Every Wound We Mend

by J. E. Parker

  Piece by piece, her sanity eroded.

  "Ashley is gone, you asshole! I listened to her be murdered after trying to save me, so don't you dare stand out there and try to—"

  "You're wrong, Jade." If he doesn't stop interrupting Jade and I both... "And sweetheart, I'm seconds away from telling you just how much, but you need to calm down first." His idiotic words worked to calm her fury about as well as ice water thrown on a pissed-off cat. "And take a seat while you're at it."

  I froze, my eyeballs bulging when she shot an enraged glare my way before gripping the door handle tighter.

  "This jackass needs to go," she stated matter-of-factly, stepping further to the side. "When I open the door, you shoot him. Then we'll make a run for it."

  Even when terrified, I almost laughed.

  "Fuck!" El hombre's panicked voice echoed over the low hum of the in-room air conditioner. "Carmen, don't you dare shoot me with my own—"

  My world stopped turning when Jade ripped open the door, and sunlight filtered into the shadowed room, highlighting the black iPhone being held in the doorway by an outstretched arm as the jackal detective stood to the side of the frame, shielded from view.

  I'd never seen the video playing on its cracked screen before, but I recognized the young woman staring back at me, her smiling brown eyes the same ones I'd wiped tears from more times than I could count.

  Hands cupping her mouth, Jade bent forward at the sight of her sister, who was older than the last time we'd both seen her. I sobbed as the detective's gun slipped from my numb fingers, where it then dropped to the carpeted floor with a thud.

  Feeling as though I were detaching from my body, I took a shaky step toward the device where Ashley’s hypnotic laughter rang out, and she waved from the porch swing where she sat, her bare feet resting on the stained wooden planks beneath her.

  "Chiquita..." Lungs seizing, my chest tightened. Vision growing fuzzy, I took another step, an army of tears sluicing down my cheeks. "Bebé…"

  Jade screamed as I stumbled and fell, gaze tunneling as my legs gave way. But before I could hit the floor, smashing my face against the carpet, el hombre, Anthony he'd said his name was, caught me.

  Flipping me to my back, he cradled me in his strong arms. Given the circumstances, being so close to him should've terrified me, immensely so, but it didn't.

  Though his touch didn't bring the comfort that James' warm embrace always had, it didn't send fear careening through me either.

  Guapo…

  My heart sped up, painfully so, at the thought of the man who was my home. I missed the feel of his arms and the taste of his lips so much. He'd been the only person to make me feel safe, and without him, I was floating in a choppy sea of despair, close to drowning.

  "Carmen, breathe," Anthony commanded, unyielding stare locking with my wavering one. "Just take a breath for me, sweetheart."

  I tried to do as he said, but no matter how hard I worked to pull in a breath, my lungs refused to work. Yet, my mind still whirled. "Chiquita," I whispered, voice weak. "She's…"

  Knowing what I was trying to say, he nodded. "Ashley is alive. And she's safe, not to mention happy." The same eye-crinkling grin I'd glimpsed the evening before returned to his lips. "Real happy."

  The elation that had bloomed in my chest gave way to something darker. "El Diablo, he—"

  "Dominic West," he growled, features hardening, "is done hurting people." He was wrong. The evil fuck would never be done hurting people. Not until he was dead and rotting in the pits of Hell. "Because of my brave principessa, he's in prison."

  From behind Anthony, Jade gasped.

  But me? I remained mute, frozen.

  And in utter disbelief.

  "After he tried to kidnap her from the women's shelter where my wife works, along with some other shit I helped nail him to the wall over, he was sentenced to twenty to life in a federal penitentiary."

  Ashley had made it to the shelter?

  Does she know Maddie and Hendrix?

  Has she met Guapo?

  "But Ellington," I started, referring to the vile hijo de perra District Attorney who'd put Ashley through so much pain. "He—"

  "Is in prison as well for what he did to my girl." He shook his head. "For what that motherfucker did to my daughter, he should be dead, Dominic too, but both are in the next best place. Rotting behind a set of iron bars."

