Chapter Two (Jane POV)
Intellectually, I know it's not fair to blame him. In no way do I believe Rafael had anything to do with Michael's disappearance nor do I think he's responsible for the amnesia Michael is suffering. I won't even entertain the notion that he could have conspired with his crime lord stepmother to kidnap Michael because the idea is simply too absurd. There's not a single doubt in my mind that Rafael is simply incapable of something so despicable. I don't even think he kept the truth from me maliciously. Yet, even knowing and believing all of that, I still can't help but resent him.
He has known for an entire week that Michael was alive or, at the very least, harbored a strong suspicion that my husband was not dead. He knew last night, even after I begged him to confide in me and he said nothing. We had sex, held each other throughout the night, made promises of renewed commitment to each other and still he said nothing. That's when it dawns on me. He actually had sex with me last night with the full knowledge that my husband was alive. When that realization finally hits me full force I feel physically ill.
Hot bile rises to the back of my throat. I groan aloud as waves and waves of nausea wash over me. I must look as if I'm going to keel over completely because Rafael instantly lurches forward, his forehead knit with concern. I throw out my hand to stave him off, biting out from between clenched teeth, "Don't you dare come near me!"
"Jane," he entreats and I can hear the pain in his voice over my reaction, "please let me help you. You look like you're going to be sick."
"I am going to be sick," I warn him mere seconds before I make a desperate dive for the wastebasket and empty my stomach contents into it.
Moments later, while I am still heaving violently into the trash, I feel Rafael's hand glide gently up and down the length of my spine while his other hand tenderly brushes face the tendrils of hair that have fallen across my face. At that precise second, I'm too sick to push him away. I continue to vomit until there is nothing left, until all I can do is dry heave, until my abdominal muscles are aching almost as much as my heart. When I finally settle and I'm left clammy and shaking, I shrug off his touch and roll away from him entirely.
He reaches for me again but I recoil from the gesture. "Don't!"
"I just want to help, Jane. Are you okay?" he asks evenly, "What can I do?"
"You can tell me why you lied to me."
He actually has to gall to shake his head in denial. "I didn't lie. That's not how it was."
I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth and rise to my feet on trembling legs. "A lie of omission is still a lie, Raf."
He responds with a bark of ironic laughter. In the second, I seriously want to throttle him, especially more so when he looks up at me as I'm a misbehaving child who is trying his patience. "Don't twist this into something it's not," he replies tersely, "I asked you to come here tonight, didn't I? I haven't kept a single thing from you. How is that a lie of omission?"
"You're right. You told me everything," I agree, "After we slept together." He jerks his head aside as I continue, "How could you do that? You know what Michael meant to me…what he means to me. How could you let me continue thinking he was dead for a second longer than you had to? How could you have sex with me when you knew he was alive?"
He doesn't meet my eyes but it's not difficult to see the guilt stamped all over him even while he attempts to invalidate my argument. "We've been having sex for months now, Jane. How was last night any different?"
"Because last night, you knew Michael was alive and that would have changed things for me had I known!" To his credit, he doesn't attempt to justify his actions but instead hangs his head in apparent shame. But I feel no triumph over having been proven right. Instead, I feel lost and numb and incredibly alone. Emotionally drained, I stumble over to his bed and sink down onto the edge.
"So what happens now?" he asks me gruffly.
"Why don't you tell me, Raf?" I sigh in a weary tone, "You're the one making all the decisions here."
"That's not fair."
"But it's not a lie either."
"What can I say to you, Jane? You've already made up your mind. You've tried and convicted me in your heart and you don't even know the whole story."
With a surprising amount of measured calm (because I literally want to beat him senseless in that moment), I primly tuck my hands between my knees and regard him with arched brows full of challenge. "So tell me, Raf," I invite him, my words clipped and cold, "Tell me the whole story and then I'll judge."
"You already know that Rose has been calling me…taunting me about my parents…"
"I know. She wanted to manipulate you into telling her where to find your sister," I reply, "Is that what you did? Did you tell her where to find Luisa?"
