verbally reacted to my makeover.
It was Gil. “What the—,” he glanced down at his daughter, “you-know-what happened to you, Demi?”
My siblings, Gordo and Mason really brought out the worst in me. I stuck my tongue out at him. “The important question here is: why do you even know who that is?”
He tilted his head over at the reserved nine-year-old by his side. “Disney Channel all day every day.”
It was the loud smack of a palm meeting flesh that had me glancing over at Eli, who was holding the back of his head with both hands, scowling at Rafaela. “What the hell was that for?”
The second oldest Barreto kid, when in reality she had always seemed to be the most mature, scowled at her little brother. “Why would you do that to her?”
“I didn’t do that!” Eli frowned, edging closer to our mom who was fussing at Rafe for hurting her baby boy.
“Did you fall again?” That was our dad that asked.
“Again?” Sacha whispered under his breath, and I couldn’t help but poke him in the side.
What really got me about the question was that they either expected Eli to be the culprit or my own clumsiness to be the cause of blame.
“We had our Soccer Death Match yesterday,” I explained, walking around the table so I could hug the entire clan, wincing every time one of them touched the side of my body that had taken the brunt of the impact when Sacha had tackled me playing.
The “ahhh” that came out of them was on the spot. They’d all heard about it, even the little girls, whom I went to hug first.
Izabella, Rafe’s youngest, pulled away from me after I kneeled down to hug her. Her little eyes, the same shade of green as my dad’s and mine, focused on the bruise on my face. She put up her little hand as if she wanted to touch it but was too scared to. “Did it hurt?” Iza whispered, her fingers curling in the air hesitantly.
“Yes.” Why pretend like it hadn’t? It had, and I’d be a damn liar if I tried to play it off. Either way, I had a feeling Iza knew me too well. She’d call me out on my lies and it wouldn’t be the first time.
She then looked into my eyes. “Did you cry?” Testing me. She was testing me and I was fully aware of it.
I heard Sacha make a noise behind me but kept my focus on my niece. “A little bit.”
Then she did it. The little girl I’d spent countless hours with, my mini-partner in crime, threw my ass under the bus. “Like when your boyfriend broke up with you? Or not like that?”
Chapter Eight
T he moment the bus rolled to a stop, I elbowed Gordo out of the way with a “Move it, sucker,” spat with the single intent that I be the first one out of there. Laila had texted me to let me know she was already waiting at the venue in San Antonio, and sure enough, I spotted her making her way across the parking lot.
After the Houston date with our soccer match and my head shaving, then Dallas with my family, and another stop in Austin—I was ready to get away from the guys that drove me nuts and see my best friend.
At four-foot-eleven and with a smile that took up her entire face, Laila was like a breath of fresh air after being surrounded by so much testosterone. The second we were close enough, she wrapped her arms around my middle as I hugged her above her shoulders where she could fit perfectly under my chin. The pedals on her wheelchair dug into my shins, but I didn’t give a single crap.
There was something about Laila’s hugs and warmth that always radiated understanding and comfort. There was also the fact that she didn’t judge me when I laughed at things I shouldn’t. Even though I would never ask for another sibling to replace the three I already had, I loved Laila fiercely.
We’d survived high school together. Stayed friends even after she and her mom moved to San Antonio for her to go to school, and I’d gone on tour with Ghost Orchid. Then she’d let me live with them when I’d had to move out of my ex’s place.
She was
It was Gil. “What the—,” he glanced down at his daughter, “you-know-what happened to you, Demi?”
My siblings, Gordo and Mason really brought out the worst in me. I stuck my tongue out at him. “The important question here is: why do you even know who that is?”
He tilted his head over at the reserved nine-year-old by his side. “Disney Channel all day every day.”
It was the loud smack of a palm meeting flesh that had me glancing over at Eli, who was holding the back of his head with both hands, scowling at Rafaela. “What the hell was that for?”
The second oldest Barreto kid, when in reality she had always seemed to be the most mature, scowled at her little brother. “Why would you do that to her?”
“I didn’t do that!” Eli frowned, edging closer to our mom who was fussing at Rafe for hurting her baby boy.
“Did you fall again?” That was our dad that asked.
“Again?” Sacha whispered under his breath, and I couldn’t help but poke him in the side.
What really got me about the question was that they either expected Eli to be the culprit or my own clumsiness to be the cause of blame.
“We had our Soccer Death Match yesterday,” I explained, walking around the table so I could hug the entire clan, wincing every time one of them touched the side of my body that had taken the brunt of the impact when Sacha had tackled me playing.
The “ahhh” that came out of them was on the spot. They’d all heard about it, even the little girls, whom I went to hug first.
Izabella, Rafe’s youngest, pulled away from me after I kneeled down to hug her. Her little eyes, the same shade of green as my dad’s and mine, focused on the bruise on my face. She put up her little hand as if she wanted to touch it but was too scared to. “Did it hurt?” Iza whispered, her fingers curling in the air hesitantly.
“Yes.” Why pretend like it hadn’t? It had, and I’d be a damn liar if I tried to play it off. Either way, I had a feeling Iza knew me too well. She’d call me out on my lies and it wouldn’t be the first time.
She then looked into my eyes. “Did you cry?” Testing me. She was testing me and I was fully aware of it.
I heard Sacha make a noise behind me but kept my focus on my niece. “A little bit.”
Then she did it. The little girl I’d spent countless hours with, my mini-partner in crime, threw my ass under the bus. “Like when your boyfriend broke up with you? Or not like that?”
Chapter Eight
T he moment the bus rolled to a stop, I elbowed Gordo out of the way with a “Move it, sucker,” spat with the single intent that I be the first one out of there. Laila had texted me to let me know she was already waiting at the venue in San Antonio, and sure enough, I spotted her making her way across the parking lot.
After the Houston date with our soccer match and my head shaving, then Dallas with my family, and another stop in Austin—I was ready to get away from the guys that drove me nuts and see my best friend.
At four-foot-eleven and with a smile that took up her entire face, Laila was like a breath of fresh air after being surrounded by so much testosterone. The second we were close enough, she wrapped her arms around my middle as I hugged her above her shoulders where she could fit perfectly under my chin. The pedals on her wheelchair dug into my shins, but I didn’t give a single crap.
There was something about Laila’s hugs and warmth that always radiated understanding and comfort. There was also the fact that she didn’t judge me when I laughed at things I shouldn’t. Even though I would never ask for another sibling to replace the three I already had, I loved Laila fiercely.
We’d survived high school together. Stayed friends even after she and her mom moved to San Antonio for her to go to school, and I’d gone on tour with Ghost Orchid. Then she’d let me live with them when I’d had to move out of my ex’s place.
She was
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