"You? C'mon, Jav. We both know you're never too busy to fit in a good fuck," she chimes brazenly, and Javier's mortification burns a flush up his neck when he sees Ted's jaw drop from his eavesdropping vantage point.

In a flat grumble, he insists, "I am busy—"

With daring charm, Tina tosses her girlish curls back over her shoulder before murmuring, "You can put the good boy act aside for tonight and come over to my place, where you can be as bad as you want—"

"Tina!" Manny appears, clearly toasty from all the champagne his brothers were taking turns overpouring in his glass, and smiling as he boisterously patted the bar top, making a funny face at her before noticing how annoyed Javier looked. "Am I interrupting—?"

"Nope—"

"Yep, yah are, but I love you Manny, so help me out here and tell Javi he's being such a stick in da mud," Tina accuses haughtily. "He's single, I'm single—"

"Technically you're separated, no?" Manny cut in knowingly.

"Same thing!" she's huffing before putting a hand at her hip to scathe, "He's over here making me pull teeth, when we could be going somewhere and having a repeat of the rumpus room—"

"Jesus Christ, Tina – it ain't happening," Javier finally snaps curtly.

She turns on him and narrows her doe-eyes with cunning, the way a cat would when it's cornered its prey. "Oh? You really are cute when you get all huffy," was her drawled musing as she practically slinked up against him to murmur alluringly, "But I know how you are when you're all surly, baby. Only way to remedy it is to go somewhere, get me out of this lil' dress, and have your way with me. You can't turn something that good down."

Manny and Ted exchange looks of awe at how shameless she's being, and just as she began to smile triumphantly at them for getting them nonplussed, Javier pointedly slid his empty glass across the bar top and shifts away dismissively from her before sneering flippantly, "Yeah? Watch me."

Gob smacked, she watches him pat Manny on the back and exit to march over to the table Rich and Jaime were in order to mutter in the dirty blonde's ear something before going off to sit with his family for the rest of the night until it was time to collect the Miranda boys and drive them home.

"Really, Tina?!" Jaime shouted over at her sister-in-law. "Come sit down before you make a fool out of yourself some more!"

Turning red with consternation, the haughty woman scoffed and stomped away, shoving past Dave as she huffed and puffed to go sit on the patio in a snit.

"What the—what I miss?" Dave deadpans to Manny and Ted – having just returned from getting the redhead's number – while Jaime declared snippily to Rich that it was time for all of them to call it a night.

Once Javier had dropped off the boys at the Miranda's ranch, he'd jumped into the pickup with his father once the elder Peña had pulled up after pit-stopping at his aunt's in the meantime.

"That was a nice wedding," his father had remarked over the Country song playing on the radio, as he drove.

"Yeah," is Javi's terse mutter. He'd crossed his arms to keep his hands from fidgeting or his fingers from thrumming impulsively despite himself. With a sidelong glance, he found himself remarking, "You were talking to that lady for a while."

"Hmm?" his father aloofly grunts, as if he didn't hear the curiosity in his son's tone.

"Manny said she was Father Benito's sister?" he queries, gaze narrowing when his father raised his brows neutrally. "Didn't catch her name."

"Idalia Suarez. Very nice lady," Chucho retorts, spectacles slipping down his nose before he adjusts them. "She's helping the Padre move out of the rectory."

A lull in conversation fell between them as Chucho turned onto the road that led home.

"Lorraine came by our table and said hello," is his father's idle remark.

"That's nice," Javi sighs tiredly, head turned to watch the night zoom past the passenger window.

Humming, Chucho remarks, "It's funny, how small the world is, that Manny and Heidi were on the separate factions and still made it work."

"Jeez, Pop, remind me of what a bastard I was some more, why don't yah," Javier grumbles, finally unfurling from his tense cross-armed funk to tug the knot of his tie loose while he rubbed at his temples testily.

"The only one who thinks that is you, Javier. No one else is harboring a grudge, so it's high time you let it go yourself, sabes?" is his father's earnest barb, frowning now.

Sulkily, Javi went silent, propping his cheek against his fist and leaning moodily into the side of the door all the way home.

Yeah, sure…still a bastard in other ways, though…

---

It was an interesting day for you.

One you hadn't anticipated, and were now floundering to rationalize why you felt so detached and out of sorts regarding it.

The time around the holidays had been both hectic and disarming, filled with late nights working up until all the government workers went on their long Christmas vacations that would last through Three Kings Day. Your father had surprised you by inviting your family from Medellín for a honeymoon/holiday trip to the island, and you'd spent as much time as you could showing them the sights and spending quality time with everyone before they flew back to Colombia a few days after New Year's.

New Year's Eve had been spent throwing a party and hosting Sasha at your place, and unsurprisingly hanging out with Marc, who'd been home for the holidays. The two made a cute couple, and no matter how huffy Sasha would get when you teased him after, he wouldn't deny he was really into Marc. So much so, that when it was time for him to leave, he'd flown back to Miami with Marc, and assured you he'd be back for a longer visit soon.

While it'd been fun to have the wonderful distractions, you did feel like there was still a lot for you to unpack from a personal standpoint, regarding your new normal.

You still felt like you were getting your bearings again – being in a director position. But aside from that, there was the juggling of your personal expectations in regards to needing to seamlessly settle back into a life of hustling and bustling on the island. Not to mention the tightrope-style relationship you were trying to keep copacetic between you and your father.

Really, if it weren't for Ellis and Anita, you're sure you would've spent the bulk of your free time being an antisocial Hun in your apartment more than you'd already been.

They'd both settled into life in Puerto Rico splendidly. Ellis loved his job, and was over the moon being a new father. Anita was thankful to have a small village helping her balance going back to teaching and new mommy life, and you were ecstatic about being the surrogate tía to the precious baby girl.

Little Delilah Rose was the most obnoxiously cutest baby you've ever seen. She had Ellis' eyes, Anita's facial features, and her father's silly smile, but frowned just like her mother when she was cranky. She had so much personality for only being a couple months old, and you delighted in playing peek-a-boo with her while Ellis ran around tending to the house and Anita got a nap break. Anita's parents lived with them – their charming house having a convenient in-law unit in the back that made it oh-so-convenient for grandma and grandpa to relieve the exhausted parents when it was time to go back to work.

While Anita was teaching English at an elite private school in El Condado, you and Ellis were both working at the Federal Building adjacent the main U.S. Federal courthouse on the island. He was the head of the Telecommunications department, and you were overseeing all Digital Information Operations across federal agencies stationed in the U.S. territory. The Department of State wanted a bigger footprint in the region, and had expanded their workforce in the U.S. territory to help facilitate that.

The job offer had been too good to pass up, and while you'd had serious reservations about going back to work for the federal government, you'd risen to the opportunity to work virtually independently – to build the team and run the operations as you saw fit. There was no ambassador to report to, and you had carte blanche to set policies and procedures for the level of efficiency you deemed – to set the standard of efficacy rather than adhere to dated expectations.

Ironically, your role was so versatile that you'd ended up being invited to a lot of local government functions to liaison for other federal officials, and with the new administration being so pro-statehood, you'd felt encouraged to do more local outreach when staffing your department, as well as to represent the positive programs and initiatives the Federal office was partnering on throughout the island.

