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“Thanks for the PSA. Now, explain yourself.”
“I swear, I—”
“Don’t!” he yelled, his fists balling. “No swears. No promises. Just truth.”
I winced at the disgust in his voice, but I couldn’t fault him for it. Truth was a two-faced beast dancing on my shoulders. Each whispered words of evil in my ear that would damn me if spoken out loud.
So, I gave him the only truth I could.
“Yes, I went to see Ignacio, but it’s not for the reasons you think.”
He stood still as a statue while I gave him a very abridged version of Rosita’s story. I told him about Esteban’s rank promises to Ignacio. About his ultimatum. About the affair and how Alejandro knew about it. I also told him how Esteban handed Ignacio over to the Carreras without a second thought.
I did not tell him about Cristiano.
And I hated myself for it.
“So, why reorganize after twenty-four years?” he asked. “Why implicate you? The shit doesn’t add up.”
He was right. It didn’t. Only because I left out pertinent information that implicated me.
“Ignacio was a hunted man, so he had to bide his time. After Esteban and Alejandro died, he only needed Manuel out of the way. Once that happened, there was nothing preventing him from reclaiming what he believed to be his birthright.” I shrugged. “He was the only one left alive who knew it wasn’t mine.”
“So, now what?” A distant black calm deadened his voice. “That’s it? You just exchanged contact info, and now you’ll send each other Christmas cards once a year?”
“What did you want me to do, Brody? Challenge him to a duel? You’re lucky I came back in one piece.”
I glanced up to see the tight lines in his face fading, his anger slowly dissipating.
He bought it.
A fact that should’ve relieved me. Instead, I’d never been more miserable.
He let out a heavy sigh. “You can’t keep doing this shit.”
“I didn’t want you to get hurt, and that would’ve happened if you’d gone with me.”
He reared back, a stricken look crossing his face. “So, what if you’d gotten hurt, or God forbid, killed? What would I have done then?
I lowered my eyes. “Lived your life.”
“What life?” he roared, casting his arms out wide. “Christ, Adriana, do you understand I’ve felt more alive in the last five days than I have in the last five months?” He balled his fist, beating it against his chest with each word. “Do you know what it’s like to feel nothing?”
“Yes, I do.”
Rough, ragged breathing echoed in my ears moments before strong hands landed on the back of the couch, caging me in. “Adriana, you are the only light I see. If you die, so does any hope of me living again.”
He couldn’t say those words. Not now.
“You’ve been drinking,” I repeated.
“Yes, but I’m very aware of what I’m saying.”
I tried to force him to hear words I wasn’t saying. “I’m not light, Brody. There’s nothing but darkness in me. Darkness you couldn’t possibly understand.”
“I don’t believe that. But you do, and if the only way for you to accept you are worth love is for me to accept you’ll never give it, then I don’t care to ever see the sun again.”
I shattered. A million pieces, broken and jagged.
