Javi, Come Home

CHAPTER SEVEN

     The next time Tate sees Javi it's bright and early Monday morning at Maple diner.

     He's seated at a booth, wedged between Tucker and Benicio. He's fairly certain Hunter's foot is in his shin across from him. Why they all try to squeeze into one booth is beyond him but they meet every Monday morning for breakfast before work.

     Oscar normally beats them there but today he strolls in a few minutes late with Javi in tow. Javi looks better than the last time he saw him. The bruise on his cheek has yellowed, fading into the dark circles under his eyes. He's gotten some color Tate didn't realize he needed, making him look a little more alive.

     His presence is a total 180 from the Javi he grew up with. This Javi shrinks into himself, wanting to go unnoticed, commanding no attention. He keeps his head dipped as Oscar says, "This is my son, Javi. He's joining us for a few weeks."

     Tate's eyes bulge. Weeks? He thought, was even hoping, he'd be gone by the end of this week. There's a chorus of greetings from the guys and Javi does a subtle nod as acknowledgement. It looks like he doesn't want to be here, and maybe he's doing Oscar a favor, maybe he thinks he's better than everyone and above this kind of work.

     "Yo, that really his son?" Benny asks, whispering it to Tate. Tate nods and makes an affirmative sound. "We like el chapo?"

     Tate didn't move his gaze from Javi, certain they were in a match to the death with only their eyes as weapons. "No, no we don't."

     "Heard," Benny mumbled before he went back to his breakfast burrito.

     Tate isn't surprised when Sherry surfaces from the kitchen holding a tray of food and nearly drops it, screaming, "Javi!"

     She puts the tray down on a nearby table and grabs at Javi, pulling him into a hug. Tate glares, thinking traitor. Is everyone going to welcome him back with open arms?

❂

     Sherry smells like home. She hasn't changed at all, down to the powdery vanilla perfume she's always worn. Javi hugs her back, sucking down his tears. "Where you been, sweets?" she asks when she's pulled away. "You hightailed it out of here."

     He sees his dad shift in the corner of his eye, getting ready to interject, and Javi quickly answers, "D.C."

     "Oh, D.C.?" she repeats, fascinated. "What were you doing up there?"

     "I was working for a congressman," Javi says.

     His father is beside him, touching his elbow. "Do you know what you want to eat?"

     Javi is sure his father's only asking as a way to politely interrupt, because he proceeds to order for him and Javi, not waiting for Javi to respond. His father had said over dinner last night that Javi had lost weight.

     He didn't say it with criticism in his voice, so much as an acknowledgment. He then told Javi that losing too much weight can make you sick even if you don't look sick, even if you don't look bad.

     Javi did focus on how he looked quite a bit. Montgomery preferred him smaller than him, so he could subdue him, liked when his abs were visible and you could see the sharp lines of his triceps through his fitted shirts. And what Montgomery liked, Javi did.

     There's no room at the booth and with the way they're all looking at him, Javi doesn't feel particularly inclined to join them. He doesn't know if Tate's rallied them behind his cause or what, but he's okay with being hated. Actually kind of prefers it.