TAG (19 page)

I saw my bloody bag of clothes on a table across the room. I
pulled
myself out of the bed, pain stricken and weak, but grabbed the bag. I sifted through it until I found my jeans pocket where I had a small knife. I took it out and didn’t waste any time. I made a slash across my wrist, but what I didn’t know was that there was a proper way to end my life, and I did it the wrong way. I was just bleeding, not
losing my life.

That’s when I called Sasha, hysterical, explaining minute-by-minute the past three hours of my life. She’s a strong girl, but she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t help me with this one. She just cried with me. We cried until a nurse found me bleeding with a bloody knife in my hand.

It only got worse from there.

Once I was released from the hospital and intense psychiatric care, I told Sasha she wasn’t safe. Reaper knew her and if he killed Krissy for information, I wouldn’t put it past him to go through her next. I had already told the police I didn’t know who the murderer
was. Part of me was scared to tell them the truth; the other part of me was as crazy as I still am today, wanting to kill him myself.

I pull on the flimsy door handle of the restaurant and inhale the
scent of tortilla chips and refried beans. I look past the smoke clouding over the bar and I see her waving furiously at me. She jumps out of the booth and smothers me, kissing my cheeks, squeezing the air out of my lungs, loving me how my sister would
have loved me if she were still here. The moment of affection nips at my heart.

When she peels herself away from me, she wraps her hand around mine and pulls me to the table. Our encounter doesn’t
disturb anyone and not a person has given us a second look. I now know why she’s chosen this location.

Tango slides in against the window and I sit down next to him. She slides in across from me, her eyes never leaving my face. “Look at you, Cali-girl,” she says with a cheeky smile. “You look beautiful. Happy, even.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Tango biting down on his
bottom lip, probably knowing he is the reason for
my
stupid grin. Sasha’s focus moves from Tango’s face to mine, back to Tango’s, and back to mine again. “You two are together, aren’t you?” I can’t
believe she just asked me that after the texts I sent her last night.

“Sasha?” I groan.

“I know what you said, Cali, but—“ she says.

“Wait. You told her about me?” Tango asks while wrapping an arm around me, which totally answers Sasha’s accusatory question.

I throw my head back against the seat and kick her in the shin. I can feel my cheeks redden as I look over at Tango. It’s clear my face is showing embarrassment, and by the look of his deepening
dimples, he’s nothing less than amused.

“I told her you were an asshole,” I say to Tango. Seeing the slight arch in his brow and the smallest tug on the corner of his lip, I can tell he’s calling my bluff.

“Actually, that’s not what she said,” Sasha outs me. “But he is pretty hot, Cali.” She says, fanning herself. Who does that right in front of the person we’re talking about? Sasha, of course. I now want to climb under the table.

Tango straightens the collar of his shirt and lifts his brows. “I know, right?” he laughs along with Sasha.

“Shall I leave you two alone here?” I grumble.

“Oh stop it. I’m just playing with you, Cali.”

I huff; blowing the loose strands of hair off my forehead, lean back, and cross my arms over my chest. “So I guess I don’t have to
introduce you two.”

“Sasha and I became insta-friends, don’t worry,” Tango says.

“Fantastic,” I say. I should have known better than to introduce this smoldering hot marine to my best friend.

“I missed you, Cali-girl.” She’s staring at me, trying to read my
mind like she always does. I can’t help but wonder what she speculates
about my life. I imagine she has a good idea of what’s usually
happening, but then again, no one could possibly guess the
shit that I’m faced with on a normal basis. All I do know is, I wish I could tell her everything.
“I ordered you fajitas and tequila, your fave.” The memory of the last time she ordered me those two menu items swishes through me with a wave of nausea. Spring break, senior year of high school—it
tasted great going down, not so much coming back up.

“Thanks, Sash,” I smirk.

“Kidding. I ordered you quesadillas and a shot of tequila.”

“And that is why we became insta-friends. This girl is
awesome,” he says about Sasha.

Sasha’s expression becomes serious as she looks Tango directly
in the eyes. “Hey, you have a girl at home?” I’m going to kill her, and I think the look on my face resonates with that thought.

“Nah, Carolina and I just settled this confusion.”

“See, Cali, he’s single. Free rein.” She wraps her lips around her
straw and winks at me. This girl loves to push my buttons, and she is the only one who gets away with it. When she pulls the straw from her mouth, she looks directly at Tango, seeming as if she’s contemplating her next thought more carefully than she would normally look before spouting off embarrassing information. “This
girl is like my sister, and
I will go to the ends of the earth to protect her. If you hurt her, I’ll kill you. Kapeesh?” I drop my head into my hands and remind myself again that I should have known better than to tell her about
him.

Tango seems unfazed by her threat. “It’s all good, Sasha. I’m sort
of falling for this crazy chick.” He squeezes me with the arm that’s
still
resting around the back of my neck and places a quick kiss on the
top of my head.

Everything. He. Does. Makes. Me. Melt.

“Aww! We’re all a big happy family now.” Her voice is shrill and piercing and punctures my heart. This
big happy family
will be broken up in about an hour.

My eyes fall to my hands, and I know she sees the look on my
face, as I try to avoid her eye contact.

“I know you’re not staying, Cali, but let’s just enjoy the time we have together.” I look up, and she’s glancing between Tango and me then shoots down her shot of tequila, slams it to the table and says, “I think we need one more round.”

Tango slams his hands down on the table and shouts, “Damn straight.”

“You want one too, Tango?” Sasha asks.

“We have a long drive ahead of us. You two need it, though.” His hand shoots up in the air, and a short Mexican man with a
sombrero dances over to us. “Two more shots of Jose.”