That morning, one such a partnership, facilitated by your next-door neighbor and TV anchor, Jodalys Rivera, led to you sitting on the soundstage in the WAPA-TV studios with her during her morning news show's segment. The stage lights had been bright and made you feel like a bug under a heat lamp, but you'd mustered the confidence and poise to chat with her about the computer science recruitment program the Federal office was sponsoring in local public schools around the island.

The segment aired right before the highly-rated afternoon variety show hour, so you assumed it would be a great opportunity to spread awareness of the program.

What you didn't know was just who'd been intently watching you on the segment, from the comfort of his bed in his ritzy beach house.

The remnants of the playboy shindig from the night prior were strewn about the room or stretched out on the divan, sound asleep, all while the smoke from his joint curled up to the ceiling. He didn't pay any of it any mind. Not when his attention was rapt to the television in the built-in entertainment center across from where he was lounging – back against the headboard while the black silk sheet clung to his waist.

His green eyes had been intently fixated on your TV smile and charming pitch to the camera before you'd turned to Jodalys and scrunched your nose cutely at her comment about needing more exceptional Puerto Rican women working in tech.

Later that day and after the interview was replayed in the early evening, Zoraida had called and crooned your praises before cajoling you to agree to come out that night for the big street festival in El Viejo San Juan.

It's where you're at now, begrudgingly putting up with the crush of the rowdy and convivial crowds while you wait for her to come back from working the room of admirers who'd recognized her when you'd both trekked into the wine bar. You figured it served you right for going out with a social butterfly – and former Miss Puerto Rico – like Zoraida Figueroa. She was one of your oldest friends, though, so you felt like you needed to make an effort and not be the antisocial hermit you'd preferred being since you'd moved back to the island. But it didn't mean your mind was going to stop wandering to other more important matters you needed to make time to sort.

You'd been thinking about the next changes you'd be implementing operationally back at the office when Zoraida had roused your attention back to the bar celebrating the bustling street fiestas she'd dragged you out to – placing the Cuba libre in front of you before she hitched her arm around your shoulders and shook you good-naturedly.

"Nena, quit spacing out thinking about work!" she playfully admonished. "You haven't been to Las Fiestas SanSe in ages, so I'm taking you on the bar crawl once you finish that drink—"

"Ugh, girl – I'm tired. Last thing I wanna do is go back into those crowded streets to chinchorrear!" you complain, but dutifully take a long pull of your drink.

"Oh, c'mon! Naida and Tayra said they'd meet us later at Los Trés Cuernos—"

"Really?! That place is a dive, Zory. I'm not in the mood for chichaítos—"

"Ay, you're such a buzzkill! And here I was hoping you having your TV moment would've pepped you up to have some fun tonight," your friend bemoans before finishing her vodka and cranberry. "Oh! We could go to that new club that overlooks El Malecón," she exclaims over the loud ambiance in the bar. "It's supposed to be the place to be now in Old San Juan—"

"Which means it'll be impossible to get into," you counter and waved it off as an option while you finish your drink.

"Eh, hello?! What you sayin', that I got no name recognition or something?" she scoffs and arches her eyebrow sassily.

Shaking your head ruefully, you relent, and end up meeting the other girls at the dive bar to catch up before heading as a clique up the bustling cobble-stoned streets to the hotspot.

La Galería Exodus was a three-story building with a rooftop cabana and bar that you could see was jumping from the street-level as you all walked across the narrow intersection to the corner where the velvet rope line was already queued up around all the way down the opposite block. The marquee was a neon sign kaleidoscope that flared a bewitching aura over the street, and the sexy script of the club's name stood out on the picturesque Spanish architecture that dominated the islet's buildings and thoroughfares.

You were dubious of the chance that even Zoraida would have the pull to jump the line – but before she even strutted up to the doorman, a guy wearing dark shades and a discerning frown had tapped the burly bouncer twice on the back of the shoulder.

"Damas, adelante," the man had greeted before shifting the barrier of the stanchion aside to let you all through.

You didn't think you were particularly dressed right for the club, but figured the chevron-patterned blue, silver and black cami dress and block heels you had on was just passing.

"See?! Told you," Zoraida confidently crows as she struts ahead into the eccentrically-lit foyer of the club.

After a few minutes wandering through the space, you understood why it was called 'The Gallery Exodus.' It was a lux series of bars, dance floors, booths and anterooms that felt like they melded from the underground club scene vibe into psychedelic tropical expanses with dancers behind glass vestibules that reminded you of the Amsterdam redlight district. The music and lighting shifted as you traversed the different levels, and so did the ambiance. One escape after another.

It was definitely unlike any club you'd been to, and after snagging drinks, your clique moves through the different levels to make your ways up to the rooftop.

As you go, you notice the glitterati of entertainment and media have made the trendy spot their new ground for mingling. Famous athletes, musicians, and late-night personalities are at home in the sea of gyrating beautiful people.

You feel so out of place.

By the time you got to the rooftop, the fresh, balmy air felt good, and while your friends queue up at the bar, you wander over to the veranda to look out at the Atlantic Ocean that resembles rolling dark velvet under the dim moonlight and the twinkling lights of the dwellings down in La Perla.

The music up here was cool, moody, and filled with synth, and your fingers idly tap the stem of your martini glass, following the beat to the beginning of a song you'd only heard a few times, but knew the band very well.

Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world
Painful to me
Pierce right through me
Can't you understand?
Oh, my little girl

Finishing the last sip of your drink and setting the glass aside on the long tavern-like counter angled in the corner next to the veranda, you turn to check on the girls over at the bar, when your eyes scan over a particular section of the cabana.

Your gaze landed on the figure of someone that stands out in your mind. At first you think it's because of how dapperly dressed he is, but then the way he slants his shoulders when his green-eyed stare lands on you?

No…it can't be.

Tensely, your eyes crinkle as your gaze remains on the well-dressed man in the satin shine onyx blazer, matching trousers, and midnight blue polo shirt, as he turned fully to face you head on.

All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm

He seems to have recognized you, and excused himself from the group orbiting him in order to lope over towards you, gin and tonic in his right hand while he slips his left into his tailored trouser pocket.

The wave of anxiety has stacked up quickly in you, feeling pinned to your spot and unable to cobble together a rational, well-adjusted reason to not just flee.

Stop acting like you've lost control.

Before you know it, he's standing tall and broad-shouldered in front of you, looking cool and sly as you remembered, but now his features look more rugged thanks to the trim goatee and neat sideburns accentuating his angular jaw.

"Well, I thought that was you, doncellita."

Adjusting the strap of your little purse higher on your bare shoulder, you smile impartially before tucking your undulating locks behind your ear from the breeze sifting across the rooftop.

"Roman," you greet neutrally, trying not to let the tension make you fidget under his piercing green gaze. "Funny to run into you here," is your glib quip, considering how you'd first met at a nightclub all those years ago.

"Hah, right? Guess we just gravitate to where the best time to be had always is," he croons in his tenor rhapsodic drawl, his smile coy before adding in a low murmur, "This is my place."

You're not surprised.