  He nodded to the manilla folders scattered on the floor next to him. "Knowing you ladies would need to see it, I brought you proof. Arrest reports, mugshots, sentencing records, fingerprints. You name it, I've got it. And you can look at all of it."

  I wanted to believe him, I truly did, but the reality he spoke of was too good to be true.

  Jade, though, there was something about Anthony that convinced her we could trust him. That became clear when she stepped toward him, drawing both our attention.

  "What about…" She paused, tongue unable to speak the one name that scared her as much as El Diablo's. Swallowing, she stood tall, fisting her hands. "What about Clyde Jacobs? He’s a cop, and he…" She blew out a pent-up breath. "I mean, is he in jail too?"

  Anthony shook his head, and her face dropped, her heart sinking to the floor. "No, he's not in jail," he said, twisting the stake already protruding from her bleeding heart. "The fucker is dead. Has been for a couple of years now."

  Unable to remain upright a second longer, Jade collapsed to the ground, her culo hitting the carpet right behind Anthony. Sobs jerked her body as tears of what I knew were from both relief and a sense of freedom poured down her face.

  At that moment, I wanted to hug her.

  To hold her.

  But I couldn't.

  Still, I tried.

  "Help me up," I whispered to Anthony as he continued to hold me against him, his warmth bleeding into my side and back. "I need her."

  Nodding in understanding, he stood, taking me with him, and sat me on the end of the bed where Jade always slept. Nodding toward the bathroom, he cleared his throat. "I'll get you two some water."

  Once he was out of the way, Little One wasted no time in getting to her knees and throwing herself into my arms. Burying her face against my chest, she saved me the effort of trying to stand.

  "She's alive," she cried, the tears that had fallen down her face wetting my strapless white sundress. "Ashley is alive… but how?"

  Pulling back the slightest bit, she shook her head. "I heard El Diablo shoot her as she cried on the floor after he'd pistol-whipped her and shot me. I couldn't open my eyes, couldn't move to help her, but I heard the shots, followed by the silence. I thought—"

  "It's not your fault," Anthony cut in as he kneeled next to her, holding a cup of water in each of his hands. "You'd been shot and were scared out of your mind. When you heard that mother—" Jaw gritted, he inhaled before continuing. "He didn't shoot my principessa, sweetheart."

  Jade's shoulders shook. "I don't understand…"

  "The fucker must've shot into the floor, maybe even the wall in a fit of rage, but I promise you, the bullets he fired didn't make their way into my daughter."

  "Your daughter?" I murmured, irrational jealousy racing through me.

  Chiquita was my daughter.

  Mine.

  Not his.

  A smile tipped his lips. "My wife and I adopted Ashley less than a year after she showed up at the shelter gate, all alone, scared out of her mind, and with one of her hands stained with District Attorney Ellington's blood."

  My mouth fell open as his words worked to extinguish the possessiveness roaring inside me. "What?"

  Pride mixed with anger lined his voice. "Three months after you and Jade disappeared, she stabbed Ellington in the front seat of his Mercedes with a switchblade she later confessed had once belonged to you."

  Head growing light, I felt faint.

  I must have looked it too, because Anthony slid one cup of water into my hands and the other into Jade's before rising to his full height and continui
ng. "Then she ran to the shelter."

  Just like I'd told her to.

  Static crackled in my head, but before it could form the thought I so wanted to voice, Jade spoke up. "How did you find us? I get that you adopted her"—my right eye twitched—"and that Ashley probably told you everything about us. But if she thought we were dead, why did you look for us?"

  Anthony rubbed his palms down his face, then cupped the back of his neck with one hand. "Ellington's been fighting to get a reduced sentence by rolling on a bunch of other criminals, West included."

  Such news didn't surprise me.

  Not the least bit.

  Ellington had always been a slimy snake.

  Not to mention, a pussy.

  "Couple of months back, he informed investigators he had information on a double homicide that involved both Dominic and Clyde."

