Fervent

by Claudia Burgoa

  He sighs, scanning the room. “This was my parents’ apartment. The family home,” he says, walking toward the terrace.

  Harrison opens the door, and I decide to go after him, expectant of a longer explanation. He marches to the fire pit, turning it on. He then saunters to the brown, plastic chest in the corner of the patio and gathers two long cushions. He sets them on top of the iron chairs.

  “Would you like something to drink?” He tilts his head toward one of the chairs, patting it.

  “Water is fine, thank you.”

  “Okay. I’ll go get some napkins and a beer for me, then.” He sets the takeout food on top of the coffee table and leaves me for a few seconds.

  The terrace is gorgeous, peaceful, serene and yet it is in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world. I rise from my seat and walk to the railing to admire the view. I’m taken aback as the beauty in front of my eyes isn’t what I had expected. Central Park is like a stunning photograph of woodland with green tones and small lakes spread throughout. I can just picture the brown-orange tones during the fall, or the white layer after a snowstorm.

  The sound of the wind chimes that hangs on one of the walls is hypnotic. I close my eyes and imagine myself in the middle of a forest. My emotions sink back, and my brain reboots. I could stay here forever enjoying myself.

  “This was Mom’s favorite place.” Harrison’s voice pulls me out of my happy place. “She would come out after dinner with a book and read while we played.”

  “I’m sorry about your parents.” I spin my head slightly to face him.

  He leans his forearms on top of the railing, looking around the city. “They died on nine-eleven.” He breathes out hard as he says those words. “Fitz and Hunter were kids when it happened. Scott was a freshman in college. He was barely eighteen when everything happened.”

  I reach for his arm, squeezing it lightly as he closes his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens them, he stares at me showing me his pain. The anguish reflected in his face pinches my heart. For some unknown reason, I want to take away that pain. Moving closer to him, I kiss his cheek wishing it was enough to make everything better.

  Looking over his shoulder, he speaks. “Well, Fitz wasn’t exactly a kid. He was a teenager already dealing with his sexuality. Losing them fucked him because no one would understand him or love him the way they did. He was lost.” He shakes his head and puts his arms around me, hugging me tight to him.

  He sighs. “We were lost. Hunter wouldn’t come out of his room and would hide under the bed during his bad days. Scott became a heartless son of a bitch, and I decided to enlist and avenge my parents.”

  “How about Fitz?”

  “He partied, a lot. Scott had it rough. He was the one who stayed with the younger ones while I fought for my country. During those years, Fitz destroyed the living room furniture. Scott and Fitz’s therapist decided to make it a place where Fitz would want to hang out with his friends. That’s when he began to calm, and by some miracle, the kid graduated high school and settled his anger.”

  He chuckles. “It wasn’t just the makeover. Therapy helped too.”

  We remain in silence for several minutes. I rest the back of my head on his chest while listening to his heartbeat, and the rhythm matched my beat. The thought of them being synchronized didn’t sit well in the pit of my stomach, but I preferred that emotion to the thought of losing the moment. We were silent, but it felt as if we were sharing our deepest, darkest secrets.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” I touch his jaw, stretching my neck and kissing it. “Why did you decide to enlist?”

  He snorts. “You can judge me, but I was only twenty-one, and my brothers were losing their shit after Mom and Dad died. Scott had a better hold of them than I could so . . . I went to unload bullets.” He scratches the back of my head.

  “Why did you retire?”

  “Well, what I stood against after training was the real world. A war. I was thrown in the middle of a country where children, women, and men were being tortured by the same people that attacked us.”

  He looks around and takes a few deep breaths. “The reason I enlisted changed. It wasn’t about vengeance. It was about justice. I had to recognize and defend the innocent. My trust fund meant shit while I was fighting. My perspective on life and the world changed. I learned that not everything is black or white. There’s a gray area. And that there’s evil in this world. But after many years doing the same thing without seeing any real change, I decided that I had to find something different. Something I could stand behind while helping others. And that maybe it was time to go back home with my brothers.