"Ah, that's nice," you retort, giving him a wan smile. "You always did want your own club—"

"Clubs," he corrects, snickering sardonically as he sidles up to you to lean against the banister of the veranda casually. "I own this place, and a few others. But my day job is running the empresa—"

You saw from the corner of your eye your friends finally get their drinks at the bar, and decided to segue out of whatever this conversation is with your ex. So, you cut in aloofly, "Glad to hear it. My friends are looking for me, and I'd hate for you to neglect yours, so have a good night, Roman—"

"C'mon, chavalita, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Roman assures with sincerity in his tone, thick brows lamenting as he confesses, "I know it wasn't the best of circumstances when we parted ways, but I want you to know how sorry I am – that I was a complete bastard for how I was then. And, that there's no hard feelings—"

"Oh, is that a fact," you sarcastically zing.

"I was going to say, no hard feelings on my end, lengüetera," he wryly continues, lips quirking in that charmingly endearing way you remember, his eyes crinkling as he swept his thick, tapered fingers through his hair after a particular breeze gusted his dark locks to fan across his forehead. "But, yeah, I totally deserve your skepticism."

That softens you, and you relax in your stance. "That was a long time ago, so, no use in holding grudges," is your mellow retort before mustering a one-shouldered, shrug. "Anyway, I won't keep you—"

"You're not, but I get it, clavelina," is his tenor purr before he turns to see your friends had spotted you both chatting, so he set his drink aside on the taberna counter with your empty glass in order to rest his hand on the banister as he conspiratorially leaned in and petitions, "I don't want to overstep, but would you ever be open to talking again? I mean, somewhere more chill than this? I'd like to do lunch, o sentarnos pa' café – anything you'd like."

Part of you warred with how vehemently to tell him off, but a small, insecure feeling countered that. I mean…you were just as guilty for how bad it all got. You can't just make him the villain. People change—

"Look, no pressure, miramelinda," Roman relents, demeanor easygoing as he shrugs and smiles before pulling a sleek, engraved card from his pocket and offering it while he remarks, "I'll be away on business for a while, but maybe when I get back, we can grab a drink and catch up?"

Against the grudge-holding, better judgement-having part of you, a cool nod of your head precedes you accepting his business card.

"It was great seeing you," is his charming, soporific drawl, green eyes holding yours as he collected his drink, but then someone called his name, so he turned and gestured he was on his way back before he offers coolly, "Disfruta las fiestas, cielito."

After he loped off coolly to rejoin the orbit of the people at the cabana, you wander back to the girls, who were in varying states of befuddled confusion before Zoraida announced, "Nos vamos."

Naida and Tayra exchange looks before agreeing, and soon you were all trekking out of the club and down the intersection en route for the main traffic artery of the islet to head for a late night kiosko to nosh.

"—Well, I know some of his buddies. A lot of people say he really changed after his mother passed away. His father retired suddenly, so he took over running the firm, and rumor is he travels to Spain and Miami a lot for work, but he has tons of properties around the island," Tayra Cruz, who works as a print-ad buyer for all the big publications on the island, tells you as you all clambered out of the taxi.

"Who cares? Tiene cojones – to walk up to her like nothing," Naida Neruda, who works in real estate and interior design, was sneering while you all queued up to order your late-night sandwiches and frituras.

"I mean…we were in his club, so," you remark as you dig in your purse for your cash.

"I'm sorry, nena. I had no idea he owned it. If I'd known, I would've pushed to go somewhere else—" Zoraida begins to lament as she paid for your food and hers, which had you scoffing. "Mira, least I can do is treat you after that."

Snickering, you agreed, then follow the girls to sit at the patio table to eat and decompress from the night before you'd all part ways.

Half hour later, when you and Zoraida pulled up in the cab to the front of your condo building, she apologized again, so you wave her off and muse, "Hey, people change. The Roman from back then would've done everything to get a rise out of me. He did seem different—"

"You're not thinking of calling him, are you?!" Zoraida queries sharply.

"Of course not!" you assure before kissing her cheek and shimmying across the seat to exit the taxi. "Anyway, te llamo después," is your parting promise as you say goodnight and head up to your fourth-floor apartment.

Once inside your apartment, you toss your purse aside and go shower, not giving the night any more thought.

Or, at least, you'd intended not to think about it, but of course, your mind was the ultimate saboteur, and you end up dreaming of speeding down a dark highway, with only the green kilometer markers flying by as the drone of the beat from Duran Duran's "Girls on Film" echoes in the mist that fills the interior of the sportscar you're trapped in.

---

He'd been pensive the entire workout, giving only a few one-word answers whenever Manny said something to him in between sets.

It wasn't until his best friend paused in spotting him while he was at the bench press that his faraway gaze cleared enough to notice the glower he was getting.

"Earth to Javi," is his deadpan as he puts his hands on his hips. "I asked how much you want me to add to the barbell, and you said, 'Sure'."

"Fuck…sorry. Just was thinking about something," Javi sighs and sits up on the bench to wipe at his sweaty forehead.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should take a break, hermano," Manny suggests as he nudges Javi's shoulder and gestures for him to go sit in the cool down section. "I'll take care of the equipment."

Nodding, Javi got up from the bench and wandered over to where the water fountain was while Manny sprayed down everything and wiped it clean for the next users.

While Javi drank greedily from the fountain, he didn't notice when someone approached to sit on a nearby bench to tie their shoelace. When he turned and went to stretch his tired muscles by reaching his arms above his head before rolling the tension from his shoulders, he and the other gymgoer locked eyes and ended up staring. Recognition didn't hit him as quickly as it did the other man, who smiled broadly at him.

"Javier Peña, right?"

Squinting, Javi nodded before it finally dawned on him. "Oh, shit, hey Gabriel—sorry, I mean, Father Gabriel—" Javi was fumbling as he absently slicked his hair back from sticking to his forehead, pausing to correct, "Uh, do I call you Padre instead?"

"Hah, Gabriel is fine!" is his chuckled assurance as he stands and shakes hands with Javi. "How've yah been?"

"Good. How about you?" Javi politely carries on conversationally, secretly hoping Manny will come save him and give him an excuse to segue away.

"I've been great! Finally settled in at the church. Really enjoying getting to know everyone in the congregation," Gabriel jovially remarks as he scoots to sit on the end of the bench in order to offer Javi a seat. "I've had great conversation with you dad. Glad to hear everything's going well on the ranch. You've been busy consulting with the sheriff's office?"

When Javi glances over his shoulder and doesn't spot Manny anywhere nearby, unaware the man has scampered off to the restroom, he decides it would be rude not to sit and chat. So, he takes a seat at the other end of the bench as he rubs the tension out of the back of his neck.

"Uh, yeah. Just on task force stuff. I have a lot of experience with that," Javi retorts, eyes darting around looking for a clock so he could point out the time and use it as an excuse to mosey off.

"Yeah, I heard you joined the DEA. That you just came back from Colombia," Gabriel remarks, adding sardonically, "And yeah, the stream from the rumor mill in town even makes it to the church, but I won't bug you about that stuff."

Snorting and shooting him a sidelong glance, Javi mutters sarcastically, "Oh, great. I can only imagine what the church tías think about me, Padre."

Chuckling at that, Gabriel shrugs good-naturedly. "Nothing any worse than what they used to whisper about me, back in the day," is his irreverent quip. At Javier's humored grunt, Gabriel queries, "I hope that's not enough to keep you from coming to mass."

