Anti-Hero (Wild Heart Ranch Book 4)

Gael and Javier are waiting for us on the runway halfway between San Luis Potosí and San Miguel de Allende and about twenty minutes from the small township my family calls home. The last twenty-four hours have been super heavy, but seeing them lightens something in my soul.

Erik grins when I push past him down the stairs and run into Gael’s and Javier’s arms.

Gael pulls back. “Primo, are you okay?”

I sniff loudly and shake my head. “No, but I will be. This last op was…probably my last op. I can’t keep going after the bad guys. It isn’t any good for me.”

Understanding passes through Gael’s eyes. “I can’t lie—I’m relieved, but I know something bad had to get you to this point.”

I nod. “I just keep putting myself in these situations where I’m reminded of the things I’d like to leave in the past. I want a life without all this darkness in it.”

Javier, who has been quiet, asks softly, “How does it make you feel to imagine a different life?”

I consider it for a moment and take a deep breath, one of the easiest I’ve taken in a long time. “Free.”

He kisses my forehead. “Good. You deserve it.”

Gael leads us to a cute mini-SUV. I whistle. “Where did you get this from?”

“Your friends,” he says, holding out his hands. “You’ll like what they did with Abuela’s house too.”

“Are they okay to see me?” I ask, thinking about my grandparents’ advanced age. “I know this is last minute…”

Javier shakes his head, holding up his hands. “They can’t wait to see you. They’re thrilled you’re here. Your grandmother made your favorite soup.”

“Posole?” I ask, pulling on Erik’s arm.

Javier grins. “Yes.”

“Oh my God! Erik, have you ever had posole before?”

“I’m not—”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say, talking over him. “My grandmother makes the best posole, and you’re going to love it!”

As discreetly as a six-and-a-half-foot man can do anything, he pulls me to the side. “This isn’t the one made with cow stomach, right?”

“No, that’s menudo. Same soup base, but posole usually has pork in it. Regular pork meat. You’ll love it, I promise.”

He makes a big deal of wiping off his forehead. “Don’t forget, I’m Norwegian, and not all your spices settle well with me.”

“This is flavorful spicy, not heat spicy, especially not the way she makes it. Promise.”

“Okay, I trust you.”

Gael hops into the driver’s seat and pats the passenger seat. “Sit here. You’re with your boyfriend all the time. He can sit in the back with Javier while you sit up here and tell me everything.”

Erik doesn’t protest being called my boyfriend and instead kisses my temple before joining Javier.

I grin as the two taller men fold themselves into the microscopic back seat, and Gael and I chat a mile a minute, catching up on everything during the short drive. They go quiet when I describe the way I froze up around New Orleans and what it felt like to be back on the island, but mostly they are just happy to see me.

As I look out the window at the scenery flying by, I’m surprised by how much the landscape affects me. I had forgotten how green and beautiful and left in peace this part of Guanajuato is. When we turn on the familiar side road that takes us to the little township where my grandparents built a family and a business, I smile when I see the same small shops are still open and that the neighbor with the big house painted it blue, even though I remember it being yellow.

When we roll into my grandparents’ neighborhood, I gasp.

“Everything is so new,” I say, pointing. “New paint, new buildings, and the church…it’s been renovated.”

Erik explains, “It started because the runway chews up my tires. Since I was going back and forth so frequently, Wimberley renovated the airfield. I then pointed out the town could use a little sprucing, and it would cost relatively very little. They approved it, and Gael helped manage the updates.”

I turned to my cousin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs. “I thought it would be a nice surprise for whenever you came to visit.”

Looking into the rearview mirror, I send a smile to Erik, who has a proud little flush on his cheeks. Already this place is sweeping away the awful feeling I had on the island.

We turn onto my grandparents’ street, where there are more renovations. The houses I remember having crumbling brick have been shored up, and my abuelos’ house…

“They expanded it!”

I love the way it looks.

“Yep. Señora Gutierrez passed a few years ago, and her house had fallen into such bad repair it was safer to take it down. Your friends came in, and over the course of two months, made it look like this.”

“I have good friends,” I say, smiling.

“Yes, you do.”

I let myself out of the SUV, and before I reach the porch, my grandmother pushes open the front door.

I swallow thickly, realizing I’ve been putting off this moment to avoid what I see in her face. Pain. So much pain and regret. And so much love.

“Antoñito!” she shouts and throws her arms around me.

I never thought of her as tall, but I practically tower over her, and I don’t tower over anyone. Her arms are strong and soft, and suddenly, another pair of arms surround me.

