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“Isabelle.” He reaches up to touch my face, caresses my cheek then the length of my hair before letting his hand come to rest at his side again.
“What’s happened?” I ask again as I kneel to unlace his shoes and slip them off one by one, then his socks. I straighten, start to unbutton his shirt. He just sits there and watches me. Every time I look at his eyes, I see a sadness that seems eternal.
“Why are you good to me?” he asks, sounding tired. Worn out. “After everything I do to you.”
I tug his shirt out of his slacks and open it, touch the skin of his chest, then cup his cheek. “I already told you that. Don’t you remember?”
His eyes flutter closed then open again. I shake my head and pull the shirt off his arms.
“Tell me what happened,” I say, then pause, alarmed. “Are Angelique and your mother okay?”
He appears confused, then nods. “Fine. She’s having fun with Dex. He’s more a father to her than I am, you know that?”
“That’s not true. Lie down.”
He does without a word, and I look at him with his head on my pillow, big body on my double bed. His is a king. He looks like a giant here. And at the same time, he looks vulnerable. Because I see his exhaustion.
“What are you killing yourself for?” I ask myself more than him as I undo his belt. I strip off his pants, then tug the blanket out from under his legs and lie down beside him. I pull the covers over us both and use his arm for a pillow. He holds onto me and when I hear his breathing level out, I close my eyes. I’m not sure if I fall asleep or if we’re both asleep for a time before he speaks, the deep quiet of his voice waking me.
“It was my fault she died.”
It takes me a minute but I realize he’s talking about Kimberly.
“I knew what I was doing, who I was dealing with when I went down there. I should never have taken her. Never.”
I lean up to see his face in the shadowy light. He’s looking up at the ceiling.
“My meeting with Pérez, it was business. My father’s business.”
“What do you mean, business?”
“My father dealt with that bastard. He was the one who put Pérez in touch with suppliers on this side. Brokered the deals. Made the family a lot of money.”
“Your father did business with a cartel?”
He nods. “Zeke doesn’t know. Shit. We’re so good at keeping secrets and look where it got us.”
“What did you do? What was your part?”
He sighs deeply and I know he’s holding himself accountable now. This is his confession. “I finished his business with the agreement it would be the last. I am sure that’s why Pérez agreed to the hit Bishop arranged with him. Had agreed to it even while he sat with us in his living room, that smug smile I hated on sight. It’s why he didn’t push back when I told him this was it. I was severing ties.”
“Oh, Jericho.”
“And then she took the bullet meant for me.”
I don’t want to be hurt or jealous. This is his past. She is his past. I know this. And she’ll always be a part of his life and in turn my life and that’s as it should be. She was Angelique’s mother. And he loved her.
He turns his head toward me, touches my cheek. “How many people will I hurt? I’m cursed, Isabelle. I hurt everyone I love. Or worse.”
I blink and he wipes a tear away with the pad of his thumb.
“See?” he asks.
“No. What happened to her wasn’t your fault. That blame isn’t yours to carry.”
“It is, sweetheart.”
“Jericho—”
He cups my head and pulls me into his chest, quieting me. His big hand rests on my cheek, my hair, his other arm wrapped around my waist.
“And I do love you, Isabelle. I do. If I were a better man I’d let you go before I hurt any more than I already have but I’m not. And I can’t.” He turns his head and presses his lips against my forehead. He just holds me like that, tight to him, so tight, kissing me like that. I think about his life, the burdens he’s carried, he’s still carrying. The guilt. And I hug him closer, hold him tight to me, too.
42
Isabelle
When I wake up, I am alone. It’s like the night before didn’t happen. And maybe he was so drunk he doesn’t remember it. Although my door is unlocked, so after dressing quickly, I go downstairs to find Jericho drinking coffee and talking to his brother in the dining room.
They both grow quiet when I stop inside the arched entrance. Jericho looks me over. He’s cleaned up. Shaved. Fresh from a shower. He doesn’t look even a little bit like the broken man of last night. It makes me wonder if he remembers what he said. The things he told me. How he said he loved me.
