Her eyes sheened and I agonized about what to do. This must be so damn difficult for her. I shouldn’t have come. Instead, I opened my arms. “Come here.”
After a slight hesitation, she leaned against me and I folded my arms around her as she cried on my shoulder.
A breeze swept through the trees, rustling branches, giving flight to Aimee’s hair. Sunshine brightened the tint of red threaded in her curls and suddenly, with Aimee in my arms, I longed to be with Natalya with an intensity I hadn’t felt before. To hold her tight while making promises I’d never let her go. That I’d never leave her, or forget her.
But on the heels of that need came an unbearable reality. While I could make those promises to Natalya, I wouldn’t be the one breaking them.
Aimee soon eased from my embrace and pushed the curls from her face. “Must be the hormones.” She wiped her damp cheeks.
I slightly nodded. “Congratulations.”
She reached a shaking hand for me only to let it fall to her side. She gestured at the headstone. “Anyway,” she said with a wistful sigh, “I wanted you to understand how I feel, and showing you this is the only way I knew how. Knowing this headstone is here helps me keep the past in the past. And James is my past. I had to let him go.”
The following morning, Natalya flew to Los Angeles and I left for Oaxaca. We didn’t talk much about our afternoon with Aimee, Ian, Catherine, and Hugh, but that night we’d made love fiercely and exhaustively, until the early-morning hours. I buried myself deep inside her, convinced that loving her this intensely, I could imprint her on my soul and it would be impossible to forget her when I surfaced from the fugue. Because how could James not sense how deeply I loved her?
In flight, I thanked the attendant for the tequila on ice I ordered and finished the drink in three gulps. The fermented agave sliced a heated path along the back of my throat and settled my churning stomach. It did nothing for the dull ache in my head I’d had since meeting with Thomas.
As we flew across the United States–Mexico border, my mind coasted over the past couple of days. Thomas surprising me at the airport and shocking me further over the machinations he helped the governments of two countries put together in a matter of a few short weeks—days, even—to keep me hidden in plain sight. I thought how Thomas had me hypnotized and the hours missing from my trip. There was something he believed I might have seen and he wanted that information. There was the awkward meal with the Tierneys and Ian’s fierce protectiveness toward his wife. I’d feel the same had I been in his place.
Then my mind cruised to Aimee’s parting words. On the way back to the car, she stopped me with a gentle touch of her hand. “James wanted children,” she told me. “He would have made a wonderful father. He was loyal to those he loves, and he’ll protect those he loves. He will do what needs to be done to keep them safe. He did so for me. But Carlos—” She tightened her grip on my forearm. Fear tinged her ivory cheeks, sharpened the blue in her wide, opened eyes. “James and Phil have unfinished business. One of these days, Phil will be out of prison, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he goes after James. He’ll be angry, and may still feel cheated, not just out of the family business, but from the years he lost in confinement. That’s how Phil will see it. He’ll use anything and anyone to hurt James. Whatever you do, keep your sons away from him.”
Outside the plane’s window, patches of clouds floating over the dry, brown hills of Mexico passed underneath the belly of the plane. I’d left home afraid I couldn’t trust James with my sons. But while I was returning with the reassurance James would make a good father, would even come to love Julian and Marcus as I did now, I still wasn’t sure I could fully trust him. I wasn’t sure he could keep the boys safe.
Hell, with the knowledge I now possessed, I wasn’t sure I could keep them safe.
CHAPTER 23
JAMES
Present Day
June 28
Hanalei, Kauai, Hawaii
After a quick excursion with Marc back to the art and toy store, where they purchase paints, brushes, acrylics, canvases, and portable easels because there’s no better time than the present to start Marc’s art gallery, they return to Natalya’s. James pulls into the driveway behind a truck that’s seen its share of saltwater. Three surfboards angle up from the rear bed. Julian’s shooting hoops with an older man whose long, athletic strides and sinewy frame forecast the body Julian’s growing into. Gale Hayes, retired world-class surfer and the owner of Hayes Boards. This man is his son’s grandfather. His father-in-law.
He’s also the one Carlos punched in his face at his wedding.
For once, he’s thankful he can’t remember.
Gale catches Julian’s rebound and pitches him the basketball as James cuts the engine. He squints at the car, hand raised to block the high sun. James exits the car, and Gale, lowering his arm, approaches him with a purpose.
Oh boy. This should go well, James thinks grimly. He shuts the door, pushes back his shoulders, and thrusts out his hand. Might as well reintroduce himself, and then apologize on behalf of his other self. “Mr. Hayes, I’m—”
“James, yeah, I know.” Gale clasps James’s hand and claps his upper arm. Weathered skin folds under a dusting of strawberry-gray whiskers, revealing teeth tinged yellow with age. Julian dribbles the ball up behind him, listening to their conversation. Gale grips his hips and widens his stance, ducking his head against the sun’s glare to peer at James. “Nat tells me you don’t remember anything about the last seven years.”
James lifts his Maui Jims to rest on his head. His eyes immediately tear from the intense daylight reflecting off the light-colored asphalt. “Aside from the past six months, not a thing.”
Gale grins. “Then we’re going to get along just fine. Although”—he loosely grasps James’s upper arm—“it’s a shame you don’t remember Raquel.”
Julian’s dribble slows. He’s angled his body away, acting as though he doesn’t care, but James knows he’s listening intently. “She’s the mother of my sons, and for that reason alone, I’ll always be grateful.”
Gale nods and pats James’s arm. “She was a good woman.”
A car door shuts behind James, and Gale cranes his neck to get a better look around him. Green eyes the same color as Natalya’s widen. “Who is this lovely beach bunny?”
James turns around in time to see his mother blush.
Marc swings from the Jeep’s roll bar. “She’s papá’s mamá.”
The dribbling stops. Julian gawks at his brother. “Don’t be stupid, Marc. She was our neighbor.”
“It’s true. I heard papá call Señora Carla ‘Mom.’”
Julian swivels his head and glares at James.
James’s heart drops to the ground. He swears under his breath. Marc had heard him. And he was old enough to connect the dots. He watches the color drain from Julian’s face, how his hands flex, fingers splayed and bent gripping the ball. Emotions come in a quick succession of waves, rippling across his face—disbelief, fear, anger, and then the worst. Betrayal. James knows that feeling well.
Julian’s body tenses. He chucks the ball at James, hitting him in the ribs.
He grunts, choosing to absorb the impact of Julian’s anger rather than deflecting the ball. He catches and holds the ball against his chest.
“You’re an asshole,” Julian shouts. He takes off toward the beach at a full sprint.
“Aren’t you going to go after him?” Claire asks, her voice pitching high with her dismay.
“In a moment. He’s been angry with me for a long time. He needs to run off some steam.”
James gives the ball to Gale, letting it roll off his fingertips. His mother glowers at him. “It’s probably for the best,” she says sanctimoniously. “They would have found out sooner or later. I should have told them—”
James holds up a finger, stopping her. “What you did in Mexico is a whole other matter. Right now, I need to go talk with my son.”
James finds Julian about a football-field length down the beach crouched under the shade of a palm, elbows parked on knees and head buried in his arms. James eases down with a long sigh to sit beside his son; then he unlaces his shoes and dumps the sand. Taking off his socks, he stuffs them in his shoes and digs his heels into the sand in search of the cool granules underneath.