“Ant,” my grandfather says in his deep soothing voice. “You have returned to us. What a blessing.”

Last night, looking out at the beautiful waters of the Caribbean, I cried more than I ever have in my entire life. It was a crazy mixture of sadness, grief, and, weirdly enough, gratitude. I’m crazy lucky, and the thought makes me cry so hard I don’t know what to do with myself.

I thought I’d cried every tear in my body, but surrounded by my grandparents, I have several more to give. As do they.

Yaya and Emil, her husband, make their way out of the house just a few seconds later, and suddenly, it’s one big embarrassing group hug in the middle of the street. A few neighbors join us, several patting me on my shoulder, praising God, telling me how happy they are I’m safe and sound.

After a few moments, I get overwhelmed, but Erik and Gael read it immediately. Gael steps up to the crowd of people around me and takes my hand, effectively drawing me away from the epicenter.

“As you can imagine, he’s been through a lot, so we’re going to go inside and have a quiet dinner.”

Everyone nods in understanding, just as kind as I remember them. I look around at the simplicity of the place and understand why my mom felt she couldn’t stay. I sometimes wonder, though, if she had regrets when she was all alone in that big compound with her father-in-law.

Abuela takes my hand and practically drags me up the steps into her house. I inhale deeply and grin at the scents of Fabuloso—Abuela’s floor cleaner of choice—and spicy, warm posole. I take another inhale and…

“Oh my God—are those your tortillas?” I ask, rushing to the kitchen counter where a pair of my abuela’s handwoven tortilleros—tortilla holders—sit, steam rising gently from them.

“Of course, nieto.”

Store-bought corn tortillas are stale and fall apart when you make them into a taco. Homemade corn tortillas, on the other hand, are so soft and taste so fresh I can’t imagine anyone ever hating them.

I sneak a hot tortilla from its hiding place, chewing it as I take in the expanded space. The place looks the same but different. The brightly colored walls, the decorations from local artists, and the wood carving of the Last Supper hanging over the indigenous altar my grandparents keep with offerings to the deceased. It’s every good thing from my childhood, even if the ofrenda includes pictures of my mother and dried daisies along with dried marigolds.

Most people only put up the altar for Dia de los Muertos, but my grandmother always wanted our ancestors to feel at home, regardless of the time of year. Despite having more room, the mixed style of my grandparents’ home still feels cozy and warm.

My grandmother pushes the tortillero into my hands. “Here. Help me set the table.”

I do as asked, finding the utensils where I last saw them, setting down soup spoons older than I am with dinner napkins my grandmother sewed and embroidered.

My grandmother carries the enormous cazuela—her ancient painted clay soup pot—from the stove, setting it on a metal trivet on the low bar between the kitchen and the dining room. Grabbing the ladle she’s had since I was a little boy, she spoons hearty servings into her fancy Talavera bowls.

Yaya slices the limes and puts them in smaller bowls around the table. Abuelo says a prayer of thanks, his voice cracking halfway through. Erik and Gael, sitting on either side of me, grab my hands.

Even though God and I aren’t pals, I say “Amen” in deference to my grandfather. We start to eat, but it’s quiet. Like maybe no one knows what to say to the returning survivor.

“Somebody tell a joke,” Emil says, smiling at me. “It’s too serious in here.”

Gael sends me a wicked grin. “I’ve got one. What’s the difference between a Texas tornado and a redneck divorce?”

I laugh because I know this one. “Why you gotta make fun of Texas?”

He shrugs. “Answer the question.”

“Doesn’t matter. Either way, someone’s losing a trailer.”

Even Erik laughs, and we’ve been speaking in Spanish this whole time. I lean over. “Hey—you keeping up with everything?”

He nods. “I’ve been practicing my Spanish on an app,” he says, pushing his phone across to me.

My grandmother sees the phone and arches a brow. Flushed, Erik slides the phone off the table. “Lo siento,” he mutters, and everyone starts laughing again.

“You know they’re laughing because they like you, right?”

He sends a smile in my direction. “I do.”

Per Emil’s excellent request, we spend the rest of the evening keeping it light. We even talk through my grandparents’ leather business and their plans to retire next year. Gael pulls me into the living room and shows me a pair of shoes he made for me, beautiful black leather ankle boots that fit perfectly.

“What do your parents think about your plans to move north?” I ask quietly, admiring the fit of the boots.

“It’s hard on Dad, but Mom has been super supportive,” he whispers back. “They both have, really. It helps that your boyfriend is willing to fly them up and down as much as they want.”

