Vow of Atonement

by Emma Renshaw

  “Why didn’t you do it?”

  I shrug. “The space I was in really wasn’t big enough for that type of thing. And I don’t know if eating a slice of cake is helpful when you’re trying on a pair of skinny jeans.”

  “Let’s look for a space big enough to have something like that. I think it’s a great idea.”

  “Thanks,” I say, blushing from his praise. “Are you going to expand your company, or what are you going to do?”

  “Not sure yet, Sugar. Kiernan could run the Tennessee office and I’ll work on opening the Texas branch.”

  “I’m going to miss Kiernan when he goes back to Tennessee.”

  “I won’t,” Roman says, smiling. I know it’s not true. Kiernan is the closest thing to a brother Roman has. “If Kiernan doesn’t want to run it, I may shut it down and start fresh in Texas.”

  “I don’t want you to do that for me.”

  Roman glances at me. “It’s nothing, babe. I have tons of connections in the security business. I get could all my guys jobs. The rest is just a change of location.”

  We lapse into silence, staring at the road in front of us. Roman is being honest and forthcoming about everything, telling me things I didn’t even know to ask for. It’s time I do the same—there’s something he doesn’t know that I did for him while he was serving our country.

  “You know, I was there the day they buried your mom.”

  Roman’s eyes whip to mine then back to the road. His jaw clenches. His mother and childhood are subjects he hates; he avoids them at all costs. I’ve only gleaned what little I know of his childhood from small snippets he shared. He never wanted to taint our time together with the ugliness of his past.

  He doesn’t ask why or how I knew, but I answer him, anyway. “I knew you were overseas. Andrea from high school, she was one of the nurses who worked on your mom, trying to bring her back, called me after. She assumed we were still together, so she told me everything. Saint Matthews always buried those who couldn’t afford a plot, so I knew it would be there. I called and spoke with the pastor, asking for information.”

  “There wasn’t a service or anything. I couldn’t come home. No one else would have shown up. I paid for the burial.”

  “I know. The pastor told me. He stood with me as they lowered her casket into the ground. I knew you probably hadn’t seen her since you left and that a goodbye would be hard for you. I also know you love her, even though she was awful, because that’s who you are. So, I said goodbye for you. She wasn’t alone, Roman.”

  Roman scrubs a hand over his face when he looks at me, and his eyes are slightly glassy. “It’s haunted me for years thinking she went into the ground with no one around. I know she did it to herself, made her life what it was, but she was still my mom.”

  “I know,” I whisper. “I had flowers sent to her grave for a year. It’s all I could afford, but they were her favorite color, no matter the season.”

  “Pink,” he whispers.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Remember I was wearing pink when I met her? She told me how much she loved the color.”

  He shakes his head. “She just loved the girl in it. After she met you, she begged me that night to be stronger than her, to not follow in her footsteps. That’s one of my best memories of her. I remember telling her how important it was to me for you to meet her and how important you are to me. She tried her best that day. I know she wasn’t normal, but she actually tried.”

  “I know, baby.” I squeeze his hand, sending all the love I can through our connection.

  A few hours later, we pull into the driveway of the lake house, getting out in silence and heading straight for the bedroom. The jewelry box has been sitting on top of the dresser since the day we arrived at Savannah and Liam’s place.

  “I’ve opened this box hundreds, if not thousands, of times,” I say to Roman. “It feels different now. I’m expecting it look different when I open it.”

  “I know. I’m expecting it to be like a jack-in-the-box, something springing out at us as soon as we open it.”

  “Thanks for putting that thought in my head,” I say, lightly slapping his chest.

  “It’s not a horror movie, Harp.”

  “Feels like it,” I mutter.

  “Want me to open it?” Roman asks.

  “No, I’ll do it.” I reach forward, holding my breath as I open the lid. My teeth are biting into my bottom lip and my eyes are squinting as I prepare for something to jump out like Roman said.

  Of course, nothing happens. It’s the same as it always was. Roman and I each pick up an item, running it through our fingers, looking for an engraving or clue. When the box is empty, Roman picks it up, feeling along the interior with a frown on his face.

  “Nothing?” I ask.

  “Not that I can see or feel.” He flips the box over, staring at the bottom. “There’s a couple screws here. I can take it apart.”

  “Will you be able to put it back together?” I ask worriedly. “I don’t want to lose it. It’s one of the only things I have left.”

  “Of course, Sugar. I’ll be extra careful. Be right back.”

  I stand there staring at the box, begging it to give me some answers. But Roman is right. This isn’t a horror movie. It doesn’t rattle around the top of the dresser or open with a light shining out of it—sucking me into another dimension.

  Roman comes in carrying a screwdriver. He turns over the box, carefully taking out each screw and setting them on the dresser. The bottom piece slides out from the rest of the frame. Roman looks at me then back down at the jewelry box, pulling out a flash drive and several envelopes. Each one is labeled with a different name. Sadie. Marissa. Harper. Roman. Roman’s letter is written in a different handwriting than the other three. His is from Santiago, and the rest are from my dad.

