Buried (Hiding From Love #3)

by Selena Laurence

  I stare at him, and everything inside me is a tangle of conflicting impulses. Part of me collapses in relief—a chance to go home, start fresh, leave all the old Juans behind. Another part is disbelieving—it’ll never really happen. This is just one of a thousand dead ends. And strangest of all, there is a third part that barely dares to whisper, but I hear it all the same. He is your father, it says in the darkest corner of my heart. He is your father, and in his way, he loves you.

  “Why?” I ask. “Why did Beth do this? I mean, she’ll never see me again either way. Why would she do this?”

  Gabe looks uncomfortable as he shifts around on the sofa and looks down at his hands briefly. “Actually, the deal is for both of you.”

  “No.” My head is ringing, my heart pounding. “She didn’t. She wouldn’t. Fucking hell.” I stand up, no longer able to sit and digest information like this.

  Gabe looks me in the eye. He’s a boisterous, friendly guy but deeper and more perceptive than you realize at first glance. “Dude, she’s the one, right? Your one?”

  I swallow and consider lying, but I know he’d never believe me. It’s far too late to deny it. “Yeah. She’s the one. The only one. Ever.”

  He nods. “Then there’s nothing else to say, is there? She’s waiting for you. David and Alexis and Max helped plan this whole thing. All we need is for you to agree and we’ll get this party started.”

  He stands up and walks to the balcony doors. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to decide. I’ll be back tomorrow night, same time, and if you’re coming, then be ready to go. Benji and I have figured out how we’re going to do this, and we have a car stashed just outside the property. We’ll head for the border right away and not stop until we get there. The car’s got an extra gas tank. Hopefully no one will realize that you’re gone until the morning so we’ll have a good head start.”

  “Okay,” I choke out, still so overwhelmed by all of it that I’m not sure what to think, feel, or say.

  He pauses at the doors to the balcony, and I briefly wonder how he scaled the damn house.

  “Dude. She loves you and you love her. Trust me—that’s all that matters here.” Then he’s out the doors, disappearing into the dark with incredible stealth for such a big guy.

  I flop back on the sofa, my mind a whirl of chaos. I close my eyes and try just to breathe for a few minutes. Then I go through what Gabe told me again, slowly, trying to really understand it all. The idea that Beth is willing to give up everything she knows, everyone she loves, in order to be with me is overwhelming. I’ve done nothing to deserve that kind of devotion and love. I’m so worried for her that I almost can’t bear it. I want nothing more than to see her, touch her, talk about this with her. This isn’t the kind of decision she should have ever made without me, and I don’t want to make it without her either.

  But I have twenty-four hours, and I have to choose. I realize that I’ve been given a second chance with Beth, a chance I never thought I’d have. I also realize that, if I don’t take it, I’ll never get another one. It’s this or give up Beth forever.

  I think about my father then. The way he looked when he first laid eyes on me in the RH headquarters. The praise he’s given me at every point since I’ve begun working with him. I think about his words to me when we played that first game of fútbol together. The idea that, if you truly love something, it’ll always be there. You’ll find it again and again. No matter what. My father found me again. I know deep in my heart that, as far as he is able, he truly loves me.

  And although I’ve only known my father for a few weeks, he’s had a greater impact on my life than any other person ever, including my mother. He’s the reason I ended up being raised in the US. He’s the reason I joined the RH. He’s the reason I ended up in prison. He’s the reason I lost the woman I love, and if I take this offer of witness protection, he’ll be the reason I get her back.

  Because I think some part of me loves my father no matter how much I also hate him, I decide that, just once in my life, I want him to be the reason I get something good, something I want, something I love. I want my father to be the reason I find my true love again. I want my father to bring me back to Beth.

  I sit at my desk, watching my son and the 1Americanos as they slide quietly across the patio to the lawn, fading into the dark as they get farther away. I remember when Juanito was a baby and he’d just learned to walk. He would come to see me when I was here, working at the main house. His madre would visit with the women in the kitchen and I would tell her to leave him with me. Everyone loved my Juanito. He was a beautiful boy—happy, smart, polite.

