After my tears finally dry, I head back downstairs to rejoin the Reyes family. They don't pay me much mind as I sit beside Xavi on the loveseat, already fully engrossed in their own conversations. He takes my hand in his and squeezes it softly, holding my gaze with concern for a moment before I look down.

Jazmin comes downstairs shortly after as well, with a backpack on her back and a suitcase rolling behind her. Her reappearance causes more of a stir, specifically at the fact that she's leaving. It's only been a couple days that the whole Reyes family has been here, and with the infrequency of their gathering, it seems to have José—their dad—up in arms.

"I'm gonna go see what's up," Xavi whispers to me as he stands, gently squeezing my hand before letting it go.

He heads to the kitchen, where José, Melissa, Alejandra, Rigo, and Joaquín have already cornered Jazmin to confront her. Everyone else continues on with their conversations as if nothing happened. I don't mind their lack of attention. I'm too anxious to put on my friendly facade right now.

My fingers twist themselves up in my lap again as I wait nervously for Xavi's return. At the very least, I know I'm important to him. That shouldn't make me feel as good as it does, but I can't help it. I need to be held and told it'll all be okay for a change, and he's the one person on Earth who I know will do it.

It's starting to feel like I need him.

When he strides back in about ten minutes later, his lips are pursed and his eyes are fiery. My gut pangs with regret as I guess at all the things he could have heard from Jazmin, like the truth. Nothing could be worse than the truth.

"Hey," he says in a low voice as he sits beside me again, taking my left hand once more. "Why don't we head to your place and pick up some more clothes and anything else you might need?"

I stare at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. "Why? Shouldn't I just bring my things home so I can be ready for work in the morning?"

He purses his lips to fight a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling upward with humor. "You work here right now, Lola," he reminds me softly. "And it'll be kind of hard for me to take care of you and our baby if we aren't in the same place."

My eyes dart back toward the kitchen, seeing nothing as my breathing picks up. "But... this is Jazmin's home," I protest weakly. "She shouldn't have to leave."

"She doesn't have to leave," he corrects me firmly, although his voice remains low and controlled. "She's choosing to. Whatever the Hell her problem is will pass and she'll be free to come back."

I scrutinize his face momentarily, but don't see any hint of anger toward me. "She didn't... say... why she's leaving?"

He shakes his head once, but he watches me curiously. "No, she didn't. Do you know why?"

My breath catches, and I blink in feigned shock. "Me? No, of course I don't know," I lie.

It's a bad lie, and I can see it in his face immediately. His eyebrows pull together and the fire in his eyes rages hotter. "What was she yelling about?"

I can feel a meltdown sitting on the horizon, but it stays there. "She thinks you're too young and irresponsible to get married and have a baby," I answer easily, pursing my lips in a show of disagreement. "I can't imagine she's leaving over that, though."

He's too stunned to respond momentarily, swallowing hard as he looks down. "I'm sure it's not that," he says quietly. His hand slips into mine and he stands suddenly, tugging me along with him. "We should still go."

My neck cranes toward the kitchen as we pass, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Jazmin before leaving. I can't see her though, and my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach as we walk through the front door and head for Rigo's Escalade.

Xavi is quiet on the ride to my apartment, immediately turning the music up high enough that conversation would be too difficult. I peek over at him cautiously as he glares out the windshield. He's breathing fast as he drums his fingers along the steering wheel to no particular rhythm. The crease between his eyebrows appears so deep it'll require physical flattening when he's calmed down.

I know he's wrestling with the idea that his closest sibling doesn't support him at the most critical time of his life, and that's my fault for lying. As much as it pains me to see him like this, it was the only way to explain her reaction without shattering our new little family. It'll pass, just like he said, and the Reyes family will welcome her back like nothing ever happened. This will all pass.

It doesn't take me long to fill my only suitcase—a big black one covered in white skulls and crossbones with pink accents all over that I found at the flea market for twenty bucks right before I left for college—with the last of my clothes from my dresser and a couple more pairs of Converse high-tops. I already packed my meager supply of makeup and hair products for the funeral in Lanesboro, so I've got all I need now.

Xavi stands by the front door the whole time, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed tight over his chest and his expression fixed into that pensive scowl as he chews on his bottom lip. It hurts so much more than I expected to see him in pain. I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him it'll be okay, just like he's done for me so many times this past week, but I can't bring myself to do it.

"So, how long do we need to avoid going back?" I ask quietly instead.