  I pick up the letter for me, my sister, and my mom. Roman’s holding his, staring at it with a scowl. “Ready?” I ask.

  He nods, ripping open his envelope. I do the same with mine. Roman watches me pull out folded paper. He hasn’t made a move to pull his from the envelope. “Aren’t you going to look at yours?”

  “After you. Just in case,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead. I sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at the letter in my dad’s handwriting.

  My Dearest Doll,

  If you’re reading this, it means that I’m gone. Before we get to anything else, know that I loved you with my entire heart. The first time I held you right after you were born, you changed my life. I became a dad. A word so scary and jarring, I didn’t know what to do. One day, you and Roman will experience this joy. The joy of holding something you created out of love. There’s nothing like it in the world, Doll.

  If I’m gone, that means you’ve received your inheritance. I’m sure you didn’t think twice about the number. I bet Roman did, though. Not because he’s greedy or out for your money, but because he loves you so fiercely. He knows what you deserve and he’s smart as a whip, he knows the pittance you received isn’t what is owed to you.

  If Santiago is alive, he will explain everything to you on your twenty-first birthday. If he’s not and you’re reading this, then everything we planned is working. You must also know by now that your Uncle Santiago is the head of a cartel, and I helped him. Santiago is my brother, no matter his poor decisions in life. I would never turn my back on him. I had a skillset and his trust, which he greatly valued. He kept the dirtiness of his life from you. The very first time he regretted his path is when he held you. I wasn’t going to allow him in your life.

  I gave him five minutes in the hospital to hold you, his niece. You wrecked him, the same way you wrecked me. He begged me to be part of your life, he swore he’d put you first and the cartel second. He said no dirtiness would ever touch you. I hope that is still true. He is not a bad man. Santiago, the true Santiago, is the man that you know. The man that loved to be your taste tester even when you tried the wildest cake flavors. He’s the man that was at every recita
l and graduation, right next to me. That is Santiago. Remember him that way, love him that way. Don’t let a hard life that led to bad choices affect your view of your uncle.

  As for me, please never think poorly of me. I’d die a thousand deaths if I found out you thought of me differently. When we meet in the afterlife and you look at me differently, I will be destroyed. Please know I did what I did because Santiago is my family. We aren’t blood, but he’s my best friend. I had no blood family until your mom and I had you and your sister. He was the closest thing to a family I had. When you survive the streets, abuse, neglect, and hunger together, you share an unbreakable bond. We are from the same life but chose different paths. Santiago and I are doing everything we can for Roman, for him to choose the military. It is his only way out of where he comes from.

  I hope when you’re reading this, you just turned twenty-one and Roman is with you, as is Santiago but of course I won’t know. I’m writing this letter because I discovered some things about the cartel and Santiago’s son. Yes, Santiago has a son. He’s dangerous. I fear that if my death is suspicious, he is behind it. He’s why both Santiago and I have moved our money to offshore accounts. Santiago has taken you, your mother, and sister out of his will in hopes that it will protect you from Rafael.

  The flash drive is everything I have on him. Use it wisely.

  I know you and your high and mighty ways. The money intended for you in the offshore accounts is clean. My business was successful and I made good, honest money doing it. It’s clean and it’s yours. The money intended for your mother and sister is clean, too. All the money I earned from the cartel, I donated to children’s shelters. Hoping to save even one life from a life like Santiago and I had.

  Take care of your mother and sister. They will need you and lean on you in face of my death. My strong, beautiful, fierce Harper. I love you, even from the afterlife.

  Take care of Roman, too. There will be things he learns in his life that won’t be easy on him. Treat each other well.

  I wish I could say enough I love yous to last until the end of your days.

  I love you, Harper. My beautiful doll of a daughter.

  Love always,

  Dad

  43

  Roman

  Harper’s tears are soaking the pages of her letter. My chest is cracking open watching the tears fall down her face. She has cried far too much, for my taste. I love when my girl smiles and is happy. After this shit is done—and I will end it soon—I’m going to spend my life trying to only make her smile.

  She takes a deep, shaky breath before looking up at me, tears still spilling down her cheeks. “You need to read your letter,” she says.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Not now. Read yours first, then we’ll talk.”

  I lean against the door frame, pulling the letter with Santiago’s handwriting from its envelope and blowing out a long breath, preparing for a freight train that I can’t stop.

  Roman,

  My son.

  I do mean that literally. If you’re reading this, it means I am gone and never got to tell you in person. You are my son.

  No. Fuck no. My breathing becomes ragged as rage tears through me. I don’t bother reading the rest, crumpling the pages and throwing them to the ground.

  I walk out of the room, yelling over my shoulder. “Get in the fucking car, Harper.

  44

  Harper

  What the hell just happened.

  “Harper,” Roman roars from the front door. I’ve been frozen to my spot on the bed since he stormed out. I race toward the front of the house to meet him. He’s waiting for me by the door, motioning for me to walk through it. I don’t question him, just follow his command.

