Taking Jana (Paradise South #2)

by Rissa Brahm

  “Behind fuckin’ schedule, as construction always is. And with my kid on lead, Jesus Christ, don’t get me started…he’s a little blowhard wanting to fill my goddamn shoes after being out of school for only a few fucking months. And after I paid four years of college fucking tuition as high as my dick is long, what does he do?” The man paused for an answer to his rhetorical question.

  But Antonio remained quiet.

  “Well, I’ll tell ya. He spends more of my money, for fuck’s sake, that’s what! On girls, coke, more girls! Says he’s got a plan, an underground money river or some shit. Gonna get me and my clubs in trouble, Tone, that’s what he’s gonna do! Just unnecessary stress.”

  Antonio let Jake simmer a second. “God, Jake…sorry man. Dealing with family’s gotta be tough.”

  “It is, it sure as fuck is. And I’ll tell ya, I’ll always be thankful to you pulling Johnnie to safety that time, Tone, but shit, maybe a nick here or there woulda done him some good. The ego on that kid, you know?” He snickered. “But on second thought, my ex woulda castrated me, so I guess I’m glad you didn’t let him get a scratch.”

  “Yeah, man,” Antonio said, laughing lightly and hoping like hell to end the discussion of the man’s personal life as soon as humanly possible. The less he knew, the safer.

  “But as for the new club, it’ll come together. Just never as fast as you want.”

  “Sure, with anything, right?”

  “With anything good, at least! So what’s up, Tone? How can I help?”

  “Well, I was calling to see if you needed me on anything major? I lost a big client, or more like, turned one away. I’m hoping to get my goal met, but I’m—”

  “Still so damn focused. I never met someone as goal-oriented as you, Tone. Now if you’d just rub off on the kid. Damn his mother, spoilin’ the shit outta ’im,” the man mumbled, then came back on track. “Yeah, Tone, I’ll see what I got. Absolutely. Maybe I can get my dad to swallow his damn pride, take some help. He’s getting up there now, doctors and shit all the time. He shouldn’t be behind a wheel, or behind a cane for that matter,” the man said through his laughter. “Gimme some time, yeah?”

  “God, Jake, thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

  “Tone, listen, don’t mention it. Will talk soon.”

  “Okay, Jake. Thanks again.” And he ended the call.

  He spun back around to his notepad. Based on the rate Jake had paid in past, he jotted some more figures. Maybe he’d get a few weekdays driving Jake’s dad. That would fill the place of his lost nights with Jocelyn. And wouldn’t cut into potential high-ticket money on a weekend night, especially with prom and wedding season here. That would be the way. It was no longer the three months he’d hoped for, but maybe six more months, and then he’d be done. Not bad. Definitely doable.

  And then his cell rang again. That was quick, damn quick for Jake! He held his screen up to his glazed-over eyes after so much number crunching, and there on his screen was Michelle’s image, with her bright eyes and wavy strawberry blonde hair, the photo he hadn’t deleted, even though it’d been more than a damn year.

  What the hell did she want?

  CHAPTER 8

  His sister came through the door, and the girls jumped up to greet her.

  “I made enchiladas, still hot on the stove,” Antonio called out to Celeste.

  “Uh-oh,” she cracked. His sister’s authentic Mexican was nearly as amazing as their mother’s had been, while Antonio’s was less than stellar. “Thank you, brother! And thanks for picking up the girls again. God, the new manager keeps stopping me from leaving as I’m out the door. What would I do without you?” she said, freeing her hands of her groceries then kissing Antonio on the forehead.

  He didn’t want to start in on her again, but she’d left the topic wide open. “Why don’t you rethink coming back with me then? Because, I don’t know what you’ll do without me either,” he said in all seriousness. “You wouldn’t have to work two jobs in Vallarta, or even one if you’d let anyone help you out—”

  “Please, not again, Antonio.” She shook her head at him, her eyes shifting to her three little girls. But the television was blaring, so he knew they couldn’t hear a word. And he wasn’t even close to being finished. “It wouldn’t matter where in the world we were, I wouldn’t take your money. Between you and Ray. And Isa…our baby sister, for Christ’s sakes! I swear to God…I do have a shred of pride left.”

