The Hustle (Irreparable #4)

by KJ Bell

  I’m fine with that. I’m not living anyway.

  “You have Guadalupe and the kids.”

  “You’re right and they’re the only reason I keep going. But they’ve seen things they’ll never forget. They’ll remember the times when I was like Eduardo. When hate and the need for power controlled me. You’re young. You have a chance to have a family who will never see you as a failure. You can cave to your hate as I did and live your life with regret, or you can do what a real man would do to honor Maria. You can find a way to be happy. She wanted that for you.”

  All I can do is offer a faint nod as I turn my head and quietly look out the window. I have no idea what kind of man losing Maria makes me. I don’t even know who I am anymore. How does one move on when they’re lost? When every path they’ve ever chosen was the wrong one?

  I stand between my brother and Mr. Torrente, trying to draw from their strength so I can get through this nightmare. The crying surrounding me blurs as I focus on the casket. Tears flow out of my eyes, but I don’t feel sorrow. Perhaps I’m no longer capable. I’m a shell of man, who will spend his life alone and hollow. A sentence I accept.

  The lowering of the casket isn’t something I can witness. There’s too much finality in watching Maria being lowered into the ground. I walk away, leaving behind my heart that will remain with her under the earth in the cold and the dark where it belongs.

  My brother finds me leaning against the limousine and stands next to me as we watch Maria’s family grieve. He won’t say it, but I know he wants to tell me how all of this could have been avoided. Brady’s the one person who hasn’t told me this wasn’t my fault.

  “You have two choices now, little brother.” I grind my teeth but avoid lashing out. Apparently everyone’s going to give me unsolicited advice on how to move on and try to forget the love of my life is gone. “You can cling to the hate you feel and be a man no one wants to be around. Or, you can accept the love of your family and friends as you recover from this. You can be a brother, and an uncle to two little boys who adore you. I know what choice you think you want to make because it’s the same choice I would make in your shoes, but the Hunter brothers usually chose wrong. So, whatever you’re thinking, do the opposite.”

  That’s all he says before he walks away from me.

  I spend the next couple of days alone in my living room debating my options. It’s only when I open the door to my office that I’m positive of my choice. That for the first time since I lost Maria, I feel something. The pink room forces a smile to spread my lips. The cheerfulness burns my eyes, but I know the man I have to be. It’s the man I was when I was with Peyton.

  The doorbell ringing interrupts the first glimpse of clarity in my life without Maria. I’ve been expecting Maria’s father. He’s moving with his family to Guadalajara to be close to Guadalupe’s family. I asked him to come by so I could say good-bye to Javier. Although as I approach the door with a heavy heart, I don’t know how I’m going to manage to do it. Javier’s my son, a part of Maria, and for all it’s worth, a part of me. The only good part. Not by blood, but by the bond our time together created, which is somehow stronger than I ever realized.

  I’m taken aback as Mr. Torrente wheels in several suitcases and Javier enters behind him with a backpack. The brunt of him leaving hits me hard as Javier hugs my leg tightly and I rub the top of his head.

  “Can you turn on the TV or something for him so we can talk?” Alejandro asks.

  “Sure.” I turn the television to one of the cartoon channels and nod toward the hall.

  It’s only to my office, but the walk takes forever as I come to terms with letting my son go. Alejandro enters the office with his mouth open. “Interesting color,” he laughs.

  “Long story,” I mutter. “What do you need to talk about?”

  He takes in a deep breath, holds it in and releases it slowly. Whatever he needs to say is hard for him and I wait, giving him the time he obviously needs to collect his thoughts.

  “Javier doesn’t want to move. He wants to stay with his father.”

  “His father’s dead,” I remind him with all the bitterness I feel.

  It’s when he smiles at me that I understand. “He wants to live with you.” He confirms my thoughts.

  “What?” I ask in utter disbelief. Not that Javier wants to live here, but that Maria’s father would agree to it.

  “That’s what he wants.”

  “Jesus, Alejandro. How can you agree to this? I’m barely holding myself together. How am I supposed to raise Javier?”

  He’s silent for a while, just looking at me like he’s waiting for me to realize he’s wiser and more experienced. It’s not condescending exactly, more like he understands my situation better than I do.

  “The two of you will help each other. I believe it’s what Maria would want,” he says and although a part of me believes him, the other part feels like she’d never want me to have Javier because I failed her. And in time, I will only let Javier down, too.

  “I can’t.” When I see his glaring disappointment, I want desperately to be a man worthy of his faith. But one can’t accept faith who doesn’t believe he can be saved. “I don’t know how to be someone’s father.”

  “You did it before.”

  “I had Maria before.”

  “And you have your family now. They’ll help you.”

  Keeping Javier feels so right, but it also feels selfish, like I’m doing it to hold onto a piece of Maria. But what if it’s a chance to do right my Maria and her family? What if it’s a chance to prove I care about more than myself or my pain? I have no clue why it feels right, when I know it’s wrong. “What if I fail?”

  “You won’t.”

  “You’re confidence in me is astounding.”

