Noah was too upset to think rationally, too distraught and dismayed not to say more words he didn’t mean. He swiped at the powder blue coffee cup sitting on the table, and watched as it clattered to the floor, shattering as it struck the colorful tiles Mercedes had laid herself. Then he strode to Gia, swung her up in his arms, and pushed his way out of Mercedes’s front door, not even stopping to locate Gia’s shoes or find her sweater, not looking back at his best friend who had made no move to stop him from leaving.
* * *
Noah wanted to kill him. He drove aimlessly, Gia asleep in her seat, the night soothing, the radio soft. His anger billowed and blasted and slowly dissipated out the open window into the night air. June in Utah was beautiful. Not too hot. Not too cold. He let the breeze caress him and whisper reassurances.
Keegan Tate. Gia’s father was Keegan Tate.
Cora could really pick ‘em.
Oddly, as Noah’s anger ebbed—he’d never been particularly good at holding onto it—his relief grew. Now he knew. Part of the agony was the faceless threat. Someone suddenly appearing out of the blue, and threatening his daughter—threatening him—with a custody suit. It was a relief to know what he was dealing with. Keegan Tate was no threat. If he suspected Gia was his—and he would have, knowing the timeline and his own involvement—he’d never said a word or so much as blinked in her direction.
Mercedes hadn’t done anything wrong.
He was angry because he felt like a fool. He was embarrassed. He was in love with Mer, and she’d kept something very important from him. Something that she should have showed him. Something their relationship demanded she reveal.
But Mer had been trying to protect him, to protect Gia, and she had seen no point in stomping on Cora’s memory. Hadn’t he said the very same thing at the cemetery? The truth is, they were both still trying to take care of Cora. Maybe it was time they stopped.
He hadn’t told Mercedes about the day at the pediatrician. He’d kept that from her, and regardless of what he’d said, it worked both ways. Mer had been given a picture, drawn by a psych patient who claimed to commune with the dead. It wasn’t a whole hell of a lot to go on, to destroy someone’s reputation over, or to break his heart with. He probably would have done the same in her shoes.
Thoughts of Moses brought back the conversation that had started it all.
I think Lopez is in trouble.
“Damn it!” Noah said out loud, realizing he’d driven away from Mer’s house in such a snit, he’d forgotten why he’d gone in the first place.
“Damn it,” a little voice said from the back seat, and Noah sighed heavily. He had completely failed at life today. He’d thought Gia was asleep. He looked in his rearview mirror, and she smiled and kicked her bare feet. He was half an hour from home, driving aimlessly, and Mercedes might be in trouble.
“Let’s go find Mer,” he said, turning the car around.
“Go Meh!” Gia clapped.
* * *
Noah called Mercedes and waited as her phone rang and rang and eventually went to voice mail. No Mer. He’d left her house two hours ago. It was now midnight. She was probably in bed. Where he should be. Where Gia should be. He’d rolled up the window and turned down the radio and Gia had fallen asleep in her car seat once more. But Noah had a nervous prickling in his gut, and his mind wouldn’t settle. He didn’t want to leave things the way they were. He also needed to make sure she was okay. Moses Wright wouldn’t have called him for nothing. He drove to her house and sat, staring at her darkened windows, feeling like an idiot. He climbed out and lifted Gia from her seat. She lay limply against his shoulder and didn’t stir when he knocked on Mer’s door.
He knocked for several minutes but no one answered. He tried her phone again. Several times. He didn’t know what to do. He knocked harder and rang the bell. Alma came to the door, bleary eyed, wielding a broom like a bludgeon. She put it down when she saw him.
“Alma, I’m sorry. Mercedes and I argued. I’m worried about her.”
She stared at him wearily. “You made her cry, Noah.”
“I know.”
“It’s very late.”
“I know that too. I’m tired. Gia’s tired. But I need to see Mercedes. Will you let me in?”
“She’s not here.”
“Are you lying to me, Alma? Did Mer tell you to lie? Because I’m worried. I need to know if she’s all right. If she’s in her room, angry with me, that’s fine. But if she’s not, then I need to find her.”
“You love her,” Alma said.
“Yes. I do.”
“She loves you.”
“I know.”
“So marry her!” she snapped. “Marry her, and give Gia a mother. Give me a grandchild!”
“I would marry Mercedes tomorrow if she would have me.”
“Si?” Alma gasped.
“Yes. But she . . .” Noah wasn’t sure if he could explain. He didn’t understand it himself, why Mer was fighting him so hard, why she resisted the obvious.
“She is stubborn,” Alma supplied.
“Yes.”
“And afraid.”
“Yes. I think so,” he sighed.
“She’s not here, Noah.”
“Okay. Then I need to find her.”
“You leave the bebé. Go find my daughter.”
