Bound by Lies

by Rebecca Shea

  “Alejandro,” his voice calls from behind. A voice I’m all too familiar with. Snapping my head around, I find my father and Saul standing about ten feet away.

  Fuck. No…

  My stomach falls, and my knees lock. “Father.” I try to appear calm.

  He looks different as he steps forward. Tired. Worn. “I knew you’d come here,” he says, glancing down at the headstone. “You two had such a strong bond,” he says, his voice laced with jealousy.

  “As did you and Sam,” I tell him, anger leaking into my voice. “Speaking of Sam, why didn’t you choose him for the business? Why did you let him go and take me?” My voice begins to shake with anger.

  “Ah, son… It was because Sam was so much like me. We wouldn’t have worked well together. Now you… you were always the pleaser. You wanted to make everyone happy. You do as you’re told.” His lip curls as he speaks.

  “Not anymore,” I growl at him. “I’m doing what makes me happy.”

  His dark eyes hold mine and he swallows hard. I see him wrestle with emotions. Trying to remain in control, but his facade is cracking.

  “I never wanted this life,” I tell him. “I wanted a normal life. A job, a family, friends—”

  “You had family, friends,” he interrupts me.

  “No, I had you,” I seethe. “You are my father by blood and that’s all. Family doesn’t murder each other,” I throw a finger at my mother’s headstone. “You murdered the one person that actually made us a family.”

  His eye twitches as I yell at him.

  “You took my family away from me when she was buried and you gave Sam away. They are my family. Not you. Not your ‘business family,’” I shout at him. “That’s not family. That’s business.”

  He nods and purses his lips.

  “Emilia and our baby are my family now,” I tell him when I see Saul slowly moving toward us. I look back to my father, who’s watching me and, for the first time, fear hits me.

  This is where they’re going to kill me. On my mother’s grave.

  I look back and forth between my father and Saul, who has his hand shoved into the pocket of his suit jacket.

  “He killed her, and now you’ve brought him to kill me too.” It’s not even a question. I just know. I blow a puff of air through my nose. I narrow my eyes on him, feeling betrayed and also hurt. “You’re such a fucking coward. Can’t even kill me yourself, can you?”

  My uncle’s words play through my head. He was a fucking coward then, and he’s going to be one now. Willing to do what he thinks is necessary, but not willing to get his own fucking hands dirty.

  “I want you to do it.” My voice is cold and hard as I stand up taller. “Go on. Be the man everyone thinks you are.” I give an upward nod, challenging him. “Pull the trigger.” With a slight smirk, he calmly pulls his gun from the holster in his jacket, then points it at my chest. I can feel it in his eyes, the hesitation, that maybe a part of him remembers I’m his fucking flesh and blood and doesn’t want to kill me. But the rest of him has blackened over time. There’s really no heart left in him. I’m not sure there ever was.

  “Do it,” I tell him, my heart beating so fast I can hardly breathe. I look at the green grass beneath my feet, waiting to feel the sting of the piercing bullet through my chest.

  “Pull the fucking trigger,” Saul barks from behind him. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  I watch as my father’s normally steady hand begins to shake, then everything happens so fast. Saul lifts his gun, his face full of hate, and points it directly at me. He’s about to discharge, but my father is faster. A shot rings out, and I’m spattered with blood and brain matter. It takes a moment for me to register what’s happened when I see Saul fall to the ground, a hole in his forehead.

  Fuck.

  “It ends here, mijo. All of it.” My father kicks Saul’s foot. “I should’ve done that a long time ago.” He shakes his head. He turns back to look at me, and the hate I’ve always seen in his dark eyes has turned to regret. His face is tired, haggard. “I should never have dragged you into this world.” He chokes back his emotions and rubs his forehead.

  “I know you won’t believe me, but I never intended for Emma to get hurt. She overheard Saul on the phone, and he panicked. He thought she was going to rat us out.”

  “All she was going to do was take us and run,” I interrupt him.

