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you bloodthirsty.”
“Am I wrong?” Kata asked, her voice picking up volume and emphasis.
“No, honey. But you don’t have to choke him. I’ll beat the shit out of him for you.”
Kata crossed her arms over her chest. “Thank you. Make it hurt. He’d better learn something, damn it. I’m tired of my brother running for the exit all the time.”
“He doesn’t know how to grieve,” Bailey said. “He isn’t sure how to deal with the pain. He doesn’t do it to hurt you. He just works so hard to preserve himself.”
“I don’t give a shit. He’s not twelve anymore. He’s a damn adult, and this is unforgiveable.” Kata wagged a finger at her. “Don’t you dare defend him.”
“Just explaining because I understand.” Her issues of abandonment were the reason she’d never had any close friends herself. Bailey saw that clearly now. She understood Joaquin’s belief that pulling away would make him feel better. He had just proven what she’d begun to suspect after meeting him: Self-isolation didn’t do anything but create misery and loneliness. “I can’t defend it. But I can’t hate him for it, either.”
She could, however, be crushed and cry and wish with everything inside her that he’d come back to her, offering his heart. But he wouldn’t. Instead, she would learn from her time with him and from his desertion. The only life worth living was one in which she opened herself, bared her soul, and was surrounded by love. Going forward, that’s what she’d do. She would spend tonight mourning what could have been and say a prayer that Joaquin would find life and love in the future. Then she’d let nothing stop her from finding her own.
Chapter Twenty
JOAQUIN woke in his apartment Friday morning after three hours of broken sleep. His hangover wasn’t a welcome friend. Neither was his past-due rent notice.
With a groan, he sat up. His head hurt. The sunlight filtering through the blinds he hadn’t bothered to close threatened to split his head open like an overripe melon.
Grimacing, he stooped and dragged himself to the bathroom, where he yanked open the medicine cabinet. No pain relievers. Great. Just like he’d gone looking for food in the fridge last night and found it empty.
Until last night, he’d never realized how little it looked as if someone lived here. He couldn’t escape noticing it again as he shuffled back to bed. Not a single picture on the walls or nightstand. Nothing personal around the place. No family mementoes, no record of achievements, no gag gifts from friends or reminders of loved ones. White walls, a generic black leather sofa, a chocolate-brown comforter, and an inch’s worth of dust on all the garage-sale furniture surrounded him. It had never looked so fucking sad until he’d imagined what kind of place he might have shared with Bailey, if he were a different man.
Last night, he’d made a run to the liquor store a few miles down the road, thanking fuck that it wasn’t Sunday so he could still get a bottle. Joaquin hadn’t cared much what type. He’d been all kinds of eager to numb the constant tide of pain of being without Bailey and worrying if she was all right.
Had she been released from the hospital? Did she hate him half as much as he hated himself right now? Or had Sean been right? Knowing her, she’d understand him all too well. She’d feel sorry for him. Jesus, that idea almost hurt worse.
This morning, Joaquin understood far too clearly that he couldn’t drink enough to numb the torment of being without her. He’d really hoped he could pass out last night. Instead, he’d damn near thrown up after three-quarters of a bottle of Cupcake vodka. What the fuck had he been thinking? And what the hell was he going to do now?
Shaking his head, he flung himself back on the bed with a long, shuddering breath. God, he felt old. He probably looked it, too. And what did he have to show for his age? A crappy apartment he’d get evicted from if he never came home often enough to pay his bills. And . . . not much else. Hell, he’d never even wanted the commitment of a pet. No, might as well be honest. He hadn’t wanted to risk loving a four-legged friend and suffering its loss well before he found his grave. He really didn’t know how to find his mother anymore. His youngest sister was, no doubt, plenty pissed at him right now.
What if he’d died in Iowa? What would his legacy have been? Would his father have met him at the pearly gates, shaking his head in disappointment?
Fuck, he hated this much self-examination.
But the tough questions just wouldn’t stop rolling through his head. What had Bailey been feeling when she’d awakened in the hospital to find him absent? Had she been saddened, crushed, or simply resigned? More than a vague shame filled him.
With a curse, he flung himself off the bed and paced to the bathroom. As he flipped on the light, he braced his hands on the bathroom counter and hung his head. He had to find another job. Maybe then he could bury himself, feel nothing . . . and die young and forgotten. Crap, wasn’t that a cheerful thought?
Or, a voice in his head whispered, he could stop having this righteous freak-out, figure out how to put on his big-boy britches, and find Bailey. He could apologize and figure out how to deal with the fact that death was a part of living. Maybe.
Wasn’t that heavy shit?