He sighed. He eased Gia into Alma’s arms, knowing she would be better off in a bed than driving around with him.
“Do you have any idea where she went?” he asked
“She said something about Keegan and the salon,” Alma murmured, kissing Gia’s soft head.
“Keegan?” The nervous flutter in his stomach became an angry swarm. “I thought Keegan Tate had left Maven.”
“He did. But he’s back, and Mercedes is looking for a new job. She wouldn’t tell me what happened, but she’s been upset.”
“Damn it, Alma. Why hasn’t she called me? Why hasn’t she told me any of this?”
“She needs to be strong. She needs to fix things. She’s good at loving, but she’s not very good at being loved. You will have to convince her, Noah.”
Eighteen
1995
“Noah?”
The man turned, scooping up the ball as he did, and Mercedes let out a whoop that ricocheted throughout the whole complex.
“Noah!” she shrieked. The exhaustion she’d felt only minutes before was replaced with heady euphoria. He was home. He was home! Then she was running, not caring that she might break a heel—or her ankle—flying across the grass between the parking lot and the concrete court where he stood beneath the paltry lights, waiting for her.
“The girl can still move! Slow down, Mer,” Noah said laughing, closing the last few steps and swinging her up into his arms, squeezing her tight as she buried her face in his shoulder and prayed he’d never let go. She wrapped her legs around him so he couldn’t release her, making him laugh harder, and rained kisses on his scruffy cheeks.
“What is this fuzz you’re growing on your face?” she crowed.
“I haven’t shaved since we left Kuwait. I’m not shaving again until I absolutely have to.”
“I like it,” Mercedes declared.
“Me too.” He pulled back but didn’t set her down and gazed into her beaming face.
“I missed you so damn much,” Noah said.
“I missed you too, you big, dumb idiot,” she whispered, trying not to get emotional, calling him names to keep her tears at bay. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be back today? I was expecting you next week. I had big plans for a welcome home fiesta with food, folks, and fireworks.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you.” He laughed again. “I didn’t want a big shindig. I wanted to surprise you. Plus, this right here? This is the best welcome home you could have given me. Although I gotta say,” he bounced her in his arms like she was a fussy child, “you’re a little heavier than I remember. What are you up to now? One oh five, soaking wet?”
“It’s the shoes,” she said, giggling. “They weigh five pounds apiece. But I look amazing in them.”
“Let me see,” he said, and set her on her feet. She stepped back, releasing him, and twirled.
“Yep. Amazing. But can you play ball in them?” Noah leaned down and grabbed the ball, bouncing it expertly between his legs before he tossed it to her. She strutted like Ru Paul on the runway, dribbling as she went, before stopping, posing, and throwing the ball up like she’d practiced the move a thousand times. The ball dropped through the hoop, and Noah crowed, and they were immediately enmeshed in a game of HORSE. It soon became a game of TRUTH. Instead of gaining a letter when you failed to make a shot, you had to admit a truth. They’d been playing the game for as long as they’d known each other, but still managed a few new confessions. Being apart for the last year provided some new fodder.
“‘Fess up, Noah,” Mercedes taunted after Noah missed a shot she’d banked in.“Truth? I got here two hours ago, Abuela made me dinner, and I ate everything. Even the part she told me to save for you.”
Mercedes gasped in mock horror. “But I’m starving!”
“Abuela also told me if I waited out here, I would be able to see you coming. Still driving the Corolla, I see.”
“If it ain’t broke,” Mercedes quipped. “That Corolla and I are going to grow old together. She’s given me her best years, and I’m not going to abandon her just because she’s ugly.”
“Loyal to a fault,” Noah said, taking several steps back so he was in three-point range.
“Always. You’re ugly. And I’ve never turned my back on you.”
“This game is called TRUTH, Mer. Truth. And I am a beautiful man. However, you haven’t ever turned your back on me. That part’s true enough.” He let the ball go, and it flew home, nothing but net.
Mercedes tried to make the same shot and missed. It was her turn to supply a truth.
“Truth,” she said. “I didn’t really have a shindig planned. Food, yes. Fireworks, possibly. But no folks. I didn’t want to share you.”
Noah stopped dribbling and approached her with a soft smile. She smiled back, and tried to steal the ball. He gave it to her instead.
“You never change, Mer,” Noah said quietly. “That’s one of the things I love about you. While I was waiting, I worried that maybe things would be awkward or that things wouldn’t be the same. But they are. You are. And I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”
“Truth? I love you more than any Caucasian male on this planet. That won’t ever change. Even though you ate my dinner,” Mercedes said.
“What about Hispanic males? Or Asian males? Or African males? Is there something you aren’t telling me? Have you fallen in love with someone while I was gone?” He waggled his eyebrows expectantly, but there was an odd look on his face.