There it is.

"No, it's general indifference. It started being a pretty empty ritual – going to church. Haven't bothered with it," Javi flippantly remarks as he leans back against the cement wall and crosses his arms.

Not taking any umbrage, Gabriel twists his lips musingly and nods. "I guess that's fair, for someone who's been through what you have," is his thoughtful retort.

Javier's shoulders wind back and his jaw ticks tight.

"Like I said – the rumor mill," Gabriel shrugs. "But look, I get it. Having a priest not so much older than you, trying to 'be your shepherd'? To entice you back to Sunday mass? That's gotta be weird—"

"I mean, it's more that said priest used to be the mack-daddy of my high school and just so happened to take someone I dated to formal after she turned me down, that makes it a little weird. But sure, being cajoled into something I haven't done since…well, in a while, doesn't really make me warm and fuzzy," Javier derides with snarky attitude as he finally looks around again and spots Manny preparing to do some pullups. "Anyway—"

"Don't hold my ol' ladies' man ways against me being your priest, now," Gabriel jokes, halting Javi in his storm off. "And, word is, you and Lorraine weren't really destined to end up together anyway."

Javi scoffs contrivedly, "Wow. Low blow, Padre. Next you'll tell me it was all god's plan, and I shouldn't feel too bad about where things stand now – how everything netted out, right?"

"Well…is that how you feel?" Gabriel inquires while he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

"I—" Javi's train of thought derails, and he clams up, expression shuttering in as he bows his head and stares at his beat-up workout sneakers. "Sorry. That was out of line…"

Humming lightly, Gabriel crossed his leg over his knee before leaning back into the wall casually.

"Sounds like you have a lot on your mind, Jav," is the priest's easygoing observation. "I know it isn't easy, talking stuff out. And I get not wanting to unburden yourself, least of all to a priest at confession. So, if you ever need to talk? Or hell – if you just want to vent some more high school resentments, give me a call," Gabriel is remarking coolly as he dips sideways to retrieve a card from his duffle and hands it to Javi. "We can shoot the shit over coffee."

Disarmed, Javier takes the card and looks at it, feeling something reassuring unfurl in him.

The chat meetups with Gabriel help him get out of his head during times when he feels at critical mass with his frustrations, and while it'd started as begrudging unburdening over coffee at the late-night diner, before long, the man started meeting him and Manny for jogs around the track or during their gym sessions, and afterward during the cool down period, they'd all talk. Slowly, he'd let his guard down with the man, who'd given him just as much background about what had brought him to wear the priest's collar. It was never a confession-session, and they never discussed faith, or when Javi had lost his, but hearing how Gabriel had found his calling, and the perspective shift for him, surprisingly gave Javier comfort.

Still, during times it was just him and Gabriel, the discussion inevitably veered to the topic of Colombia – of what happened there, and his resentment towards everything. Especially regarding how he let things fall apart with you. Really, the topic of you always makes him feel so much regret. And every time, Gabriel would smirk and quirk his brows at him before remarking, "It ain't over until it's over."

Javier wonders why he'd feel so sure about that.

It's what he's ruminating about now as he arrives at the courthouse in Miami. He'd only agreed to fly in for the trial because of the promise that this time, he'd really enjoy the outcome.

And Javier certainly had.

Having sat at the back of the court gallery, he'd enjoyed hearing the federal judge approve the order to extradite Gilberto and Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela into a maximum-security prison in North Carolina. This was, of course, after Guillermo Pallomari had testified to the voracity of the men having means of flight out of the Colombian prison they were currently lofting about in – point bolstered by the fact Chepe Santacruz had literally paid to be broken out of prison with the help of the guards.

The finer details of Proceso 8000 had been explained to him that morning by the lead DOJ prosecutor, and hearing the latest updates of the Cali cartel's downfall had been a salve to his still-battered ego. He took sadistic pleasure in hearing the gorier details.

Chepe Santacruz had broken out of prison, only to be killed and left like a dead dog in the street, likely by the AUC. And Pacho Herrera has been gunned down in La Picota.

It was the kind of poetic justice Javier felt validated some of the hell those fuckers had caused.

That night, in better spirits, Javi had called Steve and gotten an invite to dinner at the house. He hadn't expected to show up at the cute lime green abode with the white porch, and have his old partner open the door with a baby girl hitched above his hip while Olivia eagerly totted over to say hello.

He was still astounded while he sat at the dining table and listened to Steve explain how he and Connie had come back from a trip to Colombia in order to go back to Medellín to get Olivia's official birth certificate and adoption records for her to start school.

"—And there I am, entertaining the kid from going postal on the place, when Connie sees the baby get admitted to the orphanage. So yeah, we went for paperwork and came back with Isabel here," Steve had been regaling while he bounced the baby on his knee, smiling when Connie came in with the plates of spaghetti and scoffed at him. "What?! That's exactly how it went down—"

"He's forgetting to mention how he held her and got all choked up," Connie counters amusedly before placing a plate in front of Javier and picking up Olivia to sit her on her lap so she could help her practice eating with a fork.

"He's always been a softie," Javi quips and winked at Connie conspiratorially.

"Real cute. Make yourself useful and hold her while I go grab something," Steve grumbles sardonically as he handed Javi the baby.

A bit skittish, Javi tried to delicately maneuver her in his arms when she squirmed and made an impatiently little gurgle. "Uh, Con?" he muses when the baby fidgets to sit up in his arms in order to peer at Javi with big, innocent eyes.

"You're alright! She's just curious," Connie assures while she helps Olivia use her napkin to clean her marinara-covered fingers.

Javier was nervous that the baby would burst into tears at any moment, but surprisingly, the tyke only stared at him sweetly before exploringly reaching her little hand up to brush his mouth, as if intrigued by his moustache. He grunted a cooing sound that seemed to comfort the baby, because she curled up against him and quit squirming for purchase.

"Aww, she likes you, see?" Connie fawns while Steve came back in with a folder he drops onto the table before sitting in his chair adjacent his old partner. "Look how cute, hun."

"D'awww, Jav. I think you missed your calling, Mr. Mom," Steve chuckles as he picks up his beer, taking a long pull.

The baby yawns and nuzzles into his shoulder, settling down to doze in his hold. "Why does this feel like a ploy to get me to stay put?" Javi drawls in a hushed tone to not stir the baby, and cocks a brow at Steve.

"No idea what you mean," Steve evades as he slid the plate closer to Javi so he could eat with his unoccupied hand. "How's ranch life treating yah?"

"…It's fine," Javi deadpans and glances over at Connie, knowing she would likely give something up in the set of her brow or press of her mouth as he twirled the spaghetti onto his fork before taking a bite. Humming, he then elaborates, "Just getting ready to have less help now, since the holiday season is over—"

"Did Santa come to your house, uncle Javi?" Olivia pipes up suddenly, big brown eyes excitedly looking over at him as she emphatically chirps, "I had asked Santa for a puppy, but got a sister instead."

Snorting, Javi retorts, "Yeah? Do you like having a little sister?"

"I rather have a puppy," Oliva pipes honestly, and her parents try to stifle their chortles. "But Isabel is ok. She's just little."