  “Spend the night with him. We’ve postponed leaving until the morning. If you wake up tomorrow and you still feel you can’t keep him, then call me.”

  I reluctantly agree because I want the night with Javier before I have to do the right thing and let him go. Much like Alejandro, experience guides me and in my experience there’s no way I’m capable of being Javier’s father. Never mind that I don’t deserve to be.

  Alejandro hugs Javier good-bye and shakes my hand, sending me a parental look again before he leaves. I sit on the couch next to Javier without a clue how to start a conversation. I’m in way over my head. His big brown eyes look at me so full of questions that I don’t know how to answer. But I also see love in the innocent gaze of my son. My son.

  I have definitely misjudged the attachment this little boy has to me. His eyes continue pleading with me to accept him into my life, but he’s just a kid. He doesn’t know the man I am now. He remembers a time when I believed life was worth living. When we were a family. Nights of board games and pizza and living under the illusion we were meant to be together. Before I was broken and hollow and convinced I’m supposed to be alone. Still for tonight, I’m responsible for him and no matter how painful, I owe him a conversation.

  “Your grandfather says you don’t want to go to Guadalajara. That you want to live with me. Is that what you want?”

  He nods, tears cascading down his little cheeks. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you, too,” I say, pulling him into my arms.

  For at least twenty minutes I let him cry, allow him time to exhale all of his grief. I take it all in for him; feel all of the suffering he’s been holding in.

  “I didn’t want to go, but mommy said we had to. I thought you didn’t want us anymore.”

  Nothing can stop the tears from flowing. He’s speaking of the night Maria left me. My heart hurts, but it’s also full of joy, of love and of a need to protect him from everything ugly in the world. I’d assumed his tears were grief, but they’re more. They’re brought on by misunderstanding, from a time he was ripped out of my life and placed unwilling into a new life, where he was forced to be someone other than the sweet little boy in my arms.

  “Oh,
buddy. I always wanted you and your mom, but things happened.”

  I want to tell him how it was his father that kept us apart, but I can’t. Javier doesn’t need to know what a sick man Eduardo was. I won’t taint him. I’ve lived knowing everything about who my mother was, always drawing comparisons simply because we share blood. No, I won’t inflict that kind of pain on Javier.

  “My papa was mean to her.”

  His having seen glimpses of who his father was hinders my ability to protect him. The ache in my chest grows stronger as I watch his tiny body tremble.

  “That’s not your fault,” I say firmly. Maybe too firmly because he bursts into tears again. This is why I’ll fail him, because I don’t know what to say or how to make his world right again. How do you return innocence to a child that was stolen by his own parents? If I knew the answer I wouldn’t be so fucked up. I would’ve restored my own virtue and saved everyone I love a lot of grief.

  “I couldn’t protect her.” He sobs uncontrollably as though losing his mom is finally hitting him. “I should have tried, but I was too afraid. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay to be afraid. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  There’s nothing left for me to ponder. My son is home and I’ll never let him go. Our love for his mother bonds us, and I will raise him to be a man she can be proud of. A man nothing like the one he shares blood with. I’ll give him the future Maria wanted him to have, the one she gave her life for. I’ll put aside all of my guilt and all of my grief and be the father Javier deserves. All that matters now is ensuring he doesn’t grow up blaming himself and the first step is giving him hope.

  Month Three . . .

  “Where are the boys?” I ask, returning from the store with the items Tori sent me for.

  Tori laughs, pointing at the table for me to set the groceries down. “They’re in the studio with Brady, pretending to be rock stars.”

  I smile, setting the bags down on the table. Something wet hits me in the side of the face and then I hear Little A giggle from his high chair. Tori covers a laugh, apologizing.

  “No assaulting Uncle Tug with green beans, kiddo,” she says, cleaning his tray.

  “Someone teach that kid some manners,” I joke, adding, “he’s just like his father,” as I see Brady entering the kitchen.

  “Daddy,” Javier sings, running over to me. “You’ve got to come listen to me play the guitar.”

  “He’s getting pretty good,” Brady says. “Might be time to get him his own guitar.”

  “Yeah, then me and Drew could start a band.” Javier beams and I realize how far he’s come and how happy he is.

  “Oh, and we could go on tour.” Drew giggles.

  “Seven-year-olds can’t drive tour busses,” I tease, tickling them both.

  “We’ll get a driver like Daddy,” Drew argues. “Come on, Javier. We need to go practice.”

  I shake my head, watching them run out of the room. “Well shit, dude,” I say to Brady. “They don’t need us anymore. Let’s get them a backpack and send them to Europe.”

  He laughs, handing me a beer as I sit at the table. Tori takes Little A upstairs for a bath.

  “They’re thick as thieves those two,” Brady says, as I drain half my beer. “They remind me of us when we were kids.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How are you doing?” Brady asks.

  “Each day gets a little easier,” I answer, although in truth, some days are difficult in a way that makes me feel like I can’t continue. But I have Javier, so giving up isn’t an option.

  “I’m proud of you,” Brady says quietly before taking a swig of his beer.

  His approval brings on an involuntary smile, but then I frown. “I have a long way to go still.”

