CHAPTER 29
JAMES
Present Day
June 29
Hanalei, Kauai, Hawaii and San Jose, California
Short on time, James packs frantically. Natalya comes into the room with two steaming mugs of coffee as he comes out of the bathroom. He tosses his toiletries case into the packed suitcase on the bed.
“What time’s your flight?”
“Eight forty-five.” He has two hours.
“Oh! We’ve got to hurry.” She sets down the mugs. “It’ll take at least forty-five minutes to get to the airport.”
“I’ve called a cab.”
“Are you sure?”
The hesitation in her tone has James glancing up from where he’s zipping closed the roller. Natalya rubs her hands. Her gaze flutters from him to the suitcase. She chews her lower lip and he slowly straightens.
“I’m coming back,” he says quietly.
“I know, it’s just . . .” She looks away and traces one of the mug’s rims where the coffee sits on the desk.
“It’s just what?”
“Is it shameful for me to admit I’m scared?”
He could write the book on shame. “No.” Because he was scared himself. “Trust me, I am coming back. My sons mean too much to me. You . . . I want to see you again. A lot.”
“I want to see you, too, but that’s not what has me worried. How much did Carlos put in the journal about my conversation with Dr. Feinstein?”
“Enough, I assume. The passage was fairly extensive. I’ve also talked and met with a few medical experts myself.”
“Then you know your fugue can recur.”
Their eyes meet across the room. “Yes.”
Although rare, there have been documented cases where a person can have not just one repeat episode, but multiple. Once again, he’ll be left with a blank slate in his head while those around him are left with nothing but heartache and memories of the man he used to be. It’s why one of the psychologists who evaluated James recommended therapy. There’s likely more at war in his head than solely the fear Carlos felt in his nightmares when Phil threatened to go after Aimee. That imagery could be symbolic of a greater issue from his past, possibly from his childhood, his mind had buried.
And here he is, running straight to the man both he and Thomas believe was the trigger that tossed James into the fugue state. They also believe Phil tried to murder James. Phil has yet to admit that, and fortunately for him, James can’t remember most of it.
In less than twenty-four hours of his release, Phil showed up at Donato Enterprises this morning. He was there when Thomas arrived at the office. Thomas first thought Phil was looking for employment. Instead, he was looking for James, and seemed very determined to find him. He wouldn’t tell Thomas why, and when Thomas proposed the three of them meet for dinner this evening, Phil wasn’t keen on the idea. His business is with James and James alone. Which is why James needs to get to California before Phil comes to them.
Natalya blinks rapidly. She averts her face. He feels her despair as though it’s his own, right smack-dab in the middle of his chest. An imaginary fist that squeezes his pulsing heart. He crosses the room and embraces her.
“I will come back,” he whispers into her hair.
“I’m not afraid you won’t come back. I’m afraid you won’t remember to come back.”
That fist drops his heart into his stomach. “Should something happen to me when I see my brothers—”
Natalya shakes her head. “Don’t say that. I have to believe nothing’s going to happen to you.”
He leans back to look down at her. She blinks away her tears. “Nat, honey, the last time I thought that about Phil, I lost six and a half years. The last time I thought that about Thomas, he hypnotized me without my consent.” He needs to be realistic about his situation. He needs to prepare, mentally and emotionally. So does Natalya. “My sons, Nat . . . I need you to keep them safe for me. And if I don’t come back . . .”
“You will. You’ll find your way. I have to believe that. Remember Stitch. You’re my ohana.”
Family.
Where no one is left behind or forgotten.
His mouth twitches. “You’re quoting Disney movies again.”
Despite the tears, Natalya cracks a smile. “I’ll keep your sons safe.”
“You’re leaving us?”
James and Natalya jerk apart. Julian stands rigid in the doorway. How much did he hear? Enough, judging by the stew of emotions contorting his face: disbelief, anger, and rejection.
Betrayal.
His hands are fists at his side. His gaze cuts from Natalya to the suitcase on the bed and up to James. “I knew you’d leave us. I hate you. I want my old dad back.” He takes off. James hears the door slam to the rear yard.
A horn blares in the driveway. The cab is here. James shoves both hands through his shower-damp hair. He eyes the suitcase then starts to go after Julian.