  “Fine, fine—no money. But in Vallarta, we’d all be there to help with the girls, at least. Your family, Celeste, is in Vallarta.”

  “I like it here. I want them to go to school here, and even, you know, get married here,” she said as she began to put away the groceries.

  Oh, so the girls were being geared to marry already, huh? They were only five, seven and nine! Talk about projecting, Jesus.

  But for his logistical argument’s sake, he steered away from anything to do with marriage, namely his sister’s failed one. “You still want to stay here even though you’re living in…this?”

  She froze, hands full with boxes of crackers and cereal. “Hey, you watch it, Antonio José Ruiz. I’ve made a home out of ‘this’ and I won’t have the girls hearing you say otherwise. When you have children, you’ll understand.”

  He hadn’t meant to insult her; he respected his older sister far too much, however stubborn she could be. And really, none of it was any of his business. He’d heard her undertone loud and clear. But it didn’t mean he didn’t have every reason to be concerned about her and the girls when he leaves because he really had thought she was coming back with him, and that she had only wanted the taste of America and nothing more.

  “When Zack hooked us up with work visas and these contacts, we were just, you know, gonna make our money and head home. To where we belong…remember?”

  “You may have thought that, but I had no idea what, or who, I’d find here, so I kept my mind open. And well…I like it here.”

  When Zack, Isa’s husband, had offered his connections to any of Isabel’s siblings for getting to and working in the US, Antonio had bitten. He’d, of course, wanted to crash through the financial ceiling he’d hit with his own limo business in Vallarta. A management position with a giant Manhattan operation would put him that much closer to his goal. But Antonio had always seen his move as a means to a financial end with a solid plan to return home.

  Celeste had also jumped at the chance—for herself and for her girls. “The opportunity of a lifetime,” she’d said. But she apparently meant the “lifetime” part more literally. The ‘American Dream’ and her chance at it had bitten her hard.

  “‘Liking’ it here and ‘thriving’ here are two different things. And damn it, Celi, you’re as stubborn as Mom was. I don’t know why you won’t accept even a little help?”

  “I ask you for help all the time. You pick up the girls when I can’t,” she said, lifting her eyebrows at him. Then she continued to shove items in cupboards, murmuring and grumbling as she did.

  “That’s hardly help, Celi.”

  “It is, and that’s all I want from you. You’re my brother, not my goddamn husband. God, if I wanted to find a man, a father for the girls, I would.”

  Her words and tone were nonchalant, but he saw right through it. Hell, she’d been dressing as if she were on the hunt for a long while now, ever since Juan ran out on her. The asshole. What kind of man? The father of his nieces had left Celeste to raise three kids on her own, no financial support, no nothing. It was hard for Antonio to watch. His sister’s struggle wrenched his heart.

  “I’d worry about you and the girls here, Celeste.” With or without a man. “Again, at least, in Vallarta, you’ll have the family’s support.”

  “You think I need a man, don’t you? I can’t survive without you or without Juan, right? Man’s gotta bring the money, or there isn’t any?”

  “I didn’t say that…Jesus! And that’s not even the point.” He shook his head at her. Her ins
ecurities were leading to obvious defensiveness and goddamn idiotic statements. “The point is…you need a safety net…you have three little girls, Cel—”

  “And those three little girls are mine. And they have a safety net…me! Money isn’t everything, hermano! God, always with you…money, money, money!” She was now shoving groceries into the refrigerator in a frantic huff, unable to close the drawers and therefore, the door. “It’s always your answer. But it doesn’t solve anything. It always comes with strings, with a price, and I have my damn pride!” She paused, looked at her girls by the TV, obviously concerned that they’d heard her voice go as loud and shrill as it had.

  “But if a man came along, taking money from him would be okay?”

  She glared at him, a silent stare of death.

  Damn it. He knew all too well what she had meant, making it on her own. Of course he knew, especially after reclaiming his pride from Jocelyn Carlson the other night. But there was also a time to ask for help like he had to do when he had been laid off two years ago from the Manhattan Limo operation, and now like he had to do to replace the lost revenue from Jocelyn Carlson. He’d had to tuck his tail and call in a favor.