Endeared, Javi remarks, "Yeah, but she'll get bigger and be able to play with you soon."

"Hopefully we'll have a puppy by the time she's bigger," the precocious little girl remarked before Connie snickered and decided to redirect her by taking her to the kitchen to get some cookies, leaving the boys to chat.

"Christ man…she's gonna be trouble when she's older," Javi can't help razz Steve before eating more from his plate, smirking when the other man shakes his head ruefully.

"Don't I know it," he chuckles as he gets up to carefully take the now sleeping baby from Javi so he could finish eating. "So…I got some news."

"You mean other than coming home with another baby?" Javi jokes as he dipped his piece of garlic bread into the marinara sauce on his plate.

"I got a promotion. In a few weeks, we're leaving Florida."

Shocked, Javi pauses in eating to dab his napkin over his mouth before asking, "Why so sudden?"

"Well, I got the offer last month, and since we're moving down to a U.S. territory, that's why we needed to get Olivia's documents in order. Connie already has a job lined up at the V.A. hospital there," he pauses to slide the folder over to Javier now. "It'll be a regional SAC position for the Caribbean division. However, the region is so big and covers so many islands, that I'll need a partner to help run things from the main island. And, you know my Spanish is terrible, so…"

Javier flipped open the folder, and was unsurprised to see it was a detailed summary of the job offer. His name was in all the required fields listing the role and responsibilities, as well as the breakdown of all the field agents and officials that would be direct reporting to him.

Without looking up from the document disclosing the budgetary and operational details associated with the San Juan field office, Javi muttered, "…Did Spencer put you up to this?"

"You were his first choice. But I guess you haven't been returning his calls, so yeah – I got the offer. But as you can see, Operations decided there was no way one SAC could manage all those responsibilities in such a vast division, so…I'd be the SAC for the U.S. Virgin Islands and field ops in Puerto Rico, but you'd be the SAC for the entire archipelago, the DEA official liaison with the Puerto Rican government, and the Special Agent in Charge of coordinated operations with ATF and FBI on the island."

Sitting back in his chair and rubbing at his temples, Javier grumbles, "I'm through, Steve. There's nothing left for me to do, and…frankly, I don't think I can handle any more of that shit. Spencer's been hounding me to head the Mexico operation since I got back from Colombia, so why this, all of a sudden? And why would you think I'd be open to taking this role?"

"Look at the last page in the folder," Steve instructs as he gently rubbed Isabel's back.

Confused, Javi flips through the documents until he got to the last one. It was a departmental org chart for the Federal Office building in San Juan, and at first, he didn't know why Steve would want him to bother skimming it. But then he sees it.

Your name is listed under the Digital Information Operations division.

Snapping his wide-eyed stare up at Steve, he watches the blond nod smugly. "Yep. She's been heading the department for a few months now," is what he volunteers before arching his brows knowingly at Javier. "Besides that, things got real dicey in Mexico after one of the big military officials DEA partnered with turned out to be dirty. And really, a lot of attention has been diverted to the Caribbean drug traffic networks now…but yeah, figured that would be more of a motivator for you to say yes."

He had him at your name listed on that personnel form. It was a no brainer.

The next day, Javier had called Mike Spencer.

The following afternoon, he was back in Laredo, and when he got to the house, he sat his father down and told him the news.

"…You're going back to the DEA?" Chucho had balked, wilting back in his recliner.

"It'll be different this time."

"Javier," his father had grumbled, unconvinced, until he saw the way his son's eyes gleamed soulfully at him. "What'll be different this time from the last?"

Sitting at the edge of the chair to lean forward and stare confidently at his father, Javier declared it.

"Because I'm not going back to lose myself in chasing pinche asesinos again. I'm going back to get her."

---

You'd been floored when you heard the news from Ellis.

But really, when you thought about it, the hire of Steve Murphy to oversee DEA operations as the Special Agent in Charge made total sense when you accounted for how aggressive the current administration was becoming against the drug trade and gang violence on the island.

So, when Devon had come into your office the prior morning to brief you on upcoming meetings with the ATF, FBI and DEA officials the following week, you'd made it clear that he had your full support to be as prepared for the meetings as possible, the way he deemed fit.

When you'd gotten the job, you'd been surprised when Devon had emailed you asking for a transfer to Puerto Rico, but once you'd talked to Jackie and found out he and Noreen went public with their relationship and wanted to move on from the embassy, and that he wanted to be closer to his family in the Virgin Islands now that they were planning to marry, you facilitated the interview process for Noreen to apply to work in Ellis' department and made Devon an offer to be your deputy director.

"—Hey, I got the logs from the efficiency tests," Devon is remarking as he comes into your office now, pulling you from reviewing your planner. "And the fellas in procurement asked if we can move our status meeting to tomorrow afternoon, but I wanted to check with you first before confirming."

Once you tell him that's fine, he goes on to update you on the latest matters he was most worried about that day. His gentle, melodic baritone and attentive expression while he discusses some of the tension from the other departments being required to adhere to your new protocols during the meetings he'd overseen, inspires you to put him at ease.

"I'm not concerned about it. And if anyone gives you any pushback or attitude, tell me and I'll report it to their superiors. They don't have any say, and if they don't want to fall in line? They might need to be reassigned," you chime, glad to see him relax in his seat from across you. "Anyway, how're things? You and Noreen enjoy Barrachina?"

"Yes! You weren't kidding, those were the best piña coladas ever! She loved it," he gushes, moving on to more pleasant topics before you jovially tease him to go have lunch with Noreen.

During your lunch break, you head to your checkup, eager to see if the gynecologists finally found a birth control prescription that would be as comparable to the medication you'd been on in Colombia.

Since moving to Puerto Rico, you'd been relegated to switching prescriptions because the brand you'd used wasn't available in the U.S. territory. So far, you'd taken one pill that had made you have terrible migraines, fatigue, and loss of appetite. Followed by one that made you gain weight, have terrible cramps, and had significantly elevated your blood pressure. You were hoping your test results would help the doctor suss out a better option.

You hadn't been ready for her to tell you that she didn't think you should be on birth control.

"—According to the bloodwork, your latest PAP test, and the ultrasound readings, you aren't the right candidate for the prescription I was hoping to put you on. Instead, we need to discuss your 5-year plan."

"…My 5-year plan for what?" you'd queried, perplexed.

"Your plan for having children. After all, you've been on birth control since you were in your teens, and frankly your hormonal production is quite suppressed. The follicle count was the lowest I've seen in someone your age, so much so that I think it's a high probability that you'll have issues conceiving, if you plan on getting pregnant," she tells you in a clinical tone, but when she sees your brows arch in shock, she softens her tone. "I would like you to not take any oral contraceptives for a few months so we can see if your hormones rebound—"

"What's the probability that I won't be able to conceive?"

She'd hesitated at your even question. "Well…at the current numbers, with how long you've used oral contraceptives, and with your family history, your fertility level might be stunted—"

"So, I could be infertile?" you'd cut in with the blunt question while you wrung your hands together in your lap.

"I think it's much too early to say that," the doctor assured before going into her instructions for you and scheduling another checkup and series of labs after a few months.

A bit shellshocked, you'd gone back to work and operated on autopilot the rest of the day.