“James.” Natalya blocks his way. “You’ll miss your flight. I’ll go talk with him and explain why you’re leaving. I’ll tell him you’re coming back.”
“He won’t believe you.” He yanks the suitcase off the bed and sets it upright on the floor. “He won’t believe I’m coming back until I do come back.”
“Then make sure you do.” She hands him a sealed envelope.
“What’s this?”
“A letter for you. From you.”
His skin tightens behind his neck. “From me?”
“You made me promise to give it to you should you find your way back to me.”
“You haven’t read it?”
“No, but you told me about it once. Since we both know there’s the slightest possibility you can forget again, maybe the letter will help you find your way back to us. Now go. Your cab is waiting.”
James touches her cheek, traces her jawline, then lets his arm fall. He leaves the room, leaving Natalya and his sons, and possibly his memories, behind.
James calls Julian upon landing in San Jose. The call goes to voice mail so he hangs up and sends a text: Call me.
He also sends one to Natalya. She immediately replies. James watches the three dots blink below his text as he exits the plane. He could kiss his phone when it comes through.
We’re at the St. Regis, swimming and having lunch with Dad and Claire.
How are the kids? he responds.
Marcus is great. Having fun chasing Dad in the pool. Julian isn’t talking to anyone, but he is here.
She attaches a photo of Julian on a lounge chair, headphones on, face in his phone’s screen. Which means Julian has seen his text. James checks. Sure enough, the message shows it’s been read.
Another text comes through.
I forgot to tell you I love you. I love you.
James stares at the message. Aimee regularly texted those words and he always replied in kind because he loved her beyond anything or anyone else in his life. She’d been his one and only. He cares for Natalya, but he still carries around Aimee’s engagement ring, for God’s sake.
With that thought, he feels the ring burn in his pocket, as though the platinum is molten hot, reminding him it’s still there. Aside from showering, running, and swimming, it hasn’t left his person in more than six months. He even had it on him when he spent last night with Natalya. What kind of man does that?
One who isn’t ready to forget his past, that’s for sure.
His thumbs hover over the keyboard and he finally texts back a message before sliding the phone into his pocket.
I’ll call you tonight.
James hires a cab. He doesn’t want to return to his parents’ house, but he has a couple of hours to kill before meeting Thomas and Phil at the restaurant. He lets himself into the stale house through the front door. He drops his suitcase and carry-on in the entryway and heads toward the kitchen for a glass of water.
He walks through the main room and movement in the corner of his eye snags his attention. “Jesus Christ.” James’s heart rockets into his throat.
Thomas lounges on the leather sofa swirling a lowball of whiskey on ice. James doesn’t have to smell it to know it’s Johnny Walker.
“I found an unopened bottle in the library. I think it’s leftover from Dad.”
Then it had been there for some time because their father died more than seven years ago.
“What the hell are you doing here?” And how did you get in? James had changed the damned locks.
Thomas takes a leisurely sip. “Have you remembered anything about that day in Mexico?”
Seriously? That’s what this is about? “Some.”
“Does it help me?”
“I doubt it.”
Thomas blows through his lips. “That’s unfortunate.”
James moves into the room, growing more uneasy by the second. “Fernando Ruiz is behind bars. My life is no longer in danger from his cartel, if it ever was. There isn’t anything further I can add to the DEA’s case because that case has been resolved. What difference does it make whether I remember or not?”
His chest expands on a deep inhale; then he speaks slowly, punctuating each word, his voice rising with each sentence. “I want to know what happened on that damn boat and the role Phil played. Because I want Phil’s ass back in prison. I want Mom to cut him off. I want him fucking out of our lives.”
A chill moves up James’s spine. “Where’s Phil?”
Thomas peers into his glass. He tilts it back and forth.
“Thomas. Where is Phil?”
James’s phone rings. He looks at the screen. Julian’s face flashes. His gaze snags in Thomas’s the same moment he answers the phone. The same moment Thomas says, “Kauai.” And at the same moment Phil greets him on the other end of the line.
“Jimbo, long time no chat.”
Present Day
June 30
God, we crossed paths midair.
James paces the back deck. He wants to hurl, he’s so disgusted with himself. The fear, it’s eating him alive. He hasn’t changed, as though six-plus years in a fugue state hadn’t taught him enough of a lesson. Once again, he got on a plane and chased Phil halfway across the globe, leaving his loved ones thousands of miles behind, unprotected.
