Chapter Twenty (Jane POV)

I have eleven missed calls from Michael.

With this last one, I glance over reflexively at Rafael where he is dozing in his hospital bed to make sure the sound didn't wake him. I've been keeping vigil at his bedside for the last few hours and every single time my phone jingles I have to wrestle with myself not to answer it. I want to. I really want to because I am just as worried about Michael as I am about Rafael. But then I look at Rafael's battered and bruised face and I'm reminded of all the reasons why I shouldn't. Michael did try to kill him tonight and I can't simply shrug that off. Consequently, as I've done with the last eleven, I send this latest call straight to voicemail and discretely tuck my phone back into my purse.

As a result of all the painkillers he'd been given earlier, Rafael has been mostly sleeping since being admitted to his room. He was barely conscious when he arrived so we haven't really had an opportunity to talk about what happened. Mom and I haven't talked about it either. Half an hour ago, she'd excused herself to make a phone call to Dad but I think that was likely a manufactured pretext because she recognized my need to be alone with Rafael and process my thoughts. In fact, I haven't said much at all since he'd been transported to the hospital and Mom hasn't said much either but I'm pretty sure she's reeling just like I am. Michael's actions had shocked the hell out of her too.

But I can't think about that right now. I'll go crazy if I do. So I turn my thoughts towards matters I can compartmentalize, that are somewhat within my limited control.

Thankfully, the injuries Rafael sustained aren't necessarily life threating. He has a fractured eye socket, a broken nose and a bruised trachea. Undoubtedly, he's going to look like hell for a few weeks but the damage isn't permanent. Due to that last injury, however, the doctors have decided to keep him in the hospital overnight for observation. He has some swelling in his throat as a result of his near strangulation and the medical staff want to be sure the inflammation doesn't eventually impede his airway.

Whenever I look at the dark, purple bruise that rings his neck, I can still see Michael straddled over him, his hands closed tightly around Rafael's throat. The lack of expression on Michael's face is seared into my brain. That glassy, fixed blue stare, methodical and unseeing, as he tries to choke the life out of Rafael. I've been reliving that horror again and again for the past three hours. Every time I close my eyes, it's right there in bold, living color. I doubt that I will ever forget it and, because I won't, I can't envision how Michael and I can ever go forward. I don't think I can ever look at him the same way.

Prior to that moment, I would have never conceived that Michael was capable of such brutality. I knew that he had a temper and he could be extremely defensive at times. But who didn't have those kinds of character flaws? He wasn't perfect and I didn't expect him to be.

I also knew that there is a great deal of animosity that simmered between him and Rafael but I never recognized the extreme depth of it…not until today. And to witness the unbridled display of that animosity had truly terrified me. I can't have someone capable of that type of violence around my son. I can't have someone like that around myself.

It all feels like deja vu. I can remember how I felt when Michael went after Rafael all those years ago because he rightly suspected that Rafael had cost him his job. That day he had been so enraged that he'd actually punched Rafael when Mateo was right there and, as a result of that lapse in judgment, my son had been injured. What if Mateo had been there today? This afternoon was so reminiscent of that day that the similarities literally gives me chills when I think about it. Only, this time, Michael hadn't seemed to recognize the enormity of his actions afterwards. This time, he didn't even seem to care.

And that's the hardest part for me to reconcile. The man I saw today, the man that had kept going after Rafael again and again like a mindless machine…that man hadn't seemed like Michael at all. That man had been unrecognizable to me. Even after he had regained consciousness while we waited for the ambulance and police to arrive, he hadn't seemed like himself.

He'd been dazed, confused and he'd recoiled like a wounded animal from anyone who dared to come near him. He hadn't even known where he was. The only person who had been able to even get close to him was Lorena. At the time, I couldn't be sure if his disorientation was a result of the head injury he'd sustained or something else but I couldn't ponder the possibilities for too long because my thoughts were preoccupied with Rafael.

Now, I find myself wondering. Had Michael even been aware of his actions during his fight with Rafael? Was he in control when it happened? I think about how emotionless and apathetic he seemed during fight and after it was over and I can't shake the feeling that something was off with him. Something wasn't right. My heart is inclined to believe that there's more to his outburst today than simple rage.

Unfortunately, that's the problem. I don't know if I believe there is something deeper going on with Michael because it's actually possible or because I simply want it to be true. I want there to be some explanation other than hatred and bad judgment for why Michael attacked Rafael like that, why he would have gone so far as to kill him if my mother hadn't intervened. Maybe Rafael's earlier concerns about Michael had been valid after all. Maybe Sin Rostro had done something horrible to Michael in all those years she had him held prisoner, maybe he had been brainwashed. Maybe he wasn't responsible for his actions today at all.