  “For an entire year, I tried to take over Dad’s company. It turns out that I’m not cut out for that. Scott, who never planned on working for him, aced that shit. After a long year searching for my thing, I found the place where I could make a difference and be happy. My brothers and Hazel were there for me while I worked through it. And once I had it, Hawk and your brother called with a new job.” He tosses his head back, laughing. “I have two jobs that fulfill me as a person and the need I have to give to others. That is fate working its magic.”

  He rubs his chest. “I miss them, but I hope they’re proud of us. I’m sorry about your loss too,” he says, resting his chin on top of my shoulder. His arms tighten around my waist. “Cristobal called me earlier.”

  “Dad?” My body tenses. “What did dear papá want?”

  “He’s concerned about you, Luna.” His voice doesn’t change, it’s steady, relaxed. “Mr. Santillan told me a few things.”

  I hold my breath, waiting for more. Is Harrison going to send me back home? Does he have that kind of power? No one understands that I have to bring justice to Mom and my sister.

  “It’s my understanding that this city wasn’t kind to him nor his family,” he continues. “He has this crazy idea that you have a hidden agenda.”

  “Agenda?” My heart beats harder, and it’s so loud that I can’t think clearly.

  Harrison nuzzles my neck, feathering kisses through my nape. I shiver and try to loosen his grip, but he doesn’t budge. “If things are going to work during your stay, we have to set rules. Rule number one: you have to tell me everything. There’re no secrets between us.”

  “But—”

  “Rule number two: we plan before we make any movement. We are working this together, as a team.” He nibbles my earlobe. “Rule number three: you use my assets, not the FBI’s assets. Rule number four: any side gigs that you plan on heading have to be discussed and agreed on before we work them.”

  We? What is this we? There isn’t a we when it comes to my mother. I am the one in charge of solving the case and bringing that man to justice. They are crazy if they think I’m going to follow their lead.

  “I have the right to do whatever I want during my free time,” I counter, fighting his hold. “You can’t stop me.”

  “You’re right. I can’t stop you. However, I can help you.” His voice is quiet and calm but commanding.

  I stop fighting his grasp.

  Did I hear him right?

  Will he help me?

  “What does that mean?” I want to trust him, but my father and my brother are involved. “The babysitter got paid for one service, but he’s willing to do more than that.”

  “I’d like to point out that I’m not your babysitter. They didn’t pay me,” he corrects me, his lips tracing a line around my jaw. “If you recall, you can kick my ass. Why in the world would you need someone to take care of you? I need a bodyguard to protect me from you.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” I wink at him, exercising more force and stepping away from his distracting arms. “Keep talking.”

  “I’m willing to help with whatever it is that you came to do. I just need you to trust me.”

  “Trust isn’t easy to give. People have to earn it. We just met.”

  “That sucks, doesn’t it? We just met, and we have to trust each other, blindl
y. I think I can do it, can you?”

  I shrug. “It’s hard. Not even my family believes my claims.”

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” he suggests, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “Tell me what happened, and what you’re planning on doing. I want to understand you.”

  I bite my lip, looking at the marble floor for several seconds before answering him. “My mom died when I was a baby,” I start my explanation. “The guy who pulled the trigger is in jail, but I know it wasn’t him.”

  “How?” He crosses his arms, his brow arching and his lips pressing together.

  Swallowing hard, I hug myself tightly and narrate some of our family history. “My parents dated in high school. It was a private school. My father had several scholarships. Mom’s parents hated him. The entire class was nasty to him. Everyone knew him as the poor undocumented Mexican kid. He wasn’t. He was born in America, but people didn’t care. He wasn’t rich, or white, so they called him names. But Mom didn’t care. She loved him. They broke up after they graduated. He was leaving to serve in the Navy. Mom was moving to New York for college. Plus, Abue hated Mom. You have to know that my family history is full of drama.”