He meets my eyes with a sharp inhale, relaxing his stance and leaning forward to take my suitcase. "We can head back whenever. I just wanted to give Jaz a chance to say goodbye to everybody."

Without another word, he pulls open the door and holds it for me expectantly until I take the hint and go out. It's another tensely quiet ride back to Chris's and Rigo's place, and the guilt feels like it's completely eaten away at my insides by the time we park.

A flip seems to switch in Xavi when he gets back inside though, because he's instantly grinning and cheery all over again in the presence of his family. The gnawing guilt that's been plaguing me calms, replaced by that subtle ache of familial emptiness as I take my place beside him and observe.

I want this to be my family. I want to feel the love they all feel when they're together. I want to see my mother and give her a genuine smile for a change, not a tight-lipped grimace at her every attempt at affection. I want to know what it's like to see my family and honestly feel happy.

The ache in my ribcage is getting to be unbearable with the frequency of its appearance, and my only solace is to sink into another numb daze until the reminders of my broken home life are gone. That's a tall order with the amount of love flowing through the Reyes family, but I do my best to get lost in nothing. When the kids finally head off for bed, I breathe a sigh of relief at my lightened load.

As the evening winds down, Xavi and his brother Tiago start bickering over a video game and take off upstairs to settle their score. I'm left alone on the loveseat as the living room slowly empties. My thoughts stay blank mostly, awaiting the moment Xavi comes back so we can escape to solitude together. He seems to be the only thing left keeping me grounded.

"Hey, you got a minute?"

Chris's voice cuts through my numb reverie and stuns me back to life. He slinks down into Xavi's seat beside me quickly, watching me with those glistening blue eyes I still can't believe would ever want to look at me. I almost can't remember how to respond, but I find my tongue after a moment of gawking at him like an idiot.

"Oh-uh, y-yeah, of course," I stammer awkwardly.

His lips flatten into a line as he looks me over. "You've been quiet today," he says gently. "Are you okay?"

"I'm great," I lie with an eager nod and grin. "I'm getting married and I'm gonna be a mom. Life couldn't get any better."

"Isn't that exactly what you didn't want?" he counters softly.

"No, I—"

The realization that he knows that for a fact chokes my answer off. I already told him that. I told him everything. The first time we met. It didn't end with my gay confession and exchanging names, no; we kept on talking until my security chaperone remembered he'd abandoned me and came rushing back. In the twenty minutes we sat together on the floor that day, we really became friends.

"We can be friends," he'd told me. "What's your name?"

"I—uh—Lola," I choked out in disbelief.

His right hand appeared in front of me, waiting for mine as he smiled warmly. "It's nice to officially meet you, Lola. I'm Chris."

I must have stared at his hand for an eternity before his confidence seemed to wane some, at which point I quickly took his hand and squeezed it tight as I shook it. "I'm so sorry I'm an idiot," I apologized profusely.

"You're not an idiot, Lola," he chuckled. "You're just very high."

"Yeah, because I'm an idiot," I groaned, dropping my head in my hands again.

"Then I'm a pretty big idiot too, because I've been there plenty of times before."

"You're not an idiot, Chris," I fired back, muffled into my sleeves. "You're talented and rich and famous."

"The rich and famous parts were pure luck," he disagreed. I slowly lifted my head, and his piercing blue eyes locked on mine seriously. "We were in the right place at the right time, and we got signed. We had no guarantee it would work out like that. I'm not any more special or deserving of the success I have than you."

I pursed my lips to hold back my grin, but it slipped out anyway. "I can't believe we're friends now," I giggled, burying my face in my hands as the laughter continued out of control.

I could hear him laughing too, and it only compounded my disbelief at the situation, which resulted in more laughter. My entire abdomen was aching when it came to an abrupt stop, and I met Chris's eyes seriously. His expression dropped in response, replaced instantly with marked worry.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," I began gravely. "I'm no fun. At all."

His face softened and his lips turned up into a small smile. "Me either, so I think we'll be all right."

My eyes narrowed, sure he was just trying to make me feel better. "I never go to parties. Like ever."

"I've been called the number one party-hater before," he snickered.

"All I do is listen to music and write," I maintained.

"Sounds like a good time to me."

"And go to church." Although that had never been my choice.

His smile grew. "I'm there every Sunday when I'm home. Bright and early, whether I like it or not."

My eyes nearly bugged out in shock, because it was the first time I'd heard of him setting foot in a church. "You go to church? Really?"

Imagining the very man who sang "I feel like God when you get down on your knees" in a church was something my fifteen-year-old mind couldn't wrap itself around. Not to mention all the other blasphemous and overtly sexual lyrics...

