Chapter Thirteen (Michael POV)

Frankly speaking, being in love is a crock of shit.

Not too long ago, I thought nothing could be more frustrating than the fact Lorena wouldn't lower her guard enough to be with me but that feels like a cakewalk compared to what I'm going through with Jane. When I'm with her, I feel miserable because I can't imagine how we can be together without disaster following and when I'm not with her I still feel miserable because I can't imagine being without her. I'm plagued with endless indecision and it's exhausting. Whoever the hell said "love sets you free" deserves a throat punch! Repeatedly! Lately, I've been experiencing a cascade of emotions but "freedom" certainly hasn't been one of them.

When I decided to make my impromptu trip to Houston, it had been mostly out of desperation. Even with the distance I tried to maintain with her, I could feel my resolve towards Jane slipping a little more each day. It also didn't help that Rogelio, my erstwhile father-in-law, kept prompting me to "make my move" with Jane before I lost her to Rafael forever. He was determined to act as my self-appointed cheerleader which made it difficult to keep my feelings for Jane in perspective. Although I knew he was trying to be helpful, the insistence actually made me feel even more insecure.

Though my memory of the past is still spotty at best, I can recall enough to know that Rafael Solano and I have been engaged in a battle for Jane Villanueva's heart since before Mateo was born. That's more than seven years of hostility. First, Jane was with me, then him, then back to me again. It's like he and I are destined to love the same woman. Jane and I were married but she and Rafael share a child. Both are a lifetime bond and I'm not sure which should carry more weight.

What's more, I'm also not sure I want to be duking it out with Rafael Solano over Jane for the rest of my life. If what I witnessed last night was any indication, I am never going to have her complete heart. She is always going to be torn between the two of us and, quite frankly, that sounds like a sucky existence. Yet another reason why she and I won't work. My brain knows this full well but my stupid heart? Well, it wants what it wants. Unfortunately, not a single thing has changed for me, not even after Houston.

I had hoped that the trip would provide me with some much needed clarity. It was one thing to talk to Lorena daily but quite another to spend actual face to face time with her. I needed that. I needed to remind myself of all the reasons that I'd agreed to come out to Miami in the first place. It hadn't been to reconnect with Jane Villanueva. It had been because I wanted to prove to Lorena that she could trust me with her heart. And, in the beginning of my trip, I had earnestly believed I could rekindle those old feelings.

That had seemed like a real possibility too because I hadn't realized how much I had missed Lorena and Marcel until I found them waiting for me in the baggage terminal at the airport. The moment they congregated on me in a tight hug, I knew I was home. Right then, I had been absolutely sure I wasn't going to go back to Miami.

She frames my face in her hands with a tender smile, her dark eyes darting over my face like she's drinking me in. "I can't believe you kept this god-awful beard," she says with a teary smile.

"Hey, give it time. It's going to grow on you."

"Not even," she laughs, before giving me another hug.

I think she might hold onto me forever but Marcel buts his way in as he often does. "My man!" he exclaims with a firm handshake, "Are you home for good now? Body shop hasn't been the same without you."

"Marcel!" Lorena admonishes him in a sharp tone, "Remember what we talked about! Give him time to figure it out. He's here and that's enough right now. So, let's be grateful for that."

Lorena launched a successful effort to keep me living in the present during my stay. Discussion about whether the visit would be a permanent or temporary one was strictly off limits. In fact, we hadn't talked about my time in Miami at all. Instead, we discussed the memories I had already recovered and the news ones that were resurfacing every day but never if they pertained to Jane or Rafael or the ongoing love triangle we seem to have going on. Lorena and I fell back in to our usual routine pretty easily and it was almost like I had never left. Almost. Lorena recognized the change in me even if I wasn't aware that it was visible to anyone outside. Finally, she confronted me about it on what would turn out to be my last day there.

"Are you in love with her?"

I don't want to answer that question and so I do my best to circumvent answering her directly. "I'm still getting to know her, Lorena."

"So what? You've been in Miami long enough to know if you love her or not. So do you? Do you love her?"

I'm still hesitant to answer because I don't want to break her heart. But I don't want to lie either and I admit aloud to her what I can't even say to Jane. "Yes. Yes, I love her."

She takes the news with a degree of stoicism but I can tell it throws her a little. Perhaps because she had assumed that my sudden decision to fly back to Houston meant the exact opposite. Her next question confirms that suspicion.

"Do you love her like you love me?"

"No."

"Is that a good thing?"