  “Sorry, Celi, but I want you to hear yourself. Remember what Juan did to you? I mean, I know you’re strong and smart and an amazing mother and provider! But still, I worry, damn it. I worry. About the things out of your control, beyond money. Safety, security, health, yes?”

  She shook her head, nostrils flared as she tried to regain composure. “You know what, Antonio, I worry about you. You’ve been obsessed, little brother. Your damn hyper-focus on your business, on the almighty dollar. Even putting off having a family? That worries me. I have kids! You’re the one who’s alone! Sorry, correction, you have your ‘magic number’ to keep you warm at night. Jesus, since you were six years old, nothing but your million-dollar mark! Only work, work, work…and never actually living! That’s why Michelle went elsewhere—” She cut herself off, her face flushed immediately; she knew she’d crossed the line.

  He glared daggers at his sister.

  Who the hell was she? Juan had gone elsewhere, no sign, no word, leaving her with three kids. It’d been a totally different scenario with Michelle.

  Michelle had known Antonio’s dream. She had shared it, even. They had both wanted to keep nose to the grindstone until they were financially set, and then start their lives together, so she’d told him.

  But, apparently, she’d lied. Michelle was slightly more zealous than he was, and obviously, a lot less loyal. She’d found a much quicker route to being set. Without Antonio, and with his boss, the well-off owner of NYC Limousine Service.

  He shook the thought out of his head because, a few days ago, Michelle had called him. Wanting to talk. Needing to see him. Alone.

  A surge of memories came to him when he’d answered her call. Hearing her voice sent chills through him in mixed sensations that threw him for a loop. But once the vibration settled in him, he knew the fact of the matter was that he’d loved her when they’d gotten married, and he couldn’t help but love her still.

  And if, maybe, hopefully, Michelle regretted what she’d done, saw the light, wanted him back, that fact would push him to consider the possibility of them again. Because his love for Michelle went well beyond his pride and far beyond himself.

  And it fit. He’d seen in the paper a few weeks back that she wasn’t with Gerald Simon, the prick had stayed with his wife, how lucky for Mrs. Simon. There was a picture of them arm in arm at some charity event. What a goddamn joke.

  And, no, he wouldn’t tell Celeste that he was meeting Michelle for dinner later that very night. He wouldn’t and couldn’t tell Celeste any of it because he wasn’t prepared for the judgment in his older sister’s eyes.

  And he had to go meet Michelle or he’d regret losing this second chance for the rest of his life.

  *

  He regained his composure from Celeste’s comment and focused on what the heart of the damn conversation had been—his supposed greed, was it?

  “So, because I won’t have kids the way Mom and Dad had kids, I’m a greedy bastard? You think it’d be way better to just pop ’em out without resources, no savings of any kind? And our parents didn’t have just one or two of us with no proper home to raise us in. No, Celi, they had twelve. Twelve helpless dependents!”

  “Hush! Ay Dios Mio, Antonio.”

  He lowered his volume as directed. “Don’t you remember what it was like? God, a doctor’s visit was called for only if there was blood out the ears.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  He shook his head. It didn’t matter. She could be in denial all she wanted. He knew. He remembered.

  “I want to be secure first. That’s my prerogative, and it’s not selfish.”

  She paused in the kitchen and came over to the couch. “God, Antonio, I know you’re anything but selfish. And…I didn’t mean to bring her up. I really didn’t.”

  He didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

  “Listen, I don’t even know what we’re fighting about, anyway. I admire your goal, and I admire your work ethic. Always have. And I know you’re doing it for your future, your family’s future. It’s also okay that we, how do they say, agree to disagree? You know, with how we lead our own lives…yes?”

  He still remained silent. He knew from his thirty-five years as Celeste’s slightly younger brother to always let her have the last word. Any attempt at the alternative was pointless.

  So he nodded as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to check whom the text was from.

  A message from dispatch: A certified package came in. From an NYC law firm. His eyes kept on the text message for a reread. And another.

