When will Julian understand he won’t abandon them? “What else did he tell you?”
Natalya comes back into the main room. “He doesn’t believe you want him. And Marcus believes anything his brother tells him.”
James swears. He rubs his forearm, scratches the bite on his elbow. “I’ll be honest; it was rough those first few weeks when I surfaced. Getting our lives in order hasn’t been easy. Okay, it’s been extremely difficult, and that’s putting it mildly.” He slightly smiles with the admission. “But they’re my sons. I love them, and I’ll never leave them behind. I just wish they’d believe that.”
When James initially came to, he and his sons had been confused and scared. While Carlos had prepared Julian for the possibility it would happen, it didn’t make the situation any less frightening. Or had Carlos’s instructions to Julian. He’d told his son he might forget him and need help being a father again. He’d also warned him that James might not want them and they could go live with Aunt Natalya. James could kick his other self in the ass for that. The kid was ten years old at the time. What had he been thinking?
“I don’t know what Carlos told his sons, but he thought you might be like your brothers.” She looks him up and down. “You aren’t like them, are you?”
“Hell, no.”
“Knew it.” She reaches for his hand. “I want to help you.”
“How?” He watches her trace the lines on his palm. That slightest touch buzzes through him. He feels it all the way up his arm. His throat thickens with unshed emotion.
“My nephews trust me. Let them watch how we interact and see that I like you. Let them see that I trust you.” She lifts her gaze and meets his. “Maybe they’ll do the same.”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, staring at her. He can see why Carlos loved this woman. And she just admitted she likes him, James. “Thank you.”
“May I ask you something?”
He nods.
“May I hug you?”
“Ah . . . sure.” He opens his arms and she walks into his embrace, settling her ear above his heart. He stands there, arms out, pulse thrumming, unsure what to do. Does he hug her back? Should he hold her? Then he feels her body heat seep into him. He finds it comforts him and he releases the breath he wasn’t aware he held. He folds his arms around her.
Natalya hums, a contented sound. Then after a few beats, a few meditative breaths, she whispers on a sigh, “Same heart.”
CHAPTER 20
CARLOS
Five Years Ago
August 15
Los Gatos, California
Several weeks after Aimee showed up in Mexico and Imelda told me what she knew of my situation and the role she played, I received a package in the mail from Thomas. An iPhone. Aimee had downloaded James’s contacts, music, and photos from his iCloud account when Thomas got word to her the phone was for me. Just in case I found use for it.
I hadn’t, until now.
I’d brought the phone with me and charged it while I showered. Natalya brewed coffee and when the phone could be powered on, she scrolled through James’s contacts. Then she looked through his photos.
“There are a lot of pictures of you and Aimee,” she said, her tone flat, giving me the phone after I’d dressed. She twisted her hair, her attention drifting to my phone on the desk where there were plenty of snapshots of us.
“Hey,” I murmured. My hand cupped her face. I skimmed my thumb over her freckled cheek, the skin as smooth as expensive bedsheets. “I love you.” I kissed her gently, then rested my forehead against hers. “You.”
She nodded. “I know. It’s just . . .”
“You don’t have to come with me.”
“Yes, I do. Someone has to protect you so you aren’t knocked over the head again.”
We both laughed uneasily.
“Have you looked through the pictures?”
I shook my head. Seeing James’s life through his pictures was a gamble with my mind I didn’t want to take.
She moved away from me and grabbed her purse. “I found the address where you lived. We should go.”
We now sat in the car Natalya had rented, parked one house down from the one I owned, or had owned. Two boys played catch on the lawn, and the woman sitting on the porch was not Aimee.
“She must have moved,” Natalya surmised.
I’d told her on the way over that Aimee and Ian had recently married. That part of my conversation with Thomas I did remember.
A dull ache burned across my forehead. I scooped out the two aspirin I’d brought with me from my front pocket and dry-swallowed them.
Natalya passed over a bottled water. “How many have you had since I woke you up?”
I chugged half the bottle. “Six, I think.” I screwed on the cap and returned the bottle to the center console’s cup holder. “They aren’t helping.”
“Maybe we should go to the hospital.”
“No. No doctors. I don’t want anyone else messing with my head. I don’t want to forget my sons.” I grasped her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Or you.”
“God, you’re stubborn. No doctors, unless your headache gets worse. Promise?”
I leaned across the front seat and kissed her. “Promise.”
She turned on the ignition “Where to next? The café?”
The dash clock read 5:56 p.m. “We don’t have time. The café closes at six.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
I rubbed my forehead and closed my eyes against a wave of light-headedness. “I was thinking Aimee’s parents’ house. They can tell us where she’s living. But I need to eat something.”
She shifted into gear and pulled from the curb. “Let’s call it a day, then.”
“What a waste of time,” I complained, grinding the heel of my palm against my head.
Natalya shot me a concerned look. “We’ll visit the Tierneys tomorrow. Tonight, I’m buying dinner. Then I’m giving you a back rub.”
“Just the back?”
She snorted and playfully knocked my shoulder. “Let’s get some food in that belly of yours, then we’ll see what happens.”
It was midmorning when I rang the Tierneys’ doorbell. Natalya stood beside me, our shoulders brushing. I tightly grasped her hand. She rubbed my forearm. I loosened my grip.
“I’m as nervous as you.” She pressed closer.
Light footsteps approached the door and after a moment’s hesitation, the lock flipped and the door opened. A smaller, older version of Aimee greeted us. Blue eyes, bright and wide under a head of chicly spiked salt-and-pepper hair, darted from me to Natalya, then back to me. She stared, blinked several times, then fell back a step and gasped. Her hands cupped her mouth and nose, and her eyes sheened.
“Mrs. Tierney?” I asked.
She lifted her hands away from her face. “James?”
Natalya’s nails dug into my hand. I glanced at her. She’d gone pale.
“Carlos.” I offered my hand.
“Yes, of course . . . Carlos.” She gripped my hand with both of hers. “Carlos,” she repeated, chewing on the name. “You look different than . . . I never thought.” She pressed her lips, her chin quivering, and released my hand. She touched her hair, pushed down the silver cuff she wore on her wrist, and glanced over her shoulder into the depths of the house. She discreetly swiped her tears.