Grabbing Hold (The Motorcycle Kid #1)

44. Severance

A/N: Don't even think about pointing out anything about Felipe being supposedly Cuban or Puerto Rican. He's both. He will exhibit elements of both cultures. Happy reading!

- a salty McKenzie.

Felipe hummed along to an old Puerto Rican plena as he stirred chopped chorizo sausages around the pan, sprinkling spices all over. Next to him, a few pieces of browned chicken sat cooling on a plate, waiting to be added back into the pan once the paella was truly underway.

Contento entre cosas sencillas
se desborda la felicidad
Mi gente de pueblo bailando
panderos a plena amistad-

Felipe looked over to the apartment door just as Eileen slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. She headed for the kitchen, a shopping bag on her arm.

"I got the stuff," she said quietly. Felipe clapped his hands in childish excitement, a grin breaking out across his face.

"And just in time, mi amor. We just ran out of adobo."

She said nothing in response, just watched him curiously as he worked. She could see remnants of Felipe's old self peeking through, the Felipe she'd fallen for. Felipe had been born in Havana to a Puerto Rican father and a Cuban mother before moving to the States, and the fusion of cultures was obvious in his choice of cuisines. There was absolutely nothing he loved more than cooking, and it had been his multi-culturally influenced specialties that had made Eileen fall in love with Hispanic food in the first place. He was well versed in the cuisines of his homeland, as well as what he'd learned growing up in Hispanic Miami. Their sons had been raised on paella and fricasé de pollo, black beans and chorizo, enchiladas and asopao, and everything else one would find in a typical San Juan or Havana kitchen. Eileen, though entirely capable, had seldom been given the opportunity to showcase her proficiency in the kitchen area.

"Mi preciosa," Felipe began after a moment, startling Eileen, who had been silently watching him work magic on the ingredients before him. "¿Qué pasa? Are you okay?"

He stared at her quizzically, taking in her expression as she stood without a word, studying him.

Why are you so pale?"

"I'm fine," Eileen waved him away, her mind still replaying their earlier conversation over and over, haunting her.

I got help. I'm starting rehab soon, and the shrink says I've made good progress over the last year or so.

"Hey, pay attention. The chorizo's starting to burn."

"Ay, Díos." Felipe turned back to the frying pan, adding a handful of chopped onion to the stirfry. The sound of sizzling food accompanied the flavourful aroma of the kitchen. Satisfied, Felipe turned back to Eileen.

"Alright, hang tight. Dinner will be ready in about say, half an hour? Sí? Bueno."

"Okay."

Felipe distracted, Eileen took the opportunity to release the breath she'd been holding. She could feel the thin layer of peace that currently loomed over the house, could almost see how easy it would be for it all to come crashing down.

All it takes is one wrong word...

She needed to make sure Felipe stayed sober. And to do that, she needed to make sure he wouldn't lash out once he found out that the only son who'd held out hope for him now wanted nothing to do with him.

"Eileen," his voice reached her. He sounded concerned as he threw the kitchen towel over his shoulder, turned the stove off and slipped his arms around her waist. "¿Qué bola?"