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I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. Her question takes me off guard.
In truth, Zane and I haven’t really spoken over the last few weeks. Not since our argument. It’s been awfully lonely returning to our shared room every night only to find him already asleep and gone first thing every morning. He’s been making himself scarce around the hacienda. I don’t think he really likes it here, but I can’t exactly blame him. He’s miles from home, far away from his family. He’s a good man trapped in the criminal underbelly that I dragged him into.
Our roles are reversed now.
He’s stuck in one place with nowhere to go.
“I care for him deeply,” I answer.
Natalia clicks her tongue. “Caring for someone deeply is different than loving them.”
“No offense, but my personal life really isn’t your concern.”
“Actually, it is. You really don’t get it, do you?”
“What?”
“The Becerra Cartel… They don’t just go after you. They’re a ‘big picture’ kind of organization. They go after your family, too. Nobody’s safe. That means you, your husband, your husband’s family, too.”
“But they have nothing to do with it.”
“I bet you Esteban won’t see it that way. They’re enemies by association. That’s why you gotta cut that man loose. The less collateral damage, the better. It’ll fuck with your head otherwise.” Natalia pulls a cigarette and lighter out of her jacket pocket. “That’s enough for today. Clean yourself up. Tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to shoot a man at a hundred yards.”
I return to my room in a trance, mulling my aunt’s words over and over until they’re ingrained in my memory.
Do you love him?
My gut tells meyes.Of course I love Zane. How could I not after everything we’ve been through? After everything he’s shielded me from? My gratitude toward him runs deep, and my love for him, deeper still. I just haven’t afforded myself the chance to truly think about it, to reflect. Loving someone isn’t necessarily a foreign concept to me, but it is new and scary. I’ve been on my own for so long that really, truly letting someone in is a daunting thought. But if I were to let someone in, Zane would undoubtedly be the one I’d do it for.
He isn’t in our room when I get there. I genuinely have no idea what he gets up to during the day. With a heavy sigh, I head to the bathroom across the hall and draw myself a bath.
My body is covered in purpling bruises courtesy of my aunt. My palms, elbows, and knees are covered in shallow scrapes. Dark circles hover beneath my eyes, and my hair is a sweaty mess. My muscles are unbelievably tight, burning with every minor movement I make. I sink into the water, which is just shy of scalding, attempting to wash away the ache in my bones.
The steam and the scent of lavender bath salts do little to ease my mind.
The less collateral damage, the better.
I think about Natalia’s story, about how she lost her children. My heart aches for her. I can’t imagine what it must have been like. I’d never truly been allowed to spend much time with my mother. Arturo did a very good job of separating me from her influence early on, so her passing felt… numbing. Not as earth-shattering as it could have been. But to lose not just one, but two of your children in one fell swoop and still become a stone-cold cartel leader?
Natalia really is built differently.
The more I turn it over in my head, the more I wonder if I belong here.
I don’t want that for me, or for Zane. I can’t even imagine him being gone. Back in December, when Arturo nabbed me at the airport and I thought I’d never see Zane again… Those were a dark couple of weeks. I’d argue that he means even more to me now than he did around Christmastime. If something were to happen to Zane, if he were taken away from me…
It’d break my heart.
As I slowly lather shampoo into my wet hair, I wonder if my aunt is right. Zane didn’t sign up for this. I’m not being fair to him. My decisions were based on anger and pain, but that doesn’t mean he has to suffer for my choices. I don’t want to suffer for my choices. Is this whole endeavor a mistake?
Three soft knocks sound at the bathroom door.
“Willow?” Zane’s voice calls from the other side.
“Come in.”
He enters the bathroom and promptly shuts the door, slowly walking over to the side of the porcelain bathtub. He kneels beside me on the fluffy white bathmat, casually dipping his fingers into the water.
“I was just thinking about you,” I admit, my voice a quiet murmur.
