Free Buried (Hiding From Love #3) by Selena Laurence

movie producer.
    I read the caption below the photo. Purported 1 Santos Mexicanos leader Miguel Ybarra arrived in San Antonio yesterday for what he is calling "personal business." Authorities did not respond to inquiries from the Express about what the cartel boss could possibly be doing in the US. Ybarra has been banned from the country for over twenty-five years, but he recently got a reversal of the decades-old decision against him.
    I lie on my bed, the newspaper clipping over my heart as I stare up at the drab ceiling. I measure out my breaths, that thing I do when everything around me feels so out of control. I can always control myself, and that’s what I’ve come to rely on. But now I’ve encountered two things that are wrecking that self-control I’ve relied on for so many years—Beth Garcia and Miguel Ybarra.
    I pick up the clipping and focus on his image one more time. I try hard as I can to control what I feel when I look at the photo, but I can't. I'm cold and angry and empty. And I know that he's getting closer every day, and there might not be anyone who can protect me this time around.
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    1 Santos Mexicanos = The Mexican Saints

I visit Juan two more times before I bring Alexis and her boyfriend, Gabe, over. Each time, he tells me not to come back. Each time, I give him a kiss goodbye and say that I’ll see him in a few days. In between those battles, we talk—about growing up, about his mom, about plants. I explain my research project to him, and he asks about it when I see him the next time. I tell him my favorite drink at Starbucks, and he tells me he’s never been to a Starbucks. He says gangbangers don’t drink coffee. I laugh and ask him what gangbangers do drink. He says, “Coke and Colt 45.” I laugh harder.
    The third week, I bring Alexis and Gabe. I know they only want to meet Juan because they think he’s dangerous, but I don't care. I want him to see how many people will care about him if he'll let them.
    I watch as Gabe, a former Army MP who can give Juan's bad-assery a run for the money, sizes up the guy I’m falling hopelessly in love with. Once some sort of unspoken acceptance occurs between the two of them, an awkward conversation about tattoos takes place, ink apparently being the only thing the super-mechanic and my gangbanger have in common. At the end of the visit, Juan asks Alexis to keep me away from him and my heart is a little worse for wear.
    I ride home with Gabe and Alexis, and I’m acutely aware of how difficult it’s going to be to integrate Juan into any sort of normal life. I’m at a loss as to how I’ll ever convince him he can live in the regular world when simple conversations with normal people are so fraught with landmines.
    All the usual questions—what do you do for a living, did you go to college, where do you live—were off-limits. Anyone with any sense will notice within a few minutes of meeting Juan that he has a seven-year gap in his life. Years that can't be mentioned, discussed, exposed. And that’s if they even get to the point of speaking to him, because he’s more than a little intimidating to look at.
    The tattoos are visible—on his arms, his neck, his shoulders, and his chest. And they aren't hipster, weekend tattoos; they’re gangbanger tattoos—the RH crown, the stars on his shoulders, three teardrops on his left hand between his index finger and his thumb. It makes me feel nauseated to think the teardrops might mean what urban legend claims they do—one for each murder the wearer has committed. I never fear what Juan might do to me, but I often fear what he might be capable of doing in general.
    I know there’s no way he could have served four years in the state pen without being capable of some serious shit. It’s frightening to imagine, and in some of my weaker moments, I wonder if it’s too late to save someone who’s done those kinds of things. But then I strengthen my resolve and I’m ashamed of myself for the doubt.