Page 59 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

My mother finally huffs, stomping from the room without another word. And then my father does the same. He fought for me, but only just.

I’m alone—I always have been.

July 30th, 2014

The rain slouches down the small living room window, the late summer Texas rainstorm doing its best impression of a temper tantrum. Lightning flashes across the sky—an ominous warning for what’s next.

The storm matches my mood almost perfectly— dark, angry, and so full of unspent energy and rage I feel fit to explode.

A moving truck sits in the driveway, the image of it a shadowy mirage through the late evening haze and the rivulets of water cutting through it. I can hardly see it, and yet I feel it like a weight on my chest.

Tomorrow my father and I are set to head to Merida, but I won’t be going.

All summer I worked at the Tex-Mex grill, making enough to put down first months rent in a dingy apartment in the town over where I’ll be attending Junior college.

Lucky for me, they have an extensive scholarship program, especially for first generation college students, and those with cultural diversity.

I’ll only get my first two years, and then have to figure out what comes next. But it’s something.

And even if it’s not glamorous, it’s for me. And that’s the only thing that matters.

I just haven’t figured out how to get up and leave in the middle of the night. Will I ever see my father again? Dani? My mother? Will they disown me, or eventually let me back into their circle?

Who will I be if I’m not a Mendes?

The door opens, the sounds of my father shaking the rain from his coat filling the empty house. I straighten, pulling the book forgotten on the windowsill back into my lap. I pretend to read it as he walks into the living room.

When I lift my eyes to his, I’m met with a sad, somber expression, like the life’s been sucked from him as thoroughly as it’s been sucked from myself. And it breaks my heart.

“Did you already eat?” he asks, leaning against the door.

“Yes, I left a tray of burritos from the restaurant in the fridge for you.” I close the book, not bothering to note the page as I haven’t even seen any of the words all day.

He nods. “You get your last paycheck? Were they sad to see you go?”

I nibble my lip, before offering a small, fake smile. “Got the last paycheck. They made me a going away cake—there’s a piece of it in the fridge for you too.”

He nods again, pushing off the doorway, before pausing. His eyes soften, a sheen filling them before he rapidly blinks, pushing it away. He opens his mouth to say something, and then shakes his soggy hair, thinking better of it.

I know he sees my suffering. But he won’t disobey my mother—that’s just his way. Regardless of who has to suffer.

“I love you, Papa,” I mumble, my heart cracking as the words leave my lips. They might be the last time I ever get to say them to him.

“I love you too, Adalene. Always have,” he says with a small smile, before retreating from the room. “Better get some rest, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

I don’t bother restraining the tears as they fall from my eyes, matching the storm outside the window. I couldn’t if I tried.

My phone buzzes next to my head, and I bolt out of bed. I don’t remember falling asleep, I’ve been turning in for hours. But I had, and now adrenaline pumps through my veins at the realization.

I’m leaving, in the middle of the fucking night, like a thief.

I blink around my empty room, and then down at the small bag in the corner.

Yesterday I carefully put a total of two boxes in the trunk of my old car, full of photos and essential items. I didn’t want to tip Papa off, and I couldn’t afford to take much else.

I’m starting over, and as painful as it is, I feel alive for the first time in years.

I stand, stumbling out of bed, fully dressed already. All I need is shoes.

Bending over to silently slip into the tennis shoes I placed there, I notice a folded note tucked into one. Grabbing it with shaky fingers, and using the flashlight on my phone, I open it, reading the two sentences written there, my father’s handwriting rushed across the paper.

Tears fill my eyes as I creep out the front door, making it nearly impossible to lock up behind me.

They fall across my cheeks, hot and unchecked as I start the small engine, the whining filling the early morning silence blanketing our street.

And they dry as I face into the rising morning sun, the horizon glistening as rays ripple over the lush green distance, and into my future.

May 5th, 2025

Walking back toward Mateo’s house, I wipe a stray tear from the top of my cheek before anyone has a chance to see it.

The sky is a warm, deep blue, a thick breeze rustling through the trees and the feathers of a dozen chirping birds.

It’s peaceful, much the opposite to the turmoil in my stomach, like a late night, Texas storm.

Mateo isn’t back yet, but texted that he would be here shortly to get ready for our dinner plans with Stetson, Faith, and Gus.

I walk into the house, feeling more out of place than I have since the first day he brought me here.

I pause, taking in the grandeur of the entryway, the wooden staircase, and the memories that crowd every corner.

And then I take the stairs two at a time, walking into the room down the hall from the one I’ve spent every night in for months, spread out next to my best friend, where all my belongings are strewn about.

Queen Tut purrs as I enter the room, lifting his large orange fluffy head off the comforter just enough to acknowledge me before closing his eyes once more, tail tapping. He’s so happy here, and the thought of taking him away is nearly enough to stop me once more.

But I have to do this.

With shaky fingers, I pull my wallet out of my purse hanging over the chair in the corner. In the inner pocket, I feel around for the worn paper I know is folded inside. With a deep breath, I pull it out, reading the words I know by heart.

And just like they did all those years ago, the words tell me exactly what I have to do.