After several phone calls that went straight to voice mail and even more unanswered texts, he finally gets in touch with Natalya. She’s home with the boys, thank God, not at the St. Regis where his Find My Phone app displays the location of Julian’s mobile.
“How did Phil get his phone?”
Through the phone, James hears her call for Julian. She gets back on some seconds later. “He says he left it in Claire’s room on accident. Your mother took him and Marcus up there to shower and change. We ate a late lunch at the hotel’s restaurant.”
But they’re home now. Thank God.
“Do you want me to go back and get it?”
“No,” he exclaimed, his heart racing. “Definitely not. Don’t go there tomorrow either. Come to think of it, lock your doors and windows. Promise you’ll stay there until you hear from me. Don’t let my mother come over either. Tell her you and the boys are busy all day. I don’t want her bringing Phil with her.”
“Why is he here, anyway? What does he want with you?”
“I don’t know.” James grips the back of his neck. “He’s been pretty determined to have a face-to-face since he learned I was still alive.”
“This doesn’t make sense. Why doesn’t he just call you? And how did he find out about you? You told me Thomas never told him. He didn’t want anyone to know so he could keep you safe in Mexico.”
“That’s what Thomas told me.”
“Do you believe him?”
It takes only one second for James to consider his answer. “Absolutely not.”
“Could your mother have told him?”
“She’s basically disowned him. They aren’t on speaking terms, as far as I know.”
“Well, they are now,” Natalya says, stating the obvious.
James sighs. “The only thing I can think of that he possibly wants is vengeance. Like me, he’s angry. We’ve both lost years because I was the idiot who walked into that bar after he warned me away.”
“You never would have been at that bar if Phil hadn’t abused his position at Donato. You never would have flown to Mexico if he hadn’t attacked Aimee. Yes, you were angry, but Phil’s the one at fault, not you.”
“I won’t have Phil hurting anyone that’s important to me. Not again. Just promise me you’ll stay home until you hear from me.”
“James, a man who just got out of prison and never expected to be there to begin with isn’t going to do anything that lands him back inside. And any man hung up on wanting any sort of revenge with his brothers isn’t going to run back to his momma, who happens to love those brothers you think he hates so much.”
Thomas joins him on the deck.
“I’ve got to go. Please promise you’ll stay home.”
“I promise. Be careful, James. I love you.”
He knows she wants to hear the words, but he can’t give them to her, not yet. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ve booked us on a nonstop to Kauai first thing in the morning,” Thomas says as James ends his call. “We land at ten and should be at the St. Regis by eleven, eleven thirty at the latest.”
James taps the corner of the phone on the wood railing. He runs through his conversation with Natalya. Her questions have echoed his own. Thomas had him convinced Phil despised his brothers so much he would come after James once he learned James was still alive. Thomas was adamant Phil had tried to kill James. But Phil had failed, and should James remember, it gave Thomas the evidence he needed to send Phil back to prison. It also put James at risk.
But if Phil wanted to “silence” him, why go through the trouble of arranging a meet-and-greet? Why not show up at his door?
“What’s going on, Thomas? What does he want?”
“The answer to that question is tucked inside that brain of yours. But if you ask me, Phil’s going to do whatever he can to keep from going back to prison, even if it means threatening you and your family to keep you quiet. Come on, let’s get some sleep. We’ll deal with him tomorrow. Nothing we can do about it now.”
James watches Thomas go into the house. He isn’t sure he agrees with him, about the threats or attempted murder. Call it instinct, but there was something Natalya said. What type of man runs back to his mother?
Definitely not one bent on revenge.
James swayed back and forth. The world around him rocked and the air smelled of saltwater, rotten fish, and dried blood. His nose throbbed and his eyes hurt too much to open them.
A voice harshly whispered in his ear. “James. Wake up.”
Someone shook his shoulder. He groaned. A motor revved louder. It vibrated his bones. Water sloshed back and forth. His hair was wet and clothes damp.
