“Mama, how’s this?”
Crystal glanced away from the plant she was
potting and focused on the unrecognizable artwork made from colorful
crayons. A smile spread across her face. “It’s beautiful,
mijo.” At the sound of the gate’s buzzer,
she stood, removed her gardening gloves, and dusted off her hands.
“Why don’t you find a spot for it on the refrigerator?
You can show Papa when he gets home.”
With a giggle, she stepped aside to let her
son race for the kitchen with his masterpiece in hand, and then
made her way to the front door.
“I’ll get it, Margarita,”
she said, trying to hold on to her pleasant smile despite the
look of disapproval on the housekeeper’s face. With a huff,
the rotund woman planted herself in the doorway and watched as
she wiped her hands off on her apron.
Swallowing a sigh, Crystal peeked through the
etched glass to one side of the door. “It’s just a
delivery man,” she said to Margarita by way of dismissal.
“Sí. I know, señora. I buzzed
him in.” The housekeeper remained at her post, staring as
Crystal opened the door.
“Flowers for a Mrs. De la Cruz.”
She smiled and tucked a stray lock of hair,
which had escaped her ponytail, behind one ear. “That’s
me.” Carlos hadn’t sent her flowers in years, but
her birthday was tomorrow. Maybe...
“Please sign here.” The man held
out a clipboard for her. When she finished, he handed her a long,
slim box tied shut with a red ribbon, tipped his hat, and returned
to his van. As the van’s engine rumbled to life and the
vehicle pulled away, she glanced down to see through a clear window
on the top of the box.
A cold chill slithered down her spine. Yellow
roses. They’d been her favorite. Once. Long ago when she
still believed that her dreams could come true.
A car door slamming shut made her look up to
see a dark-haired man, who’d just gotten out of a cab, turn
toward her. The box fell from her grasp. Her heart stopped. Stars
spotted the periphery of a vision she was certain couldn’t
be true.
“Hello, Crystal.”
“You’re...dead,” she said
on a faint breath, the last puff expelled before darkness consumed
her.
Alejo barely reached her in time to catch her
fall, and he silently chastised himself for caring enough to try.
Swinging her into his arms, he marched into the house and demanded
to know, “Where’s a couch?”
An old lady in an apron gaped until he repeated
the question, prompting her to point.
He laid Crystal on the couch, straightened, and
turned just in time to receive a hard kick to the shin by a furious,
black-haired hellion with a high-pitched screech.
“What’d you do to my mama?”
He dodged another kick and held the boy off with
a hand on his head. As angry as Alejo was at the boy’s parents,
the runt was his nephew—his flesh and blood. He couldn’t
punish the child for his father’s sins.
“Whoa, bribón,” he
said, his plea doing little to curb the rascal’s attack.
“Christopher Alejandro De la Cruz!”
The stern words from the old lady brought the kid up short. Crying,
he dropped to the floor beside his mother and wrapped tiny arms
around her waist.
“Lo siento, Señor De la Cruz,”
the old lady said, twisting her apron with arthritic hands.
Alejo studied the woman. “You know me?”
“Sí, I know you. I see
your picture before. You are Christopher’s tío,
brother to Carlos De la Cruz. We thought you were dead.”
“Yes, well... Those rumors were exaggerated.”
The familiar bass of his brother’s voice made Alejo turn
toward the door. He struggled to guard his thoughts, block any
sign of emotion, but still Carlos quirked a brow at him as if
he were privy to his deepest accusations.
"Papa-" Carlos' raised hand cut off his son's
words. He was impeccably dressed in solid, dark colors, his other
hand holding a briefcase.
"Mmm..." The soft sigh drew his attention to
the couch. Crystal was coming around. She looked so beautiful
lying there, her pale skin sun-kissed at the cheeks and nose,
her long hair pulled back in a ponytail of spun gold.
"Margarita, take care of Crystal and Christopher.
Mi hermano and I have much to discuss."
Not
My Brother's Keeper
Lycan
Instinct 