  “Hey, you okay? Your left eye is squinting. You do that when you’re pissed off about something.”

  “Yeah, no, I’m fine.” He dismissed her analysis. “But I should get going.” Because he didn’t want his sister drilling him further, and he needed to calm his nerves in order to combat or surrender to the gut feeling making him nauseous and lightheaded at the same time.

  Breathe.

  “Okay.” She stood up to give him a hug. “And hey,” she said at his shoulder in her tighter than usual embrace, “whether we agree or not, you’ll always be my pain-in-the-ass brother, from down the road or from another country, okay?” She released him from her hold and smiled warmly at him.

  He smirked at her. Celeste was stubborn as hell, but she was family. Always family.

  He put his phone back in his pocket. From the corner of his eye, he noticed his oldest niece practicing her kicks in front of the television.

  “Tania, please back up from the TV. If you’re not careful, you’re gonna kick right through the darn thing.”

  Around his self-imposed and constant work schedule, being their uncle and their martial arts instructor was his joy, a peek into the future family he couldn’t wait to have for himself. They were, in essence, his daughters by proxy, and he worried about the three little girls. Why wouldn’t he? When he returned to Vallarta in what he hoped would be just a few months’ time—knock on wood—his nieces wouldn’t even have their Tio Antonio, their only male constant. Then Celeste would date some asshole that couldn’t give a shit for them.

  Antonio, don’t think about it. They’re not yours anyway.

  “Tio, what is it? You look sad,” Tania asked, coming toward him for a hug goodbye. Was his previous thought written all over his face? Kids were so damn smart. So intuitive.

  It occurred to him then, what the hell was he rushing off for? To see what a Manhattan attorney had sent him? He was still trying to ignore his gut, which was telling him plenty about what the package contained. Or was he leaving then to get ready for dinner with Michelle? The woman hadn’t treated him like goddamn family when she’d screwed his boss. And for how long really, he’d never know. Michelle wasn’t the woman, the wife, the best friend, or partner he’d been so damn sure
she was.

  All while his family, his real family stared doe-eyed at him here and now. Celeste’s girls, his nieces, were pure unconditional love. Michelle, on the other hand, maybe, probably, wasn’t even worth a second glance, let alone a second thought.

  He placed his cell and car keys on the side table next to the sofa. “Vamos niñas, shut the tube off, let’s see those ax kicks…all of you…ariba, ariba.” He wrangled the other two girls up from the floor, pulled a pillow off the couch, and knelt down to their level. On cue, they lined up single file, even the five-year-old Laura knew the drill, mini-fists up in fighting position at her face. Their yells of “K’ya!” made his heart and chest swell. He winked and nodded at each of his nieces as they kicked up straight to the ceiling and down hard and strong through the pillow. Exactly the way he had taught them.

  Yeah, he was in no hurry to leave them. No hurry at all.

  *

  Jana’s mother didn’t get to the hospital until 4:15 PM because, yes, she’d opened the restaurant, despite Jana’s advice. What did it matter? Nothing would change. And Jana would have to hold her tongue about the finances of the restaurant for at least a few more days, waiting until her father stabilized. Let them play pretend until then.

  And thinking about playing pretend, her father was, in fact, like a damn child. The force feedings of “healthy hospital slop” for breakfast and lunch were nothing compared to his behavior toward the staff. His rudeness toward the nurses was what really put her over the top. By the time her mother showed up, she had reached her limit. And her plan to attack her overwhelming dread about heading down to Newark had worked; Jana was motivated to be anywhere else in the world but in that hospital room, with the people who had given birth to her, even if the ‘anywhere’ was her old strip club.

  CHAPTER 9

  He’d grown up in a spiritual country, his superstitious, ritualistic, colorific Mexico.

  So when his thumb bled from the thin paper cut given to him by the golden envelope, and then, at that exact same moment, his cell phone rang loudly from his pocket, he didn’t wonder who it was, what the contents of the envelope were, or whether any of it was leaning toward good or bad news. He already knew. An hour before he was to meet with Michelle for dinner, alone, he already goddamn knew.