“We’re almost there,” came the disembodied voice again. “Wake up. You need to be ready. They’re going to make me kill you. You’ve got to jump when I tell you and you better swim like your goddamn life depends on it. Come on, James. Wake . . . the fuck . . . up.” Another nudge to his shoulder. “Think of Aimee. Think of me on top of her.”
James groaned. Deep inside his mind he bellowed. Fury pumped through his bloodstream.
“That’s it. Now wake up, get up, and get mad. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”
“Tell him to get up,” came a different voice, raspier.
“I’m working on it, Sal.”
Phil.
“Get up.” A booted foot nudged his side. That was Sal, one of the cartel’s lieutenants who had been at the bar.
James grunted. He pulled his eyes open and tried to haul himself up with a coil of rope. Pain shot through his arm and he collapsed to his knees. Hands latched onto him and yanked him upright. He stumbled and grabbed the side of the boat. The boat bobbed up and down. His stomach did the hammock-sway, side to side. He took several deep breaths to keep from vomiting then looked up, straight into the barrel of a gun held by his oldest brother.
“Fuck you,” James spat.
“Nah, little bro. That’s what I’m going to do to your fiancée.”
Sal glanced at his watch. “We’re late. Shoot him and let’s go.”
James’s heart lurched into his throat. The gun shook. His gaze tracked up the arm holding the weapon and locked onto the brother who should never have been a brother. Something flickered in Phil’s eyes. A fleeting emotion twisted his face. The instant James recognized it as regret, Phil’s mouth moved, making out one word. Swim.
“For Christ’s sake.” Sal made a grab for the gun. It fired.
James didn’t think twice. He fell backward, over the side and into the deep blue water. Bullets flew past, leaving long, angry trails in the water. One sliced into his hip and he jerked. It stung worse than the smack of his father’s leather belt.
He felt it again and again, then the tight grip of a hand in his hair that wrenched his neck backward. Instead of Phil’s face contorted with remorse, he now stared at the blotchy, sweaty face of his father, Edgar Donato. A man who loved his wife despite the humiliation and shame she brought upon the family. He never left her either because he loved his position at Donato Enterprises and the legacy it would provide his sons more.
“What did you tell her?” he shouted into James’s face.
He was talking about Aimee, the girl he’d met that afternoon. His mouth was still swollen and sore from the one punch he let that kid Robbie get away with. But now, bent over his father’s desk with his pants around his ankles, his lower back made his mouth feel like a scratch.
“I didn’t tell her anything, I swear.”
“I don’t believe you.” Smack. “I don’t raise liars and I can tell you’re lying to me.” Smack.
The belt’s impact shot up his spine, vibrated his teeth.
He couldn’t take anymore. His back was on fire and he’d lost count of the strikes. He wondered if there’d be more than welts this time. He swore he could smell blood.
The belt connected with his raw flesh and he sobbed. “Ow! Stop. All—all . . . right.” He choked out the scream. He’d tell his father anything if it meant getting him to stop. “She asked how many brothers I had. I showed her two fingers. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I only told her I had one. Honest, sir. I just told her one.”
His father pulled back his arm, the leather belt swinging from his hand. James squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. He wondered if someone could pass out from the pain. God knew he couldn’t take much more. He heard the whir of the leather before he felt it. The impact sent him to his knees.
“Stop! Stop hurting him.”
James looked up from his curled, half-naked position on the floor. Phil stood over him as he faced Edgar.
“We are brothers, whether you like it or not. We will always be brothers. But I’m the one you hate. Beat me.”
James’s father tossed aside the belt. “You disgust me. Get out of my sight. Both of you.”
Phil leaned over to help him up and James pushed away his hand. He should be thanking him, but all he felt was humiliation. He stood on his own and pulled up his pants. God, he wished he’d never walked in on his mom and Uncle Grant. He hated them and he hated Phil. Phil was the reason his father punished him and Thomas. Why did he have to go and dig up his birth certificate to find the proof? Phil was the reason they were in California. Phil was the reason his father beat him. Everything was Phil’s fault.
“You’re not my brother,” he said to Phil. “Stay away from me.”
Just stay away.
“Wake up, sir.”
Stay away.
“Wake up!”
James jolts awake. He blinks and looks up into the face of a woman he’s never seen before. He doesn’t recognize her or anything around him.
“Who are you?” he asks, panting.
She frowns.
“Where am I?”