by Tracy Wolff
“That’s crazy!”
He laughed. “I’m not sure where you think you are, Vivian, but life down here is more than crazy for a lot of these kids. It’s downright cruel.”
“I know that, Rafael. I do,” she insisted when he raised an eyebrow. “But how am I supposed to do my job if I’m worried about Diego getting killed? Or you?”
“You don’t worry about it. That’s my job. You need to concentrate on getting Diego a fair shot. That’s why I went after your law firm to begin with.”
“Even if it gets him killed?”
“I won’t let it.” Now that he knew there was a problem, there was no way one of those bastards was getting within five miles of Diego. But Vivian still didn’t look convinced.
“Vivian, spending twenty-five years of his life in a cage for a murder he didn’t commit is going to hurt Diego more than a few bruises will.”
“It’s more than a few bruises, Rafael. He nearly died.” She pushed away from the table and started pacing the kitchen in obvious frustration. Her back was to him and he watched her walk, admired the graceful easiness of her movements.
“I know that. And believe me, it’s killing me that I didn’t protect him. But you have to trust me—I won’t let it happen again. Besides, if you ask him, he’ll tell you they’re all worth it if it means he has a shot at being free.”
“How do you know that?” she demanded, pacing back again. “He’s in a coma. Half-dead. How can you possibly know what he’s thinking?”
“Because I’ve been where he is. And I would have given anything, taken any beating, if someone had stepped forward and helped me when I was too stupid to figure out that I couldn’t help myself. If they had, maybe I wouldn’t have wasted five years of my life in prison.”
EVERYTHING CEASED in the wake of Rafael’s revelation. Her heart stopped beating, and even her brain seemed to freeze before her body’s survival instinct kicked in.
“You’ve been to prison?” Her voice was reed thin. “For what?”
He eyed her grimly, and even before he opened his mouth she knew it was going to be bad. Really bad.
Bracing herself, she waited for his answer the way a death row inmate waited for execution day.
But for all her preparation, it was still a shock when he tersely answered, “Raping my girlfriend.”
The room started to spin, and for the first time in a long while Vivian’s legs threatened to go out from under her. Grabbing the counter, she kept herself standing through sheer force of will.
Rafael had gone to prison for rape.
She was attracted to a rapist.
She had kissed a rapist.
Her stomach churned at the thought, had her wondering if she was going to puke up Marie’s enchiladas all over the spotless kitchen floor.
Trying to regain a semblance of control, Vivian looked wildly around the room, concentrated on the stove, the refrigerator, the pale yellow walls. Looked anywhere and everywhere but at Rafael.
Eventually, though, there was nothing else to stare at, and she reluctantly shifted her gaze back to him. His face was carefully blank, his eyes empty, but his jaw was tense, his lips pressed tightly together as he watched her.
She knew he was waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t have a clue what to say. For years, she’d seen the result of rape and violence at the battered women’s shelters. Worse, she’d seen what it had done to Merry—years of rape and abuse at the hands of her husband had slowly destroyed Vivian’s sister until suicide had seemed like her only option.
It had been nine years since Merry had killed herself, but sometimes it felt as if it had just happened. On bad days, Vivian could still see her sister’s bruised, battered, bloodied body hanging naked from the ceiling fan.
She almost didn’t make it to the trash can in time.
Even as she was throwing up, Vivian was conscious of Rafael halfway across the kitchen. He didn’t attempt to come near her, didn’t say a word, but she could feel him staring at her, and that shook her even more than getting sick did.
It seemed as though it went on forever—dry heaves racking her body long after her stomach was empty. When it was finally over, she crossed to the sink, rinsed her mouth out with water and tried to figure out what to say.
In the end, she said the only thing that mattered, asked the only question her shocked brain could form. “Did you do it?”
“No.” His voice was hoarse, his answer immediate.
“I don’t believe you.” The words were instinctive.
“Do I look surprised?”
She couldn’t even glance at him. “Why?”
“Why didn’t they believe me? Or why was I accused?”
She swallowed against the bile that was once again creeping up her throat. “Why did you do it?”
His fist came down hard on the table. “I didn’t. Her father caught her sneaking back into the house one night. She’d been pretty roughed up. She told him I did it, even though I hadn’t seen her since early that morning. When the rape kit came back with two distinct sets of DNA—one of which belonged to her ‘public’ boyfriend and one which belonged to me—they arrested me even though I had never hurt her.”
“So why did she accuse you?”
“For kicks? Because she was too embarrassed to tell her father she was seeing one of the gardeners? It was fifteen years ago, during the summer, and I was mowing grass to save up money for my sophomore year of college.
“Or maybe it was because she was a vindictive bitch. I’d told her that morning that I wasn’t going to keep sneaking around. If she was so ashamed of me she couldn’t introduce me to her parents, then I wanted to break up. She assured me she wanted to be with me, that she would tell her father about us. The next thing I knew, I was being arrested for rape.”
