My Fallen Saint

by J. Kenner

  I almost don’t answer it. Most of my texts and emails that came in today—even the ones from friends and acquaintances—are asking about me and Devlin and whether we’re really a thing. Brandy and Lamar included. I’ve already answered those two, telling them I’ll call later to fill them in properly, but the rest I’m ignoring for now.

  Still, Millie might be calling about Peter, and so I risk a deep dive into my personal life and connect the call.

  “Cornwell came through for me,” she says without preamble. “Or for you, I guess.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He gave my name to a few others in The Wolf’s circle, and one of them called me. Says he has inside info into who killed your uncle.”

  “Seriously? Can I meet him? Talk to him?”

  “You owe me so much chocolate,” she says. “I got you a call today. Of course, considering you’re the tabloid queen of the day, I should probably have called your social secretary.”

  “You’re hysterical, but I’m not complaining because this is amazing.”

  “Yeah, well, if you’re not on a press tour, I can get it set up for him to call you in half an hour. And I can wait to get your gossip until we have lunch.”

  “That’s perfect on both counts.” I’ll have time to make the call and still get everything set up for when Devlin comes home. “What’s his name?”

  “Miguel Hernandez. He was in jail by the time Peter was killed, but Daniel Lopez was a frequent visitor. Apparently, they were tight. He says Lopez told him who he assigned to make the hit on Peter.”

  “Why’s he talking now?”

  “Not sure, but I heard he’s got pancreatic cancer. Since he’s the one who contacted me, I figure he’s trying to make amends.”

  “I guess that would do it,” I say, then end the call, as the driver pulls up at Devlin’s place.

  Devlin gave me the code for the door and the alarm, and once I’m inside, I dump my bags in the kitchen, then slice some cheese and arrange a bit of fruit before opening a bottle of wine to breathe.

  Next, I take the bags with the candles to the bedroom, then arrange them strategically on all the surfaces. There are five dozen of them, so it takes a while to light them all. But the effect is stunning. A magical, twinkling room, and I can’t wait to see the way the candlelight dances on his bare skin.

  I’ve just finished when the phone rings. I sit on the foot of the bed, then answer. It’s a prison official, and after the usual formalities, the call’s connected, and I find myself talking to Miguel Hernandez. A man who, against all odds, knows who killed my uncle.

  “You really that sad excuse for a human’s niece?”

  “Excuse me?” I was hardly expecting that kind of vitriol right out of the gate.

  “Peter White, the fuck. Skimming cash offa Danny. Stealing customers. You think he didn’t deserve to get capped? Fuck, yeah, he did.”

  “I—I didn’t know any of that,” I lie, hoping to keep him appeased long enough to tell me who pulled the trigger. “Do you know who killed him?”

  “Oh, yeah. Not that it’ll do you any good. Been dead at least eight years, figure someone popped him because he just disappeared about a year, maybe two, after the shoot. But he did the job alright. Definitely earned his stripes that boy did.”

  “Boy?” I sit down and tug at the collar of my T-shirt, suddenly very warm.

  “Who else? Big job like that?”

  “I’m not sure I’m following you,” I say, the ice in my veins now contrasting the warmth in my skin. My head starts to spin.

  “His son,” Hernandez says. “Of course, Danny sent Alejandro to handle the job.”

  His son, his son, oh God, his son.

  The words ring through my head for I don’t know how long, and then my head snaps up at the sound of the front door opening. I freeze, no idea what I’m going to say or do, and no time to figure it out. Which is why I’m completely unprepared when he walks through the door for the words that come from my mouth, not a scream, not a howl, just the low and steady voice of pain and betrayal.

  “You son-of-a-bitch. You killed my uncle.”

  He freezes, and I see the shock on his face. But it’s not the shock of a false accusation. No. This is the shock of being discovered.

  I stand, though I’m not sure how my muscles manage that act of defiance.

  “El, please.”

  I reach out, and I slap his face.

  “Don’t you dare call me that.” I’m crying, dammit, when I want to be strong. Stoic. “I trusted you. I trusted you. And then I asked you flat out if you killed Peter and you lied to my face.”

  His face is totally expressionless. I wait for him to speak. To tell me another lie. To try to slither out of the truth.

  But what he says is, “Yes.”

  I take a step back, as if that one simple admission has knocked me over, and that’s when I start to really cry. When the tears start to roll down my cheeks in earnest and my body shakes with sobs.

  He steps toward me again, but I stiffen, putting my hands up to ward him away.

  I suck in air, managing to find my voice as my heart races and my blood whooshes in my ears. “We’re done,” I finally say. “I can’t ever forgive you for this.”

  “No,” he says, the word almost a whisper. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I’m still numb when I step through the door to Brandy’s place. I hear her squeal of laughter followed by Lamar’s baritone chortle, then Christopher saying, “No, it was crazy. The gull was chasing Jake all over the beach.”

  “It was the funniest thing,” Brandy says. “I feel so disloyal to poor Jake, but I couldn’t stop laughing.”

  “Who needs more wine?” Lamar asks, and I take a step backward. This isn’t where I need to be.

