by S. M. West
He stares at me, waiting, encouraging me to continue.
“You remember my grandfather in Spain?” I pause and he nods. “He had me moved to a private facility in Los Angeles. And once I came out of the coma, they moved me to Barcelona.” Tears sting the back of my eyes. “I see everything in a different light now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought my accident had brought my family closer together. When I would need something to get me out of my funk, to force me to see the positive, I would tell myself that despite your death and how different my life had become, the one silver lining was my family and how close we were.
“Papi and Abuelo were more civil to each other than ever before. I mean, we moved to Catalonia and we lived with my grandfather for years. And Bianca…my father and my sister made peace with their differences. They, too, became close.”
Shaking my head, I tear my gaze from his, not sure I’m able to hold back the tears.
“Hey.” His fingers slide under my chin, guiding me back to him. “It’s okay. Take your time. I want to hear this. I’m here for you.”
The heat of his palm now against my cheek is a flash fire inside me, and I lean into his comforting touch.
“It was all a lie. All of them—most likely my grandfather, too, although he’s no longer with us to ask—joined forces to keep us apart. Lied. The most unforgivable lie.”
“I’m…I hate it but I can’t say I’m surprised. I mean,”—he rakes a shaky hand through his long locks—”I’m shocked, yes, but now, sitting with it…your father hated me.”
“He doesn’t…” I clamp my mouth shut, biting back my natural inclination to defend my father and protect Jared’s feelings.
I’d had so much faith that with time he’d come to see the good in Jared, see what I saw. My father would no longer be able to dismiss everything about the boy I loved. And he’d like him, if not love him, like I did.
“Sorry, yes, it seems he did.” Disheartened resolve colors my tone.
“I just didn’t realize how much. That he’d go to such great lengths…and fucking B.” He stares at the front door to the suite. “How did you find out I was alive?”
“Would you believe a Rolling Stone magazine article on the plane?” My laugh is brittle—it’s still too soon to find the humor in it. “I only just came back to the US yesterday. I haven’t been back since coming out of the coma.”
“Really?” He tips his head to the side. “Are you visiting?”
“I was planning on moving here permanently. I love Spain. It’s beautiful, and I had some good times, fond memories from my childhood. But America is my home.”
His expression shifts, a smirk catching on the corner of his mouth. “I like the sound of that.”
Fingers once more dip under my chin, tilting my head back as his head bends toward me. Is he going to kiss me?
As much as I want this, there’s still so much left unsaid between us. I know nothing about him, not even if he’s the boy I gave my heart to.
He licks his plush lips, and the need to taste him roars like a lion. My fingers thread into his hair, sliding to the nape of his neck to hang on, and I squirm, arching my back. I’m climbing aboard this train of desire and yearning for him.
Commotion at the door, voices, and someone pushing into the room breaks the electric energy vibrating between us. Our heads swivel toward the entrance where Miguel stands.
Expression grim, his eyes widen, then darken as he takes in Jared and me tangled in each other’s arms. He isn’t a tall man, but broad-shouldered and solid, a black suit draped perfectly over his sturdy frame.
My heart lurches with dread. Bianca must have called him the second I left her place yesterday. Thanks, sis, it’s plain to see where your allegiance lies.
“Eva.” Miguel’s chastising tone grates on my insides, already bruised and raw from his dishonesty.
In some ways, it isn’t a stretch to expect the lies from my father and sister—they knew Jared. But Miguel? He was supposed to be my person. Someone to have my back. But I already realize I had it all wrong. He betrayed me.
Tensing, I shut my eyes on him, fingers pinching at the bridge of my nose.
“Who are you?” Jared senses the sudden shift in my body, glancing down to me just as I’m opening my eyes. He doesn’t let me go.
“Sorry, J, I was on the phone.” The man called Quint pushes through the doorway, prompting Miguel to step farther into the room.
The big guy slaps an enormous hand onto Miguel’s shoulder, and he instantly pales, angling his head to take in the large protector now beside him.
The guard looks to Jared. “Want me to get rid of him? All of them?”
All? Who else is here? Behind the bodyguard is my father. He looks more ashen than pissed, and I want to lace into him. My sister trails at the end, stepping through the door.
Quint’s gaze flickers to me, and I swallow down my soaring nerves. He’s all muscle and could do some serious damage if he so chose. I’m so tempted to ask him to take them away, even if the question is directed at Jared. Let Bianca, my father, and Miguel squirm some more.
Jared looks to me, questioning. “You know him?”
His sole focus is on Miguel even if the other traitors are here too, and I nod.
“Yes. Let them stay.”
A small sigh blows past his lips, and I ignore the plunging sensation within my chest as if I’ve disappointed him.
“It’s all right, let them in. Thanks, Q.” He removes his hand from my face and arm from around me, getting to his feet.
I right my clothes and stand as well while Q takes up residence at the door. A silent sentinel. Unsure if I can ignore him, I cast my eyes to all three of them.
“Did you tell Miguel and Papi where I’d be?”
Why do I bother to give her the benefit of the doubt? They would have no clue where to find me without her help. That’s been her part in all of this, for so long. To help my father and Miguel keep this horrible secret.
