Spotlight: Bloodstains don’t lie. And from what we’ve learned so far, the dress was covered in them.
Ryan: I can hardly be expected to comment on things I know nothing about. I’ve made my feelings clear, and I stand by my word. All I can do is continue praying for Madison’s safe return, and see how it all plays out once the case goes to trial. If you’re asking me to speculate, well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I won’t do that.
Spotlight: Right. Well, we thank you for taking the time to speak with us, and like you, we’re also praying for Madison’s return. Before you go, any hints for what’s next?
Ryan: I’ve got a few projects in the works, but nothing I can announce just yet.
Spotlight: Well, I hope you’ll consider giving us an exclusive!
Ryan: Yeah. Um, okay.
We’ll see.
Spotlight: You read it here first, life moves on for Ryan Hawthorne, and we at Spotlight wish him all the best!
“Why are you scowling like that?”
Mateo tossed the magazine aside and rushed to the side of his little sister’s hospital bed. He brushed a concerned hand over her forehead, relieved to find her skin mercifully cool, showing no sign of the fever that had started it all just one week before.
A fever, followed by bruising, unexplained weight loss, and eventually a fainting episode at school. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia was the official diagnosis, or ALL as they called it—a scary name for when the body went rogue and decided to manufacture too many immature white blood cells. And now, because of it, Valentina’s immune system was so weakened she’d succumbed to an opportunistic infection.
“How are you feeling?” He struggled to shake off any lingering traces of anger the article had sparked. But seeing his little sister looking so helpless and small among all the needles and tubes and the port in her chest awaiting chemotherapy only managed to trigger him more.
This was what truly mattered! His fingers circled the bed rails so hard his knuckles pushed taut against his skin. Yes, a celebrity had gone missing, had maybe even been murdered, which was an undeniably terrible thing, but did it really deserve to claim every headline when there were so many innocents suffering in the world?
What made Madison’s story more worthy than the tragic tale of his sweet little sister?
Why did people care more about celebrities than the fate of everyday people?
Valentina regarded him closely. “Well, now I really need to read it.” She nodded toward the magazine. “The way it got you all wound up, there’s clearly something good in there, so hand it over, please!”
Mateo frowned and made no move to retrieve the magazine. “You shouldn’t be reading that stuff.” Even to his ears he sounded stodgy, old, and judgmental, but he assured himself he was only trying to protect her.
“Why, because I’m too young?”
In his eyes, Valentina would always be the cherished baby sister he’d give his life for. But knowing how much she’d hate hearing that, he leaned against the bed rail, brushed her long dark curls away from her forehead, and said, “No, because it’s too trashy for a classy princess like you.”
She tried to scowl in return, but it was only a second later when her face burst into a grin that made his heart lurch. The fact that she could even manage such a thing in light of all she was facing was almost too much to bear.
How was it possible that just a few weeks earlier she’d celebrated her birthday looking as vibrant and healthy as any other ten-year-old girl, only to end up in this horrible, sterile room with its mint-green walls and tired floors, hooked up to various tubes and machines responsible for keeping her alive?
Seeing his little sister suffer was the absolute worst thing he’d ever experienced, and Mateo had seen more than his share of sorrow. But Valentina was a child, an innocent. She didn’t deserve any of this. The whole thing reeked of unfairness, and it left him wondering if the black cloud hanging over his family would ever move on.
The Luna Curse—it was the name he’d given to the unfathomable situations they continued to find themselves in. With the death of his father shortly after Valentina’s birth, followed by the loss of his older brother Carlos a few years later, Mateo was sure he’d seen the worst of what life had to offer. The night they’d received the call informing them that Carlos had overdosed outside a Hollywood nightclub hadn’t been entirely unexpected. Carlos had suffered from addiction for a while, had even gone a few rounds with a local rehab center. Still, the devastating news had thrown the Lunas into a spiral of grief they were only just beginning to recover from when Valentina fell ill.
Clearly the Luna Curse hadn’t gone anywhere. It had merely taken a hiatus, a much-needed rest in which to gather enough strength to come roaring back—rearing its ugly head and descending on them with a vengeance they could never imagine.
He watched her lids flutter closed once again. She tired so easily, and yet she was imbued with an inner strength that surpassed everyone else’s, somehow managing to remain happy and cheerful and never once complaining, no matter how bad things got. Mateo wished he could do the same.
While their mom fought hard to keep a brave face, inside she was broken. And most of the time Mateo felt broken too. In the last week alone his mom had lost her job, and Mateo had lost Layla. Both of which, while bad, weren’t entirely out of the ordinary. But this—this thing with Valentina—was all the proof he needed that it was time for him to step up and do whatever it took to look after his family.
He reached for his sister’s hand. It looked so small and pale folded in his. Up until now, he’d had the luxury of not wanting for much. He’d easily gotten by on the pay (plus tips) he made working as a surf butler at some of the fancier resorts. The usual trappings of success—a big house and showy car—held no interest for him. And though he recognized his lack of ambition as a growing source of irritation for Layla, he’d never thought it a problem until now.
After listening to the pediatric oncologist explain the course of treatment and all the exorbitant costs that accompanied it—the sort of costs that could easily break them, possibly even leave them all homeless—there was no denying it was time for him to grow up and shoulder the burden his mom could no longer carry alone.
Maybe Layla was right.
Maybe his lack of ambition was a much bigger issue than he’d initially realized.