  I bump into the shoe bench, and it clatters against the wall, and even though I freeze in place, I can’t ignore Brandy when she calls out, “Ellie? Hey, we’re in the kitchen. Come have—Ellie?”

  She’s at the end of the hall, and then she’s not. Then she’s right in front of me, pulling me into her embrace. “Ellie, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Should I call Devlin—”

  “No.”

  The word is ripped out of me, and I cling to her, my face buried against her chest. One hand strokes my back, but I can tell that she’s moving the other. Probably signaling to the others, and that’s another thing Devlin can feel guilty about. Because of him—because of me—I’m ruining their evening, too.

  “I’ll see you later,” Christopher says, and I look up to see him press a soft kiss to Brandy’s lips. I swallow, hating myself for feeling jealous of the tender moment. “I’m sorry, Ellie. Whatever’s going on, I hope it works out.”

  He gives my shoulder a friendly squeeze, then heads out the door.

  “You want me to stay?” Lamar asks as I move from Brandy’s arms to his.

  I shake my head, my face buried against his chest.

  He eases back, then uses his finger to lift my chin. “Girl, you know you can tell me anything.”

  I nod, then rub my dripping nose with the back of my hand. “Sorry. But really, it’s just bullshit stuff. A fight. All I want is to go to sleep.”

  He looks over my head, and I know he’s taking his cue from Brandy. “Okay,” he finally says. “But I want one of you two to call me with an update in the morning.”

  She promises, then locks the door behind him as I go to curl up on the couch, the box of tissue in my lap and the afghan over my feet.

  “Did you mean it?” she asks, coming to sit on the other end of the sofa. “About going to sleep?”

  I nod, then shake my head. “Part of me wants to sleep for a hundred years.”

  “This is about Devlin, right? I’m not totally on the wrong page?”

  I actually laugh at that. “Yeah. It’s about him.”

  “And those pictures that have been going around? They’re pretty hot. Did some donor or something g
et on him about those?”

  I wince. It hadn’t even occurred to me that the foundation might lose donations because Devlin and I groped each other in the dark when we thought we were alone. “No,” I say. “It’s not that.”

  “What happened? A fight?”

  “Yes. No. It’s—” I cut myself off and suck in air. “I can’t right now. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  “No, of course. It’s fine. I’m here when you need me, though. You know that, right?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Coffee? I can get you coffee.”

  I manage a smile and a nod. She stands and is on her way to the kitchen when someone rings the doorbell. Then again. And again.

  I meet her eyes and shake my head.

  She frowns and goes to the door. I lift myself up off the cushion enough that I can lean back and see the entrance hall where Brandy is looking through the peephole.

  “Not tonight, Devlin. Just let her rest.”

  I hear his voice, but not his words.

  “Devlin. Devlin. No.”

  More unintelligible words.

  This time, Brandy sighs and comes back to me.

  “He says you deserve to know all of it, and he should have told you at his house. He sounds—I don’t know. Broken.”

  “Ask me how much I don’t care.”

  She drags her fingers through her hair. “Can I just let him in? Let him say his piece, then he’ll go away. Who knows? It might help.”

  I sincerely doubt that, but I’m not in the mood to argue. I’m too numb to even work up the energy for a good fight. “Fine. Whatever. But you have to stay.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Um, I’m not sure I should be part of this.”

  I grab her hand. “I am. He either trusts me enough to trust you, too, or he can stand on the porch all night long.”

  “Okay.” She starts to leave, but I grab her hand.

  “Wait. I—you have to promise. Whatever he says, it never leaves this room.”

  “Sure.” Her forehead creases.

  “You’re sure? I’m asking a lot.” I’m asking her not to report a murder. But dammit, I can’t do this alone. I can’t hear him out and keep it all to myself forever and ever. I wish I could, but no. If I’m not going to write it—and I’m definitely not writing it—I at least have to get it out. And right now, my only options on that front are to talk it through with Devlin himself or Brandy. And I want her.

  She bites her lower lip, her brow furrowed as she studies my face. “Are you in trouble? He didn’t hurt you, because—”

  “No. No. He’d never hurt me.” The words are out of me before I have time to think about them, but as soon as I speak, I know how true they are. He said he’d always protect me. And I believe him.

  I exhale and sit up straighter. “If you’re okay with it, go let him in.”

  She nods, then hurries that way. I hear the door open, then footsteps as they come toward me. I don’t turn around, so it’s not until he’s in the living room that I see him.

  Like me, he’s still dressed in the same jeans and Tee he wore when we left the track, driving home what a horribly long day it’s been. On top of that, he still looks numb. “Thanks,” he says, then sits on the ottoman before looking up to Brandy. “Could you give us—”

  “No,” I say. “She stays or you go.”

  For a moment, he’s silent, then he nods. “Does she know already?”

  I shake my head, and he nods again. Brandy’s eyes go wide and she holds up her hands. “Don’t worry about me. Just say what you need to say.”

  He flashes a tight smile, then drags his fingers through his hair. “First of all, this is for the best. Us, I mean. Being apart.”

  “Hello? If you think I’d be with you after—”

  “Please. Ellie, please just let me finish.”

