by Dylan Allen
“The other night was intense. But, Reece, what happened all of those years ago to Julian; I know it wasn’t your fault.” My chest tightens at the mention of his name.
She raises her head to look me. Her eyes burn with regret. I know they mirror my own.
“I needed someone to show me the way, because I was stuck in a bad place. I loved Julian so much. His death changed my life in so many ways.” She shivers slightly, but doesn’t look away.
“He committed suicide.”
All of the air leaves my lungs. I didn’t know.
“My mother tells everyone he died in a fight. We’re Catholic,” she says, knowing that I need no further explanation. “To me, the method wasn’t a factor. He was gone. And suddenly my whole world was destroyed. My family . . .” She chokes on a sob and I pull her to me. Keeping her at a distance is no longer an option. I can’t stand there and watch her in pain and not respond. She wraps her arms around my waist and holds on while she cries.
“My brother, Reece . . . my heart . . . it broke when he died,” she says in a near moan. She seems to be reliving it all again, right now. Her shoulders shake and I can feel the pain radiating from her. Like a living thing, it seeps from her into me. Her sobs quiet, but she stays burrowed in my chest.
“I’ll never get over him being gone, Reece. Never. I didn’t even know what it meant to miss someone until he was gone. My parents, it broke them. Broke my family. My dad . . .” She sniffles. “And when he left, my mother was so angry. She cursed him. She cursed my brother. And she stopped being my mother,” she mumbles quietly. I don’t know what to say to comfort her.
I have so many questions. Where is her mother now? How did someone who had such a hard beginning, turn her life into something so beautiful? How did she learn to live so freely, live so fully?
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry . . .” she says as she pulls her arms from around my waist and steps back, putting several feet of distance between us.
My arms scream for her to come back, but I try to give her space.
“Please, Lucía. Don’t apologize . . .” I say, my voice thick with emotion. This week has been hell, and for the first time since this nightmare unfolded, I can see a way forward for us.
“You had to have known I was in the office today, that I was in LA. I’ve missed you. Why didn’t you come and find me?” Relief like I’ve never known propels my hands up and I cup her cheeks, brushing the tears away as I look down into her beautiful face.
“I was coming to find you, Fifty-five. Tonight. I came home to shower and then head to your place. Work has been crazy this week. I’ve needed to be with my dad. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you. And I was coming to you. You beat me to it.” Her arms snake around my waist and she lays her head on my chest. Feeling her soft, sexy body pressed against me, giving me hope . . . it all feels so fucking good.
“Reece, I’ve been so confused.” She looks up at me, her eyes wary. “Maybe I still am.”
“That’s okay. I’m confused, too.” I lean down to brush my lips along her hair line, I get whiffs of the notes unique to her; vanilla, flowers, wine and smoke.
Her hands stroke my back and she whispers, “We might feel that for a while, but . . .”
“I’m not confused about two very important things, Luc,” I tell her, pushing her away from my body. I miss the heat right away. But, I need her at arm’s length so I can look into her eyes when I say this.
“Have you missed me this week? Or did you just want to talk to me to clear the air?” I ask her.
“I’ve missed you,”
I cup her face. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes. Completely,”
“Then, babe, we can be confused, upset, whatever. But what we can’t be, is apart.”
She nods, and I see her throat moving. She bites her lower lip, and my teeth feel jealous. I lean in, nip it and pull.
I lick the bruised flesh and press a kiss to her top lip. I start to kiss her again, and she pulls away.
“No, Reece . . .” She steps completely out my hold. She’s flushed and a few wisps of her hair are sticking to her neck. Her eyes wide and incredulous.
“I have questions. Don’t you have questions for me?” she asks, breathless but serious.
“Yeah, I do,” I respond shortly. “But they can wait until I’ve kissed you.” I reach for her. She steps out of my reach. Her eyes wide and serious.