  “Get in,” he growls.

  I don’t speak until he’s speeding down the street. “Roman, you’re scaring me. Slow down.”

  He growls, gripping the steering wheel so tightly, it looks like he’s about to yank it from the steering column. But his foot comes off the gas, slowing us down.

  “What’s happening?” I ask. “What did it say?”

  “Like you don’t know. Fucking urging me on to read it.”

  “I don’t know, Roman. I swear. Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “Not right now,” he yells, slamming his hand down on the steering wheel.

  A few minutes later he whips into the parking lot of Raise the Bar, jumping out of the car as soon as he slams into park. I run behind him, trying to catch him, but his strides are too fast and long. He walks straight past James standing at the reception desk and up to one of the punching bags hanging from the ceiling. I stop next to the desk, covering my mouth, as I watch him roar in anger, slamming his fist into the bag.

  Tears well in my eyes with each punch to the bag. After only a few punches, I can see that his knuckles are bleeding, dripping blood down his hands and arm. James comes around the desk, standing next to me and watching Roman.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, turning toward me.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. I explain about the safety deposit box and the note inside of it which led us to the letters. “He crumpled his letter, threw it on the ground, and now we’re here doing this.” I wave my hand toward Roman.

  “What did it say?”

  “His letter?” I ask, looking at him. His eyes are focused on Roman, watching him intently, and flicking to the few people around him.

  James nods.

  “I don’t know,” I answer, wishing I did so I could help him in some way.

  “He can beat the shit out of the bag as long as he wants to, but if he starts a fight with any of those people he’s growling at, I will forcibly remove him. Fair warning.”

  “Understood,” I whisper, wanting to ask James to forcibly remove him right now, so I can figure this out and help him in a way that isn’t bloodying his hands.

  “Come on. Sit behind the desk. You’ll still have a view of your boy.”

  I walk around his desk and plop down in the chair, not taking my eyes off Roman. Tears silently pour down my cheeks. He beats the bag until he’s so physically exhausted his arms hang like limp noodles by his side.

  Slowly one arm comes up to wrap around the bag, holding it steady while he crashes into it. His forehead rests against it as he looks at the floor, breathing heavily. Roman’s head rolls to the side, finding me immediately. He winces when he takes in my tear-stained face.

  45

  Roman

  It takes every ounce of strength I can muster to peel myself from the bag and walk toward the front door. As I’m walking past Harper, I signal my head toward the door. “Come on, Sugar.”

  Her face softens at the term of endearment. Fuck. I’m fucking it up again, and I can’t even stop myself. I didn’t mean to speak to her the way I did. I couldn’t hold in the rage and hostility any longer.

  Those three words are all I say to her before walking out of the gym. I slow my pace until I hear her footsteps. She peppers me with a few questions on the way home, but I remain silent. I can’t talk. The words won’t come. I depleted my body with physical exercise and now that the anger’s gone, there’s nothing left inside of me at the moment. Harper stops her line of questioning, turning toward the window and staying silent.

  I wish I could reach out to her, but I can’t. Everything inside of me is gone. We walk in the house, and I don’t bother flipping on the lights as I make my way down the hallway toward the bathroom. I stand in the dark room waiting for the water to heat enough to step inside. When the steam starts billowing out of the shower curtain, I strip and step in, leaning my forearms against the wall and allowing the water to pound against my back.

  The hot water stings as it splashes against the cuts along my knuckles. I welcome the pain. I welcome any feeling. Anything at all. Anything to take away from the emptiness inside of me.

  Harper steps in behind me, pressing her naked body to my back and wrapping her arms around my mid
dle. She hugs me close for a solid five minutes, neither one of speaking or moving until she lets go of me. I wonder if she’s getting out, sick of my attitude. I lean my head against the wall, wishing my voice would work so I could ask her to stay.

  My body jolts in surprise when the scratchy loofah hits my skin. Harper washes my body, taking care of every inch of skin, paying close attention to my busted knuckles. She lays a soft kiss on each cut, slowly healing my soul and making me feel anything but empty.

  After she washes my body, she puts shampoo in her hands, washing my hair, massaging my scalp. Tension slowly fades from my shoulders as I relax, letting her take care of me. She doesn’t say a word or ask anything of me, she’s just here, showing me more love than I’ve received in a lifetime.

  We stay silent in the shower until the water runs cold. Harper reaches around me, turning off the spray, before she grabs the towel from the rack, drying me before she dries herself. A fresh pair of boxer briefs are sitting on the counter, and she grabs them, handing them to me. I put them on, following her out of the bathroom. While I toss on my briefs, she throws on a nightie.

  The crumbled letter isn’t on the floor anymore. I wonder if she read it. I hope not. If she did, did she get farther than me? Harper pulls back the covers on my side, silently urging me to get in. She moves over to her side, climbing in. Neither one of us reaches for the other, and we both stay silent.