  I glance at Brandy, who shrugs and nods. “Fine,” I say.

  “I meant what I said,” he continues. “I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, and I was a fool to think with who I am, with what I’ve done, with so many eyes looking for me, that I could keep you close. Because I can’t...”

  As he trails off, I see Brandy look between us. But my eyes are only on Devlin, and though I’ve already shut the door between us, I can’t deny that hearing his words is a whole new wound to my soul.

  “Then why are you here?” I keep my voice flat. Even a little cold.

  “Because I walked out on you once without saying a word. This time, I’m not walking until you know the truth.”

  He stands, then paces the room. “I’m not saying I’m going to look good—God help me, there’s no way for me to look good—but you need to understand the why. And maybe—maybe—you can forgive me just a little.”

  I reach out and take Brandy’s hand, dreading what’s coming.

  “I killed Peter, yes,” he says as Brandy’s fingers tighten around mine, so much that I fear she’s going to break something. “I stood on the roof of one of his construction sites, and I took him out with a single shot. I did it because I had to. Because I’m my father’s son, and it was a rite of passage. A test. And if I didn’t, well, what would a man like my father need with a son like that?”

  He pauses by the window, and I can see his reflection in the glass. He looks haunted. A shadow of himself. And in that moment, it’s not him I hate, it’s his father. The vile creature who somehow started all of these pieces in motion.

  “That was what my father thought, anyway,” Devlin continues. “But it wasn’t the reason I ultimately agreed. I liked Peter. Despite everything, I liked him. He brought drugs into Laguna Cortez, and that pissed me off, but my father would have gotten there eventually. His fingers reached everywhere.”

  He turns to face us. “Mostly I liked him because I knew he loved you. He was shit at showing it, but he did. And when I learned what my dad was going to order me to do, I made a plan to run.”

  It’s my turn to squeeze Brandy’s hand, but I don’t say anything.

  “I was going to just get the fuck out of that life. It was all in place, Ellie. I was set to go. I was going to have to leave you—crosshairs, right?—but you were never going to be a permanent thing. How could you be with the life I had to lead? So you were my good memory. The vault of happiness I kept locked away in my heart, to draw on when I needed it.”

  I taste salt and realize I’m crying.

  He meets my eyes, and I’m sure he notices, but he doesn’t stop.

  “Then I learned that Peter killed your father.”

  I flinch, but he doesn’t slow down. “One of his lieutenants told me that my father wanted me to do this hit because he knew I’d want retribution. The Wolf gave me an order, but my father made sure that he knew how to make me want to do it. Because I’d be avenging your dad.”

  My heart is beating painfully hard, and beside me, Brandy is crying.

  His breath shakes as he exhales. “That’s why I left. How could I look at you after what I did? And how could I tell you the truth? That your uncle killed your father? I couldn’t do it. I’m not even sure I should be doing it now. But that’s the story, and at least now you know all of it.”

  I cling to Brandy, shaking my head and sobbing even though I believe every word. And it’s all just too damn horrible.

  In front of us, Devlin shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry, El. So much sorrier than you’ll ever know. And hope that you have at least one untainted memory of me that you can keep in your heart.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Are you okay?” Brandy asks when she comes back to my side. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard her voice so gentle.

  I nod, then shake my head, then nod again.

  “Yeah,” she says, looping her arm around me so I can lean against her. “I get it.”

  We stay like that for a while, the television playing episode after episode of a show I don’t even recognize until finally Brandy yawns and I realize that time’s been passing as usual despite the wo
rld having come to an end. “You should go to bed,” I tell her.

  “I can stay up with you if you want.”

  I shake my head. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

  “Okay. Holler if you need me.” She gives me a fierce hug, whispers that I’ll be okay, and then slips away to her room.

  I sit a bit longer, letting another episode I’m not watching wash over me. Then I click off the TV, head into the bathroom, get into the shower and cry until all the hot water runs out.

  It doesn’t help. All I feel after is hollow.

  I tell myself this shouldn’t be so hard. I was fine before Devlin. Fine. And I’m not the kind of girl who wants a guy to stick, anyway. Isn’t that what I’ve told myself for years? Hell, isn’t it what I’ve been doing for years? I walk, and it’s easy. Fuck, walk, go. It’s been my mantra and it works.

  But not anymore. My modus operandi is broken. My heart no longer following the script.

  Except it is. Of course it is. Because Devlin—Alex—was the reason for my fuck and run lifestyle. Because he was the one who ran all those years ago. The one who should have stayed.

  And now I’m too confused to even know what I want. I crave him, yes. I miss him, absolutely. But oh, God, what he took from me—and then left me to bleed instead of at least telling me why.

  The thoughts spin in my head, too loud and noisy to let me sleep. I want to cry more. I want the numbness back. But instead I’m filled with a war of emotions, buzzing inside, so loud that I finally can’t take it anymore.

  I slide out of bed and pad barefoot to Brandy’s room. I knock on the door and hear her sleepy, “Come in.” She sees me, then pulls back the sheet in invitation. I go to her eagerly, letting her hold me close as she strokes my hair until, finally, in my best friend’s arms, I cry myself to sleep.