“No. If we start kissing, we won’t stop. I really need to finish talking.” She crosses her arms, sets her chin and I resign myself to listening.
21
Lucía
Reece sighs, puts an arm around me and leads me through to the kitchen. Silently, while I watch, he snags two bottles of wine from his wine fridge. He’s obviously impatient. His jaw flexes, and even through the days’ worth of growth on his face, I can see the clenching. He’s dressed in his shirt and tie. My fingers feel the urge to walk over and loosen it for him. Instead, I go to him and pick up the wine bottles while he grabs two glasses and the opener. He nods for me to follow him. When we reach the doors that lead to his backyard, he lets me step out ahead of him.
I sit down on the collection of chaise lounges he has there. In perfect, awkward silence, he opens a bottle, and pours us a glass. I take a sip and try to find the courage to speak.
“I want to tell you a story, Reece.” I finish the rest of my wine in two gulps and pour myself a second glass. I feel the compounding effect of this glass of wine and the ones from earlier, right away.
I look out into the evening, my eyes trained on the waves without really seeing them.
“When I was five, I fell into a pool at the house of one of my parents’ clients and the groundskeeper had to jump in to rescue me. I’d never been so frightened in my life. I ran to my father seeking comfort; wanting him to reassure me I’d be okay. Instead of being distraught that I almost drowned, he was furious that I had wandered off to the pool by myself when he’d explicitly warned me not to. He told me that I’d risked his job.” That night, he sat Julian and I down, and gave us the “if you bring attention to us, we’ll be deported” speech. I close my eyes and think back to that night.
I remember sitting there, next to Julian, both of us so scared while my father yelled.
“He kept saying that being deported was worse than a death sentence. It was the worst thing that could happen to our family. That he would die before he did anything to expose us to the life he’d left behind.”
I’ve never forgotten the look in my father’s eyes as he said those words. He was really afraid. Discovery and deportation were worse than death, was what he taught us. And Julian, who was not afraid of anything, was terrified. He didn’t sleep that night. And he never forgot my father’s message.
I open my eyes and look at Reece, I want him to know that I mean what I’m about to say. “We all knew that if we drew attention to ourselves, we’d be in danger of deportation or worse. We all knew once he’d been handed over to ICE, that we wouldn’t see him again. Detention Center deaths are common. People either die or are deported. Very rarely are they released to live happily ever after with their families. His death wasn’t your doing.”
“So, all of this activism has been some sort of penance for Julian’s death?” I ask, my voice quiet. I’m suddenly bone tired.
He leans forward, staring out at the water. His voice heavy with the conviction of his words. “It was at first. But I’ve learned so much since I started and now it’s a real passion. One I care about fiercely. But yes, this started because I didn’t want what happened to him to happen to anyone else. And I don’t know what to do with the knowledge that my mistake sent him there. I don’t know what to do with the knowledge that he was your brother and it’s your story.” He sighs. “I finished it, for real this time,” he says with a dark smirk. “I’m afraid that you’ll never be able to look at me without thinking that I’m the person who ruined your life.”
I turn to look at him and our eyes
meet. I try to look away, but he grabs my chin and makes me hold his gaze. His eyes are windows to his soul. I can see the turmoil there.
“I know that right now, things seem bad. And there’s a lot we’ve got to figure out, Luc. But none of that comes close to how right the thought of there being an ‘us’ feels. But you’ve got to be one hundred percent sure about this because it won’t be easy. And if you’re feeling angry or resentful about the role I played in what happened to Julian, I need you to be honest with me about it.”
“Reece, I first heard your name when I was twelve years old. You’d come home from your final Olympic Games and retired from swimming, gone to work in your family’s business and overnight made yourself the public face for the immigration right’s cause. I’ve always thought you were amazing. Having your studio produce a movie based on a book that I wrote, it’s all felt like a dream come true. And then I got to know you, I found this instant friend. And that’s turned into something as beautiful as it is unexpected. Maybe if you’d still been a stranger when I found out you’d misidentified Julian, I’d have called for your head. But, now . . . you’re someone . . .” I cup his face, looking down at him. “Reece, I know you. I trust you.”