  “Let’s eat while you tell me the story. It seems that it’s longer than I anticipated,” Harrison offers, holding my hand.

  We eat as I continue telling him about my parents. “Mom went to Columbia to study education. One of her old classmates and a family friend was studying pre-law. They dated for a couple of years, and he knocked her up. My grandparents forced her to marry. The marriage didn’t last. He was abusive and a cheater. The guy didn’t care about his daughter or his ex-wife until she rekindled her relationship with my father.”

  “Dad had a little boy by then, Santiago,” I explain. “He never married his mother, but they had a good relationship. Dad married Mom almost immediately, and when he tried to adopt Sammie, all hell broke loose.”

  “What happened?”

  “Sammie was four by then,” I continue. “Her father hadn’t given any alimony or child support or seen his kid since the divorce. But now that Dad was back in Mom’s life, he fought her for custody. Sammie spent half the time with us, the rest with her father.”

  “And Tiago?” he asks before popping a piece of sushi into his mouth.

  “He and his mother moved to Florida with her family.” I shrug because after they moved, I didn’t spend as much time with him as Lucas did. Being the baby isn’t all that great, I miss so much. Mostly, Mom time. “Mom’s theory is that Estella, that’s Tiago’s mom, realized nothing serious would ever happen between her and Dad. She chose not to stay around. Tiago came to visit during summers and holidays.”

  “How did your mom die?”

  “She disappeared for a couple of days. They found her in the woods in Piseco Lake. Three gunshot wounds. One in the forehead, one in the heart, and the other in the eye. Her daughter was crying next to her. Sammie went to live with her father after she died.”

  “And you say the guy who shot her is in jail. But you believe he’s not the one who planned it. Why is that?”

  I set the empty container on top of the table and drink some water before responding. “Mom’s journals. She wrote every night since she was a teenager, but I don’t have all of her journals. In the last entries, she talks about Sammie’s father. She thinks he’s hitting my sister, and Mom was building a case to take her away from him. Dad wanted to move to Brooklyn. He . . . that man threatened her. That if she continued with her plans, she’d die.”

  “Have you talked to your father about it?”

  I bob my head, taking a few cleansing breaths. “He told me to stop. That I had no idea what I was doing. ‘No busques tres pies al gato,’ he repeats every time I bring that up to him. That’s a Mexican saying. It means something like ‘don’t go sniffing around somewhere you know it’s dangerous when there might be harmful consequences.’ Simply put, I shouldn’t ask for trouble. Things were settled, according to my father.”

  “Your dad let things be, just like that?” he trails off, using the back of his hand to caress my face.

  “Yep, my dad.” I bob my head, sliding my gaze to him, staring at his eyes. They are so blue, I can feel myself being sucked inside those blue pools. I move my gaze away.

  “He’s very thorough,” Harrison says. How well does he know my father?

  “He is,” I admit. “The guy who solved every case he’s worked during his entire career let this one go. The murder of his wife.”

  “I’m sure he knows more,” he states. “Including what will happen if you get too close, Luna. The man lost his wife, he has to protect the ones that are left behind.”

  “Every person deserves justice,” I argue with his last statement.

  Harrison narrows his eyes and rubs his stubble a couple of times. “Tiago mentioned that your sister died too. What happened to her?”

  “OD, she was extremely sick.” I sigh, pressing my lips together. “She was thirty-one, like Mom.” Like me.

  The women in my family don’t live past their early thirties. My mother’s Mom died at thirty-two of cancer. It’s creepy to know that the end is near, yet, I try to be ready for the inevitable. But I don’t want to go until I know the guy who took away Mom from us is behind bars.

  “What if this puts you in danger?” he counters.

  “If it were up to my father, I’d be inside a bubble. His ideal job for me is from home as a housewife. Dad doesn’t understand that I can die crossing the street,” I point out the obvious.