  "But he wasn't there," Jade said, beating me to the punch. "How would he know what Dominic had done to us or where he'd ordered Clyde to dump us? Ashley would have never told him and—"

  "Clyde got mouthy when drunk."

  I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling. "Of course the pendejo did," I mumbled, earning a snort from Jade. "Let me guess, he bragged to Ellington about dumping us in the swamp."

  Anthony nodded. "He did. And when I found out what he'd done, I started searching. Found the report from where police and EMS rescued you, then read all about how you refused to cooperate with the investigation."

  Setting her cup of water down on the floor, Jade jumped to her feet. "Those jerks at the Polk County Sheriff's Department would not leave us alone." Throwing her hands up, she huffed out a breath. "There was this one deputy, a snot-nosed woman, that I almost tackled the last time she visited the hospital, trying her best to interrogate me." She crossed her toned arms. "I swear I almost punched the witch.”

  If doing so were possible, I would've chuckled. But I needed more answers, and then I needed Anthony to take me to Chiquita before I came apart at the seams. "How did you know we'd be at the swamp yesterday?"

  "A couple months back, I drove into Charleston, chasing down yet another throwaway address I'd found associated with the names you gave Polk County when I stopped by the original scene."

  He crossed his arms over his chest and peered down at me, an emotion I couldn't read filling his grey irises. "That's when I saw the memorial you'd made for my principessa."

  My eyes slid closed.

  "And I knew you'd be back."

  Filled to the brim with regret and shame, I dipped my head. "We thought she was dead. If we'd known she was still alive, I swear there isn't a thing we wouldn't have done to reach—"

  Strong hands cupped my cheeks and lifted my face. "I know." The tears I'd been holding back chose that moment to appear, falling from my now open eyes. "Trust me, I know."

  Leaning into his touch, I wanted to thank Anthony for his kindness, for his understanding, and for his relentless pursuit in finding Jade and me, but mostly for taking care of Ashley after I'd unknowingly abandoned her.

  But I couldn't.

  Barely keeping the sorrow threatening to pull me under at bay, I could only look up at him, lips trembling, and whisper the words that my soul cried.

  "Will you take me to her?" I searched his stare, praying he wouldn't deny me. If he did, I wouldn't have hesitated to pick up his gun once more and take him hostage, uncaring of the consequences.

  I had lost over seven years with her.

  I refused to lose a minute more.

  "I will," he replied, making my heart soar. "But first, there are two more things I need to tell you." Dropping his hands from my face, he slid them into his pressed slacks. "Clyde Jacobs had two sons: Ty and Chase."

  I didn't recognize the first name, but something about the second was familiar, though my frazzled brain couldn't place why.

  "Both are good guys. Real good. The youngest, Chase, plays in the NFL. Even led his team to a Super Bowl win last season." Voice trembling on the last word, he glanced at the far wall, a visible lump forming in his throat. "That same night, he asked my principessa to marry him, and in return, she said yes."

  Realization of what he was saying struck me in the face with the force of a cinder block. Jade, too, if the sound of her gasp was anything to go by.

  Beside me, she trembled, and I pulled her closer, tightening the arm still wrapped around her back.

  "After everything Clyde did to both of you, I know it won't be easy—fuck, I know it won't—but I am begging you to accept both guys. Chase especially, even if it takes some time. Because my daughter loves that knucklehead, along with his dumbass older brother, and she's been—"

  "Hurt enough," Jade finished for him.

  Anthony dipped his chin once. "She has."

  She wiped away her tears with the back of her hands. "I won't lie and say it won't be hard, but I refuse to cause her more pain," she whispered. "Not for anything."

  Standing, she straightened the jean shorts and baby blue tank top she wore. "Now, if we’re done yapping about the past, I'd like to go see my sister." Her eyes bounced between Anthony and me. "Because I've got a lot of time to make up for. You know, after we stop by downstairs and explain what's happening to Mercy since she got hung up with a guest or something."

  Mercy, mierda!

  I'd forgotten all about her.

  Wearing one of the biggest smiles I'd ever seen, Anthony pulled his keys from his pocket and gestured for us to head to the door. "After you, ladies."

