Natalya sighed, exasperated. “Tell me how I can help. I want to help you.”
Marry me. Adopt my sons. Run far away with them so James or anyone in the Donato family can’t find them.
“Look, I’m tired. I don’t want to talk about this right now.” I yanked out the charge cord and grabbed the laptop.
“Where are you going?”
I turned in the doorway at the note of panic in her voice. She’d risen to her knees, white-knuckling the sheet with both hands. For a splinter of a moment I wanted to drop the laptop and dive back into bed with her. Reassure both of us that everything would be fine. But those were promises I couldn’t keep.
“I’m going downstairs. To write.”
She sat back onto her heels, but she still gripped the sheet. “I don’t like arguing. Please don’t leave. Come back to bed.” She patted the pillow beside her.
“Go to sleep. I’m just going to the kitchen.” I pulled the door closed behind me, leaving it open a crack. I walked past Marcus’s room, then Julian’s.
“Dad?”
I backtracked to his room and poked in my head. His Captain America night-light cast a soft blue glow, chasing shadows into the corner.
“Is it morning yet?” Julian sat up in the middle of his bed and rubbed his eyes.
“Almost. We have a few more hours before sunrise.”
He flopped back onto the pillows. “I’m going to ride down the mountain faster than you.”
“I’m sure you will. Get some sleep.”
He yawned. “Good night, papá.”
I bounded down the stairs to the kitchen and fired up my laptop. While I waited, I sorted through yesterday’s mail, adding the latest magazines to the pile along the far wall. The newspaper didn’t have any articles I thought would be of interest to me later, so I dropped it in the recycling container.
Once the laptop was ready, I opened my Cloud account and uploaded the twenty or so pictures I took yesterday—photos of the boys and Natalya at Julian’s fútbol game—then I added them to the folder where I was storing this month’s images. I had files for everything—photos, journal entries, financial statements, legal documents, and other important instructions. I even wrote notes about what I did on a daily basis, whom I loved (Natalya and my sons), whom I trusted (Natalya) and whom I did not (Thomas and Imelda). Everything was in meticulous order. Because that hypnosis session Thomas forcibly subjected me to? It hadn’t just brought on the headaches. It woke the Jekyll to my Hyde. My other self was fighting his way to the surface, and I knew, without a doubt, I didn’t have much time left.
“Slow down.”
Julian hunched low over the handlebars and leaned into the turn. I coasted behind, picking up speed. The loop through the foothills was mostly paved and we’d ridden it many times. For an eight-year-old, Julian was fearless on his bike.
I moved up alongside him. “Ease up. Stay in control.”
He tackled another turn, putting slight pressure on the brake.
“Looking good.”
Air howled through our helmets. Sunlight glared overhead and heat steamed our backs. Sweat dripped off my chin. We’d started early, and though it was still morning, the day was already hot, dry, and dusty. Good thing we only had another couple of kilometers, all downhill. We’d ridden hard. This father-son time with Julian was great, and I wouldn’t change it, but damn. For the life of me, I couldn’t pedal out of last night’s nightmare. It was as though I’d been there. The throbbing, mind-numbing pain in my skull left me reeling with nausea, and that gun in my face scared the shit out of me.
I motioned for a water break and we slowed to a stop on the side of the road.
Julian gulped down his water and let out a long, well-earned sigh. “Can we take the trail?” he asked, referring to the dirt path that paralleled the road in some spots. It was narrow and littered with divots and overgrown vegetation.
“Think you can handle it?” We’d already ridden more than five kilometers, some of that uphill on dirt and cobblestone roads.
He pointed at himself with both hands. “Hello . . . I’m the fastest halfback on my team.”
“That you are.” His athleticism and competitive drive always amazed me. I washed back a couple of aspirin and a sudden wave of dizziness overcame me. I stumbled to the side, almost dropping the bike.
“Ten out of ten.” Julian rated my lack of finesse.
“Ha-ha.” I shook my head to clear the fog and checked my watch. We’d make it back to the car in less than twenty minutes.
He bounced his bike’s front tire. “Ready?”
“Yep. Take it slow, though.” The fog wouldn’t lift in my head and the last thing I wanted to do was crash and burn in the bushes. Julian wouldn’t let me hear the end of it should that happen.
After glancing both ways, Julian crossed the road and about twenty or so meters downhill, he disappeared over the embankment onto the trailhead.
I returned the water bottle to the holder, got on my bike, and crossed the road. Then I was sitting on a boulder with my head between my knees.
What. The. Fuck?
Pain sliced through me when I lifted my head. I moaned. My skull felt like a watermelon split open on hot pavement.
I looked around. The bike lay in the road beside me and Julian was nowhere in sight.
“Julian?” I hollered, standing. “Julian!”
Where was he?
I turned a 360 in the middle of the road while drowning in mounting panic. “Julian!” I yelled again. Then I remembered the car. Julian and I had an agreement that we’d meet at the car should we get separated.
I jumped on the bike and raced down the hill, eating up the kilometers. The Jeep was parked in a dirt lot at the base of the road and Julian was crouched against the rear passenger tire. Thank God. I hopped off the bike before stopping and ran toward him. The bike crashed into the car’s bumper and I skidded the last few yards.
“Julian!” I knelt before him. “Are you hurt?”
He lifted his head. Tears streaked his dirty face like tire tracks in mud. “You know my name?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Of course I know your name.”
“But you didn’t back there. You took off right after you yelled at me.”
Every nerve ending inside me went ice-cold. I stopped breathing and stared hard at him for what seemed like an eternity. Then I sucked in a big gulp of air and gripped his shoulders as terror gripped me. “What did I say?” He hiccuped a sob. “What did I say?” I yelled.
“You asked who I was and when I said I’m Julian and that I was your son, you said . . . you said . . .” He was full-on bawling, unable to get out the words.
My fingers dug into his triceps. “I said what?”
“You said you didn’t have a son.”
CHAPTER 25
JAMES
Present Day
June 28