Maia Mesa grew up with her family in Cuba, but that suddenly changed, and she found herself in a position no one wishes to be, without family.
Marcus Burnett, a repentant and good soul takes her as his own daughter, as well his wife Theresa, a new...
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(This chapter will be short, because i had to split it, sorry)
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We've been on the road in the truck for hours, the silence stretching on with an almost palpable weight. Three hours of dead silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The quiet is only broken by the occasional rumble of the engine and the distant hum of the tires on the road.
I'm even surprised that my dad hasn't said a word. Given his usual tendency to talk through any situation, his silence feels out of place.
My mind keeps drifting back to my family. I can't stop thinking about how they must be feeling, left in the dark about our situation. Megan is pregnant, she shouldn't have to endure the stress of not knowing where we are or what's happening. Christine, too—she must be feeling incredibly alone and powerless, caught in a situation where she can't help.
The thought crosses my mind that the police are likely searching for us. We're fugitives now.
I chuckle to myself, almost incredulous. A fugitive—never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd end up in this role. The irony isn't lost on me, and I can't help but reflect on how surreal and twisted our situation has become.
"Did you ever love her?" Armando, driving beside me, breaks the silence with a question that surprises all of us.
Mike, on the other side of the car, looks at him with a confused frown. "What?"
"My mother. You ever love her?" Armando repeats, his voice steady and unyielding, forcing the question into the space between us.
Dad leans closer to Mike, his expression serious. "He is expressing."
Mike meets Armando's gaze with a solemn look. "I definitely loved her," he asserts.
"And then you sold her out," Armando retorts, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.
Dad and I both form an "O" with our lips, turning our heads toward Mike. Armando's unexpected comment hangs heavy in the air, creating a palpable tension.
"I made some mistakes," Mike defends himself, his voice filled with frustration as he tries to justify his past actions.
"Like me," Armando says, his eyes remaining fixed on the road ahead, his expression unreadable.
"You know that's not what I was trying—"
Dad cuts him off abruptly. "Now, wait a damn minute, Armando." Dad turns his full attention to Armando, as I sink into my seat. "He's trying to make up for it. He doesn't owe you a damn thing."
"Dad—" I start to protest, feeling that those words were unnecessarily harsh.
Dad covers my mouth with his hand. "Let me speak, Maia." Immediately I slap his hand away, my anger boiling over.
"All right, hold on, Marcus," Mike tries to reason with Dad. "You're... You're just being aggressive."
Dad shakes his head in disagreement. "I've been a dad a long time. He needs to hear this, Mike. He needs some tough-ass love, just like I did, even to Maia."
Mike gestures toward me, his tone tinged with bitterness. "Yeah, well tell that to Maia. She respects me more than she does with you."
Dad snorts in response. "She does respect me. Right, Maia?" His eyes lock onto mine, demanding an answer.
I raise my brows, and ask him in a dry tone. "Do you want me to answer that?"
"Not really." He shifts his focus back to Armando. "Armando, maybe he does owe you something. Okay?" I stay silent, letting his words flow as they will. "Your mom was deceived by him." He points at Mike. "You were born in prison, in a web of lies. That turned your ass into a stone-cold fucking killer." His words cut through the air, causing Armando to turn his head slightly in reaction. "Yeah. You are a killer. But this man," he points at Mike again, "through it all, has been nothing but solid."
"That's some father-of-the-year shit right there," Mike responds, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and disbelief at Dad's unexpected speech.
Before the moment can sink further into awkwardness, the engine sputters and dies, leaving us in a tense silence as the car comes to a gradual halt. The abrupt stop seems to amplify the weight of our conversation, making the atmosphere even more charged.
"Your wack-ass parenting broke the truck," Mike says with a mock tone, attempting to defuse the situation with humor.
"I think the same," I agree.
Armando is already trying to restart the engine, his movements focused and methodical, but it's clear that it's a lost cause. The engine refuses to turn over, giving off only a few stubborn clicks before falling silent again.
"Yeah, nah, that's dead," Mike concludes with a resigned sigh. "We're not far from Tabitha's place"
I frown, confusion evident on my face.
"No, Mike. You know that woman's crazy," Dad interjects, his voice laced with a note of caution.
"Yeah, but she likes me," Mike replies, a smirk playing on his lips.
"I don't think she likes you as much as you think," Dad counters, a touch of skepticism in his voice.
"Who's Tabitha?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me. I'm eager for more context but find only vague answers.
Dad chuckles softly "You'll see."
"The Pony's about two miles from here," Mike informs us, looking at us with a mix of determination and resignation.
Armando, leaning in closer than before, causes me to feel his muscles shift under his shirt as he adjusts his position. "What's The Pony?" His confusion mirrors my own.