He grimaced lightly, but I could see the joy in his eyes as it became a soft smile. "It's not really about me. It's for my daughter."

His daughter?!

I felt my heart rate pick up and my head begin to spin at his revelation. I already knew he had a child on the way; he announced it the previous month in the same radio interview confirming Unsent Souls's comeback to the scene, apologizing for the impending break so soon after their return. Nobody knew more than that. Except right in that moment, I did.

But that's not your business, Lola, my mom's voice echoed through my head. She'd always hated my obsession with Chris.

"That makes sense," I replied quickly, feeling my cheeks burn up with regret for prying.

"I'm not really religious myself," he continued anyway, "but I'm sucking it up for her sake."

I nodded as my eyes fell to the floor between us, darting back and forth between our shoes in renewed disbelief that we were actually there together. Somehow, the Chris Ellington was speaking to me like I was actually worth something. It almost made me believe I was, but my mom had ensured the thought would never be more than fleeting.

"What if she doesn't want to go to church?" I asked quietly, staring at his worn, red Chucks.

"If she ever says she wants to stop going, then she'll stop going," he answered easily.

"What about her mom?" I posed, running my index finger along the sole of my shoe to keep me grounded. "What if she wants her to go to church anyway?"

He hesitated for a beat, sighing with some discomfort just as I peeked at him again. "She," he began pointedly, looking straight ahead at the wall, "will be fine with whatever our daughter wants. We both just want her to be happy."

Mom would say the same thing...

"What if what makes her happy," I continued slowly, looking back at my shoe, "isn't what makes you guys happy?"

Chris was quiet again for a moment, and after a deep breath, he scooted a little closer. "Lola, whatever makes you happy will make your parents happy too. That's all any parent wants for their kids."

"Not my mom," I disagreed in a near-whisper. "She wants me to get married and have kids."

"And you don't want to?"

"No."

"Then don't."

"She'll hate me if I don't."

"She won't hate you, Lola," he insisted softly, "even if she seems upset."

"She will," I pushed back desperately, barely able to focus my eyes on him as they quickly raised in search of him. "She's never been open-minded. She'll hate me for being gay."

His face hardened some, his eyes seeming to burn with a silent rage. "That's her loss, then. I don't hate you for it."

I didn't understand it back then—as I melted into a sobbing heap and he threw his arms around me—but he saved me.

The night I finally told my parents, I imagined him at my side; a comforting and supportive presence that I knew had my back no matter what they might say. And as I wept miserably into my pillow—envisioning myself falling into the rockiest section of the Root River just a mile from my house—to the muffled sounds of my mom calling our entire family to tell them the newest way I'd disappointed her, I thought of his words. They replayed like a calming mantra every time the pain hit again for years.

Facing him once again ten years later, sitting on the loveseat in his living room while engaged to his brother-in-law and pregnant, the weight of it all finally lands heavy on my shoulders. All the struggles to keep my head above water as I fought against my mother's wishes for me were in vain. She still got what she wanted in the end. I thought I'd won somehow, but I played right into her hand.

"Lola?" Chris presses softly, calling my attention back to him.

I swallow hard as I meet his eyes, trying to hold back the meltdown that I know I can't stop anymore. "I'm sorry," is all I manage to croak out before the sobs wrench free and I curl in on myself.

"Sorry?" he repeats, his voice mildly panicked. "What are you sorry for?"

Xavi is in front of me in an instant, as if he could sense my composure crumbling from all the way upstairs. He crouches down and takes my face in his hands, tenderly wiping away my tears as I struggle to contain the rest. It's a futile effort, and more spill out as his glistening sage eyes study my face.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he croons softly.

Don't call me that!

I want to scream it at him. The words feel like they're burning a hole in my lungs with their desperation to be said. I don't deserve the kind of love and attention he's been giving me. I never have. I never will. I want to make it all stop, but I can't do it.

I need him.

"I'm fine," I lie, shaky and sniffling. "Just the pregnancy hormones."

"Are you sure?" he presses.

I nod once, goosebumps springing up all over me at the feeling of his thumbs caressing my cheeks. It's soothing, almost dangerously so. The erratic skipping of my heart as our eyes lock only confuses me more, because as anxious as I am about everything I've done wrong, this doesn't feel like anxiety. This feels like something else entirely; something that it just can't be.

"I'm sure," I whisper, feeling myself get lost in his gaze. "I think I just need to sleep."