Her ceviche had turned out to be the foulest thing he’d ever tasted, but those four words, those four words had blown his tightly guarded world apart. No one had loved him or fought for him, or made him feel the way Skye had. The way she still did.
Most days, Damian kept busy enough to ward off thoughts of Skye. Nights were different. At night, he had no defense. He lay in bed with a hunger so wide and so vast that he felt himself get swallowed up in it. Nothing, not even the Lucky Strike box under his pillow, could keep him from falling into the soul-sucking hole in the center of his heart.
As he drove home from the market, Damian wondered where Skye was, if she had found someone who deserved her more than he did, someone who brought her more happiness than pain. He had deliberately kept himself from any information about her. If he knew where she lived, where she worked, where she shopped, he couldn’t have stopped himself from looking her up, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw her again, even if it was just from across the street. Living without her was agony, but the thought of seeing her with someone else, no matter how happy and fulfilled, was unbearable.
Damian dropped four bags of groceries in the kitchen and went back to the car for the rest. As he reached the main door, the little girl walked past him, dragging the rest inside.
“Can’t you make anything else?” She plopped herself up on one of the stools and placed a paper swan on the counter.
“You don’t like swans?” He had left that one tucked under a stone by the pond, a few days ago, with its neck peeking out.
“Why do you only make swans?”
“Because my mama told me about a magic swan that hides on the grounds here. I haven’t found one, but you remind me of it.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You make me laugh. That’s some powerful magic. And I think you’re going to grow up into a beautiful swan.”
“Are you calling me an ugly duckling?” She hopped off the stool and confronted him.
“No. I’m just . . .” Damian cupped his groin and jumped back instinctively. He didn’t like the way this little girl had him hopping around like a bunny rabbit. “You know what you are? You’re a big bully. You kick me, you spy on me, you walk in and out of here without my permission, and now you’re trying to intimidate me.”
They glared at each other, her hands on her hips, and him guarding his balls.
“What does ‘intimidate’ mean?” she asked.
“To frighten, terrify, or push someone around.”
Her scowl softened. She seemed to like the idea. “You’re funny,” she said, her face breaking into a grin.
“And you have dimples.” Damian faked disgust.
She stood quietly and watched him put things away.
“This place looks pretty now,” she said. “It was always sad.”
“You like it?”
“It’s nice.” She regarded him for a moment. “What’s your name?”
“Bandidos don’t have names.”
“You’re no bandido.” She giggled. “Bandidos make a mess. You made it nice.”
“Thank you. And you’re welcome to come by any time, as long as your parents are all right with it.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“That may be so, but I’m sure your mother would like to know where you are. Is she home, waiting for you?”
“My mama’s in Valdemoros.”
Damian felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The word itself conjured up gray, concrete-laden memories. He wanted to ask about her father, but growing up without one, he tended to be more sensitive. “You have other family?”
She shrugged.
“Who looks after you?” asked Damian.
“My mama, of course.” She seemed surprised by the question.
Damian knew kids were allowed in Valdemoros with their mothers, up to a certain age. He hadn’t realized that they let them out for school.
“When does your mama get out?”
“Soon.”
She seemed to be taking it all in stride, but it explained why she stopped by Casa Paloma. It was a brief respite before she headed back to the grimness of Valdemoros.
“I have to go now,” she said, reclaiming the swan on the counter and tucking it into her pocket.
Damian watched her collect the green canvas school bag she’d left by the door.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” he said.
“Sierra. My name is Sierra.” She turned around, walking in reverse towards the gates.
Damian had just gotten off the phone with Rafael when he saw Sierra again. He damn near dropped the glass panel he was installing in the cabinets.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“Lice,” she replied.
Her long, dark locks had been reduced to a buzz cut and she looked like she had shrunk overnight. It was probably because her big, doe eyes swallowed all of her face now, but Damian felt a tugging of his heart strings. Valdemoros was no place for a kid. Lice was the least of the horrors that she faced. If he had been younger when they took MaMaLu to prison, he could have been this kid. He could have been Sierra.
“Hey, you want to do something fun today?”
She dropped her bag on the floor and took up the stool that was quickly becoming her spot. “What?”
“Have you ever been on a boat?”