Chapter 2

Santos:

I had stopped counting the whiskeys, and I wasn’t interested in starting now. The burn gave me something to focus on besides the day I’d had. For years, I’d convinced myself nobody could hurt me anymore. Apparently, all it took was a proposal and a knock on my office door to prove me wrong.

I turned the glass between my fingers. “Another,” I muttered, though Angela had already refused me. She didn’t even bother coming to serve me, and I found myself frowning.

Who the hell did she think she was? Men twice her size watched their words around me, yet a human waitress had looked me in the eye and told me I’d had enough. On another day, I wouldn’t have let that pass. Tonight, I couldn’t trust my temper enough to argue.

I finished the whiskey and set the glass down. Elena’s face came back to me, along with the words I’d been trying to drown out all evening. “No, Santos. I can’t marry you.”

She’d stared at me when I proposed, as though I’d asked something absurd. I’d expected surprise, perhaps hesitation, but not rejection. I’d been there for her when everything around us was falling apart. She knew the worst of me and still listened without expecting me to pretend I was a better man, and that meant more than I’d ever told her.

“You don’t love me, Santos. And us being together doesn’t mean that we need to marry. I care about you, Santos… but care is different than love.” I’d nearly laughed. My father had spent his life promising women things he never intended to give them. I’d seen what happened when they believed him. Love hadn’t saved anyone in my family, and I had no reason to think it would do more for me.

“You’re asking me because you think I’m the safest choice,” she had told me.

She’d made it sound so simple. I loosened my grip on the glass before it broke. I wasn’t angry because I loved her, but admitting that didn’t make her refusal easier to swallow.

I’d never pretended we had the kind of relationship people wrote love stories about. I trusted her, and trust was harder for me to give than affection. With Elena, I wouldn’t have to explain my past or hide the parts of myself nobody wanted to see. I’d thought she understood why that mattered. She’d refused me anyway.

Across the room, Angela was talking to someone behind the bar. She hadn’t shown the slightest interest in who I was, which only made her refusal more irritating. I raised my hand. “Waitress.”

She glanced over. I pointed at my empty glass, and she shook her head. When I tried again, she turned away. My wolf stirred, and a growl slipped out before I could stop it. I was used to being obeyed, not dismissed by someone carrying drinks.

I stayed in my chair. Picking a fight wouldn’t improve this day, and I had little control left. Rubbing a hand over my face, I remembered the woman who’d appeared in my office that morning. “Hello, son.”

My stomach tightened. I reached for the whiskey, found the glass empty, and set it down too hard. “Damn it.” After all these years, my mother had decided to introduce herself.

She’d stood near the window, watching me as if I might recognize her. I couldn’t ignore the resemblance. Her eyes looked so much like mine that, for a moment, I’d been a little boy again, wondering what it would feel like to have a mother who wanted him.

I hated that she could still make me feel that way. I’d spent years burying those questions, and she’d brought them back simply by walking through the door.

“I know you have questions, Santos.”

I had more than she could possibly answer. Where had she been when Ivan treated me like a mistake? When I learned that earning his approval meant becoming crueler, harder, and willing to do whatever he asked? Where was she when I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t the disgrace he said I was?

I wanted to ask her all of it. Instead, I pointed at the door. “Get out.”

She flinched. “Please, Santos. I only want to explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain.”

“Your father never told you the truth about what happened.”

Of course she blamed Ivan. Everyone had something to say about him now that he couldn’t make them regret it. I knew better than anyone what kind of man he was. I’d spent years trying to become the son he wanted, and nothing had ever been enough.

“You had years to explain,” I told her. “You can’t show up now and expect me to listen.”

When she started crying, I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted her to stop. Another part resented being expected to comfort her when I was the one she’d left behind.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” she whispered.

I laughed in her face. “Then you should have thought about me a little harder.”

Her face crumpled, and guilt caught me off guard. I pushed it aside. I wasn’t a child anymore, waiting for someone to come back for me. “Leave,” I said.

She hesitated, and I raised my voice. “Get the hell out of my office!” This time, she went. I watched her leave without calling her back.

I’d told myself I was right to send her away. I owed her nothing just because she’d decided she wanted to know me. Yet hours later, I was still thinking about her. A few words from a woman I barely knew had undone years of telling myself her absence didn’t matter.

I looked toward the counter. Another whiskey wouldn’t change what had happened, but I wanted one anyway. “Angela!”

She came over with a tray of empty glasses, ignoring the people who’d turned at my shout. “What now?”

“Is that how you address customers?” I snapped.

She glanced at the glass in front of me. “Are you going to ask me for another drink?”

“Yes.”

“Then the answer is still no.” She said, looking me in the eye.

My jaw tightened. “I’m paying for it.”

“And I’m not going to serve you another.” She said, making my eyes harden.

I leaned forward. “Do you have any idea how easily I could have you fired?”

She shifted the tray against her hip. “You can try. I’m still not serving you another whiskey.”

“Watch your tone.”

“Then stop giving me reasons to use it.”

She reached for the empty glass.

I covered it with my hand and looked up at her. “Leave it.”

“Fine. Keep it if you’re so attached to it.” She said, shrugging.

I watched her straighten. “You really don’t know who I am.”

“I know you’re a customer who’s had too much to drink,” she said. “That’s all I need to know.” Angela noticed the nearby tables go quiet, but she stayed where she was. “Whatever happened today, it wasn’t our fault. You’ve been snapping at people for hours. I’m not giving you more alcohol because you threatened me.”

My expression hardened. “You should learn when to stop talking.”

“And you’ve had enough to drink.” She placed a fresh glass on the table, and I watched as she nodded at me. “Here.”

I frowned at it. “What the hell is that?”

She looked at the glass, then back at me. “Water… you should try it sometimes. I hear it is good for your liver after a long night of drinking.”

“I told you I didn’t want any.” I said angrily. “Take it away.”

She folded her arms. “No.”

I stared at her, wondering whether she had any sense of self preservation. Nobody else in the room seemed eager to get this close to my table. “Do you enjoy testing people’s patience?”

“Not particularly, but you seem determined to make mine disappear tonight.”

I leaned forward. “Listen carefully, Angela. I don’t need you to take care of me, and I certainly don’t need you making decisions on my behalf.”

“Then leave it there. You don’t have to drink it, but I’m not bringing you whiskey.”

A humorless laugh escaped me. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve seen enough drunk men to know another glass of whiskey won’t fix whatever is bothering you.” She said calmly. “Now, if you will excuse me, there are other customers waiting for me to serve them.”