  The ache in my heart that has been there most of the last twenty-two years expands again, gnawing at my ribs and choking off my breath.

  I pick up the phone on my desk, ringing the gatehouse. “Ricardo? You’ll see Señor Juan and the two Americanos leaving out the east edge of the property soon. They’re free to go, but keep them in sight. They’ll be traveling to the border, so stay with them until they’re across safely. Take Ryan with you.”

  I set the receiver down and turn to look outside again. I used to spend hours sitting in this very chair, wondering what he would be like if I ever got him back. Now I know, and the knowledge makes everything so much better and so much worse than I could have ever imagined.

  I’ve never been more proud than I was the day I laid eyes on my son again after twenty-two years. He is handsome, bright, sensible, and strong—a born leader. And he is good. Pure of heart, a gentle soul. He was never meant for the life he was handed. He is so much better than anything I’ve ever envisioned for him. He’s worth whatever sacrifices I end up making on his behalf. My hard, scarred heart can take comfort that I had this brief moment when he was mine again.

  And now I release him one final time.

  * * *

  1 Americanos = Americans

  WE’VE been waiting in my living room for two hours and they’re not here yet. Alexis and I are both bouncing off the walls. David and Tomás are here too, and I can tell we’re irritating the shit out of them. Max has moved out to the front porch, saying that he’s too old for all the agitation.

  The front door opens and Lex and I both leap up, looking expectantly at Max.

  “They just called. They’re five minutes away,” Max says.

  Alexis and I are out the door and in the front yard almost before he can finish the sentence. We stand on the edge of the yard, watching the street. I hear the guys all come out of the house behind us and take seats on the porch.

  It feels like an hour, but I think it’s actually less than five minutes before the big Ford sedan that Gabe had his boss outfit for the trip comes pulling up to the curb. Suddenly, the adrenaline I’ve been living off of for the last week abandons me and I feel like I might faint. As if I’m watching a movie, I see Gabe get out of the driver’s seat as Alexis runs around the car and throws herself on him. Benji gets out of the passenger’s side and smiles at me as my brothers reach him and start asking questions.

  But those things are happening like background music. My full focus, the only thing that feels real right now, is the tall, handsome man who emerges from the backseat of the car. He’s wearing an old pair of jeans and a black, untucked polo shirt. His hair is longer than when I last saw him, curling up at the collar of his shirt. His face is somber, and he stands looking at me, his hands in his front pockets.

  I walk to him slowly, frightened of what he might say to me but also relishing the sight of him like he’s a drink of water after a month in the desert.

  “You’re here,” I say, my voice breathy as I look up into his eyes.

  “Oh, linda. Did you really think I wouldn’t be?” A small smile curls the ends of his lips.

  “I’m supposed to be mad at you, but I keep forgetting.”

  “I should be mad at you too. WITSEC for both of us? Are you sure?” he asks.

  I nod, biting my lip to keep the sting behind my eyes at bay.

  He bring
s a hand up to my face and gently cups my cheek. “I’m so sorry, linda. I thought it was the best thing for you.” He clears his throat, his voice thick with emotion. “All I want is what’s best for you.”

  I fiercely clutch the front of his shirt. “You are,” I tell him emphatically. “You’re what’s best for me. When will you get that through your stupid head?”

  He laughs softly. “I get it now, I promise. And you’re the only thing for me. The best, the worst, the everything. My world starts and ends with you, Beth Garcia. Te amo, mi corazon.”

  His lips slide across mine and I feel myself melt into his embrace. Something inside me takes flight. A weight that has pulled me down, kept me from soaring the way I need to. I know in an instant that, whatever else happens, Juan and I are going to be fine. We have each other, and that’s all we’ve ever needed.