He looked up at himself in the mirror. Bags sagged around his eyes. Crow’s feet he hadn’t noticed before creased his skin. He had a permanent wrinkle between his dark brows where he frowned. Hell, he even spotted a little gray at his temples. His own mortality didn’t bug him, just the passing of time. One day he’d look up and, if he still roamed the earth, everyone he loved would be gone, if not literally, then figuratively. His mother was aging. What if he wasted the years he had left with her? His sisters had their own lives.
And Bailey . . . He couldn’t expect her to pine for him while he figured out how to get over himself. If it took him another decade to snap out of it, she’d be married, a mom, settled and happy—all without him.
Joaquin stood right in front of the fork in the road. He had to pick a path and take it now. Tomorrow might be too late.
Swallowing his nerves, he flipped on the shower and stripped down. The spray felt good, but he didn’t linger. He had a lot of thinking and driving to do. He also had more than a few phone calls to make.
In twenty minutes, he headed out the door and drove east on Interstate 10, enjoying the cloudless blue seventy-degree day. He didn’t relish three hours of being trapped with his own thoughts, but he figured he needed it. Two phone calls distracted him a bit. Stone made him laugh and gave him the information he needed. As soon as Joaquin hung up, he was right back to realizing just how hugely he’d overreacted yesterday. And how badly he’d screwed up.
Just before he reached his destination, he stopped at a grocery store and picked up some flowers. He had no idea if the gesture would mean anything . . . but Joaquin figured it would at least show that he was trying.
His GPS led him to the right house, and all too soon, he was knocking on the unfamiliar door. Nice place. Good neighborhood. Well kept. Pretty flowers.
Shit, he was really fucking nervous.
He expected his mother to answer the door. That wasn’t who he saw.
“Caleb. Hi.” Okay, that sounded stupid. But how else was he supposed to greet his stepfather, whom he barely knew?
“Hi.” The older man stood, bracing one beefy arm on the door frame and staring at him as if he was as welcome as a salesman. “What do you want?”
“To talk to my mother.” Joaquin didn’t expect this to go easy, but how else could he possibly figure out how to get past the hurdle of his father’s death if he didn’t—gulp—talk to someone who’d been there and suffered more?
“You might have called first,” Caleb drawled.
And give Carlotta Muñoz Edgington a reason to dodge him the way he’d done her for so many years? “Sorry. I just . . . I kind of need to see her.”
Caleb stared at him with those intense blue eyes. Now he knew where Hunter and Logan got their macho. Joaquin resis
ted the urge to fidget.
“I’ll see if she’s free. But before I let you in my house, I want you to understand, I’m doing this for her. She misses you. But after the way you’ve behaved as long as I’ve known your mother, I’ve got no respect for that.”
Join the club. He looked down, shuffled his tennis shoes against the brick stoop. “I want to make it up to her. I’ve got to start somewhere.”
“You turned your back on your family and left them in the hands of a neglectful, controlling, verbally abusive prick.”
Joaquin gnashed his teeth. “I always hated Gordon. I tried to talk Mamá out of marrying him. She wouldn’t listen.”
“She wanted to provide for you kids in a way she couldn’t alone.”
Joaquin had known that. Watching her ex-husband eat away at her self-confidence and autonomy until he turned eighteen and left the house had just about killed him.
“I did everything I could to prevent their marriage and help her financially. But if you’ve been married to my mother for more than five minutes, you know that sometimes she can be downright stubborn.”
With a hint of a smile curling his lips, Caleb stepped back and let him into the cool interior of the homey place. “That I can’t argue with. Carlotta definitely has her own ideas. She just came off a shift at the hospital. I’ll see if she’s up to talking.”
That took Joaquin aback. “She’s working again?”
Caleb nodded. “Her choice. I’d be happier to have her all to myself, but this is good for her self-confidence. She’s made new friends and gained back a lot of her self-respect. I’m worried she works too hard, and I don’t like that she sometimes works nights, but I’d never take it away from her.”
It hadn’t taken his new stepfather long to understand his mother and give her what she needed. He supported her, putting his own worries aside so she could be fulfilled. Joaquin hung his head. That’s exactly what he should have done for Bailey.
“Then I’m sure you’ve been good for her and I appreciate what you’ve done. I know I haven’t kept up my responsibilities as a son.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m . . . um, hoping to turn over a new leaf.”
“Have a seat.” Caleb pointed to the beige sectional.
Joaquin saw his mother everywhere in this room. The dark hardwood floors gleamed. The area rug in cream and taupe had a pattern with some soft lines, yet the room didn’t seem too feminine. Flowers sat in a crystal bowl on the coffee table. Accents in earth tones blended with shiny, somehow more modern crystal. He saw the old and new mixed here, warmth and cool sophistication coexisting.