"Not the truth," he says, "I'll never let her get close to Luisa again, not if I can help it. Rose will find that out soon enough."
"And she'll come after you for lying to her," I surmise with rising apprehension. I'm worried about him even if I don't want to admit that out loud. "You know that, right?"
"Let her. There's nothing more she can do to hurt me. She's already done her worst."
The anguish on his face is too much to bear and I have to look away. He wants me to tell him that we can move forward together like we were planning to do but the words are lodged in my throat. I can't move forward when I've been catapulted back in time five years. I am remembering quite distinctly how I felt when I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Michael Cordero Jr.
Because I can't look at him and I certainly can't share what I'm feeling at the moment, I preoccupy myself with tracing the pattern on his comforter with the tip of my finger. "So she told you where to find Michael in exchange for what amounts to bogus information on Luisa?"
"Pretty much."
"Do you think it's possible she set this whole thing in motion?" I wonder aloud.
"You mean that she faked Michael's death and then waited for the most opportune time to spring him on us again?"
"Yes."
"Knowing Rose, I wouldn't doubt it." His expression becomes pensive. "I can't imagine what her motives would be for doing it but I definitely would put it past her." A sick expression flitters over his face before he adds with great reluctance, "You know it's possible she compromised Michael in some way just to get to me…to us."
I grimace at the suggestion. "What do you mean? Are you saying that you think Michael might have been brainwashed or something?"
"It's possible. Maybe that's why he doesn't remember anything," Rafael considers, "If Rose did have him, we have no idea what she had done to him all that time or what she put in his head."
"Michael would never hurt me." There is no uncertainty in my voice when I say the words. They are full of such earnest conviction that I even surprise myself. This isn't a show of bravado on my part. I believe it utterly. "I don't care what Rose did to him, I'll never believe he's a threat to me."
"What about to me?"
His insinuation provokes my affronted frown. "Michael isn't after you, Raf! He's not capable of hurting anyone!"
"You haven't seen him in five years! You don't know what he's capable of because you don't know him, Jane," he flares fiercely, "I'm just saying that we need to be careful around him because we have know idea what he's been through. If not for your sake and mine then, at least, for Mateo's."
I repress the urge to cover my ears and block out what he's saying because I don't like the direction in which this conversation is headed. The idea that Michael might have been fundamentally changed in some way during his absence, that he could be used as a weapon to hurt me or Raf or even Mateo frightens me to my core. I don't want to entertain the possibility at all but then I also can't dismiss it entirely either.
"We should probably have the body exhumed as well."
I cringe at the suggestion. "The body? You mean the one I buried? You want to dig up Michael's grave? Why?"
"Well, it obviously wasn't Michael so we need to figure out who is in that coffin. Maybe it will provide us with a clue about what happened."
"And you're sure it wasn't Michael we buried?" I ask tremulously, caught in a strange, painful limbo of wanting my life to go back to what it had been earlier that evening and hoping with everything inside me that Michael is back.
"You can put your mind at ease. That was definitively Michael tonight, Jane. DNA doesn't lie."
I break down anew, damming my sobs with the back of my hand, thankful and ashamed all at once that I should even be conflicted about it. I cry until I'm sure I'm empty of all the sorrow bubbling inside of me but when I finally lift my head to look at Rafael again, I can feel my throat burn with tears once again. His pain is a palpable thing, a live entity that is growing bigger with each ensuing second. He looks as devastated as I feel.
"Why? Why would Rose do this to us? Why would she tell you, of all people, where to find Michael?"
"She said the news she had for me that would change my life," he replies, crossing the distance between us to ease down beside me on the bed, "I guess she thought she was doing me a favor by giving me control over whether it came out or not."
"Because she assumed there was a chance that you wouldn't tell me the truth," I conclude, my words roughened by unshed tears.
"Yes." He reaches over to grasp hold of my hand and press it gently between his own. After he brushes several tender kisses across the ridge of my knuckles, he regards me fervently. "But she was wrong about that. I would never keep something like this from you indefinitely, Jane. Please tell me you know that."