  Lips twitching, Jade didn't move.

  Instead, she stared at Anthony, hands going to her hips. "You sure are smiling awfully big," she teased, mirroring my thoughts, and causing me to grin like I was loca in return. "Why?"

  He smirked. "Because, sweetheart, I'm about to score major brownie points with both my wife and daughter."

  "You keep saying wife." Leaning to the side, I grabbed my purse off the nightstand. "Are you planning on telling us her name? Or do we have to guess?"

  He chuckled. "Her name is Shelby."

  Three words, plus one name.

  That was all it took for recognition to dawn.

  And for my world to stop.

  8

  James

  It was half past noon.

  Arms loaded with groceries, not a bit of which was healthy, I walked into my empty house and slammed the stained-glass door shut behind me.

  I'd only made it two feet inside when I stepped on a skateboard and nearly took a digger in the foyer.

  "Swear to Christ," I cursed, catching myself seconds before busting my ass. Pushing the board away, I shook my head. "One of these days, I'm going to break my neck."

  It was nothing but the truth.

  Between the toys—some big, some small—that littered every available surface in the living room and den, the dozen kids' shoes scattered down the front hallway, along with two washer loads of beach towels, most of them wet and smelling of chlorine, tossed willy-nilly over my brand-new kitchen table and chairs, the place was a hazardous pigsty.

  And it was because of my grandkids.

  All seven of them.

  Well, except for one.

  Ashley Jo.

  At twenty-four, she was responsible enough to clean up after herself whenever she visited, which was a daily occurrence.

  But the younger six, three of which belonged to Hendrix: Melody (7), Maci (6), and Maddox (5); two to Shelby: Lucca (10) and Gracie (6); and one to Ashley Jo: Addie (8), were pint-sized tornadoes that never failed to leave a trail of destruction in their wake.

  I loved it.

  Ever since the night I found the balls to tell Shelby the truth about me being her father, and after a lot of work, therapy included, my family had grown by leaps and bounds.

  Going from a lonely fuck who spent his nights grieving over his past mistakes to a Pop-Pop who didn't miss spending every available minute he had with his grandkids had been one hell of a change.

  But I wouldn't have changed a thing.

>   Well, nothing except for one.

  She should be here.

  With me, with them.

  Dropping the groceries onto the kitchen counter next to where I now stood, I closed my eyes and gripped the beveled countertop edge.

  Chest wrenching, I inhaled as my heart cracked, the sorrow that always filled me at thoughts of the past making its presence known.

  One moment.

  That was all it took to conjure up memories of her, the woman who, even after seven years, still owned every shattered sliver of my heart.

  "Son of a bitch," I mumbled, leaning forward. "It’s not supposed to be like this. She should be here, by my side, and in my—"

  "What in the name of sweet baby Jesus are you over there huffing and puffing about now, Superman?"

  My eyes popped open at the sound of the Crazy Old Biddy's voice, which had thankfully torn me free of the anguish-filled fog that had descended.

  Standing straight, I turned and faced the nutty woman standing just inside my kitchen doorway, a pink sunhat almost bigger than her perched atop her permed grey hair, head-on.

  "Grandmama, for fuck's sake," I started, knowing full-well that what I was about to say would be ignored. "Haven't I told you to knock before you come in? I could've been in the nude."

  Lips pursed, she leaned to the side, trying to look around me and steal a peek at my ass, something she always did.

  Perverted old bird.

  "That's what I was counting on, ya big dummy. Why, I tell ya, ever since I glimpsed you walking around butterball naked in your bedroom that one time, I haven't been able to—"

  My temples throbbed. "You saw me naked?"

  Hands going to her rounded hips, she rolled her faded green eyes. "Listen here." She stepped forward and poked a hot-pink nail into my chest. "It ain't my fault you left your curtains open. We're neighbors! I was just checking to make sure you were still alive after that hour-long shower I saw you go take. Don't you know that all that hot water ain't good for your blood pressure? Besides"—she huffed—"you ain't got nothing I haven't seen a dozen times over before."