I've got myself half convinced that all of those theories are true when I realize what I'm doing and I stop myself cold. I can't do this. I can't make excuses for Michael's actions. Am I really so desperate to excuse him that I'm willing to believe he was brainwashed without any evidence whatsoever? The likelier explanation is the hardest one to come to terms with and that is simply that Michael went after Rafael tonight because he hated him and that hatred clouded his judgment just like the last time.

I can't help but wonder if Rafael has been right about me this entire time. Perhaps I do have a blind spot, a weakness when it comes to Michael. I can't see him as he actually is. Maybe this is who he's been the whole time and I'm only now starting to see it. Could I have really been that blind, that foolish? And after everything that's happened today I realize that I can't afford to keep deluding myself. Michael is obviously not the man I thought he was and I have to find a way to accept that truth…and live with it.

Hoping to distract myself from that unhappy awareness, I decide to put in a call to Abuela and check in on Mateo when, just as a I reach for my purse, Rafael's uninjured eye begins to flutter. I quickly put aside my things and scramble to his bedside. He emits a low, groggy, disoriented groan and I hold my breath as he opens his eye. Strangely, I feel more tension now that he's waking up than I did when he was unconscious and his prognosis was uncertain.

"Hey," I greet softly as he starts to focus on my face, "How are you feeling?"

He has to try several times before he speaks and, when he does, his words are raspy and weak as a result of the injury to his throat. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck." Under the circumstances, that scenario might be more preferable. But I don't dare voice that comment aloud.

"My throat is on fire." I deliberately refrain from reminding him that his pain is a direct result of Michael's attempt to strangle him. "It hurts to talk."

"Would you like some water?" When he nods I quickly retrieve the Styrofoam cup his nurse had brought in for him earlier. After he's taken a few careful sips, I ask, "Is that better?"

"A little." With a small frown, Rafael reaches up his hand to gingerly investigate the puffiness in his eye. "Does it look as bad as it feels?"

"I've seen you look better," I evade with a feeble smile, "Do you remember what happened?"

Rafael nods. "I got in a fight with Michael," he determines in a grim tone, "I think he tried to kill me."

There is no way that I can sugarcoat his assumption because it's absolutely true so I try to soften the harshness of that reality instead. "It definitely got out of hand. You two never should have been fighting in the first place."

He lifts an uncoordinated hand wrapped in I.V. tubing to gently brush my cheek. "He hurt you, Jane."

"Yeah, he did," I acknowledge gruffly, "But that was between me and him. You shouldn't have gotten involved, Raf."

Rafael closes his eye and grunts softly, letting his hand fall. "It's not just between you and him. If he's in your life then that means he's in Mateo's life too. What affects you affects Mateo and that affects me."

He's said something similar to me in the past. I didn't completely agree with it then and I don't completely agree with it now. I don't especially like the idea that my personal choices must somehow be dictated by whether or not Rafael feels comfortable with them. However, I don't say anything to him about it, not necessarily because I think he might be right but because he's hurt and in no shape to argue right now. "You should sleep," I encourage him, "We can talk more after you've had some rest."

But I know he's not going to heed the advice even before he says, "Tell me how bad it is. If I'm in the hospital then it can't be great."

"It's not too terrible. They're keeping you overnight as a precaution. Your face received some serious damage, a broken nose and eye socket, but all of that will heal and you'll be as pretty as ever in no time."

"Oh, so you still think I'm pretty, do you? Good to know." His cocky grin quickly becomes a grimace of pain. "Ugh, that hurts. Probably shouldn't do too much smiling right now."

I drop a careful but affectionate kiss to his forehead. "Probably not."

"That's going to be hard with you around." When my smile wavers a bit with that statement, Rafael's face darkens with disappointment and the lighthearted atmosphere between us vaporizes.

He regards me with a stony expression. "Tell me that Michael is in jail right now."

While I understand his fury and I know that he's justified, the thought of Michael being arrested or spending the night in jail makes me cringe inside. He spent the last five years of his life in a prison and I'm not eager to see him go back to one, even if he does deserve it. Although it sounds cliched and ridiculous given the circumstances, I feel like Michael has been through enough already.

"I'm not sure where he is," I reply rather reluctantly, "The police showed up at the house shortly after the paramedics did but I don't know if they arrested him or not because I left with you."

Once again, Rafael's expression veers from gathering rage to surprised gratitude. "You did? You rode with me to the hospital?"

"Yes. I was worried about you."

He appears rather satisfied and pensive following my answer. I fear that he might be reading more into that fact than necessary but when I start to clarify matters, he says, "Well, if they didn't arrest him yet, they will…because I'm pressing charges."

"Rafael, do you really think that's necessary?" I lament without thinking, "You threw the first punch." I know it's the wrong thing to say even before he glares at me.