I allow myself just the briefest moment of respite, to rest my forehead against his warm, solid shoulder because I needed his comfort right then like I needed air. "I know that."
He turns to nuzzle the top of my head with his lips. "What happened between us last night… I wasn't trying to trick you or manipulate you. I was just so scared of losing you and I wanted to hold on just a little longer."
His words curl around my heart like a velvet hand. He's so earnest and vulnerable in his devotion that I can feel some of my resentment towards him melting away. I want to kiss him and hold him and completely blot out the last confusing few hours and I would if I could forget that Michael was alive. But I can't. That truth is there with every thought I have, every breath I inhale, every heartbeat that thunders in my chest. My entire reality is being shaped by that one, inescapable fact and there is no going back now.
I lift my head from his shoulder before I can begin to sink into the quiet intimacy that has settled over us. Resolutely, I tug my hand from his grasp and scoot away to place a few inches of distance between his body and mine. Rafael expels a long, shuddering sigh of disappointment in response because he recognizes my action as a gentle but decisive rejection.
"You should have told me the truth, Rafael. I know you were scared but I deserved to know."
"I'm sorry. I made a mistake."
"That's not good enough for me."
"Don't do this," he implores me in a sorrowful whisper, "Don't put up a wall and push me away, not now, not when you need me so much."
"I am married," I tell him, irrepressible guilt filling me as I think of all the times he and I have been together and all while Michael was alive. "Michael is my husband, Raf."
He refutes my words with a terse shake of his head. "No, he's not! He was declared legally dead. There is no marriage, Jane. We didn't do anything wrong!"
I lick at the tears gathering in the corners of my mouth. "Then why does it feel like I've betrayed him?" I choke out mournfully, "All this time you and I have been together…I've been breaking every vow that I made him. How is that not wrong?" I bury my face in my hands as I begin to shake with renewed sobs. "Oh my God…I can't believe this is happening right now!"
"You can't beat yourself up for moving on! You thought he was dead! We all thought he was dead!"
I raise my head to regard him through tear blurred eyes. "But he's not. He's not dead. He's alive and he's confused and he's been alone this entire time, Raf."
"That's not your fault."
"It feels like my fault. I should have known! I should have tried to do something! I just accepted he died from complications of the gunshot and I never questioned it and God…we lost five years!" I sob hysterically, "We lost five years!"
"Jane, don't do this to yourself," he whispers pitiably, "Don't do this to us…"
I can't hear the words because guilt is weighing like an anchor around my neck. I feel like I'm drowning, unable to do anything than rock back and forth as I try to deal with the crushing pain. "He needed me. He needed me this whole time and I wasn't there for him. I failed him…"
"How did you fail him? Do you think he's been suffering this whole time without you?" Rafael challenged, "He hasn't, Jane! He's moved on too. For God's sake, he's involved with someone else!"
The words are like a kick to the gut. One moment I'm sobbing over my own perceived failing and the next I feeling eviscerated by the possibility that I might have lost Michael to someone else. I actually feel winded in the aftermath. "What? What are you talking about?"
"When I found Michael in Houston, he wasn't alone. He lives with someone. It seemed to me like they were in a relationship," Rafael explains gently, "He didn't even want to come here. She had to convince him to do it."
The words have a corrosive effect on my heart. It doesn't make any sense and I certainly shouldn't feel betrayed or…jealous but I do and I am and I don't like how helpless and afraid I feel as a result. So I put it away. I compartmentalize my emotions because that is the only way I'm going to be able to navigate through this craziness.
Though it requires an incredible feat of strength, I manage to compose myself enough to ask, "So, is she here in Miami? Did you bring her along too?"
"No. She stayed behind." As I try to measure out the billowing sigh of relief that wants to escape my lips, Rafael says, "The point is, Michael was right when he said that you don't owe him anything. You don't. There's no reason for you to feel guilty because we're together because he's moved on too."
"Were you even listening to a word he said when he was here?" I cry in exasperation, "He has no idea who he is or where he comes from or even what his future is. That is not moving on, Raf."
