“What’s not easy for you?”
“This.” I gestured toward the theater space. “This doesn’t come easy to me, not like it does for you. Most people can’t just pick up a book and memorize the lines like it’s the easiest action known to mankind.”
Landon had been off book faster than anyone else. Sure, I wasn’t convinced he knew exactly what he was saying, but the words danced off his tongue in the most magical fashion that made you believe he was, indeed, Romeo.
“You make it look easy, though,” he commented, his voice low. “You get on that stage and own every inch of it. You demand people’s attention. You ooze confidence. Watching you onstage is like watching live art being made. It’s addictive, all-consuming, and you do it in a way that looks so effortless.” He combed his hand through his hair, then stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. The biceps in his arms were showcased nicely as he rocked back and forth. “It doesn’t matter if it comes easy or not. It matters how it looks. Shay... it looks perfect.”
I wanted to think of something snarky to say. I wanted to say something sassy, but I was too emotionally exhaustedto do so. Plus, his words made my heart skip, and I couldn’t be snarky with skipping heartbeats.
“What’s up your ass today?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’re off. Why?”
“If I was off, which I’m not, you’d be the last one I’d talk to about my issues, Landon.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I know you don’t really care. I know everything that happens between us is just part of the stupid bet.”
He dropped his head, and his shoulders rounded as he looked up at me with those blue eyes, irises that swam in a gentle sea. “You’re having a shitty day, and you’re right, you probably can’t trust anything that leaves my mouth. I’m known for being cold and heartless, but I get having off days. I’ve been having nothing but off weeks—offmonths—lately. So I get feeling like shit. Therefore, I’d never use your bad days against you, Shay. Not for this game; not for this life.”
I wanted to thank him for that, but I didn’t have time to. He turned around on the heels of his sneakers and murmured, “I hope it gets better, though. Night.”
“Good night,” I muttered back. I wasn’t even sure he heard me.
On my way home that night, I tried my best to push out the thought that I’d be spending the next few weeks in Landon’s presence. Although, lately, I’d choose spending time with him over my own family.
When I got home, it was clear it wouldn’t be a good night. As I walked up the front porch, I heard Mima hollering with anger in Spanish. When she was extremely angry, she went from speaking English to Spanglish, and then, when she was at her breaking point, full-on Spanish.
I cracked the front door open and stood there listening before entering the house. I knew they’d stop talking about what was going on when I walked in, and I hated not knowing all the details.
“You can’t keep making excuses for him, Camila! I smelled it on his breath when he walked in today. He rushed to shower and wash up because he knows I know. How are you going to sit here and act like everything’s sunshine and rainbows when your husband has fallen offagainand lied—again?”
“Mom, I don’t need this right now. I know this is a mess. You think I don’t see that he’s broken and falling apart? Don’t you think I know he’s losing his way?”
“Of course I know you know that, Camila, but what I don’t think you know is that you don’t have to keep picking up his broken pieces. He’s bringing his demons into this house over and over again.”
“Having you snap at him over little things isn’t helping. You’re adding to the drama of it all.”
“It’s not my fault he’s a liar. I wish you’d stop making up excuses for him. What are you teaching your daughter about relationships?”
They went back and forth about Mima wanting Mom to leave Dad. I understood where Mima was coming from. How many chances could you give someone before time was up? How many times could my mother be forced to sacrifice her own well-being at the expense of his?
It was becoming an embarrassing show to watch, and ever so slowly, I was becoming so disappointed in who my mom was becoming. I always pictured her being the strongest woman I knew, and she was that person... except for when it came to her love for my father.
We had been so much happier when he was behind bars.
I crept back outside, not wanting to go in. If Dad was inside, I wanted nothing to do with him. He’d lied to me. He’d looked me straight in the eyes not that long ago and promised that he wasn’t going to be getting into any trouble anymore. But that was what liars did best—they lied. I hated how he let us down time and time again. I hated that Mom defended him time and time again. I hated the loop that we were stuck in.
I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text message to Eleanor.
Me:Sleepover?
Eleanor:Always.
I headed over to my cousin’s house, which was always the safe landing place when my father pushed himself over the edge. Whenever I came over to spend the night, it was a clear sign to my aunt and uncle that my father had slipped up.