"So what? I was defending you! Are you saying I deserved what happened?"

"No. I'm saying that maybe if you hadn't gone after him things wouldn't have escalated."

"Are you defending him right now?" he rasps in disbelief, "After he tried to kill me?"

"Of course not! But this situation is already complicated enough. Do you really want to make it worse by having him arrested?"

"Yes. I do," he insists obstinately, "I don't give a damn what it complicates! He assaulted me. That's a crime and he should answer for it."

Yet again, the chilling image of Michael with his hands wrapped tightly around Rafael's throat flashes through my brain. I fall back a few steps with a jerked nod of acceptance. "You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. If you want to press charges then you should do that."

"I know you want to believe he's changed, Jane," Rafael whispers, "But clearly he hasn't. He's dangerous. For you and for Mateo. I don't want him around my son, Jane."

"I get it! Okay?" I snap a little angrier than I intend.

"Do you?" he challenges. When I don't respond, he presses further. "I'm not blind. I know that something must have changed between you two."

I glance up at him, startled, fearful in that moment that the truth must be written all over my face. I haven't told anyone besides my mother that Michael and I had sex the night I drove to Fort Myers. In fact, until this second, I had thought I was doing a rather fine job of keeping my feelings for Michael concealed. Obviously not.

"I watched you together at the funeral," Rafael reveals, "I saw how you looked at him…how he looked at you. It was different. Something was different."

"Rafael, I…"

"I don't want to know the details," he interrupts sharply before I can begin to explain, "I don't want to know what happened. I want to know what you're going to do now."

"I don't understand what you're asking me."

"I'm assuming that you and Michael were going to try and be together but I hope you know now that would have been a mistake."

"I don't want to talk about this with you. You're hurt and I'm tired and this isn't the time to get into it."

Rafael makes a sweeping gesture around his hospital room and all the equipment housed inside of it. "As you can see, I have no place to be right now," he says wryly, "so, I think, this is the perfect time to talk about it."

I regard him with a frustrated glare. "What do you want me to say, Raf?"

"The truth," he states quietly, "You're still in love with Michael, aren't you? Even now, after everything he's done? Admit it!"

The somber candor of the question has me averting my eyes but I don't lie to him. "Yes." He's silent for a long time after I answer and I know it's because he's trying to process the anguish it causes.

Finally, he asks, "How long have you known that you still wanted to be with him?"

"I don't know," I mumble, "But I think I stopped lying to myself after you broke off the engagement."

"So, I was right. You weren't sorry that I ended it at all."

"It's not like that," I rush to reassure him, "I knew, in the long run, it was probably for the best because I was so confused."

"Then why did you say 'yes' in the first place?" This isn't the first time he's asked me this question but it's the first time I've given him a straight answer when he does.

"Because I still loved you!" I cry tearfully, "My feelings for you didn't disappear overnight when Michael came back. At first, I felt torn and I didn't know what I wanted beyond helping Michael regain his memory. But the more time I spent with him, the stronger my feelings for him became. And, as that happened, my feelings for you became less pronounced. It wasn't anything you did, Rafael. It's been a process and it just happened. It was me. It's all me."

"And the bottom line is, you want him…just like always. You want him more than me."

I drop my head forward with a mournful whimper. "Raf, please…I don't want to hurt you, especially now when you…"

"…when I'm in the hospital because he tried to kill me," he finishes brutally, "That's the man you love, Jane! That's the man you want above our family! That's the man you keep leaving me for…an emotionally unstable, abusive killer!"

"Stop it! This isn't a contest, Raf!"

"No, it's my life! It's our life together! We were a family, Jane! We were so happy! Our son was so happy! Have you taken one second to think about what you're doing to us…to him?"

"I have! That's all I've been thinking about!"

Just then, my cellphone begins to chime in my purse, filling the room with its catchy jingle. Secretly glad for the interruption, I make a dive for my purse, half expecting and hoping it to be Abuela with an update on Mateo but when I glance at the caller i.d. screen I realize it's not Abuela calling. A quiver of apprehension uncurls in my belly. My hands start to sweat.

Rafael reads my tormented expression easily. "It's Michael, isn't it?"

I swallow roughly before I answer. "Yes. I should probably answer or he's going to keep calling."

"Well, go ahead then!" he bites out coldly, "Talk to him! You know you want to!"

Although it's scornful, resentful permission, it's still permission and I guess that's what I've been waiting for this entire time. I turn my back and seek the furthest corner of the room before I answer the call with trembling fingers. "Michael?"

"Jane!" he cries gladly when he hears my voice, "Thank God! I didn't think you were going to answer!"

He sounds harried, confused. Shaken. My heart contracts immediately to hear the trembling in his voice but I steel myself against feeling compassion for him. "This isn't a good time for me, Michael."