  “I know that,” he says, “But Saul wasn’t going to let that happen. I told him to give me some time to figure things out and he killed her. He handled it.”

  “He killed your wife, and you continued to keep him as your best friend for twenty years. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

  “I do. But he’s the only one that had the connections I needed to build the business. I needed to keep him close. You know that saying, ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ And because I trusted him. He’s one of the few I believed I could actually trust.”

  “Pathetic,” I growl at him. “You didn’t even trust me,” I sneer.

  “I did,” he argues. “You did good by our business.”

  I shake my head in disgust. “Because I had to.”

  “And now you don’t,” he says quietly. “You’re free to go, Alejandro. I love you, son, and if there’s one thing I can give you to show you how sorry I am, it’s this. Everyone believes you’re dead. I’ve confirmed with the associates that I’ve identified your body. You’re free, Alejandro. Go.” He looks at me as I ponder what he’s telling me.

  “Go!” He shoos me away. Stunned, I watch him fall to his knees, much like I do every time I’ve come to my mother’s grave. He rests his hand on the top of her headstone, pressing his forehead to her name. Then, in the biggest surprise of the day, I watch his tears fall. I have never seen him cry.

  I have to steady myself with the tall oak tree as he talks to her. Begging her for forgiveness. He breaks down quietly, talking to my mother. He repents his sins to a God he doesn’t believe in—a God he gave up on a long time ago. I hear him pray the Hail Mary, the Our Father. Prayers he hasn’t spoken in decades. I hear him mumble the beginnings of the Act of Contrition when I finally turn and walk to my car. I’ve seen enough death and destruction today. Enough for a lifetime.

  “Forgive me father for I have sinned,” plays on a loop in my head.

  I’m stumbling toward my car when I hear the shot, the one I know has ended my father’s life. I have to squeeze my eyes shut and collect myself before I turn to look at him. I look over my shoulder to see him slumped over on top of my mother’s grave, Saul at his side. He told me it was over, but I wonder if it really ever will ever be.

  I bend over and vomit, bracing myself on the front of my car. Holy shit. He killed himself.

  When I finally collect myself, I reach in to pull my phone from the center console, then call Agent Hoffman and deliver the news he’s been waiting for. Somberly, I walk back to that large oak tree and sit down, resting my back against it as I wait.

  I’m surrounded by death here, old and new. And yet I’ve never felt more at peace. A weight has been lifted from me, and the hope that I might be able to live the life I’ve only dreamed of begins to fill me with hope.

  It takes less than three minutes before the cemetery is full of police cars and investigators from every major federal agency. I’m asked the same questions over and over as I sit with my back against the oak tree, staring at my father’s body, which they’ve covered with a large sheet.

  Agent Hoffman sits down next to me, his knees drawn up. “I thought it would feel amazing to see him dead,” he says, reflecting. “But it doesn’t.”

  “It doesn’t,” I repeat in a monotone voice.

  “I just wanted justice for everyone he’s hurt… including you.”

  I turn to look at him. “He can’t hurt anyone any longer.” Not Emilia, not our baby… Not me. It’s over.

  “True,” he says. “You know I’m going to need you to stick around for a few more days
. Just until we get the investigation over with.”

  I nod, figuring as much. I won’t be getting to Emilia as soon as I had hoped, but it’s okay because once we’re together, nothing will ever split us apart again.

  Hoffman continues, but I only half hear him. “…but everything you told us matches up with what the investigators are finding.”

  “For once, I’m actually telling you the truth,” I tell him, somewhat teasing.

  “Good.” He pats my shoulder “Sit tight. They’ll want to swab your hands for gunpowder residue to clear you in the shooting, and they may want to take pictures of your face and hands to show the blood spatter—for evidence. Once that’s done, you’re free to leave. Stay local. We may need you for additional questioning.”

  “Got it,” I say with a deep sigh. I just want to be the one to tell Sam—he’s family, I feel like I should do it. “Has anyone told Sam about this?”

  “Haven’t had a chance yet.”

