Santiago
From a young age, my dad had drilled life lessons into my head. They weren’t your typical lessons about washing behind your ears or walking on the outside of the sidewalk when with a woman—my mom had taught me that. My old man’s code had been born on the street and behind bars.
- Always throw the first punch.
- Carry a knife at all times, but don’t pull it out unless you’re prepared to use it.
- You want a woman, you fight for her. She says no, you take that as her final answer.
- Work every single day. Nothing in life is free.
- This world doesn’t owe you a damn thing. Never act like you’re entitled to something you didn’t earn.
- Women are fucking treasures. Treat them as such, whether they want to fuck you or not.
- Family is number one.
- Never let a woman walk home alone at night. No exceptions.
For the most part, I’d followed his code. Only, as I got older, I tried like hell to avoid that first punch. I had a lot more to lose these days than when I threw down over the smallest slight. I’d figured out what he meant about the world not owing me anything—that included respect. If some little man trying to act big came at me, nine times out of ten, I’d walk away. At thirty years old with two albums under my belt, I didnotneed to land my ass in jail.
The thing I’d never compromise was leaving a woman alone. Mo and Murray had blown out of rehearsal, saying they’d see us later at my old man’s for dinner. I stayed around, keeping my distance, but waiting to make sure Maeve had a ride.
We had killer rehearsals over the last four days. Maeve had been nothing short of a rock star, learning our songs and how to play with us like the professional she was. Like it was no sweat for her.
“Dammit.” Maeve paced the far end of the room, typing furiously on her phone.
I watched her with caution, wanting to help, but knowing full well she didn’t want it. The thing was, it was getting close to when I needed to be on the road to make it to my dad’s house on time.
“Maeve.”
Her eyes flew to mine. “Yes?”
“Need a ride?”
She sighed, her aggravation clear. “I was thinkin’ I’d order an Uber.”
“To go to my old man’s house?”
She walked closer, tucking her phone in her jacket. “Sounds stupid when you put it that way. Yeah, I’ll take that ride. Thanks. I’ll grab my bag.”
I nodded. “I’ll wait.”
She disappeared for a minute, then came back with a large brown paper bag and a backpack slung over one shoulder. I reached for the paper bag, and she frowned, pulling it away slightly.
“I’m not gonna steal it,” I said, almost laughing at the wary look she gave me.
“You might if you knew the contents.”
Brow furrowed, I glanced down at the bag, then it dawned on me. “Did you bake again?”
She lifted a shoulder, looking coy. “I might’ve.”
She’d baked three times this week. Brownies the first day, then fruit tarts, and lemon bars yesterday. It’d all been ridiculous and was gone in an embarrassingly short time. Truthfully, I’d been disappointed she hadn’t brought anything with her this morning, but I kept my opinion to myself. I didn’t want her to feel any kind of obligation to keep treating us to her fucking delicious baked goods. The other guys...they hadn’t shared my concern.
Holding my hand out, I curled my fingers inward. “Hand it over.”
“Promise to be careful?”