"I know you're upset. And I get that," he rushes out, "But you have to let me to explain. There's so much going on that… I need to see you, Jane. Where are you? Are you still at the hospital? Can I meet you there?"

"No, you can't meet me here!" I hiss, "Don't you understand what you did? I'm here with Rafael, Michael! You put him in the hospital!"

"I know! I didn't mean for that to happen! Is...is he okay?"

"He'll recover but that doesn't change what you did!" I hiss.

"I'm sorry for that. I'm so sorry! But that wasn't me. That's not who I am. I really need to talk to you right now! So much has happened and I need to explain! Please, can I see you?"

"Michael, I don't have anything more to say you," I tell him, my words hoarse with unshed tears, "I think you and I should keep our distance from each other from now on. You were right. We should go our separate ways. I don't want to see you. Please don't call me again."

I end the call just as he starts his tearful protest. I'm not surprised when he immediately calls back but this time I block him. Fueled by sorrow and pain, I go a step further and delete every single voice message that he's left for me in the interim and I don't listen to a single one before I do. When that's over and I have not only deleted his call history and voicemails, I also delete his contact information my phone list. Afterwards, I shove my cell back into my purse and try very hard not to cry.

"Now what?" Rafael asks softly as I stand there trying not to fall apart.

"Now I have to find a way to live with it."

"And you're sorry about that? Even after everything that's happened?"

"I can't help how I feel, Raf!"

He rakes me with a look of sheer disgust and I recoil from its ferocity. I can't remember Rafael ever looking at me that way, almost like he hates me, and it's soul-crushing to see because, in spite of everything, he's still my best friend. It's ironic to say, given the circumstances, but I need his support to get through this. It's not fair and I hate myself for feeling this way but…I need him to keep me from breaking.

"I don't get it," he mutters bitterly, "How can you still love him after everything he did to you? He's seeing another woman and he lied to you about it. He hasn't been faithful to you, Jane. And, if that's not enough, he tried to kill me tonight!"

"I know that. You don't think I'm sick about it? You don't think I feel guilty?"

I'm not sure if it's the sight of my tears or the fact he can plainly see how anguished and ashamed I am but Rafael softens. Thankfully, he softens because, after everything that's happened, I can't lose him too. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I shouldn't have gone after you like that. I know you're confused and hurt."

I collapse into the chair I'd vacated earlier and cover my face with my hands. "I don't even know who that was tonight," I weep sorrowfully, "He was like a completely different person. It shocked me."

"Jane, he's been gone for five years," Rafael whispers, "He's not the same man you used to know."

"I don't know what to do now," I weep brokenly, "It feels like he just died all over again! But somehow, this feels worse. It hurts so much!"

"You got through it once. You can do it again."

"How?"

"Focus on your writing. Focus on our son. Let me help you through this."

I lift my head to stare at him in devastated disbelief. "Why would you even want to help me?"

"Because you're my best friend and I love you and I'm never going to stop wanting us to be together."

The words are so reminiscent of something that Michael said to me years ago that I have to shake my head at the incredible irony. I'm living out the same events all over again but only now Michael and Rafael's roles have been reversed. And it's because I've lived this same scenario once before that I'm determined not to make the same mistakes all over again. Rather than giving into my desire not to hurt Rafael and cushion him from the truth, I decide to be frankly honest instead.

"Raf, I know how you feel about me but I don't feel the same. Not anymore," I tell him as gently as I can, "I love Michael. It's not ideal and I wish I didn't. It doesn't feel great right now but that's the truth. I love him and I think that's always going to be true."

"You also loved me," Rafael reminds me stubbornly, "You said so yourself just a little while ago. What we had between us was real. If you fell in love with me once before when you still had feelings for Michael, I know it can happen again, Jane."

"I don't want it to happen again!" I flare suddenly, "When I broke my engagement to Michael back then it was a mistake and I regretted it, especially when I thought he was dead because all I could think about was all that time I wasted…time we could have had together…"

He flinches in response but stubbornly pushes ahead regardless. "And this last time we've been together? Do you regret that too?"

My anger subsides just as quickly as it flared and I'm left feeling tired and defeated. "No. This last time with you was beautiful and perfect and exactly what I needed. You made me believe I could be a whole person again. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I'm going to always cherish what we had together, Raf."

"Have," he corrects me, "We still have it. I believe that. Right now you're caught up in the past and you're confusing what you feel for Michael as real love because of it. Eventually, you'll get that. So, I'll wait because I know what's at stake. For our family, for our future, I will wait for you, Jane."

He's so earnest, so heartfelt, so broken in his hospital bed that I can't tell him, at this particular moment, that is the very last thing I want to hear.