“Si, senor. Uno momento, por favor.” The man dances away, singing words to a song in Spanish. He yells our order over to the bartender and I hear two shot glasses clap down against the bar top. I turn around and watch the clear liquid fill the two glasses, and then
they’re swiped from
the counter and rushed back over to us. The glasses are placed down on the table, and I watch the liquid slosh around. This is such a bad idea.

Two more shots, two more margaritas, and a lot of memories make
the hour slip by in a blur. The tequila deadens my overactive mind, and now I want to sleep. Sasha’s arms are wrapped around my neck, and her lips are plastered on my cheek. “Love you, Cali-girl.” She pulls away and looks me in the eyes. “Always, no matter what. You understand that?”

I don’t respond, I just nod my head and place my forehead on her shoulder. I squeeze her harder and I feel pain in my chest. I feel sobs clambering their way up through my throat. I break away from her, and without turning back, I run out of the restaurant and back
to the truck. I sit heavily on the parking curb in front where no one can see me, and the tears pour from my eyes.

After a couple of minutes, I hear a car door close, and headlights shine through the trees beside me. I can’t see in through the windshield because of the glare, but I know it’s Sasha in there. I
know she can see
me, sitting here, crying my eyes out. So I blow her a kiss. And I
know she’s blowing me one back. The cab I now see her in, blows by me and she’s waving at me through the back window.

Two hands rest on my shoulders and I look up at Tango who is hovering over me. I glance back down and wipe my eyes over the sleeve of my sweatshirt, embarrassed to be seen crying. While my hand is up by my face, he grabs it and pulls me up off the curb. He
leans back against the hood of his truck, drawing me into him. He sweeps my hair off my shoulders and wraps the loose strands behind my ears. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me as he
smoothes his thumbs across my cheeks and under my eyes, blotting away my falling tears.

When the tears stop, he loops one arm completely around me and
with his other hand presses the back of my head until my forehead
meets his rigid chest. This place over his heart is consoling. It’s
warm, and the rhythm of the beat is soothing to my broken soul.

I sniffle and suck in a deep breath. “I’m okay. We better start moving.” I pull my face away from his chest and look up at him. He appears distraught.

“I know how bad this hurts, and I know you only just met me, but I’m here, and you’re not alone. I miss my family too.” His thumb sweeps over my cheek once more and his lips press against my forehead. “Let’s go.” I wait for him to release me first, and when his
arms drop to his
sides, I make my way back into the truck. I pull the seatbelt over my lap and lean my head back to stop the swaying motion in front of me.

Fucking tequila.

We drive just past midnight and pull up to a long line of cars waiting to go through customs. Who would have thought this many people would be trying to cross the border at one in the morning. “Pull out your passport,” he says.

I reach down into my bag and pull out the blue book he handed me yesterday. I open it and study the picture under the glow of the streetlights. I don’t know where or when he acquired this picture,
but it’s as old as my fake ID picture. Dad must have sent it to him just in case we needed a quick escape route out of the country.

We sit in the line for an hour, waiting for our turn. “Don’t say anything unless they ask you specific questions,” he warns.

When we pull up to the booth and the official asks for our
passports, Tango takes mine from my hands and hands them to the man.

“Reason for travel?” the man asks.

“Pleasure,” Tango responds.

“Length of stay?”

“Five days, sir.”

The man hands the passports back to Tango and motions for us to continue. The open road leads us past a large sign welcoming us to Mexico.

“I wanted to do this now rather than in the morning. You don’t even want to know what that line would have looked like in a few hours.” I can believe it if we just waited an hour at this time of night. “I’ll find us a decent hotel to crash in until the morning. We’re still about ten hours away from Copper Canyon.”

***

We pull off the road and into the parking lot of a motel. “Decent.
Right?” He laughs.

“It’s fine.” I couldn’t care less right now. I just want to pass out on something soft—or muscular.

We enter into the lobby that surprisingly looks a lot nicer than the last two hotels we stayed at. The blue tiled floor reflects off the mosaic glass windows on each corner and the open space offers
serenity and
comfort. The woman behind the counter is standing erect with a
smile and welcomes us. “Hola, amigos,” she says warmly.

“Do you want your own room tonight?” Tango asks under his
breath. “I’m sure they have connecting rooms if you do.” Last night, I didn’t want to be near him. Tonight . . . is a little different.

“Sure,” I say, really meaning no. But after today, it’s probably
best if we sleep in our own beds.

I can see the disappointment in his eyes, so I can’t understand
why he suggested our own rooms. I suppose it could be a respect
thing, but I’m too tired to read into it right now. He asks the lady if
she has
two adjoining rooms, and she nods emphatically with a smile,
approving of our appropriate decision, likely based on our two different last
names.
She hands us each a key and points to the elevator on the side of the
lobby.

The elevator is small and hardly looks as if it can hold both of
our duffle bags and us. Regardless, we squeeze inside. Tango hits the button for the fourth floor, and the floor beneath us shakes and vibrates the entire way up. The doors open and reveal a narrow
hallway with
more tiled flooring and yellow stucco painted walls. Each door is wooden with a blue glass plate, etched with the room number.

He opens his door, and I open up mine. I step into a clean room
with a full-sized bed, vibrant colored paintings on each side and a
large window overlooking a pool.

I hear another door unlock and Tango appears through the connecting opening between our rooms. “Is it okay if I keep this
open? I
still need to keep you safe.” Last night he opened the connecting
door between our rooms and walked away as if it wouldn’t matter to me. Although, I guess it didn’t then. Now, everything matters.

I nod my head in agreement as I kick off my boots and fall backwards onto the bed. I hear him fumbling through things in his
room and then
he reappears in front of the doorway, half-naked with a playful
smile. I
have to force myself to turn away from the temptation, because
every aching inch of my body wants to push him down onto his bed.