"What you and I have is something that had to be built over time. I had to learn to trust you, then like you, then love you," I explain as gently as I can, "What I feel for Jane…it's just there. It's always been there but I'm only now becoming aware of it."

"Have you told her?"

I shake my head in answer. "And I won't either."

"Why not?"

"She and Rafael are a family, Lorie. I won't come between them. He did that, I think, when she and I were engaged before. I don't remember all the details but I do know what that felt like. I'm not going to do that to someone else, even if that someone is Rafael Solano."

"You don't like him?"

"He's an entitled ass. So no, I'm not a fan."

"Are you sure you're not jealous?"

"No. It's not that. His attitude really grates on me, especially when it comes to Jane. He's very possessive of her and sometimes I think he uses Mateo to manipulate her."

"Well, if that's what you think, why the hell do you want her to be with him?"

That question echoed in my ears the entire flight home. Why did I want to Jane to be with Rafael? I suppose it would be one thing if she has chosen him but she hadn't. So what if she still had a connection with him. She chose me. She wanted me. And, if she was willing to deal with the fallout that would very likely come from making that choice, couldn't I do the same? Didn't she deserve that?

I had a new resolve in my heart when my plane landed in Miami that evening. I called Jane soon after we hit the tarmac. To my disappointment, her phone went straight to voicemail but I hadn't let that deter me. Instead, I'd gone straight to the police station to report the new details that have emerged about my kidnapping. Not only did I remember the cell where I was held captive, I can remember waking up and feeling groggy, strapped down to hospital stretcher apparently in the back of some kind of van or other transport vehicle. I hadn't been alone either. Two big, burly guys whom I had never seen before were guarding me, and they had made it clear that they would break me in half if I tried anything.

When I went to the police station that night it was with the hope that I would be able to find the men by possible criminal records. It took almost three hours of searching before I found a name to match one of the faces from my memory. Ralph Nesbitt. Thief, extortionist, career criminal and, unfortunately, still at large. If I had any chance of finding out what happened to me all those years ago I was going to have to find Nesbitt first and I didn't have a single lead.

Of course, my old boss and police buddies were more than eager to help me in my quest. Yet again, I had been offered my former position with the department. This time, however, I wasn't so quick to refuse.

The first time I had been asked I knew less than nothing about being a cop and didn't have any real desire to be one either. But in recent weeks I have been able to recollect my experiences in the police academy and even what had motivated me to join the force in the first place. Gradually, day by day, I was feeling more like the police officer I used to be and less like the lost vagabond that had come to Miami all those months ago. Michael Cordero is no longer a persona to me, someone I have to try to be. At last, I'm beginning to feel comfortable in my own skin.

But even with that, I'm still uncertain as to whether or not I should dive right back into police work. The prospect is dangerous and unknown and I've become too big a fan of predictability to give it up now. Then again, I can't deny the part of me that longs for the adrenaline rush, that craves the crime solving aspect of the job. I want it and I miss it but I'm scared of it too. I'm torn and there's only one person that I want to confide in about my feelings.

Jane.

So, last night, it felt almost serendipitous when I bumped into her at the pizza parlor. It had been as if the Universe was saying, "Here, Michael Cordero, Jr. Here is your answer. Get your girl." I would have very probably blurted out my feelings for her then and there if he hadn't shown up. Rafael Solano, bane of my existence and ever present pain in my ass. Wherever I am with Jane he will almost certainly show up too, whether in person or in spirit. I can't shake him and it's beyond annoying. Then again, he probably feels the same way about me.

But last night there was no denying that I was the interloper on their little family gathering. I was the odd man out, the ill-fitting piece to their perfect little puzzle. Apparently, Jane had decided to take my advice after all and move forward with Rafael. It's too bad that I regret ever giving her that advice in the first place. But it's too late now. She hasn't called me since our chance encounter at the pizza place and her silence makes her decision rather obvious.

I'm not happy about it but I only have myself to blame. This is a result of the choice I made and I will have to live with those consequences no matter how miserable they make me. I refuse to disrupt Jane's life anymore than I already have. Now all I have to do is figure out how to live without her all over again.

"You're not eating your breakfast." I glance up from my untouched plate of bacon and eggs to find my mother standing over me, her features drawn in a concerned frown. "What's wrong? I made all of your favorites."

"I guess I don't have much of an appetite," I reply wearily before shoving the plate away, "Sorry you went to all the trouble of cooking for nothing."