“Thanks.” He sank down to the sofa, perched on the edge, elbows on his knees. Shit, he really was nervous.
“I’ll find Carlotta for you.”
“Wait.” He called Caleb back. “Tell me . . . She’s happy now, right?”
“Finally. Your sisters and I are close. We share a lot of family occasions. There’s never a frown during holidays or gatherings.”
Joaquin smiled, swallowing down the ugly realization that he’d missed so much while he’d been busy avoiding and wallowing. “Good. That’s what her life should be like.”
“Yep,” Caleb agreed. “But I know she’d feel complete if she had all her kids here more often.”
She wasn’t the only one who would probably feel more complete, but Joaquin couldn’t make himself say that to Caleb. This conversation was already awkward enough, and some stuff he had to say to Mamá alone.
Instead, he nodded.
Caleb departed, and Joaquin resisted the urge to fidget or pace. Was this gesture too little too late?
The wait seemed forever before he heard the rustle of clothing at the edge of the room. Her perfume—that something spicy and floral he’d always equated with her—hit his senses first. He rose, turning. There stood his mother in pink scrubs. He hadn’t laid eyes on her in damn near three years. She looked exactly the same, yet totally different. Yes, she’d dropped a few pounds, probably trying to keep up with her very fit husband. And her hair was a little longer, which suited her. More than anything, she looked different because she glowed with a happiness he didn’t ever remember seeing on her face.
Her radiance totally belied the frown she wore now. “Joaquin, why are you here?”
That wasn’t the greeting he’d expected from his mother. Then again, why should he have expected open arms after the way he’d turned his back on her and the family?
“Because I . . . realize I’ve been a shit and I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Her expression turned considering. “Apology accepted. I thank you for delivering your words in person.”
“Here.” He extended the flowers to her, feeling so damn uncomfortable. “These are for you.”
She took the flowers in hand, the plastic crinkling. Her dark eyes lit up for a moment, then she blinked and the light was gone. “They are lovely. Thank you.”
Joaquin watched his mother walk out of the room. Frowning, he hesitated. Follow? Don’t follow? Was she too pissed at him to say more?
Finally, he decided to see where she’d gone. When he trailed behind her and rounded the corner, he found himself in a large kitchen with white cabinets and light marble counters. Chrome fixtures blended well with the soft gray subway tiles and gleaming stainless appliances. The ranch house was far too old to have a kitchen this new and stylish without her hand.
“Wow, you’ve done a lot of work on this place.”
Carlotta reached for a vase and filled it with water. “I have. How did you know?”
“It looks like you, cozy and pretty and . . .” There he went, sounding like an idiot again.
“Caleb helped me. We moved into this house late last year and have been renovating since. I’m glad you like it.” She put the flowers in the vase and set them in the middle of the rectangular island. “They look pretty. I am glad you stopped by. It is always good to see you.”
Her tone sounded somewhere between distant and dismissive. Joaquin gritted his teeth and reminded himself that he was only reaping what he’d sown.
“Mamá, I came to talk to you, if you can spare a few minutes. Please. I know I’ve been a lousy son—”
“Let us be clear. A good man . . . but not the best son.”
The mother he’d last known would never have stated her feelings so bluntly. Joaquin supposed he had Caleb to thank for that. “I’m not even sure I’ve been a good man. I met this woman . . .”
“So I heard.” Her voice turned cold again.
And Caleb had undoubtedly struck on that front, too. “Your husband told you about Bailey?”
“He did.”
His mother wasn’t going to make this easy for him. He shouldn’t have expected that she would. “I’d like to talk to you about her. You understand women . . . and you understand me.”
“What is it you wish to know? Do you need me to tell you that you have behaved like an ass? Because I will. The girl has been through a great deal.”
“She has.” He couldn’t disagree.
“And you put her through more still, leaving her when she needed you.”
Joaquin hung his head. “I know. I realized this morning that I’m afraid to, you know . . . care about people.”
“Your father’s death came at a difficult time in your life. You worshipped him. I always believed that you struggled to recover from the shock and sorrow.”
Yep, his mother understood. “I didn’t recover at all.”
“You did not. I tried to help you, but you refused to let me.”
He shrugged. “I shut you out. Hell, everyone. I really never let a soul back in. And now, I don’t know what to do.”
“Kata said as much.”
For once, Joaquin was glad that his little sister had meddled. “I almost lost Bailey yesterday.”
His mother took a long moment in answering. “You did. Be thankful that her harrowing experience and near death did no
t affect you because you have not allowed her truly into your heart.”
Her crafty answer took him aback. “Um, that’s not true.”
“So it did not hurt because you have no wish to commit to her