"Jane, he didn't even want to stay! You bullied him into it! He's fine!"
I twist around to face him with an incredulous scowl. "He lost five years of his life, Raf! He's not fine!"
"Really? Because from what I can see, he's moved on! You're the only one refusing to let go!"
I can't refute his argument but I also can't shake the sense that I'm doing what Michael wants. To an outsider it might appear that I'm forcing the issue but I know that this is what Michael and I have always done. We fight for each other. And while he might not remember who he is and what we were to each other, I remember and that's enough for now.
"I don't expect you to understand," I tell Rafael, "but I have to do this. I have to help him."
"Fine! You don't want him to be alone? He has parents! Let them deal with it!"
"I'm his wife!"
"And you're my girlfriend," Rafael retorts sharply. I snap to attention at his impassioned outburst. "I was going to ask you to marry me tonight, Jane."
I flinch at the reminder, the emotional wall I've erected against him weakening just a bit. "And I was going to say yes."
"So say 'yes' now," he implores, "Please. Let's move on from this."
"I can't."
He stiffens and rises to his feet, his jaw set tight. "You can't or you won't?"
"I can't, Raf," I reiterate tearfully.
"Why?"
"You know why," I whisper, "Because it's Michael."
"Jane, that makes absolutely no sense," he argues, his words thick with unshed tears, "He doesn't even know who the hell you are! You had to beg him to stay here in Miami! He has his own life and you have yours! You know he's alive and he's okay! Why can't that be enough?"
"If you have to ask me that question then you never knew me at all!"
"So what? We pretend like the last five years didn't happen? We pretend like we're not in love, like we weren't going to get married and be a family? I'm just the guy who helped you get over your dead husband?"
"I'm not saying that."
"Then what are you saying? Michael doesn't want this so what are you fighting for?"
"If that's how you feel then why the hell did you even bring him here?" I yell fiercely.
"Would you have preferred it if I hadn't?" he yells back.
I don't answer that question because we both already know the answer and voicing it aloud will only make the situation worse. "I didn't ask for any of this, Raf," I mumble hoarsely.
"Well, neither did I!"
I close my eyes to hold back the fresh tears that arise. It takes several minutes and multiple calming breaths before I'm able to speak again without crying. "I'm sorry this is happening right now," I whisper, "and I'm sorry you're hurt and confused but so am I. I can't tell you that this doesn't change anything. Michael is alive, Rafael. It changes everything."
He goes still and quiet and tentative then. "Does it change how you feel about me?"
I flinch inwardly to hear the fearful timidity in his voice. "No. Of course it doesn't. I love you. You're Mateo's father."
"And Michael? Does it change how you feel about him?"
It takes me much longer to answer that question, not because I have to ponder my feelings on the matter but because I'm reluctant to hurt him by voicing them aloud. Declaring my love to Michael had been instinctive and necessary. I couldn't have kept those feelings bottled inside me even if I had wanted to. Confirming that love to Rafael, however, seems like unnecessary torture. The only reason I do answer is because I don't want to lie to him. That will only make things worse.
"I thought he died, Raf. Michael and I didn't break up. We didn't grow apart. He was taken from me. I didn't stop loving him."
He grunts in response to that, his entire frame convulsing a little as if the words had caused him a physical shock. "Well then…I guess the only question that's left is…who do you love more?"
There are times when I curse the bond I share with my mother. She can always read me, without words and without fail so I'm hardly surprised she can sense something is off with me the second I come dragging through the front door. I haven't even finished kicking off my shoes and throwing aside my purse when she puts her magazine aside.
"What's wrong?" she asks at first glance, "You look awful. Have you been crying?"
Crying? No. Sobbing hysterically like my entire life had just been reduced to smoking ashes? Bingo. I haven't bothered to look in a mirror but I'm pretty sure my face is swollen and mottled and crusted unbecomingly with dried snot. So it's little wonder that Mom is looking at me like she expects me to fall to pieces at any moment. It must be pretty bad too because she's off the couch in a second and pulling me into tight hug.
"Oh my God, Jane, tell me what happened! Did the proposal not go the way you hoped?"