By saying those words aloud for the first time, I endow myself with a new coat of armor. That knowledge will be the fuel I’ll need to get through whatever comes our way. I feel a sense of calm wash over me.
Reece puts his hands lightly onto my shoulders and looks down at me. His rich brown eyes pull me in and my thoughts scatter. I want to finish what I have to say before we go any further, so I step out of his grasp.
“I can’t say that I won’t look at you and think about Julian, but I don’t blame you.”
I smile sadly at him. “Reece, you made a mistake. Years ago. Forgive yourself.” I feel a need to touch him; I grab his strong, warm hands and squeeze them as I speak. “None of us are perfect. I’m certainly not. I’m damaged in so many ways. But those cracks and breaks? Mistakes I’ve made? They’ve strengthened me.” He shakes his head as if to deny the truth of what I’m saying.
“You’ve managed to turn a tragedy into something good. I know you’ve changed a lot of people’s lives with your legal defense fund. You’re amazing.”
He cups my face. I close my eyes and press my cheek into his hold.
“You’re practically purring.” I feel his breath on my mouth and I open my eyes. His lips are an inch away from mine. His hold is firm and when he tilts my head and leans forward, his intent is clear in his eyes. A stream of panic shoots through and I step back.
“I thought . . .” he says as he retreats, confusion in his eyes.
I nod my head vigorously, trying to convince myself as well as him.
“I have more questions. Major ones. And so should you.” I place my open palm on his chest, to keep him at arm’s length. He grabs my wrist and using his hand like a cuff, holds it in place.
His eyes search mine, and when I swallow, audibly, he lets go of my wrist. He makes a sound in the back of his throat and sits down. “Okay, ask away. Anything.”
His sits with his legs spread, arms thrown over the back of the chair. It’s an invitation. I want to accept, but I know that if I do, the conversation I want to have won’t go any further. So, I pick up my wine glass and start pacing.
“Tell me about Fabienne. Are you really done or is there a possibility you’ll reconcile?”
He looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language
“Come again? Fabienne?” he asks.
“Yes, Reece. The last time I saw you, she interrupted us and she looked at me like I was playing with her favorite toy.”
He chuckles, and sounds truly amused. He loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his shirt like he’s making himself comfortable.
I start to pace again, back and forth between the chaises. My empty wine glass swinging between my fingers.
“It’s not funny. I want you to tell me where things are with you. I can overcome a lot, but if you’re unresolved when it comes to her, this is a non-starter.”
When I’m done with this declaration, I expect him to look concerned or thoughtful. Instead, he’s watching me, smiling broadly, his eyes full of mirth.
It startles me so much that I collide into the chaise that’s in front of me. And the next thing I know, the ground is rushing up to meet me. I hear the glass in my hand shatter as it hits the pebble-covered ground and I can’t do anything to stop myself from falling straight onto it.
22
Reece
She falls in slow motion, but I still can’t do anything to stop it. The sound of the glass shattering precedes her sharp cry as she lands on top of it. By the time I reach her, she’s cradling her hand and I can see blood pouring down her arm, and dripping onto the ground beside her.
I drop to my knees next to her, trying to appear calm, even though panic is surging inside of me. She’s struggling to push herself up, using only one arm, but can’t get enough of a hold on the chair to do it. I lift her up and place her on the chair so I can take a look at her hand.
My stomach turns and blood runs cold. There is a huge piece of glass sticking out of her palm. She looks down at it, her eyes wide with shock. I touch the arm she’s cradling and she winces and looks up at me, her eyes are full of tears and her chin wobbles.
“Luc, does your arm hurt besides the cut?” I ask her gently.
She whimpers in response and I spring into action, running inside to grab a towel from the kitchen.