“I’m sorry. They were worried about you. I couldn’t ignore them.”
“No? But you can lie to me for more than a decade?” I tremble, rage rolling through me once more.
Jared takes my hand, comforting me, and his features harden as he stares back at the two intruders. “Who is this guy?”
I open my mouth, but like so many times in my adult life, Miguel plows forth as if he’s in charge.
“Eva, let’s go.” He rubs at the dusting of stubble on his round, baby face, everything about him annoyed and dismissive. “We’ll talk about this in private.”
“We have nothing to talk about. But you,”—I narrow my glare on my father—”I have a lot to say to you.”
“Eva, let’s go.” My father’s tone is cutting.
“You don’t get to talk to her, old man.” Jared clenches his jaw. “On second thought, Q, get them out of here.”
“No,” Bianca is quick to say, stepping in front of Q, and he hesitates, clearly knowing her and not wanting to do her any harm.
“Jared, we need to talk too.” My sister places a hand on the bodyguard’s arm and turns to face us. “And, Eva, I think you need to talk to both Miguel and Papi.”
“I don’t need you telling me what I need.” I hate how petulant I sound.
“Eva.” Miguel steps toward me.
What the hell? I’m sick and tired of them saying my name. I feel like I’m the rope in some tug of war. I’m torn. I don’t want to release Jared’s hand, but I do need to talk with them. I have a lot I need to say, to make clear to them. But Jared and I have so much to catch up on. So much left to say.
“Jared.” I twist on my heel to face him, giving my back to everyone and lowering my voice so only he can hear. “I want to talk some more when it’s just us. Let me give you my number.”
Still holding my hand, he takes his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to me. With one hand—he won’t let go of me and I don’t want him to—I fumb
le to enter my long-distance number.
“Okay, I’m in there now, and I sent a text to myself so I have yours.” I press onto the tips of my toes and plant a quick kiss on his cheek.
Pulling away is hard, yet my lips can’t linger on his salty flesh without getting lost in all that is him.
19
Plot its demise
JARED
My mind spins, heart clenching and swelling as if the organ is in the palm of my hand. The cold fingers squeeze all life out of it and then release enough for blood to fill the chambers before they begin to kill it again.
Quint closes the door to the suite. Eva, her father, and that guy have left, leaving me alone with Bianca.
Anxious, I slide my hand into the front pocket of my leather pants, and my fingers wrap around the small, smooth object. Sanity and a sense of grounding wash over me.
Bianca stares, cagey and uncertain. For the first time in a long time, I see the teenager I first met. Full of false bravado, desperately wanting to be independent but not knowing how to go about it.
I used to think we were similar. Survivors. We’d shared a great loss and she became like a sister to me, a friend. But we are nothing alike.
We started out as acquaintances, brought together by her then boyfriend, Tito, and her sister. Eva. The one I cherish more than anything in this world.
Despite all the obstacles and differences—their father, Val, foster care, and for a while there, Ike—Eva and I fit. Bianca can’t deny what her sister meant to me.
“What the fuck, Bianca? You lied to me. You knew all this time and never said a goddamn thing?” My roar causes Quint to stick his head back into the room.
I stab him with a get lost glare and he nods, closing the door once more.
“Jared, let me explain.” Fidgeting with her fingers entwined in front of her, she edges toward me.
She’s Judas, the traitor. She not only betrayed my trust, but also her sister’s. “I can’t think of one fucking excuse you could give me that I could live with.”
A sheen coats her dark eyes, and she rambles about her father and how difficult their relationship was after the death of her mother. All true but it’s a poor excuse.
And how no matter what she did, she could never please him. Then Eva died…no, she didn’t die.
Fuck, she didn’t die.
My hands clutch the sides of my head, fingers threading through my hair. For all of these years, I’ve been led to believe she died in the car accident, and I blamed myself. It was a fucking rainstorm, and I let her drive even knowing she was inexperienced.
But even at that, there’s nothing I could have done. I could have just as easily been driving and the outcome would have been the same. Eva drove the car perfectly, within the speed limit, and did everything she was supposed to do. There was little to no traffic.
Some guy, high on coke and out of his mind, peeled through the red light, T-boning the Jeep. His SUV hit my side, back end, and we were thrown into a tailspin, spinning and spinning until the driver’s side smashed into a utility pole and flipped over.
I was told she died instantly.
“How do you live with yourself?” I cut her off midsentence.
“What?” Dazed, she stares up at me.
“You were the one to tell me she died. Not the doctors or your father…you.” My finger slashes at her like a sword cutting her down and then I step away from her, not trusting my anger to stay in check.
She staggers back as if I struck her. “I-I-I’m so sorry.”
Her father refused to talk to me or see me. Bianca was the one to come to my room. Once I woke up, I kept asking about Eva. Not the nurses or Brenda, my social worker, not even the fucking Garcias with their false concern, would tell me anything.
“You told me she died on impact. And then you all disappeared. I couldn’t even go to her funeral.” I’m shouting, my blood pressure soaring, and it’s as if I’m stuck, again, in those dark, lonely days after I lost everything.