  “And your family will be here for you.” Lifting my beer, I nod and then clink bottles with him before finishing it off. “Shall we go watch the boys rock out?” He stands. “I’ll warn you, though, you may want earplugs.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  I hate the way he frowns with a hint of disappointment before he walks away. He doesn’t have a clue how regret strangles me every day or how it feels to hold his son as he cries for a mother he’ll never have. Actually, the latter, he does understand, but when Drew’s mom split, he had Tori. I have no one. There are times I just need a minute to compose myself. To put on the mask that hides the weaknesses I don’t want Javier to see.

  If I’m strong, Javier’s strong. And I need him to be strong. I need him to continue to color my world with brilliant colors. If I steal his rainbow, we’ll succumb to sorrow and he won’t continue to thrive.

  The thing with kids is they love with their whole heart. They don’t choose who they let in and that leaves them prone to feeling what we’re feeling. The only way to save him pain is to pretend it’s not there and some days the task is harder than others.

  Month Six . . .

  I drop Javier off at the private school he attends with Andrew and head to the office. My morning starts off with a two-hour board meeting, which consists of the same monotonous topics we discuss monthly.

  Once at my desk, I answer a call from an angry client. Mr. Donaldson called to complain about losing a small fortune, investing in a company I’d advised him would flop. Although I remind him he chose to ignore me, he continues to rant about his future expectations. I grit my teeth, silently shouting how in the future he should listen to the people he pays to advise him. He hangs up without affording me the opportunity to suggest he take his business elsewhere.

  The number to the school pops up on my cell phone and my heart instantly races with concern. I live in constant fear that something will happen to Javier when we’re apart. I answer the phone, attempting to breathe through my anxiety.

  “Mr. Hunter, this is Mrs. Jones, the guidance counselor at Javier’s school.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, but Javier and your nephew were involved in an incident at school with another boy at recess. I’m going to need you to pick them up. I tried to reach Andrew’s parents, but they’re not answering.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was hoping to discuss that in person.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “We’ll see you then. Thank you.”

  Before leaving, I let my secretary know I’ll be out of the office for the afternoon. When I try to reach Brady or Tori, their phones go to voicemail. Then I remember Brady’s in the studio working on Second Chance’s next album and Tori planned to go with him today. Most likely their phones are off to avoid distractions.

  As I drive to the school, various scenarios run through my mind. I should have made Mrs. Jones tell me what happened over the phone. Attempting to guess is brutal, as is finding a parking spot at the school. I’m five minutes later than I told Mrs. Jones I would be. A spot finally opens up and I park and go inside.

  Andrew and Javier sit side by side in the lobby as I come through the door. They glance at me, wearing expressions like scolded puppies. I let out a laugh as I stare at them, reminded of a time my father came to pick me and Liv up after we started a food fight in the cafeteria. Actually it was Liv who started it. At least that was my story then and I’m still sticking with it.

  I speak with the secretary, who escorts me into Mrs. Jones office. I’m greeted by a petite brunette in her late forties. She stands and shakes my hand before offering me a seat. I feel like I’m back in elementary school, as though I’m in trouble as I stare across the desk greeted with concern and displeasure.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m sure Javier losing his mother has been very difficult for both of you.”

  “You have no clue how difficult,” I answer, annoyed with her. “Please save me the concerned pleasantries and tell me why the boys are being sent home.”

  The look on her face confirms what an ass she thinks I am, and if I thought she was offering genuine condolences, I would care. Since the day J
avier started this stuffy-ass school, the staff’s been trying to get the details. Tori hears the rumors when she volunteers. They’re a bunch of gossiping hens and I’m not here to feed them. As Mrs. Jones stares at me with superiority, I consider telling her exactly how Maria died. It would be amusing to watch her shit herself.

  “Very well, Mr. Hunter. One of the boys in our program was teasing Javier about not having a mother.” My jaw clamps tight as I wait for her to continue. “Andrew stepped in and asked the boy to stop.”

  A smile forms out of pride for my nephew. “Obviously there’s more.”

  She nods with her lips pursed tight. “The boy continued and Andrew punched him . . . in the face.” I have to resist standing up and fist pumping when her eyebrows rise, and she adds, “While the child’s behavior was inappropriate, I can’t condone violence for any reason. Andrew has been suspended and Javier refuses to stay at school without him.”

  “Can you blame him?” I mutter under my breath.

  “Mr. Hunter, this is serious. Javier is going to face these types of comments his entire life. He needs to learn how to deal with them.”

  “Why?” I shout, standing up and leaning over her desk. “Why can’t the disgusting little brat who teases a child about his dead mother be dealt with?”

  “He has been.”

  “How?”

  “We’ve sat down and we talked about appropriate behavior.” Her smile tops the ignorant bliss charts.

  “Jesus lady, did you build a campfire and sing Kumbaya too? The kid’s a brat and without consequences will always be a brat. He got away with acting like a little prick; meanwhile my nephew gets suspended for sticking up to the bully.”

  “You’re out of line, Mr. Hunter.

  “Good, then you won’t care if I take my troublemaking kids out of here and leave.”