Doctor's orders had been for you to up your cardio, find methods of de-stressing, eating a cleaner diet with more lean proteins, and limiting your alcohol intake. Most of them were already in practice, having gone on a diet and started working out after the holidays when you'd tried to get into one of your favorite pair of jeans, and ended up balking when you couldn't fasten them shut without lying flat on your bed.

Once you'd gotten home that night, you drew a nice hot bath, lit one of the scented candles Naida had gifted you, and slipped under the soothing water.

It's just like Ma. She had a hard time conceiving, and after she lost the baby, she couldn't get pregnant again…

Your mind wanders over the potential of not being a mother. Did you even want to be? Was the news bothering you because you'd expected to one day have a baby, and now the decision could be taken away from you?

You'd make a terrible mother anyway.

Sad, you'd climbed out of the tub, dried off, and moped into your bedroom with the candle. Once you'd set it on the nightstand, you pulled on a light and airy nightgown before getting under the covers. The ceiling fan undulated the air in a rhythmic breeze that usually helped lull you to sleep, but with your mind tangling up with 'what if's' and worst-case scenarios, you instead ended up tossing and turning.

Frustrated, you sat up in bed and yearned for comfort. After all, you'd been single and celibate since you'd left Colombia, and with all the birth control hassle, you hadn't been mentally in a place to want to go out and meet anyone. No, you'd spent your time outside of work either curled up on the couch catching up on all the network TV you'd missed out on, getting lost watching movies on the cable channels, or seeing the latest flick you'd picked up from the movie rental place. All of course, were ploys to keep yourself distracted from the loneliness.

However, a few weeks back, when you'd been at Delilah's baptism, you'd had an opportunity to end the self-imposed drought, but passed on it.

Anita and Ellis had asked you to be little Delilah's godmother, and overcome, you'd agreed. They'd asked Ellis' younger brother, Trevor, to be the godfather. You'd met him years prior when he'd visited Ellis once, and you'd liked him. He was sweet, funny, and just as silly as his older brother, but there was a really charming edge to him that while you'd all been rehearsing at the church had made you smile a little less platonically than you should've.

His striking blue eyes had held your gaze for a beat too long when you were both listening to the priest walk you through how you would hold the baby, and the pronunciations you would both need to make during the ceremony. Afterward, you both went to buy gifts for the baby – things she would need for the baptism. The Rose boys were raised Southern Baptist, so you needed to guide Trevor through the Catholic traditions, and he helped you pick out the gold cross pendant necklace you'd both gift Delilah to wear on her baptism, along with a cute pair of booties Trevor bought and lace bonnet you got.

After the ceremony, you'd both danced with the baby during the little party thrown at their house, and at the end of the night when he'd offered to walk you to your car, you'd enjoyed having his hand chivalrously cup the back of your elbow as he led you down the walkway. But when he'd opened your car door for you, there was a moment where you both vacillated, and then just when he'd leaned in to kiss you, you'd turned. His lips and pressed into your cheek, and you'd bashfully apologized, but he'd chuckled and stepped back with a gentlemanly smile.

The following day, when you'd all had lunch before seeing him off to the airport, he'd leaned over next to you at the table to confide, "Ellis told me not to come onto you, but I just had to take my chance."

Snickering, you'd shoved your shoulder playfully into his. "Oh?"

"Yeah. You'd been so cool but guarded when I met you in Colombia, it kind of intimidated me. I don't normally get intimidated by women," he'd wryly huffed, but then admitted, "Ellis mentioned you were single, and when I said I was gonna flirt with you, he yelled at me. Probably because I'm technically just on a break with my girlfriend—"

"Hah, so I was gonna be your tropical tryst, eh?" you'd hazed, and he'd laughed, so you jibed, "Well, unfortunately for you, no matter how handsome you are, you're still related to that dork over there, and he's practically family now, which makes you the brother I never wanted as well!"

Ellis had frowned when Trevor had thrown his napkin across the table at him and sarcastically blamed him for once again cock-blocking him.

You snicker at the memory of Ellis barking "Language, Trevor!" when the melancholy and loneliness comes over you heavy now.

Realizing you aren't going to get any sleep at this rate, you broke down and retrieved the shirt from the dresser and draped it over the opposite pillow you used to sleep. Once settled on your side to curl up spooning the pillow, the comforting, manly scent laced to the soft cotton soothed your mind enough to finally be able to doze off.

In your waking, non-lonesome moments, though, you are exasperated with yourself. Your feelings shouldn't be so strong still, not after the time that's gone by. But it's undeniable. No more so than when you're aching for sexual gratification and touch yourself, thinking of a new hunk as your fixation – usually the latest actor you'd seen in a movie at the theater, but your mind would meld Antonio Banderas, or Brad Pitt into the one man who held your heart in perpetuity – who could make you yearn and melt down with needy pleasure before giving you ecstasy.

No matter what, Javier always was the name you cried out when you climaxed, and the flustered ache that would be left over would either make you mad, or make you tear up.

You couldn't go more than a week without thinking about him.

Your heart would betray you, wondering where he was, how he was doing, if he'd been lying when he said he would keep trying. But then, your mind would snap, Of course he was! How can you still wonder about that?!

At the very least, even before your diagnosis started hanging over your head, you'd decided to throw yourself into bettering yourself health-wise. You'd started going on morning jogs with Jodalys and her friends, joined Zoraida at her aerobics classes every other night, and even would go for long walks with Anita inside Plaza Las Americas some weekend mornings while she pushed Delilah in her stroller.

This particular morning, Jodalys was telling you about a big charity event she'd be hosting in a couple of weeks for the children's hospital, and you'd offered to see if the Federal office would be a sponsor through their Giving Back program.

Said night of the event, you were representing for the program as you worked the room and chatted with officials and other donors, smiling as Jodalys introduced you to a rep for the local animal shelter.

When you turn to greet someone else, you looked over to see Roman talking with an official from the business affairs department of the local government across the way in the event hall. At your shocked expression, Jodalys whispers, "Ah, that's the former head of Varroco Corp, Ernan Villamil's son – Roman Villamil Ibarra. He's one of the main donors! Do you know him?"

Nodding, you excuse yourself from the group and go to the bar, feelings a little woozy all of a sudden, so you ask for a glass of water.

You're in mid-sip when a tenor voice orders beside you, "Gin and tonic, please."

Internally swearing at your luck, you finish sipping your water and steel yourself to turn and get this random encounter over with already.

He turned and blinked at you, as if surprised to see you.

"Oh, hey there, chica," he drawls haltingly when he clocks the skeptical narrowing of your gaze on him, so he shifts his weight onto his other foot and gestures to the bar as he invites, "Uh, would you like something to drink—?"

"You're a charitable big shot now, I see," you find yourself sarcastically droning, hand on your hip as you eye him. "You a choirboy on the weekends too?"

Snorting, he takes a sip from his drink, green eyes smiling at you over the rim of the glass before he places it on the counter and leans his elbow onto it. "No, but sometimes they let me skip the communion line and have a sip of the wine," he jokes in a melodic croon.

You snicker, despite yourself. Giving him a once over, you see he's dressed much more professionally than you'd last seen him. Dark grey suit, pin-striped dress shirt, and striped navy-and-indigo tie looking quite sharp on him now.