  Nine Months Later

  I wake to the very delicious feeling of my fiancé licking his way up my body. I open my eyes and look into Juan’s deep, serious gaze as he strokes my stomach with his tongue.

  “Good morning, linda,” he whispers.

  “Mmm, it’s starting out pretty well,” I tell him as I rock my hips against him.

  He smirks and goes back to licking around my belly button. His big, strong hands smooth up my sides and find my breasts, massaging and stroking my nipples. I moan at the sensations.

  He runs that talented tongue up my center, igniting fireworks that make my hips buck up off the bed.

  “Oh, God. I swear I never get tired of that.”

  He doesn’t answer, but I can hear his breath coming in pants as he moves a hand down and slides two fingers inside me while he continues to lick and suck on my clit. Holy mother of God, that feels good.

  “You’re so warm and soft,” he growls. “Come here.”

  He grasps my hips and turns me over on my stomach, pulling my ass back against him. He leans over my back to fondle my breasts for a moment while he kisses along my neck. Then he sits back up and thrusts into me, sending my body rocking forward.

  “Put your hands here,” he instructs as he lifts my arms to the top edge of the headboard.

  We’re now nearly vertical and he pumps into me deeper and harder, one hand on my breast and the other rubbing magical circles around my clit. He thrusts again and again, and I feel the ache in my core grow heavier and heavier until everything stops and I’m floating, for one spectacular moment in time, in the air, on the edge of a star-filled night, before I plummet in a thrilling, wicked ride back to Earth. As I land, I feel Juan tense up, and then he groans, breaking into Spanish, telling me that I’m beautiful, I’m everything, I’m his one.

  As we collapse onto the bed, he pulls me close, kissing my eyelids, my nose, my lips.

  “That’s a hell of a way to wake up,” I tell him.

  “I just wanted to make sure you have a good day since I won’t see you until dinner.”

  “Are you working all day, or do you have a studio class this afternoon?”

  “Working, but tonight, I want you to look over some of these plant choices I have for the hotel project my group is assigned. Tell me which ones you like best.”

  “Sure thing,” I say as I kiss him quickly and climb out of bed. “Can we go out to dinner? I’ll be at the Women’s Center until five and I’m always so hungry after supervising that eating disorders group.”

  Juan laughs and watches me as I back into the bathroom to take a shower.

  “I’ll take you out to eat, linda, but you’ve got to promise to be my dessert afterwards.”

  I roll my eyes and shut the door to the bathroom, trying not to get distracted by all his smooth, rippled muscle as he stands up from the bed.

  In the shower, I think about how much our lives have changed in the last nine months. We survived weeks of interrogations by the government, staying in seedy hotels with FBI agents stationed outside our door to protect us. Then we faced Juan’s father at a trial as we both testified to what we knew—me very little, Juan a great deal—about his criminal business dealings.

  Throughout that entire trial, Miguel never looked angry, just sad. If I hadn’t heard with my own ears the kinds of things he’s done in his life, I almost might have believed he was just a man who had lost his son and not a drug lord who’s been responsible for the distribution of billions of dollars’ worth of illegal substances over the last twenty-five years along with the murders of the heads of several other crime syndicates.

  After the trial, we were relocated here, to Portland. I finally finished my thesis and got my master’s degree a couple of months ago, and now I work at a women’s social service center. Juan got a job as a driver for a high-end limo company. He’s a regular driver for several celebrities, and he’s started a degree in landscape architecture. It will take him a long time to finish, but he doesn’t mind. He hasn’t been this free in nearly ten years. He relishes every single day. Just doing the most normal thing is a joy for him, and he makes it a joy for me as well.

  We both insisted on keeping our first names, but he’s now Juan Espinosa and I’m Beth Harper. While we were in FBI custody, they had a laser specialist remove most of Juan’s RH tattoos. The stars are gone, the teardrops gone, the three-pointed crown gone. The picture of little Amanda Johnson is gone, but he got a small heart with her name in it tattooed on his hip where it can’t be seen by anyone else instead. Sometimes, when he’s sleeping, I sit and look at that tiny reminder of his time with the RH and I thank God I found him when I did.