Far from being disappointed, Mom frames my face in her hands and smacks a motherly kiss to my forehead. "You're my son, Michael. It's no trouble."

I half hope that she will leave me alone then so I can brood in peace but I am not surprised when she doesn't. Instead, she fixes herself a cup of coffee and then stations herself in the empty seat across from me. I'm careful to conceal my aggravation, especially when she simply sits there and stares at me with knowing expression. It feels like an eternity goes by before she finally says something.

"Are you ready to talk about it?"

I stare at her blankly. "Talk about what?"

"Why you cut your trip so short for starters," she says plainly, "And why you've been so unbelievably crabby since you came back."

"I'm not crabby," I grumble but the petulance in my tone tells another story. My mother's dubious expression also makes it clear that she's not buying the denial. "I'm jetlagged," I tell her and it's not entirely a lie, "That's all. It was a long trip."

"Really? That's all?"

"Yes! Really!"

"Okay," she replies gamely, "Then why haven't you called Jane since you've been back? In fact, you've hardly mentioned her at all."

"Why do you care? It's not like you're her biggest fan."

"But you are," she counters, her eyes narrowed intuitively, "And you didn't bring Lorena back home with you so I can only assume it didn't work out between you two."

The disappointment in her voice is unmistakable. Even though my mother has never met Lorena in person, she has had numerous phone conversations with her since my memory started coming back. She's convinced that Lorena is the perfect woman for me and hasn't passed up a single opportunity to matchmake. But I suspect her enthusiasm is due more to the willingness to accept any woman in my life that isn't Jane. I tell her as much.

"That is not true," she protests with an offended air, "Lorena saved your life. She kept you safe for the last six months and she encouraged you to come back to us. How could I not love her after all of that? You two being together as a couple would be added bonus."

"Mom…"

"I'm just saying that it might be nice to have a daughter-in-law I could actually like for a change."

I respond to that statement with a dramatic eye roll. "First of all, Lorena and I aren't getting married so you can put that idea out of your head right now," I tell her flatly, "Second of all, Mom, I'm pretty sure there was a time when you did like Jane and you were excited by the idea of her becoming your daughter-in-law. Please stop acting like she's the worst thing that ever happened to me!"

"You're right," she concedes, "Once upon a time I did like Jane. Actually, I loved her and I loved the two of you together. But that changed after she left you and broke your heart. I've never looked at her the same way since."

"Obviously, I forgave her for that."

"And I never understood why you did. You were together for two years, Michael. You were planning a wedding! And she left you for a man she barely even knew!"

"Well, she was pregnant with his baby, so…"

"Yes. She was. And you stuck by her through that fiasco too!" Mom snaps, "How did she repay you? By dumping you and getting with her baby daddy that very same night."

While I have been able to shrug away all of her other arguments, this one gives me pause. Jane had told me that she had felt "torn" between me and Rafael but she never mentioned the details of what had occurred and I never asked. At the time, it hadn't seemed important. Now, in light of everything that has transpired since I returned to Miami, I find myself needing to know those details.

"She really got with him the same night she left me?"

"The same night. And now, she's taken up with him again," Mom continues in a self-righteous rant, "You probably weren't cold in the ground before she went running back to him on winged feet!"

"…Mom, you know I'm not actually dead, right…"

"…and then she had the nerve, the absolute gall to write that book, say it was a tribute to you and then turn around and get back together with the very man who destroyed your relationship!"

I zero in on this new piece of information. "Wait a minute. Jane wrote a book about my death?"

"No. She wrote a book about your love story," Mom clarifies, complete with air quotes, "When it finally came out, I bought the book and I was grateful to her because, in a way, that book gave me back my son. I thought I was seeing you through her eyes. But now she's right back with Rafael Solano, like you were just some stepping stone to her one, true love."

"She thought I was dead, Mom. She was entitled to move on."

"But of all the men she could have done that with, why did it have to be him?"

It was a good question and one I've asked myself numerous times since my memory began resurfacing. Why did it have to be with him? I don't let myself dwell the possible answers to that because, when I do, I feel overwhelmed with anger and hatred for Rafael because it's almost as if he's usurped my life. Sometimes it feels almost too big to contain and it scares me. I thought running to Houston would provide me with enough distance to calm my precarious emotional state but when I saw him last night I discovered that my dislike for him was strong as ever, growing stronger even. For that reason, I try not to think too deeply about anything involving him. It's better for my peace of mind to simply ignore his existence when I can.