"My friend said you're one of the main donors?" you conversationally query as you busy yourself with finishing your glass of water.

"Yeah. Varroco Corp has increased its sponsorships. We donate to a lot of the charities on the island," Roman retorts, expression softening with his smile. "Gotta balance out making tons of profit with a lot of goodwill."

"I'm sure," you remark, giving him a friendly smile as you joke, "Gotta make up for your lack of community service somehow."

He laughs, and gives you a musing 'Maybe so' shrug of his shoulders before asking, "And you? I take it you're back on the island full time?"

"Yes. I work for the federal state department," you answer, and nod at the bartender when he asks what you'd like to drink.

But before you can answer, Roman orders, "Una Cuba libre para la dama." You roll your eyes. "What? You have a new go-to?"

"No, but I can't believe I'm that predictable," you sneer self-deprecatingly before thanking the bartender when he serves you the drink.

"Nah, I just remember," Roman says with an easy timbre warming his tone.

A comfortable silence falls as you both sip your drinks, one you hope will lead to him needing to go back into the schmoozing zone of the event.

But then, he puts his empty glass down and clears his throat. "So, you give any thought to grabbing coffee?" he attempts, broad shoulders slanting as he folds his forearms over the bar top to conspiratorially lean closer and pledge, "I'll even be down for that annoying little chinchorro you loved on the beach in Isla Verde."

Scoffing amusedly, you shake your head. "You hated it there—"

"Yeah, well, I'd love to catch up with you more than I'd hate sitting there eating sorrullitos y queso frito," he cuts in charismatically, smirking when you jokingly fawn, as if picturing the fatty appetizers with pining. "C'mon, chiquita. Have a drink with me? A pincho?" he jokes, and when you giggle, he adds faux plaintively, "A café?! Anything you want?"

"Ok! Fine," you deridingly snipe and relent with the suggestion of, "There's a fancy little bistro café that opened up—"

"In El Condado, yeah. How about I make a reservation—" he'd been proposing when his pocket began to ring. Expression etching with annoyance, he huffs, "Excuse me, sorry."

You watch him retrieve a black matte flip phone from his pocket and lope off to answer it.

Something in you fixates on how his expression had quickly shifted to the glower you remember him having when he was becoming vexed, but before you could let your mind pull you down into the reminiscing of darker times, Roman strolls back over to the bar, hand idly rubbing the scruff on his chin as he sighs.

"I'm sorry. Looks like I'll have to fly out on my next trip a lot sooner than I'd planned, so how about I give you a call once I'm back in town so we can coordinate that bistro date?" Roman proposes, green eyes holding yours with hopeful heat in them.

So much so, that you find yourself agreeing, and when he leans in to peck you on the cheek in farewell, you're so disarmed that it takes you a moment before he starts walking away to call out, "How're you gonna get my number?"

Turning to smirk at you over his shoulder, Roman purrs, "I'll open the phone book and start dialing," then winks at you before heading off through the mingling event attendees.

You have no chance to even chastise yourself and break down everything that just transpired, not with Jodalys coming over and pulling you back into the event fray of meeting people.

Really, what would be so wrong with being cordial with Roman? Like you'd said before: Everyone has the capacity to change, and everything that had gone down between you two had been so long ago – at a fulcrum point for your individual maturation that shouldn't be defining for you. After all, you were no angel, and would hate to be judged for the things you did in your early twenties. No matter how flagrant or naïve you'd been – how reckless and resentful you'd been capable of being then.

He called it a date, though…

Annoyed with yourself, you'd waved it off. Nothing was set in stone. You had politely agreed to the possibility of maybe having coffee with him. But nothing was reserved, and really, he could forget all about it, with how clearly busy he was with his company.

You're resolved to not think about it further, and are chastising yourself when your mind wanders to the thought that you didn't feel right about even mentioning it to any of your friends – that you'd run into him again – and end up going on autopilot as you'd walked in through the lobby of the federal building and headed to the elevators. So much so, that you didn't first hear someone calling out your name.

At the second call, you paused in your stride and turned towards the man who was hustling over to greet you.

"Hey! Long time no see, hun."

Smiling, you shake your head at him looking tense and unsure of how to greet you, so you pull the tall blond in for a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek.

"It's great to see you, Steve," is your warm greeting, pulling back to see him look relieved. "Congrats on the promotion!"

"Aw, thanks. And you too! Saw you're a big director now," he chuckles and slips his hands into his tan trouser pockets. "And, that you got your way after all: Every agency has to bow down to getting trained in tech."

"Damn straight," you quip, adjusting your purse high on your blue blazer-clad shoulder as you ask, "How're Connie and Olivia?"

"They're great! She'll start kinder next week, and Connie's working at the V.A.," Steve retorts before going on to gush as he pulls out his wallet after you gesture in a way that says 'Break out the pictures!'

He tells you about the new baby, Isabel, and you smile as he jovially lets you flip through the photos in his wallet while he takes out a business card and writes his personal cell phone number on the back before handing it to you.

"—It was great running into you, Steve. I'll see you around. Probably at that first big inter-agency meeting next week," you're telling him as you scribble your phone number onto a yellow sticky note you'd produced from your purse and peel off the sheet, fold it, and hand it over to him. "And if you guys need help settling in, give me call!"

"Will do," he drawls in his carefree rasp before gesturing a silly farewell salute as you both part ways.

Later that night, when he called Javier, he had no qualms in telling him he'd seen you.

"—She looked great, Jav. I was nervous that she'd be standoffish, but she was a sweetheart," he regales to his partner, adding pointedly, "She did not mention anything, though, so I'm not sure where she stands."

Grunting, Javi sits back against the headboard of his hotel room bed, exhaling gruffly as he rubs his palm across his cheek. "Yeah, well…I'll find out soon enough, I suppose," is his glib grumble before asking, "And nothing's been announced yet, right?"

"Nah, nothing about the leadership adjustment. Didn't make sense to put it out until I'm settled in and all the field agents report in for their assignment," Steve confirms, adding, "But, I wouldn't be surprised if Spencer drops a memo first thing next Thursday when you're due to be landing. He gave me the impression that he likes making big splashes."

Javi grunts dryly. "That's one way to put it. Anyway…thanks for the update."

"Oh, before I forget, write this number down," Steve orders, and Javier does so dutifully.

"Ok, got it. What's this for?" he asks as he scribbles it on the top of the legal notepad that was near and handy.

"It's her personal number."

Pausing, Javier stares at it before clearing his throat gruffly.

"You should call her, Jav."

"Steve…I want to, but I know if I do, she'll go nuclear on me and refuse to speak to me," is Javier's haggard sigh as he deflates against the headboard at the mere prospect of earning your ire. "…For what I did, I need to talk to her face-to-face."

"Well…it's your funeral, man," Steve can't help haze, and Javi scoffs sourly. "Anyway, I'll give you the rundown once you're here."

After placing his new cell phone back onto its charger set on the nightstand, he sat up and unbuttoned his dress shirt all the way down to his waistband and yanked the shirt tails loose so he could be more comfortable now that he was sitting with his legs crisscrossed. Casting a tired glance at all the documents, maps, and personnel files strewn across the bed, Javi picks up a stack and reads up more on Quintoni Martínez, El Gran of the mafia-styled cartel that ran the drug trade in Puerto Rico.

