Page 18 of The Right Garza

“Did she thank you?” he asks.

“What?”

“Did shethankyou for getting her out?”

“Ye—” I stop and think back on our conversations from the moment she walked through the door. I’m not sure how I didn’t realize it until now, but…no, shedidn’tthank me. Not once.

“She might beyourfriend, Lexi, but you’re not hers,” Trent says when I stumble over answering. “I know her kind. She’ll hang you out to dry and leave you for the dogs. Definitely not the kind of person you should be pulling these kinds of stunts with. When someone shows you they’ll intentionally put your life in danger to save theirs, you chop them off at the head and never look back.”

“Okay…” I chew on my lip. “I mean, she has her flaws, but she’s not a bad person.”

“She’s not a good person either.”

And I’m clearly a terrible judge of character. “If you believe that, why did you just give her eight hundred dollars?”

He tosses me a quick glance. “Didn’t sayI’ma bad person. I’m a fucking angel. A beautiful cherub.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s blasphemy.” I yawn and arch my back into a stretch. “Are we driving back?”

“Yup.”

“Well, can we go to a drive-thru or something? I’ll need something to munch on for this long ass drive.”

“Usually, when I take a woman to a drive-thru, we fuck afterward.”

I fall my head back against the headrest and close my eyes, feeling depleted. “Howangelicof you.”

His deep chuckle rumbles over me.

Chapter EIGHT

“So, you are with this one now?”

Lexi

After gorging myself onFrench fries, hot wings, and watered-down pineapple soda—courtesy of Trent’s wallet—I fall asleep about halfway into the four-hour drive.

I’m being pulled from the darkness of unconsciousness by thedrip, drip, dripof something cold on my forehead that then descends down my face in tickling rivulets. I jerk awake, my eyes snapping open to find Trent leaned over me with a melting ice cube above my forehead.

“For Pete’s sake,” I snap at him, wiping the liquid from my face. “Hasanythingabout you changed?”

He pops the ice into his mouth. “We’re here.”

“You couldn’t have woken me up like a normal person to tell me that?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

I pull on the lever below to readjust the car seat upright and stare out the windshield at the neighborhood I grew up in. I haven’t visited in over a year now. Mama is my all, we have a tight mother-daughter bond, so we video call each other often. But I’ve avoided visiting the rest of the family out of sheer embarrassment of how flat I’ve fallen, no matter how much she begs me to come home.

Powering down the window, I gaze out at the Victorian cottage-style, single-story home I grew up in. Aside from a fresh coat of paint—which helped drain the last of my savings—the house looks the same. Nothing much has changed. But that’s Redlands—its “same-old” charm is what makes it so special. Rich with character, color, and history.

The character-rich pink and green house is a mere three bedroom with one bath, but it exceeds its capacity of occupants. On the drive, I called Mama and she told me I’d have to sleep in her room because Uncle Franco moved his kids into my old room.

It’s always been this way. Mama allows them to run over her instead of booting all their asses so they’ll be forced to grow the hell up.

Although it’s almost midnight, my family is out on the veranda playing games. The usual. On a weekday, they’ll go until around eleven. On weekends, they’ll go until three, four in the morning. My family is known in the neighborhood for their late-night veranda games.

“Mom’s already asleep,” Trent says. “But I’ll bring your stuff over.”