In keeping with that habit, I deliberately shift the subject away from him altogether. "So Jane wrote a book about us? What's the name of this book?"

She shakes her finger at me in stern admonishment. "Oh no you don't! She has you turned around enough! You don't need to romanticize her any more than you already do."

"Mom, I appreciate that you care but try to remember that I'm a grown man."

"I know that," she acknowledges after a sip of coffee, "But when I look at you, I see my little boy. I see the child that I lost for five years and I want to protect him. I don't want him to be hurt ever again.

"I failed with your brother. I didn't tell him the hard truths. I coddled him too much and now he's God knows where doing God knows what. Maybe if I had been stronger with him things would have turned out differently. I won't make those same mistakes with you, Michael. I won't watch you walk off a cliff."

"Mom, Billy and I are nothing alike. He's a thief and an addict."

"So are you," she counters softly, "You have an addiction too, only it's not to painkillers like your brother. It's to Jane Villanueva."

I choke out a short bark of incredulous laughter. "That's ridiculous!"

"No, it's not. You were so good for her, sweetheart, but in the end she was not good for you. If you give your heart to her again, she is going to break it."

"I think there's a strong chance that this your bias against her talking right now."

"Okay then. Don't believe me. Trust your instincts. What do they tell you?"

I don't have to ponder that question too long. I'm already very aware that falling in love with Jane Villanueva is a painful process. I know it wasn't like that to fall in love with her the first time around. I can remember enough about our early relationship to know that we had been very happy together but without any real obstacles to impede our future plans. I'm sure that had all changed with the introduction of Rafael Solano.

Mom wants to know what my instincts are telling me. It's simple. They tell me that Jane and I had once been good to each other and for each other no matter what she might claim. At the same time, I can't deny that Rafael is a problem, then and now. I also can't ignore the fact that Jane always seems to go back to him. No matter the circumstances, she and Rafael always seem to gravitate back into each other's orbits and they share a son so that isn't likely that will ever stop either. Certainly that has to mean something.

But because I'm not ready to deal with the implications surrounding that thought and the bitterness that comes with it, I shut down instead. "Can we please talk about something else besides Jane?" I ask plaintively, "I'm starting to get a headache."

"Fine with me," Mom agrees, "What do you want to talk about instead?"

Nothing really. I bite back the ready response, mostly because it's not true. I have many things weighing on my mind. Beyond my relationship (or lack thereof) with Jane I am starting to give serious consideration to what I want to do with my life. I'm not sure what the next step in my journey should be but I do know that I'm ready to move forward.

Unfortunately, I don't know where to start and I can't very well bounce ideas off of Jane or Lorena given the circumstances. My mom is offering. She's probably the closest thing I'm going to get to a sounding board so I decide to take her up on her offer to talk.

"Okay. I'm thinking about returning to the police force." I share my internal conflict with her before I fully contemplate her possible reaction to the news. And that, I learn very quickly, is a mistake.

Mom chokes on her coffee and sputters before reaching for a napkin to pat her dripping mouth. "I'm sorry," she coughs, "I think I misheard you. You want to what?"

"I said, I was thinking about going back to work as a police detective."

Her response is swift, direct and curt. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Calm down," I preface in a soothing tone, "I'm only considering it right now. I haven't made a decision one way or the other."

"How are you thinking about it at all?" she cries in exasperation, "You almost died twice! You were shot, kidnapped, tortured and left for dead! Why would you ever consider returning to that life?"

I am about to make an argument about the need I have to feel useful and productive after years of being a victim when my cell phone suddenly chimes to life in my pocket. Mom levels me with a narrowed glare as I pull it free. "So help me God if that is Jane Villanueva-,"

"—Mom, get a grip. It's not Jane," I assure her when I glimpse the caller I.D. screen, "It's the police station." Of course, that only increases her agitation. I quickly take the call before she can pelt me with a million questions. "Hello?"

"Is this Detective Michael Cordero?"

"This is Michael Cordero. Who am I speaking with?"

"This is Detective Alex Rawles with the Miami-Dade County police department. I've been heading up the investigation into the identity of the homicide victim that was buried in your grave five years ago. The final DNA results came back this morning."

I grip the phone tighter as what he is telling me dawns on me fully. Suddenly, my palms feel hot and clammy with sweat. My heart feels like it's pumping in my throat. "Does that mean you know who he is?" I'm eager to know and, at the same time, I don't want to know at all.

"Yes, sir. We know his identity. I'm afraid it's someone you know. Are you sitting down?"