Chapter 4: The Cousin Confrontation Jim grabbed his bag and headed straight out of the gym, not bothering to shower or change. He was still in his practice gear—shorts, compression shirt, sneakers. Didn't matter. He needed answers, and he needed them now. The subway ride to Valeria's place felt longer than usual. He sat there, leg bouncing, checking his phone every thirty seconds like something was gonna change. Nothing did. No new texts. No missed calls. Just the same silence that had been eating at him all day. When he finally got to her building, he didn't text first like he normally would. Just walked straight up to her apartment and knocked. Valeria opened the door a minute later, eyes widening slightly when she saw him. "Jim? What are you doing here?" "Came to see you," he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She closed the door behind him, her expression somewhere between confused and concerned. "You didn't text." "I know." "You're still in your practice clothes." "I know that too." Valeria crossed her arms, studying him. "What's going on?" Before Jim could answer, another voice called out from deeper in the apartment. "Val, do we have any more garlic?" Miguel walked into the living room, stopping when he saw Jim. He was wearing a casual button-down with the sleeves rolled up, looking way too comfortable in Valeria's space. "Oh, hey man," Miguel said, smiling. "Didn't know you were coming over." "Neither did I," Valeria muttered. Jim looked between them. "What are you guys doing?" "Cooking," Miguel said, gesturing back toward the kitchen. "Valeria's teaching me how to make her mom's paella." "It's not that good yet," Valeria added quickly. "We're still figuring it out." Jim walked past them into the kitchen. There were pots on the stove, ingredients spread across the counter, wine glasses half-full on the table. The whole scene looked domestic as hell, and Jim hated it. "You want to stay for dinner?" Miguel asked, following him. "There's plenty." "Yeah," Jim said, dropping his bag by the counter. "I'll stay." Valeria shot him a look, but didn't say anything. --- Dinner was awkward. Not because anyone was being openly hostile, but because Jim couldn't stop watching. Every time Miguel reached across the table for the salt, every time he laughed at something Valeria said, every time they switched into rapid Spanish that Jim could only half-follow—he noticed. His mom had taught him Spanish growing up. He could understand most conversations, especially the basics. But Miguel and Valeria were speaking fast, using slang and references Jim didn't know, and it made him feel like an outsider in his own girlfriend's apartment. "So Jim," Miguel said, switching back to English. "Valeria tells me you're going pro after high school." "That's the plan." "You already have an agent, right?" "Yeah. Rich Paul." Miguel's eyebrows shot up. "The Rich Paul? LeBron's guy?" "That's him." "Damn. That's impressive." Miguel took a sip of his wine. "You must be really good." "He is," Valeria said, her hand finding Jim's under the table. "Best player in the state." Jim squeezed her hand but didn't look at her. He was still watching Miguel. "How long are you staying in New York?" Jim asked. "Just the week," Miguel said. "Maybe less. Depends on how things go." "Things with what?" Miguel hesitated, glancing at Valeria. "Just... personal stuff. Nothing important." Jim didn't buy that for a second, but he let it slide. For now. They kept eating, the conversation drifting to basketball, then to Spain, then to Valeria's family. Miguel told stories about growing up with Valeria's cousins, about summers in Barcelona, about the time Valeria accidentally set her aunt's kitchen on fire trying to make churros. "I was twelve!" Valeria protested, laughing. "And it wasn't a fire, it was just... smoke." "The whole kitchen was smoking," Miguel corrected, grinning. "Your mom was pissed." They were comfortable with each other. Too comfortable. The kind of comfortable that came from years of history, inside jokes, shared memories. Jim felt that tightness in his chest again. When Miguel stood up to refill his wine glass, Jim leaned closer to Valeria. "We need to talk," he said quietly. "About what?" "You know what." Valeria sighed. "Jim, not right now." "Yeah. Right now." She looked at him for a long moment, then stood up. "Miguel, we'll be right back." Miguel glanced over from the counter. "Everything okay?" "Yeah," Valeria said. "Just need a minute." She led Jim down the hallway to her bedroom, closing the door behind them. The second it clicked shut, she turned to face him. "What is your problem?" she asked. "My problem is you've been acting weird since last night, and now this dude is here cooking dinner with you like he lives here." "He's my cousin, Jim." "I don't care if he's your cousin. Who texted you last night?" Valeria blinked. "What?" "Last night. On your phone. Who was it?" She crossed her arms. "I told you. My mom." "Bullshit." "Excuse me?" "I saw the messages, Valeria. 'We need to talk. I'm serious. Don't ignore me.' That's not your mom." Her expression shifted—surprise, then frustration, then something else Jim couldn't quite read. "You were looking at my phone?" she said. "It was right there. You left it on the bed." "That doesn't mean you get to read my messages." "Then maybe you shouldn't be getting messages like that from random guys at eleven at night." Valeria stared at him, jaw tight. Then she let out a long breath and sat down on the edge of her bed. "It was Miguel," she said finally. Jim felt his stomach drop. "What?" "The texts. They were from Miguel." "Why the fuck is Miguel texting you like that?" "Because he was having relationship problems with his girlfriend back in Spain," Valeria said, looking up at him. "That's why he came to New York. To clear his head." Jim didn't say anything. "They've been together for three years," Valeria continued. "And things have been bad for a while. He needed someone to talk to, so he texted me. That's it." "At eleven PM." "It's six hours ahead in Spain, Jim. It was morning for him." That made sense. Jim hated that it made sense. "Why didn't you just tell me that?" he asked. "Because I didn't think I needed to explain every text I get. And because I knew you'd react exactly like this." "Like what?" "Like a jealous psycho." Jim flinched. "I'm not—" "You showed up here unannounced, still in your practice clothes, because you saw a text on my phone." Valeria stood up, walking closer to him. "That's literally psycho behavior." She was right. Jim knew she was right. But the doubt was still there, sitting heavy in his chest. "I just..." He ran a hand over his face. "I don't like this." "Don't like what?" "Him being here. You guys cooking together. The way you look at him." "The way I look at him?" Valeria's voice went up. "Jim, he's family. I've known him since I was a kid." "That doesn't mean—" "Doesn't mean what? That I'm gonna cheat on you with my cousin?" "I didn't say that." "But you're thinking it." Jim didn't answer. Valeria shook her head, turning away. "I can't believe this." "Val—" "No. I get that you're insecure about your height or whatever—" "This isn't about my fucking height." "Then what is it about? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you don't trust me." Jim wanted to argue. Wanted to say that wasn't true. But the words stuck in his throat because maybe she was right. Maybe he didn't trust her. Not completely. Not anymore. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. Valeria looked at him, her expression softening slightly. "I love you. You know that, right?" "Yeah." "Miguel is just going through some shit. That's all. I'm trying to be there for him like he's been there for me." Jim nodded. The guilt was starting to settle in now, heavy and uncomfortable. He'd jumped to conclusions. Let his paranoia get the better of him. "I'm sorry," he said again. Valeria stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. "It's okay. Just... trust me. Please." Jim held her, resting his chin on top of her head. "I do." But even as he said it, something still felt off. He couldn't explain it. Couldn't put his finger on what exactly was bothering him. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he really was just being paranoid. They stood there for a minute, holding each other. Then Valeria pulled back, standing on her toes to kiss him. "Come on," she said. "Let's finish dinner." --- They went back to the kitchen. Miguel was at the sink, washing dishes, humming something under his breath. He looked up when they came in. "Everything good?" he asked. "Yeah," Valeria said, smiling. "All good." Miguel nodded, drying his hands on a towel. "Cool. Hey, I need to take a call real quick. I'll be right back." He grabbed his phone and stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door closed behind him. Jim watched him through the window. Miguel paced back and forth, phone pressed to his ear, his free hand gesturing as he talked. Even from inside, Jim could tell the conversation was intense. Miguel's expression kept shifting—anger, frustration, something that looked like pain. "Who's he talking to?" Jim asked. "Probably his girlfriend," Valeria said, starting to clear the table. "Well, ex-girlfriend now, I guess." Jim kept watching. Miguel stopped pacing, leaning against the balcony railing with his head down. His shoulders were tense, jaw tight. A few minutes later, Miguel came back inside. His whole demeanor had changed. The easy smile was gone, replaced by something darker. He looked tired. Defeated. "You okay?" Valeria asked. Miguel set his phone down on the counter. "Yeah. Just... that was Elena." "Your girlfriend?" "Ex-girlfriend." Miguel let out a bitter laugh. "It's official now. We're done." "Miguel, I'm so sorry—" "Don't be. It's been coming for a while." He ran a hand through his hair. "I should've ended it months ago." Valeria walked over, pulling him into a hug. Jim stood there, watching, feeling like he was intruding on something private. "What are you gonna do?" Valeria asked. Miguel pulled back, shrugging. "I don't know. I was supposed to fly back next week, but... I don't really have a reason to go back right now." "What do you mean?" "I mean..." Miguel looked at her, then at Jim, then back at her. "I'm thinking about extending my stay. Here. In New York." Valeria's eyes widened. "For how long?" "I don't know. Indefinitely. At least until I figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life." Jim felt his stomach drop for the second time that night. "You're staying?" Valeria said. "If that's okay. I know I'm crashing here, and I don't want to impose, but—" "No, of course it's okay. You can stay as long as you need." Miguel smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Thanks, Val. I really appreciate it." Jim stood there, trying to process what he'd just heard. Miguel wasn't leaving in a week. He was staying. Indefinitely. In Valeria's apartment. "That's great," Jim said, his voice flat. Miguel looked at him. "You sure? I know this is probably weird for you." "Nah. It's fine." It wasn't fine. It was the opposite of fine. But what the hell was Jim supposed to say? That he didn't want Miguel staying here? That the whole situation made him uncomfortable? That would just make him look like the jealous boyfriend Valeria had accused him of being. "Thanks, man," Miguel said. "I owe you one." Jim forced a smile. "Don't worry about it." Valeria was looking at Jim, her expression unreadable. She knew he wasn't okay with this. But she didn't say anything. Miguel grabbed his wine glass, raising it slightly. "To new beginnings, I guess." "To new beginnings," Valeria echoed, clinking her glass against his. Jim didn't move. He just stood there, watching them, that tightness in his chest getting worse. Miguel took a long drink, then set his glass down. "I'm gonna head to bed. Thanks for dinner, Val. And thanks for... you know. Everything." "Of course. Sleep well." Miguel nodded at Jim. "Good to meet you properly, man." "Yeah. You too." Once Miguel disappeared down the hallway, Valeria turned to Jim. "You okay?" she asked quietly. "I'm fine." "Jim—" "I said I'm fine." She studied him for a second, then sighed. "You should probably go. It's getting late." Jim grabbed his bag from the floor. "Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow." "Text me when you get home?" "Yeah." She walked him to the door, kissing him before he left. It should've made him feel better. Should've eased some of the tension sitting in his chest. It didn't. Jim walked down the stairs and out onto the street, his mind racing. Miguel was staying. Not for a week. Indefinitely. He pulled out his phone, texting Kenny and Zion. **Jim:** we got a problem **Kenny:** what happened **Jim:** miguel's staying **Zion:** staying where **Jim:** valeria's place **Jim:** indefinitely **Kenny:** oh shit **Zion:** that's bad bro **Jim:** yeah **Jim:** i know