  He tells me stories about his life with the RH and what he did while he was in the gang, but we take it slowly, bit by bit. I might never know everything he’s done and been through, and that’s okay. I know who he is inside, and that’s what matters. He’s slowly learning who he is as well. He’s finally free to choose, and I’m helping him do that. We experiment with music, with clothes, with food, with hobbies. It’s fun, and I love watching him find himself after he was buried for so very long.

  I have one of my regular clients this afternoon. A real honest-to-God rock star. Joss Jamison, lead singer of Lush, always requests me for his driver, so I see him nearly every day I work.

  “How are you today, Mr. Jamison?” I ask as he slides into the backseat of the limo.

  “You don’t even want to know, Juan. But can I ask you one thing?”

  I smile at him in the rearview mirror but know he’ll keep talking whether I answer him or not. I can tell he’s in a mood, and I’ve gotten pretty good at handling him when he’s in one of those.

  “Why the hell do those girls think I want their underwear? I mean, why in the world would they think I find that even remotely sexy? Can you imagine if we were to get the hots for some starlet or pop singer and throw our boxers at her every time she came outside? Would she find that sexy?”

  Mr. Jamison has had women camped outside his condo building in downtown Portland for weeks now, ever since his new album went platinum. I guess it’s getting old. I try really hard not to laugh, but this rich, movie-star-looking 1huero bitching about the thongs being tossed at him is just too much.

  “Really, someone needs to explain to these girls that, just because their underwear has brighter colors and less fabric than mine, does not mean it’s sexier. And especially not when it’s thrown at my face. Fuck.”

  I struggle for a few more moments and then bust out laughing, glancing at Mr. Jamison in the rearview after I’ve calmed down. He’s smiling sadly at me. I feel bad for the guy. I don’t think he’s very happy, which just goes to show that money can’t buy it for you. I’ve never missed anything I had at my father’s estate since I left. All his money and power weren’t equal to one minute of Beth’s touch. Money can’t buy me choices or freedom or love, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. It feels really damn good to have them.

  After I drop off Mr. Jamison at his recording studio, I stop back by the apartment to get my books so I can study while I wait to drive him home. That’s a great thing about this job—I ha
ve lots of waiting-around time to study, read, sketch landscape plans, and dream about my gorgeous girl.

  When I walk in the front door, the mail has already come, scattered across the floor where it fell through the mail slot. I bend down to scoop it up, leafing through the bills and junk mail as I walk to the living room. The final envelope I hold makes me stop dead in my tracks. The return address is Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My hands shake as I slowly run my finger under the edge of the plain, white envelope until I tear open the seal. I withdraw a single sheet of paper and unfold it, my heart beating triple time. Then I read.

  My Dearest Juan:

  I am settled here in my new home, and really, it is not so bad. I find I enjoy the time to read and study, something I haven’t done since I began working for the Santos when I was seventeen. Of all the things I could miss, I find that Clara’s cooking is really the main one. But she sends me a treat once a month, and I’ve found that, if I share with some of the guards, they allow me to keep the rest.

  I hope that you have a new home in Portland and you and Ms. Garcia are comfortable. I have heard that you are planning to marry the young lady, and I am very happy. I never married your mother. Perhaps things might have gone differently for us if I had, although I doubt it. She was a good person, much like her son, and pure hearts like hers and yours are not meant to be paired with hardened ones like mine.

  Speaking of your mother, I hope that you will approve of the house I purchased for her in Monterrey. She does not know that it was me who did it, so perhaps it is better that you don’t tell her. I will never forgive her for taking you from me, but I also can never repay her for the way she raised you. You are everything a father could want in a son, and I owe her a debt of gratitude for that. I know that you love her, and I have sworn to always protect and care for you and those you love.