  “I don’t have children, but I have my brothers. It’s natural to worry like that, don’t be too harsh on him.” He rises from his seat and starts picking up the trash. “If you were mine, I’d put you in a bubble too.”

  Then, he laughs, throwing me a glare. “But you’ll get yourself out of it and punch me for holding you back.”

  “I’m glad we understand each other.” I follow behind holding my empty glass and the empty bottle of beer he drank.

  “So, are you going to help me?

  Nineteen

  Luna

  Harrison crosses his arms, those blue eyes are dark, his face is masked, and I want to know what he’s thinking. Is he going to disregard my worries the same way my brothers and father have done each time I ask them to help me with this case?

  “I have a concern.” He rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat.

  Fiddling with the crystal charms on my bracelet, I ask cautiously, “What is it? You can trust me. After all, we are a team.”

  He clears his throat. “Are you going to protect me from the big guy?” His question surprises me. “Tiago is going to beat the shit out of me if something happens to you.”

  “Aw, is Hawy afraid of big old Tiago?” I can’t help but laugh as I hold my stomach.

  His eyes become slits. “If something happens to you, you bet your ass that I will be hiding for years from him. That motherfucker goes batshit crazy when someone he loves gets hurt.” Then he releases my hands. “Not that I’d let anything happen to you.”

  “Someone he loves gets hurt? Is my brother in love and I don’t know it?” I snap, staring at Harrison.

  He stares at me cautiously. I wait for him to answer my questions. We breathe almost at the same rhythm, one waiting for the other to answer. I am trying to get a read on him. He’s learned how to read some of my reactions, but I have yet to read this man. Guarding myself against him is counterproductive. I should open myself up a lot more, but will that be counterproductive?

  He raises his hands, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I meant his brothers, us.”

  “You’re lying to me,” I bluff.

  “Certainly not, I have no clue about your brother’s love life. If he is, he hasn’t told me. We don’t just sit around and paint each other’s nails.” He smirks, winking at me and melting me. “Though, I would do it with you. We can sit down and talk about your love life.”

  Why do I melt when he w
inks?

  “I don’t have a love life,” I protest, trying to go back to my mother’s case.

  He cocks his head to the side. Shooting an eyebrow up, he speaks, “Rule number five, we work on your love life.” He lifts his arms, tracing a line across the air. “It’ll be called, an ‘affair to remember.’ Your future boyfriends will have trouble measuring up to me, but I can live with the title, ‘the legend.’”

  I gape at him, speechless. Luna Santillan, you’ve met your match. Two brothers, dozens of cousins, and years of training hadn’t prepared me for him. I have to restart my brain before I can think of a comeback and even then, it’s weak.

  “You’re too cocky and definitely not going to become, ‘the legend.’ Or get close to me.” Yeah, too stupid. I scrub my face, trying to get the reins of this conversation and wonder how he’d be in bed, or against the wall or . . . Mom, Mom, Mom, think about your mother, Luna.

  “About Mom, would you really help me?”

  “Yes, you have the right to know what happened. But . . .” His eyes open wide, he walks closer to me, and once he’s right in front, he grabs my shoulders firmly. “We are doing it as a team. Send me everything you have, and I’ll have my people work on your mother’s case.”

  “I can’t pay you.” I frown, thinking if this is the best-case scenario for my investigation.

  They charge millions. Millions. I can’t afford them. I should go with Plan B. Infiltrate the family and interrogate that man and go from there.

  “My services are free.” He throws another smirk while wiggling his eyebrows. “But if you insist on paying, we can come up with . . . an arrangement.”

  “Idiot,” I mumble under my breath.

  “As long as your plan doesn’t include kidnapping or torture, I’m all for it.”

  My heart beats as I picture the blood of that man on my hands. “What?” I take a step back, wheezing. “I wouldn’t ask for that. I just want justice for Mom.”

  “We’ll solve this, Luna. I have a good feeling about our partnership.” Harrison’s gorgeous smiling face gives me a sense of security, some hope. I reach out and take it.