Page 40 of Unbreakable Thread

I don’t mention my breakup with Max. I’ll hold on to that a little longer, probably when I have to tell Max that I’ve known where his dad has been the whole time.

“What is it you do, Rainey?” Hector asks.

“I own a café with a small bookstore attached. It’s my pride and joy, but I also just enrolled in school.”

“What an amazing business you have. I would go broke just by eating there. I have a major sweet tooth.”

I laugh. “Tell me about it. I sample them all the time. What is your favorite dessert?”

His index finger scratches at his chin. “So many good ones. When I was a kid, I would go for the churros y marranitos. Now I’ll eat all types of pan dulces. My favorite is called taco de queso. It’s a pastry with cream cheese filling.”

“Ahh, that one is my favorite, too. Isabella, my assistant manager, makes those with strawberries and cream. It’s to die for.”

“Delicioso, verdad? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask if you spoke Spanish.”

“I…I do now.”

Hector pauses. Studying me.

“I mean, I’m Hispanic.” Something eases inside me, like a knot loosening just enough to let me breathe. For the first time, I acknowledged being a part of Sol. For years, my parents molded me to be someone else entirely. It isn’t just about changing my name—they tried to make me forget the soil I grew from, the language that should have flowed from my tongue, the history in my blood. I know this is just the beginning. I have a long way to go to heal.

For some strange reason, my tongue loosened, and I spilled everything that had happened from Max and me knowing each other in the foster home to regain my memory. Again, I don’t mention the breakup. For a whole damn hour, I said more than I should have. Talk about being a big mouth. What surprised me was when I mentioned us being mistreated in the home and what they did to Max. Hector’s jaw and hands clenched.

“Rainey, I’m truly sorry for what you have been through.” His warm hands wrap around mine in what feels like a fatherly embrace. “I don’t understand the lies your adoptive parents told for so long. But they kept you safe.”

“They did,” I agree. “But they also kept me from the most important person in my life.”

Hector’s eyes soften.

“My father, Rowan, threatened him and tried to pay him off.”

Instantly, his eyes go into slits, and a growl vibrates out of him. Like father, like son. They look identical, even their mannerisms. “I know I’ve done wrong with my son. Especially now, with a clear head, the view before me is entirely different. I feel every ounce of pain I have caused him, but to know others have mistreated him makes me want to go feral and beat down every son of a bitch. And that includes myself.” For the rest of his life, he will have to live with his guilt, and that itself is the biggest sentence anyone could get.

My stomach grumbles like I didn’t just eat a double cheeseburger with fries dipped in barbecue sauce. That was two hours ago.

“Come on. Let’s get you something to eat. I’m a little hungry myself.”

We walk into the big cafeteria dining hall. A long metal sandwich cart gleams under lights at the center of the room, surrounded by a small crowd of families. In the back corner is the cafeteria, where the menu reads grilled chicken, seasoned green beans, and mashed potatoes, including a freshly baked roll. The smell of the chicken stings my nose.

“Let’s have a sandwich. The crinkle of your nose tells me you would prefer that.”

I didn’t mean to make a face. The food looks amazing, but it’s just me. “I’m just getting over the flu. I’ve been queasy these past days. But a sandwich sounds refreshing.”

Two bites in and I already want to throw up. Hector’s bologna with mayo sandwich is grossing me the fuck out. Especially when they slopped it on his bread. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love mayo, but this bug is messing with me.

Hector’s gaze stays pinned on me. “How long have you been sick?” he asks, studying me.

I shrug. “I don’t know. It feels like a long time. I have been stressed, and my head is not screwed on right, so it can be a little of everything. They say stress can do a lot of damage.” And a heartbreak.

“¿Estás embarazada?”

My head juts back so fast that I almost fall off the bench. “I’m not pregnant.” My hand swings to my chest, gripping my shirt. No. I can’t be. I shake my head repeatedly. “No,” I say softly.

He sets his half-eaten sandwich on his plate. “I remember when my wife was pregnant. She was glowing, and everything grossed her out.” He laughs like he’s remembering. “She never had a problem with morning breath, but in her first trimester, she was having a hard time.” He shakes his head. “She didn’t tell me it bothered her when I would roll over to kiss her. Her face gave it away. So, I made sure to brush my teeth before she woke.” He speaks of Marabel as if she were his lifeline. Perhaps she is—to the point it drove him mad.

Hector scoots the plate to the side. Now I feel bad. “It seems you might just have the symptoms. Your face is glowing.”

Lana did say my face was glowing. My mind scrambles to recall the date of my last period, but I draw a blank. Meanwhile, my right leg won’t stop jittering. I did have a period after the accident.