Vivian wanted desperately to believe him, but every story she’d ever heard was echoing in her head. The excuses made by the abused, the lies told by the abuser. The details of rapes and beatings and attempted suicides running through her mind like a never-ending montage. And Merry. Dear God, Merry.
“I want to believe you.”
“So believe me. Or don’t.” He shrugged. “It’s not like it really matters, unless you’re going to back out of defending Diego.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“So there’s no problem then.”
“Rafael—”
A loud knock on the front door had her pausing, biting her lip.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I won’t.” He walked out without another word.
She watched him go, thoughts of their kiss in the front of her mind.
Too late she remembered his tenderness as he kissed her, his determination to make sure she was okay. His insistence that she say yes before he so much as touched her.
Sinking into the nearest chair, she laid her head on the kitchen table and tried to convince herself that this whole evening had been a nightmare. Too bad it didn’t look like she was going to wake up anytime soon.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“DIEGO, COME ON NOW, KID. Enough’s enough.”
When there was still no response, Rafael sank deeper into his chair as he tried not to lose hope. It had been three days since the doctor had tried to bring Diego out of the coma, and he still hadn’t come around.
Rafael was beginning to think he might never make it back.
Dr. Graham had told him that she couldn’t find a medical explanation as to why Diego hadn’t woken up, since the drugs had been reduced enough that they weren’t keeping him out, and the swelling in his brain had receded. Except for the broken bones and slow-to-fade bruises, Diego’s body was almost in the same shape it had been before the beating.
Yet he wouldn’t wake up. Marie said she thought the kid was too heartbroken to awaken—after all, what did he have to come back to except a murder charge? The idea that she might be right scared the hell out of Rafael, had him trying harder than ever to figure out how to reach the boy.
“The judge even gave her a quick hearing date on account of everything that’s happened to you—nice to know the beating wasn’t for nothing, right?” Rafa tried for a laugh, but nothing about this godforsaken situation was funny and he ended up sounding like a dying goose.
“Come on, man. You’ve got to stop this—you’re freaking me out. I need you to wake up. We all need you to wake up. Marco’s been here and Marie, Shawna, Vivian. A bunch of other kids from the center have stopped by. We’ve all been sitting around waiting and it’s getting to be a drag.
“Besides, you need to wake up so you can tell me whose ass I need to kick. Nobody knows who did this to you, and the police aren’t looking too hard, if you know what I mean. You need to tell me.”
He watched Diego carefully, but nothing happened. No eyelid twitch, no hand movement. None of the signs the doctor had said to watch for. It was as if the kid was already gone.
The thought worried Rafael so much that he’d spent the past few days talking about everything and nothing. Telling Diego about his own childhood. Reminiscing about the scared little kid Diego had been when he’d first shown up at the shelter all those years before.
Nothing had worked, and all this quiet time was driving him crazy. Too much time sitting around thinking about what was waiting for Diego when he woke up. Too much time thinking about Vivian and their blowup Thursday night.
Not that there was all that much to think about. He’d told her something he hadn’t told anyone in years, and she’d basically called him a rapist. What had he expected, though?
Rafael sighed. Deep down, he’d known exactly what he was doing when he’d blurted out his past. Even standing there, telling himself that it was because he wanted to help her understand Diego’s perspective, he’d known the truth. The kiss they’d shared had been too intimate, and he’d needed to push Vivian away, hard. So hard that she didn’t come back to him.
Didn’t make him remember what it was to feel something for a woman besides desire.
Didn’t make him remember what it was to trust someone.
It had been fifteen years since he’d trusted a woman, and the idea of starting now didn’t sit easy with him. Especially when that woman’s wealth and social status were so similar to the one who had betrayed him in the first place.
Still, part of him had hoped she’d be different, hoped she’d look beyond the obvious. In the end, she’d been just like everyone else who’d decided he was guilty without listening to his side of the story.
I don’t believe you.
It had been one of the first things she’d said, and nothing he’d told her afterward had made a bit of difference. She’d already shut him out.
Her reaction should have satisfied him, should have made him happy that he’d been right about her all along. Instead, he was sitting here miserable, worried like hell about Diego and wondering if there was anything he could do about Vivian.
He sat there for one hour, two, as time passed slowly. He should be at the center. He’d been relying on his employees to carry things there since Diego had been beaten, but he couldn’t leave Diego alone and unprotected, either. Plus, the press was circling like rabid wolves. Every few hours a different reporter tried to talk his or her way into the ICU unit. So far none had got through, but he figured it was just a matter of time.
So far, he’d been switching shifts every few hours—he and Marie carried the big ones, but both of Rafael’s brothers had sat with Diego a few times, as had Rafael’s parents. When he’d tried to thank them, they’d laughed him off. Reminded him that families helped each other out. Ever since prison, he’d sometimes had trouble remembering that, though his family never did.
It was just one of the many ways those five years had changed him.
More time passed and he started drifting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Which was why the first time he saw Diego’s hand move, he thought he’d imagined it. But when it happened a second, then a third time, he grew more alert, started talking in a rush of words, encouraging Diego to make it back.