  “Good. Mind if I tell him? I mean, I know it’s probably not your procedure… but family and all,” I say with a shrug.

  “Makes sense,” he agrees. “I’ll stop by the hospital later this afternoon to talk to him if he has any additional questions.”

  Pushing himself up, he wanders over to the group of other agents. A minute later, a crime scene investigator approaches me, swabs me, and takes some pictures, then I’m free to go. I drive in a trance-like state to the hospital and manage to make it up to the ICU. My aunt is already there, standing in the hallway, talking to a nurse. She begins to panic when she sees me, and I remember what I must look like.

  “What happened, mijo!” Her voice is frantic and I can see the terror in her eyes.

  “Where’s Tio?”

  “In the room with your brother.”

  “Good. Come on; I have something to tell you.”

  She excuses herself from the nurse and follows me into the room.

  When Sam sees me, I pause. The look in his eyes says he knows, and his jaw hardens, bracing for the news. “Did you do it?”

  I shake my head, finally feeling a lump forming in the back of my throat. I had no idea that I’d feel anything when and if my father ever died. He was such a large figure, it was like he was bigger than death, immortal. But he was my father, after all. He raised me.

  “No,” I manage to tell him.

  “What happened?” he asks stoically.

  My uncle stands and gives my aunt his chair, then moves to stand at the head of Sam’s bed next to him.

  “Dad found me at the cemetery,” I begin. “Saul was with him. I’m sure they were there to shoot me, but Dad shot Saul instead.”

  “Jesus Christ,” my uncle mumbles and rubs his chin.

  My aunt covers her mouth with her hands and tears fill her eyes.

  “What about Dad?” Sam asks, his hands balled into fists at his side.

  I have to clear my throat. “He told me it was over and to go… and then he shot himself.”

  The room is so quiet you can hear a pin drop. No one moves, no one breathes. Then my aunt finally jumps up from her chair and rushes to me, pulling me into her arms. She cries into my chest as she holds me, and I finally let it all out—the anger, the hurt, the tears, the bitterness, and hatred I’ve been holding back. Everything breaks free, including the grief I now feel for my father now that he’s gone.

  My uncle wipes his eyes as I see a tear break free from Sam’s eye. As evil as my father was, we are all affected. We will all suffer. But I feel with certainty that we will all heal. Eventually.

  “It’s over,” I tell him, and Sam nods.

  So much death and all because of greed.

  We spend the afternoon as a family in Sam’s room. Sometimes, we’re all lost in quiet thought; other times, we’re talking and sharing memories, but the weight of my father’s death has also lifted a burden that’s been hanging over us since my mother’s murder. As ready as I am to get to Emilia, it’s going to be hard to let go of the family I just got back.

  One week

  Two weeks

  Three Weeks

  RECOVERY IS A bitch, I think as I sit down carefully on my sofa, trying not to move too fast. Sudden movements still cause my upper body to cry out in pain. I inhale sharply as I settle in, finally releasing the breath I was holding.

  “I’m telling you this is crazy,” my aunt clucks away, propping pillows behind me. “You should be in a rehab facility like the doctor suggested.”

  “I’m fine,” I groan. “I just want to be at home, sleep in my own bed—I need to heal here.” Heal. My wounds go deeper than the physical, but I smile through the emotional pain… because I have to, because I always have.

  She shakes her head at me as she scurries around rearranging things so they’re within my reach, then she sets the TV remote on the arm of the couch.

  “Alex is coming over,” she says quietly. “He got the all-clear to leave.”

  “So I heard,” I respond. Trey mentioned it to me this morning while I was checking out of the hospital. My emotions are mixed. Alex and I are finally at a place where we can begin building a relationship and I’m sad to lose that.

  “Mijo—”

  “Stop, Tia. I’ll be fine.”

  But will I?

  Am I truly ready to accept that Alex and Em will be together? Choking down my jealously, I take a deep breath. Alex and I are working to rebuild our relationship, and that is what I need to focus on. Emilia was never mine—as much as I wanted her to be. She’s always been in love with Alex, and for Christ sakes, she’s pregnant with his child.