I sit on the side of her body where she appears least injured. I scoop her into my lap. I want to wrap her hand in the towel, but as I start to, she snatches her hand back and says, “You’re pushing the glass deeper.”
Shit, I need to get her to the ER. I wrap the towel around her forearm to catch some of the blood that’s dripping down and she moans. Her head falls onto my chest and she starts to cry softly.
Hearing my girl, with the heart of a lion, crying makes me move faster.
When I reach my car, I put her down as gingerly as I can and reach over her to buckle her in. “You need to keep your arm elevated while we’re driving,” I tell her. As soon as I sit down, she reaches out to touch me with her good hand.
I look at her face, her eyes are closed tightly. Her lips are sucked in and I can tell she’s trying to keep herself composed. I pull the hem of my T-shirt up and wipe the blood. She licks her lips but doesn’t say anything.
“You’re going to be fine, Luc,” I say to her as I back up and then turn out on the road.
I hold her hand as I drive, keeping my eyes firmly on the road, aware that every bump must be agony for her. She hasn’t made a peep since we got in the car. All I can think of is getting her to the ER.
When pulled into the hospital’s driveway, I run inside and ask for a wheelchair and help. A man dressed in scrubs follows me back to the car. I lift her out and put her in the chair. “We’ve got her, sir. You can go and park. I’ll take her to the Emergency Room. You can meet us there.” I’m confused, and look up at the sign and see that I’ve brought us to the general entrance. I glance at Lucía; her eyes are still closed. I just nod at him and hop back into my car and go park.
Five minutes later, I find Lucía, in her wheelchair, sitting by herself in the waiting area. There are no other patients waiting and I look around, confused as to why she’s been left there.
I walk up to her wheelchair. Her eyes are closed and she’s clutching her arm, trying hard to stay sitting up. Her pale face is drawn I can see she’s in a lot of pain.
“Luc, I’m here.”
She’s sweating, and gives a minute nod in response.
“I’ll be right back.” I brush a kiss on her forehead and stalk to the reception desk. The man sitting behind it doesn’t notice me approach. His head is bent and he’s doing something on his phone.
“Excuse me,” I say trying to keep my tone down and my anger in check. “There’s a critically injured woman waiting to
be seen and you’re busy texting.”
He looks up at me. The bored expression on his face almost sends me over the edge.
“Sir, do you need help?” he asks like he clearly doesn’t care whether or not I answer.
“Yes. I do. My girlfriend is sitting there in a wheelchair, bleeding. And no one is doing anything to help her,” I grit out, so angry I see red.
He his eyes widen in surprise and then he looks around me to survey the waiting room. His eyes come back to me and he looks disinterested again. “Sir, the only person in the waiting room is that woman.” He points at Lucía. “Perhaps they’ve already taken your girlfriend back.”
I look at him incredulously.
“That is my girlfriend.”
His widen again and then he jumps up. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir. They told me she didn’t have any papers and was uninsured when she came in. They must have made a mistake. I’ll just go and get her insurance and get her taken back.” He stands up and starts to move toward her.
“I have no idea if she has insurance, but why should that matter? You’re required to treat everyone equally when they come in regardless of their insured status.”
He stops walking, and addresses me. His voice is clipped, his eyes are flashing.
“Sir, there are three other hospitals within a mile of here. When people come in without insurance, if they’re not in critical condition, we wait a few minutes to make sure no insured emergencies come in behind them. We’re a small ER, if we make insured patients wait, they’ll just leave and go try their luck somewhere else.”
I stop, stunned. “You cannot be serious.”
He stops too, and crosses his arms across his chest. “This hospital’s a business. We get paid for insured patients, so we prioritize them. If you don’t like it, take it up with hospital’s management. I’m just doing my job.” He starts walking again and reaches Lucía before I do.
“Ma’am do you have insurance?” he’s asking her as I reach them.