"That's it?" Michael asks, brows furrowing.
"Don't worry, boys. I got something so much better." Ty chuckles and pulls an old metal tin from his pocket. He pops it open. Three perfectly rolled joints sit inside.
Diego shakes his head, laughing. "Dude, you're gonna stink up the whole car." He ruffles Ty's hair.
We pile out of Michael's Civic into his driveway like clowns from a clown car.
"Who wants to smoke?" Ty asks, lifting the tin again. He pulls one out, purses it between his lips, flicks his Bic, and takes a deep drag.
"Fuck it. I'm in." I grab it and take my first hit.
The smoke hits my lungs like fire. I cough hard, eyes watering as the harsh, sweet burn rips through me. My chest tightens. The taste is strange, earthy and skunky, nothing likethe cigarettes I've seen Dad or Aunt Val smoke. Ty laughs and slaps my back.
"Easy, Raul. First time?"
I nod, still coughing, but I take another smaller hit. It goes down smoother this time. Warmer. The edges of everything start to soften, like someone turned down the world's sharpness just a notch.
Diego watches me with a grin, already deep into his own turn. "You good?"
"Yeah," I manage, passing it back. My head feels light, like it's floating a little above my shoulders. The driveway spins slow under my feet, the gravel crunching louder than it should.
Michael's house is a simple one-story, very cookie-cutter, the kind you see all over Hialeah. Stucco walls painted a faded yellow. The front yard is mostly dirt with a couple of palm trees leaning like they're tired.
Ty leads us around back where the real party is. String lights hang crooked between trees, casting everything in a hazy orange glow. Maybe twenty kids our age crowd the patio and yard, red Solo cups in hand. Girls in tight jeans and baby tees laugh too loud near a kiddie pool somebody's filled with ice and drinks. A couple guys play beer pong on a warped plywood table. The air is thick with smoke and that humid Miami stickiness that never quite goes away.
Liam and Kyle disappear into the crowd fast, already working the room like they own it. Diego nudges me toward a cooler in the corner. "What you drinking?"
I shrug. "Anything." My mouth is bone dry, almost nauseating.
He pulls out two cans of Bud Light, cracks one, and hands it over. The cold metal feels good against my palm. I take a long pull. It's bitter but welcome, cutting through the weed haze.
Ty points to a circle of plastic lawn chairs around a fire pit that's more smoldering ash than flame. A few girls sit there already. One with braids and hoop earrings the size of bracelets smiles at Ty. He smiles back.
I drop into a chair, beer in one hand, the high settling deeper now. Colors feel brighter. Laughter hits different, like it's got its own rhythm. For the first time in months, my brain quiets. No Mom. No Dad. No empty house. Just this.
Someone passes the joint back around. I take it without hesitating this time.
CHAPTER 7
RAUL
…present day
"Alvarez," a guard calls down the cell block.
I lift my head. "Yeah?"
"You got a visitor."
The door buzzes open and he grabs my arm, chaining my wrists behind my back. The metal cuffs bite cold into my skin, and for one wild second my whole body goes rigid. Nobody comes to see me. Not here.
My mind goes straight to her.
Her smile flashes in my head so fast it almost hurts. My pulse kicks harder with every step, some stupid, desperate part of me hoping it's Olivia. Hoping she came. But also hoping she didn't.
We turn the corner and pass through the security doors into a little barred box with one chair inside and two outside. The guard pushes me into the seat, then leaves me there alone.
I sit staring at the empty chairs, my stomach sinking lower with every second that passes. This is how disappointment feels in here. Slow. Public. Humiliating.