“Don’t call him my boyfriend,” I hiss.

He raises his brows. I stick my tongue out at him. “Yeah, you got away with it once, but I don’t want you to freak him out.”

Gael’s eyes widen as long arms snake around my front, and my heart pounds as the man in question puts his chin on top of my head. “You can call me your boyfriend. It won’t freak me out. Promise.”

“Yeah?” I ask, looking over my shoulder as I lean back into his warmth.

He nods. “I’ve eaten your grandmother’s posole. I’m pretty sure it’s official.”

Gael kisses my temple, sending Erik a quick smile before slipping away, leaving us alone in the living room.

“Here,” Erik says, hooking his foot on my grandfather’s ottoman and tugging it next to us. “Stand on this so I can kiss you.”

I immediately comply and throw my arms around his neck as he surrounds me in his perfect hug, pulling back just enough to take me in a world-spinning kiss.

“We said no faking,” he says, drawing back to kiss the tip of my nose, “so I need to tell you that I have no intentions of letting you go after this trip.”

“No?” I ask, relief flooding my body.

“No. You amaze me, Ant, and if you want me to be your boyfriend, well, that would make me the luckiest man I know.”

I cradle his face and touch my forehead to his. “Then be prepared to get very, very lucky.”

His deep chuckle vibrates my body, and we kiss until Gael clears his throat.

“Abuela incoming,” he stage-whispers, and I step down from the ottoman just in time for my family to join us.

Fuck. What a miraculous sentence. My family.

We gather around the coffee table and play dominoes, complete with the same kids’ rules we used when I was young. When Abuela puts down her winning move, Gael leans his shoulder into mine.

“So, what’s the plan when you move here?” I ask.

“I’ll need a workshop of some kind but will probably hold off on a brick-and-mortar to see what can be done in the online space.”

Erik leans in, resting his chin on my shoulder. “I think that’s a great way to start out. We have a number of wealthy, stylish friends, so make sure to send us a link to your website once it’s up and running.”

Gael rubs Erik’s arm, his nose scrunching like he’s trying to stave off tears. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course. You’re family,” Erik says as though it is simple logic. “Though…you look upset. Did I say something wrong?”

Gael sniffs and dashes away a tear from his cheek. “No, not at all.” Gesturing to the gathered family currently squabbling over a sneaky play from the quiet Emil, he says, “We know what you and Charlie did for Ant. That you two are together now…I’ve never seen my grandparents happier. To know he will never be in danger again…it’s everything. So, helping me out with my business seems a little excessive, you know?”

Erik shakes his head. “No. It’s not. I’ll do anything for Ant, and that extends to his family.”

“He’s special, our Ant,” Gael says, moving the hair off my forehead.

Erik sucks in his lips, then looks upward, trying to not cry. “I know this sounds weird, but for the past few days—seeing the people and places who hurt him—I keep thinking about the work Ant’s doing with the horses.” Erik wraps his arm around my shoulders and his voice gets raspy. “He’s so gentle. How can somebody who’s been through what he’s been through be so gentle?”

Gael sets his head on Erik’s shoulder. “He was always gentle. You just helped him find himself again.”

“It’s a privilege, really,” Erik whispers.

I lightly punch his arm. “I get it. I’m special. I’m brave. I’m smart. Can we stop talking about how great I am?”

Erik and Gael sniffle, then crack up, and the heaviness of the moment dissipates. The room has gone quiet and everyone is looking at us.

Abuela gets up and kisses the top of Erik’s head. “You’re a little pale, but that’s okay. You’re still one of us.”

As laughter breaks out, I realize maybe it’s okay for things to get heavy every now and again, especially because my reality now is so much lighter.

Finally, the evening winds down, and Gael, Yaya, and Emil return to their house. Javier leads us to the guestroom on the newer side of the house. While the space is unfamiliar, I recognize the thin hand-crocheted blanket on the bed.

“Do you think Ant’s grandparents would prefer me to sleep somewhere else? I don’t mind the couch,” Erik whispers to Javier.

Javier shakes his head. “They were never that strict to begin with, but losing Ant the way we did put what’s important in sharp contrast with the noise. Besides, we know he feels safest with his giant, and we would never ask him to give that up.”

Erik pulls me closer and kisses the top of my head. “Thank you, but know it goes both ways. I feel safer with him too.”

I know he isn’t referring to his physical safety, but his heart, and on a night filled with so much love and warmth, that sentiment causes an overflow. Despite all the terrible things that are true about my life, there is another far more positive set of truths: I am lucky. I am safe. I am loved.