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Chapter Twenty-Seven
Josephine
My arms pump at my sides, moving my legs further along the circular path on the hundred acres headquarters is on. When building headquarters, one of Maceo’s requests as my client was to pave an asphalt loop around the perimeter of his land. The crew needs to remain in tip-top shape for their jobs, and this path works as a track for them to do their cardio.
Since my pregnancy was confirmed, I’ve switched from the uneven hiking trails, preferring the smooth surface on the compound’s path instead. It’s safer but dull as hell, looking at the same landscape over and over like a damn hamster on a wheel.
The sky is a dreary gray and cloud covered, typical of winter. Though the property has a beautiful view of the Rockies and surrounding wilderness, I miss my old stomping ground for my morning runs.
Exercise is the one thing I have consistently kept from my pre-pregnancy routine. I need this time to decompress with a mindless task, which only requires me to move my legs and arms and breathe. Sometimes I use the time to sort through feelings or thoughts. Sometimes I run through my checklist for the day. And sometimes, I do nothing but clear my mind of thought.
Hades runs ahead, backtracking every once in a while to check in on me before racing off again. Runt is not big enough to do these workouts, but soon she will join our morning ritual.
Though I’m seventeen weeks pregnant and slower, I’m still kicking Maceo’s butt. His big, bulky frame isn’t meant to run the way I do, but he likes to push himself and use our quiet time together to sort through his thoughts.
We finish our last loop and come to a stop outside our home. Back inside, we strip out of our shoes and outer-gear and stretch before showering.
Maceo has been quiet as we get ready. He’s had several sessions with Brandon before leaving on the mission, but this is the first counseling appointment since discovering the secrets in his father’s journal.
Those thoughts have to weigh heavily on him, and it will be good for him to talk it out with Brandon. We’ve talked off and on when he feels the need to relieve some of his pent-up feelings, but he’s the type of man who likes to internalize before verbally expressing.
“Do you think you could join me today for my counseling?” He blurts out of nowhere. “I know I’m asking this last minute, so I understand if you can’t and need to get over to the restaurant site, but I’d like you there with me as support.”
My mouth drops. This is a new side of my husband. He knows that I’m here for him, but it’s usually when he has reached a point he can no longer keep his emotions to himself. Maceo is asking for me to accompany him to his therapy session—something I have offered to do with him since he started. He had always politely declined, saying he wanted to first get comfortable with the idea of regular mental health checks.
“Of course, I’ll go with you,” I say without hesitation.
* * *
There was no need to rearrange my schedule. Jared and I always arrive on-site around the same time to manage our crew. A quick call to Jared to tell him I would be in later was all I needed to do to grant Maceo’s request.
Maceo paces the length of his office with his hands on his hips, like he’s building the courage to speak his truth. Tension radiates out of him like heat waves on a desert road.
Brandon sits patiently, waiting for him to relax, and I sit near Maceo’s empty seat.
My husband slows his steps. He walks to the far wall, leaning his back against it. His arms are folded across his chest, and his legs cross at the ankles.
With his head bowed, he calmly tells Brandon about the revelations which have come to light after reading his father’s journal. He talks about the physical evidence he came across in the location his mother was imprisoned, and his conflicted feelings on believing his parents loved him regardless but doubting it all the same.
At no point does he mention being broken-hearted and downtrodden about Esteban possibly being his biological father. He stresses how the initial finding had gutted him, making him question his worth as the person being genetically linked to him. It was inconsequential to him now, and the more Maceo thought of it, the more he was at peace with it in his heart. It was something outside of his control. He had to accept he was powerless in changing the outcome when his coming into existence was never for him to decide to begin with. He admits he was worried I’d look at him differently, but knows how ridiculous that thought was since his parentage again has nothing to do with him as an individual.
His feelings on his birth possibly resulting from rape were not so cut and dry. Maceo seethed, venting his hatred for the man who hurt his mother in inexcusable ways. He ached for her and the pain she endured under a tyrant. He was baffled why she’d want to be his mother or his father willing to accept him if he was Esteban’s.
“You can either accept the words in your father’s journal or not,” Brandon says evenly to Maceo.
“It’s not so simple to accept at face value,” Maceo replies dryly as he pushes off the wall and comes to sit beside me. He reaches for my hand, and I oblige.
Brandon crosses his legs and asks, “Why do you say that?”
“Because of the horror of how I came to be,” Maceo says, unease creeping into his voice. “They would see Esteban in my looks or behavior and be reminded of my conception. My existence would be a constant, painful reminder.”
“But they would’ve seen physical features from the beginning, and yet your father’s journal goes months past your birth expressing his and your mother’s love for you. Why would someone feel the need to lie in a private journal about their feeling for their child?”
He has a point.
Maceo rests his jaw in his free hand, mulling over the question. “I never looked at it that way.”
Brandon is finally breaking through to him. I let out a quiet exhale of relief.