  When the doorbell rings, my aunt dashes over and opens the front door. It’s Alex.

  “Mijo,” she exclaims, pulling him into a hug. “When do you leave?”

  “My flight leaves at one. As long as there are no delays, I should be there early tonight.” Alex steps inside, his eyes wandering, taking it all in as he sits himself in a chair next to the couch. “Hey, man, how ya feeling?” He props his foot on the coffee table like he’s been coming here for years. In a way, I guess he has. This house has always been both of ours.

  “Been better, but I’m trying to stay off the meds,” I admit.

  “Been there.” He raises his eyebrows. “Take it easy. You shouldn’t even be here right now.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re starting to sound like Tia.” I glance fondly at the woman who’s now standing in the kitchen next to a counter full of food, which she is undoubtedly going to make for me.

  Alex sits up straighter, lacing his fingers together as he leans forward and looks at me.

  “Look, I’m not good with goodbyes,” he says with a smirk. “Not really my style.”

  I laugh at him and shake my head. He’s still witty Alex.

  His eyes turn serious. “But I need to thank you again for everything you did for Em and me.”

  I nod silently. Selfishly, I want Em. Realistically, she loves Alex. I have to accept that… and I will—in time. “I’d do it again if I had to,” I tell him with sincerity.

  We sit quietly, absorbing that. Years and circumstances kept us apart, and I made a promise to myself to not let anything come in between us again. He’s my blood… my family. I will bury the feelings I have for Em to forge a new relationship with my brother.

  “Mijo, you need to get going or you’re going to miss your flight,” my aunt chides.

  Alex sighs and stands up, extending his hand for me to shake. Sometimes, there are no words that need to be said. What should be awkward silence isn’t. After a hearty shake, he gives an understanding nod, then heads over to say goodbye to our aunt.

  “Take care of her,” I tell him, and he turns back to look at me.

  He holds my stare and offers me a tight smile. He sees my conflict, but he does what he needs to do. He’s going to find the woman he loves. “I will. I promise,” he says, and I know he’s telling the truth. He’d do anything for her, and for that I find some comfort in knowing it won’t be me protect
ing her.

  As the door closes behind him, I swallow back my emotions and vow to leave them behind that closed door. I have to accept that this is what’s best for all of us, and everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.

  IT’S BEEN A month since I left Arizona, and Alex still consumes my thoughts. It’s hard for me to forget him while I have a piece of him growing inside me. He’s the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I think of before I fall asleep. I wonder where he is, what he’s doing—what his name is. I wonder if he even thinks about me, about us.

  I pluck the ultrasound picture off the front of the fridge while I sip my morning coffee—decaf now, of course. I had an appointment with my OB, and I finally got to see my baby. He or she is growing and healthy, and so am I. Most importantly, I feel good and every day, my heart begins to heal a little more.

  Mr. Anders has worked tirelessly to get the permits to begin work on the coffee shop. I have a copy of the plans here on the kitchen table, and every day, I look at them to remind myself that I have a lot to be thankful for. Today is the day that they’re actually beginning the demolition of the old dressing rooms and starting the build out of a small kitchen area and office, along with two new restrooms and a huge new counter.

  The fall mornings here are chilly, but nothing wakes me up more than spending a few minutes on the back patio, watching small waves roll in while I enjoy my coffee. Eager for that very thing, I throw on my heavy coat and slip my bare feet into a pair of slippers. Sliding the glass door open, I step out onto the large patio. Cold air nips at my nose, but the warm mug of coffee warms my hands and takes the immediate chill away.

  I take ten deep breaths—it’s this thing I do every morning. I draw them deep into my lungs so that I can feel them burn, exhaling slowly. There’s nothing better than the smell of ocean air and the burn of it in your lungs. It energizes me. As my nose turns cold and my fingers begin to tingle, I wonder if I’ll be able to handle this all winter.