His day getting a crash course on everything had ended with him taking stacks of documents with him in a box back to his hotel room, and while he'd picked at his sandwich, he'd started making lists for himself.

He would spend the rest of his time at Quantico, where he'd review the fresh batch of agents who'd volunteered for the placement surge down in the Caribbean division. Javier had picked out junior agents that fit the profile he thought would be the savviest and most set up for success: Men and women with a background in community policing, fluent in Spanish, and with no kids or family anywhere near the U.S. territory they'd be assigned to.

And after the anticlimactic way things had ended for them prior, he'd pulled two experienced agents he knew he could trust, and to his relief, both had been glad to fall back in under his leadership.

By the time his belongings were arriving ahead of him to the single-story bungalow he'd be living in a week later, you were rushing off the elevator on your exercise-sore muscles to stride in a clipped pace to your office. You'd opted for a pin-striped black on black skirt and matching blazer rather than your chic tailored pantsuits that had become the staple of your in-office attire, knowing you'd need to deal with a lot of chauvinistic traditionalists in your big meeting later that morning.

Already setting your itinerary for the things you'd need to do after work so you could get to your apartment and get ready for the happy hour at The Condado Plaza Hilton that was getting thrown by the Puerto Rico Federal Affairs Administration, your mind was preoccupied as you hustled along. The Chief Executive Director of U.S. Federal Relations, and really the only person you had to "report" to had sent out a memo earlier in the week, asking for all department heads to attend the event in order to foster camaraderie between the local and federal officials, so you and Ellis agreed to carpool together in order to make your appearances.

Thinking about the dress you were planning on wearing for the occasion, you've just breezed in to your nice, tidy office with the great northeast views that on a clear day span out all the way to the picturesque skyline beyond, when Ellis bursts through the door you'd just shut after yourself.

"Hey!" he exclaims as he comes in and quickly shut the door after himself.

"Jeez, am I that late!? I got out of that crazy yoga class Zoraida dragged me to much later than I'd planned—" you're in the middle of griping as you place your purse down on your sideboard next to your desk and retrieve your leatherbound organizer and day planner.

"Girlie…I think you need to sit down."

Pausing, you turn to stare at Ellis with confusion on your features.

"What?" is your chortle, but then at the serious look on his face, you fret, "Oh, did something happen with Anita? The baby—?!"

"N-No! Everything's alright," he assuages and hustles over to grab your wrist and gently guide you to your nearby leather couch tucked in the corner, across from the east-facing windows of your office.

"Ellis, you're scaring me. What's up?" you scoff as he sits next to you.

"…A memo just came over the wire from stateside. There was some kind of last-minute shakeup, and…" he parcels out, but when you stare at him with incomprehension as to what could be so bad about a memo, he decides to just come out with it.

"The new Special Agent in Charge for the DEA here is Javier Peña."

You feel like you've just been pushed into syrupy quicksand. A sarcastic laugh comes out of you as you dismiss it as a joke.

No, no—totally not real. This is a joke! But before you can convince yourself of it, the feeling of dismay pulls you under when you take a shaky breath and focus on how earnest and worried Ellis looks.

"…Really?" you croak, staring incredulously at your friend. When his brows quirk bewilderedly at you, you exclaim, "That can't be. It doesn't make sense. Steve Murphy's the SAC—"

"Turns out, he and Javier are splitting up the Caribbean territory. Steve's going to oversee the U.S. Virgin Islands, and Javier's going to be the head of things here," Ellis explains.

He doesn't know what to expect when you sit back in your seat and go silent, gaze getting faraway and expression shuttering into a stoic mask. But then your hands ball up into fists in your lap, and your stare narrows as you turn to look at him with what he can only describe as searing rancor.

"When is he due to start?"

Gulping, Ellis hedges on telling you, but when your glare turns exacting, he squawks, "Today."

Your fury collects itself and winds up into a fierce, roiling heat that you keep in your belly as you nod, stand, and go to your desk, pick up your phone, and dial Devon's extension.

He promptly answers, so you tell him, "Please come to my office as soon as you can. There are a few things I need to prep you on for the inter-agency meeting."

Once you've hung up, you sit at your desk and open up your laptop, typing in a furious flurry while Ellis remains at the couch and blinks haplessly over at you.

"Well…I'm scared to ask, kid," he admits, and when you grunt but don't look away from the screen, he presses, "What're you gonna do?"

Pausing, you take a cleansing inhale, hold it, then exhale, just like you'd learned at that silly yoga class. Then, you look over at your friend with fire in your eyes.

"I'm going to rip his fucking head off if he even tries to talk to me."

To be continued…

---

Spanish-English Glossary:

Tesoro = Treasure; darling

'Buela = short for 'abuela', aka grandmother

Altar = Prayer altar; mini prayer shrine in someone's home

Eres mi única hija, y te amo con toda mi alma = You're my only daughter, and I love you with my entire soul

Trigueño = Olive-skinned, swarthy man

Artesano = Artisan

Mijo = short for "mi hijo", a term of endearment akin to "my son/sonny"

Hermano = Brother; bud

Coño = A swear, akin to 'Fucking hell' or 'Damn!'

Carnal = A very close and trusted friend who is almost blood to you; a trusted buddy

Pendejo = Dumbass; jackass

Fresa = Mexican slang for someone posh, or hoity-toity

Llego = Arrived

Pobrecito = Poor baby; poor baby boy

Ay, mami = Oh, mom

Pinche madre = Motherfucker; sonuvabitch

Huevones = Dummies; goofballs

Prima = Cousin (female)

Sabes? = You know?

Fiesta = Party; festival

Nena = Girl

Las Fiestas SanSe = Short for "Las Fiestas de San Sebastían", which is a big street festival in Old San Juan along the San Sebastían street; festival occurs at the end of January and lasts a week

Chinchorrear = Slang for going bar-hopping; a chinchorro is a kiosk or dive bar you go to have a few drinks before moving on to the next establishment

Chichaítos = Different flavored anise shots of rum that are chilled

Damas, adelante = Ladies, enter forward

Doncellita = little noblewoman; little maiden

Empresa = Company/Enterprise/Business

Chavalita = Akin to saying 'missy' or 'lass'; a young woman

Lengüetera = garrulous, silver-tongued daring and witty talker (female)

Clavelina = A type of pretty pink flower that resembles a vibrant carnation

Taberna = Tavern

O sentarnos pa' café = Or sit/meetup for coffee

Miramelinda = a double meaning: Miramelinda is the name of a strain of impatiens flower, but literally translated, the name means 'Look at me pretty'

Disfruta las fiestas, cielito = Enjoy the festival, little sky

Nos vamos = We're leaving

Kiosko = Kiosk; food stand

Tiene cojones = [He] has balls

Frituras = Fritters; tropical turnovers

Mira = Look

Te llamo después = I'll call you later

Chica = Gal; lass

Una Cuba libre para la dama = A Cuba libra for the lady

Sorrullitos y queso frito = Little sweet fritters and fried cheese

Chiquita = Little chick; little girl

Pincho = A Caribbean shish-kabob, usually made of marinated pork or chicken

The song lyrics included in this chapter are from "Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode.

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