Haven’t I always been stuck back there? Even in those moments in my life when I had more success than I deserved, when people looking in would think I was the luckiest man alive, I was still trapped in the darkness.
“I couldn’t tell you anything different. He’s my father.” Now she’s wailing and her turmoil, if it’s even real, is plastered across her face.
I feel no sympathy for her. She forgets I know her. Even in high school, she could be cunning and devious. And growing up only made her more so. But what I can’t figure out is why? Did she hate me as much as her father did?
“As if the fucking lie wasn’t enough. You cut me off from anything to do with her.”
Once I was out of the hospital, I looked for Bianca, wanting to know more. The Ramirez house was locked up. No signs of life. No one answered the door. I even spoke to Lucia Bernal and she told me they were gone.
“I wasn’t even allowed to mourn her. You had a memorial without me…fuck, did you even have one?”
My brow knits, and an ugly churning starts low in my belly. None of what she told me was likely true. All these years with Bianca in my life, how can I trust anything she’s said?
“Why the hell did you come back into my life?” I stalk to her, getting in her face.
She gasps, taking a few steps back until her legs hit the edge of a table. “I needed to make sure—”
“I didn’t find Eva?” A bitter taste surges in my mouth, and my hands ball at my sides.
The desire to destroy something is a fierce beast, roaming, howling inside of me. Clawing at my heart, tearing at my lungs, desperate for blood, for vengeance.
“No, it was more than that. Eva loved you, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. For her. And when our lives meshed—both of us into music—there was another reason to stay close and watch over you.”
I release a scathing snort. “Watch over me? More like a fucking spy.”
Folding my arms over my chest, it takes everything in me to stop myself from doing something I’ll regret. I’d never hit a woman, but I might tear this room apart.
I square my shoulders and pour all my pain into an unforgiving glare. “You’re fired. Get the fuck out. I never want to see you again.”
“No, wait. Don’t be stupid. Think about this.”
“Stupid?” I bellow. “I’ve been stupid for more than ten years, letting you into my life. Trusting you when all you’ve been doing is lying.”
Quint dashes into the room, shockingly fast for his size. Arms flexed, he whips his head from side to side, assessing the situation, looking for danger.
I point at the traitor, jaw ticking. “Get her the fuck out of here. And she isn’t allowed access ever again. Make sure everyone knows.”
It isn’t his job to do that, it’s hers, but he nods obediently. He wraps his beefy hands around her biceps, hauling her against him.
“Jared, no. You’re angry right now, and you have every right to be but—” She fights, tears running down her face.
“I don’t need your permission to feel anything. Stop talking.” Disgusted, I turn away.
“Jared, let’s talk once you’ve calmed down. You’re about to launch your solo career, announce a new album and tour dates—you need me.”
Quint has her at the door when I turn on my heel, facing them. “I’m in serious trouble if I need the likes of you. Get the fuck out. We’re done.”
She calls my name, fingers latching onto the doorframe, gaze pleading. Quint’s trying to be gentle, mashing his lips together in frustration as he pries her fingers from the wood.
“Just take some time. Jared, think about it and call me—”
“You’re dead to me.” My chilling words and unforgiving gaze cause her to let go, slumping in Q’s arms.
The door closes on them and I yell, marching toward the bar. My fingers curl around the bottle of vodka and the other unscrews the cap.
Eva is alive. It’s both fantastic and gut-wrenching news. The lengths both her
father and sister went to, all because they hate me.
“Fuck, no.” As if winding up my arm to throw a pitch, I smash the bottle against a wall.
Glass crashes to the tiled floor behind the bar, the wall wet, and Quint bursts through the door. “Boss, you okay? Who should I call?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
We drive toward my house in Bel Air, though the thought of being in my own space doesn’t feel right. On the way, I call Silas, my best friend and lead singer of our now-defunct rock band.
In a moment of weakness, in the early years of our friendship before the success of our band, I told him all about Eva.
He became my person, the only one I could turn to when I needed to unload the ghosts. Even more so than Bianca. Fuck, Bianca.
“Hey, how’d it go?” he asks. “The big release plan is all locked down?”
Silas has been close by my side since I first told him about my plans to go out on my own. He has had my back all the way, and even produced my debut album.
Sure, it’s a smart business decision and great publicity for both of us. Ex-bandmates working together again—the media and fans eat that shit up. And the album is fucking epic, even if I am biased, so no one loses.
Part of his support is driven by guilt, even though he’ll deny it. Ending Trojan was his idea. And while we could have found another lead singer, as much as any one of us, Silas Palmer is Trojan. None of us were replaceable, even Gray, the last addition to the band when Rich stepped away.
“Nah. Not even close. The meeting was a time suck and torture. You know how it is.” I blow out a long breath. “That’s not why I called.”
“I don’t miss that shit. So what’s up?”
“I don’t really know where to start. Everything I know or believed has been blown to smithereens.”
“You okay? Where are you?” The edge, potential fear, is clear in his tone, and I hate to give him cause to feel this way.