The reminder of the proposal has my throat burning with tears all over again. All I want to do is run to my room and hide for the rest of my life. I stayed with Rafael for nearly two hours more but all we did was talk ourselves in fruitless circles. His argument was simple. I love him. He loves me. We have a son together and, therefore, we should be together. But it is not so simple for me.
Michael Cordero Jr. is more than a footnote in my life. He was my heart, my world. I had wanted his friendship, his touch, his smile, his babies. I had wanted to grow old with him. So much of who I am and who I've become is tied up with him. I can't simply shrug off the memory of what we were even if he doesn't remember me, even if, in the end, he does walk away. And it is for that reason that Rafael and I have reached an impasse. He wants me to let it go, to let Michael go and, from my standpoint, that seems like an impossible expectation. And so I left with nothing resolved between us at all.
Presently, I shrug out of my mother's petting embrace with a sniffle. "There was no proposal, Ma. Raf and I aren't getting married. I'm not even sure if we're together anymore."
"You had a fight? Are you saying you broke up with him because he decided not to propose?"
"I'm saying the timing wasn't right," I reply vaguely, flopping down onto the couch with a plaintive sigh, "And I don't know if it ever will be." I reflexively check my phone, hoping that I might have a missed call from an unknown number (Michael) or a text but there is nothing. Well, not nothing. I have six missed calls from Rafael but I'm not returning those any time soon. I toss my phone onto the side table with a heartsick sigh.
"He hasn't called?" Mom surmises, assuming I am hoping to hear from Rafael. I don't correct her.
"No, he hasn't," I answer glumly, "I'm not sure that he will."
"Oh, Janie." Mom sits down beside me and scoops up my hand in hers. "What happened? What did he do?"
"It's not anything he did. It's what's changed."
She looks at me with a quizzical frown. "What does that mean?"
I want to tell her. I need to tell her. If I don't unburden myself I might just have a breakdown but… My mother has cancer. She is weak and tired and fighting for her life. She has enough on her plate without adding my melodrama to the mix. It's selfish of me to even consider dumping this in her lap and there is a part of my that thinks I should keep it to myself. Then again, it's probably only a matter of time before Michael's return becomes a sensational news story. I want my mom to hear it from me rather than through the gossip mill that is social media or, God forbid, Rafael.
I crane a careful glance over her shoulder to verify that we are indeed alone before I lay this news on her. "Are Mateo and Abuela asleep?"
"It's almost two in the morning! Of course they are."
That isn't reassurance enough for me. "Where's Dad?"
"At home in bed…where I should be," she replies impatiently, "Now are you going to tell me what's going on or are you going to keep asking me ridiculous questions?"
Deliberately ignoring her sarcasm, I scoot closer to her on the couch to take hold of her hands and clasp them in my own. "Listen Ma, I have something to tell you and it's going to be very shocking but, you have to swear to me that you won't freak out. No matter what."
"You're pregnant," she guesses without a beat.
I roll my eyes, unable to fathom why she that would be her first guess when she knows Rafael can't father anymore children. "No. I'm not pregnant."
"Petra's pregnant?"
"She's not pregnant either!" I snap waspishly, "At least, I don't think she is."
"Then who's pregnant?"
"For God's sake, no one's pregnant, Ma!"
"Then what's going on?" Mom presses, "Why didn't Raf propose tonight? Why do you look like you've been run over by a truck?"
"Because…" I preface, pausing to take a deep breath before I simply blurt out, "…Michael's alive."
She doesn't laugh. Well, that's not really accurate. She does laugh but it's more of a disbelieving snort, half cackle followed by a disapproving frown. "That's not funny, Jane," she says in her sternest mother tone.
"Do you see me laughing right now?"
"I'm serious. This is not my idea of a joke."
"Ma, I'm not joking," I insist gravely, "Michael is really alive. I saw him tonight. That's why Raf didn't propose. How can he when I'm already married?"
"Oh…my…God…" Yeah Ma, I think despondently as her features go slack with shock, that's exactly how I feel.