And when the kid finally opened his eyes, Rafael was standing right over him, grinning like a fool.
“OH, NO, SWEETHEART, don’t buy your father that sweater. We’re going to Saint Croix for the holiday and it would be much too hot.”
“You didn’t tell me you were going to Saint Croix.” As she refolded the sweater and continued looking around the men’s department. Vivian’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Not that that was unusual. Spending the day with her mother usually had that effect on her.
“Yes, well, it was a sudden decision, but the islands are so much nicer during the holidays than San Francisco. All this dreary rain is so depressing.”
“I guess.”
“You know, you’re welcome to come. I can still arrange for a larger suite. I just assumed you would be too busy.”
Meaning her mother wanted her to be too busy. What fun were the islands when you had to hang out with your stick-in-the-mud daughter the whole time?
Vivian shook her head. It was just like Lillian to make plans for Christmas that didn’t include her only child. Forget that Christmas was supposed to be for families. Sunshine was so much more important than togetherness, especially if there was no one around to impress.
“How about this?” she asked, holding up the most obnoxious Hawaiian shirt she could find. “Maybe Dad could wear it on the golf course?”
The pinched look on her mother’s face said it all.
“Okay, Mom.” Figuring they’d be there all day if she didn’t ask, she finally bit the bullet. “What do you suggest I get Dad for Christmas?”
“I’m so glad you asked, darling. Actually, he’s been wanting a new set of golf clubs. While we’re in the islands, I’m having the gardener rip up the back corner of the yard and put in a putting green for him. It won’t be as big as the one at the club, of course, but it’ll be a nice place for him to practice.”
“You’re getting Dad a putting green for Christmas?”
Her mother shrugged delicately. “He has almost everything else.”
It was hard to argue with that logic, so she didn’t even try. “If you wanted me to buy him golf clubs, why did we bother coming here?”
“Well, I didn’t want you to feel you had to get him golf clubs. It’s your decision, after all.”
Sure it was. Vivian rolled her eyes behind her mother’s back. Everything was her decision—as long as she made the choice her mother wanted her to. It was only when she made a different one that all bets were off.
Glancing at her watch, she breathed a sigh of relief. One more hour and she could make her excuses to get out of this mother-daughter bonding day from hell. The police were due at Diego’s hospital room at three o’clock and she wanted to leave in plenty of time to beat them there. Especially as she wasn’t sure that Rafael remembered her instructions to keep the police out until she got there.
It had been five days since he’d kissed her, five days since he’d told her he’d gone to jail for rape.
Five days since she’d called him a liar and he’d walked away from her without a backward glance.
He had only spoken to her twice since then—when she’d cornered him in Diego’s hospital room and he couldn’t find a way past her. Not that she had gone out of her way to speak to him, either. She didn’t know what to say to him, didn’t know what she could say. Part of her longed to believe him, but a smaller, more cynical part reminded her that most people weren’t wrongly arrested.
Of course, it was pretty hard to accept that argument when she was working day and night to defend a boy who had been just so falsely accused.
At least Diego was out of the woods. After spending six days in a coma that should have end
ed when the doctors stopped administering drugs on day two, he had finally woken up the night before and spoken to Rafael. It was a huge victory when everyone had begun to fear that they would lose him.
“Are you ready for a late lunch?” her mother asked, interrupting her thoughts. “I have salon appointments for us at two-thirty, but I’m sure we can squeeze in a salad and a martini before then.”
“I told you, I can’t stay that late. I have someplace I need to be at three o’clock.”
“That’s ridiculous. This is your first day off in months and you’re going to spend it working? I won’t have it.”
“You don’t have a choice. My client has to meet with the police and I need to be there.”
When her mother continued to watch her with the cold, flat stare of a cobra, Vivian sighed. “I can have a quick lunch—but no salon.”
“But, darling, your hair is a disaster.” Lillian rubbed a few strands between her fingers. “It’s as dry as a desert. You need one of Pierre’s hair masques desperately.”
“Yes, well, the hair masque will have to wait. Along with the trim and the facial.”
“How exactly do you plan to find a man when you go around looking like a ragamuffin all the time? I swear, I’m embarrassed to take you anywhere. The Black-and-White Ball is on New Year’s Eve, and you’re expected to attend. That’s two weeks away. If you don’t make appointments now, you’ll never get in. You know how it is this time of year. Do you even have a dress?”
“I don’t want one.”
“Don’t want a new dress?” Her mother looked scandalized.
“Don’t want a man. Or a new dress.” As she said the words Rafael came to mind, but she pushed him right back out. Even if Friday night had never happened, even if she still had no idea he’d been to jail for rape, she wouldn’t be interested. He was too dominant for her, too determined to be the one in control. She’d spent most of her life doing what her parents wanted her to do in an effort not to make waves. Now that she was finally her own woman, living the life she’d always wanted, she’d be damned if she’d saddle herself with a man who expected her to jump at his every command.