Chapter Fourteen (Jane POV)

"No, you can't speak to her. Stop calling."

I carefully pull up my bedroom door so that I don't wake a sleeping Mateo and stop short just outside of it when I detect the angry edge in Rafael's tone. "…if she wanted to talk to you she would have called you so maybe you can stop acting so desperate!" I tiptoe down the hallway with every intention of eavesdropping shamelessly. My first thought that he is talking to Rose again and trying to deter her constant quest for Luisa. When I peek around the corner, I find him restlessly pacing my Abuela's living room as he rants into the phone.

"Why can't you let her go, damn it? You're making this harder for everyone, especially my son!" I imagine Rose must be taunting him in her usual way because his features suddenly become dark with rage. I flinch when he explodes again. "Like hell it has nothing to do with me! Who do you think you are? Jane is my fiancée! Maybe you should stop inserting yourself where you don't belong!"

That's when I realize he's not on the phone with Rose at all. It takes me a split second to figure out that he's talking to Michael instead. Rather, he's yelling at Michael. I glance reflexively at the coffee table and note the conspicuous absence of my cell phone. Without thinking, I rush forward and snatch my phone away before Rafael can end the call.

"Michael? Michael, are you there?"

For one horrifying second, I fear that he's already gone from the line but then he speaks but his words are so thick and garbled that I almost can't understand him. "I'm here."

"What's wrong? Why are you calling?"

"I just…I thought…I don't know. I don't know what I thought. It's not like you can fix it."

The frazzled edge in his tone alarms me. I don't know what's going on but it sounds to me as if he's been crying. He sounds hollow and suffocated. "Michael, you're scaring me. Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. It won't happen again," he says and then, before I can reassure him to the contrary, the call ends.

I stand there for a few seconds, the phone still held loosely to my ear, trying to process the rapid series of events that just happened. Everything is off kilter. Five minutes ago I was reading my son a bedtime story and tucking him in for the night and now I'm trying to determine how Rafael just ended up in a screaming match with Michael.

The most plausible explanation is that Michael must have called me. After nearly two days of radio silence, he finally called me and Rafael took it upon himself to answer my phone. I don't know if I should feel more shocked that Michael had been the one to end our stand still or furious that Rafael deliberately sabotaged my chance to talk to him. It also doesn't help to know that Michael had sounded extremely upset just now, like he was fighting back tears. If he had been willing to open the lines of communication between us then I know it must have been for an important reason.

As it all finally settles over me, I round on Rafael with barely leashed fury. "What did you just do?"

"I have a better question," he counters in a brusque tone, like he's the injured party in this scenario, "Why is he still calling you? Better yet, why didn't he stay in Texas?"

"How is that any of your business?"

"How can you not see that he's playing you?"

I react to that dubious pronouncement with a doubletake. "I'm sorry but what? You think he's what?"

"It's the perfect arrangement for him," Rafael reasons, "He has his girl in Texas waiting for him and you waiting for him here and he doesn't have to commit to either one of you."

"I don't know who you think you're describing right now but that's not Michael."

"You told me last night that you two were giving each other space. That's what you said, Jane. What happened to that?"

"How are you turning this around on me?" I cry in outrage, "You answered my phone! You yelled at him! He wasn't calling to talk to you, Raf! How dare you presume to speak for me?"

"You're not trying to see my point of view in this at all!"

"You don't get to have a point of view!" I snap irately, "This has nothing to do with you!"

He winces at the outburst. "I love you, Jane. At the very least, I'm still your friend and the father of your child. What affects you, affects me too. And what you do or don't have going on with Michael affects our future. I get to weigh in on that."

I close my heart and mind to his words with a weary shake of my hand. "What did he say to you?"

"Who? Michael?"

"Yes! What did he say?"

"He wanted to talk to you," he replies with great reluctance, his words sharp with anger, "He said it was urgent. It always is with him."

"And you didn't give me the phone?" I seethe. I don't wait to hear his explanation but instead put in an immediate call to Michael. The phone rings and rings but then goes straight to voicemail. I hang up and try again but this time the phone doesn't even ring before going to voicemail. "Damn it, Michael."

"He won't answer?"

I raise a glower of pure fury. "Because of you."

"Don't you see what he's doing? This is how he plays with your head, Jane. He wants you to chase him. As soon as you stopped doing it, he had to get you stirred up again."

He keeps on talking, making his case for how Michael is a calculating manipulator but I barely register anything he says because I'm too busy calling Michael again and again, hoping desperately that he will pick up the phone. I keep going over and over in my mind how upset he sounded on the phone, my mind racing with all the possible scenarios for what could have happened. I can't imagine that it is anything good which only makes me all the more frantic to talk to him.

When it becomes apparent that he won't answer and has likely turned off his phone at this point, I make a dive for my purse and car keys and stuff my bare feet into the nearest pair of shoes I can find. "I need you to watch Mateo for a few hours," I tell Rafael, already heading for the door with a half formed idea in my head.

Rafael dogs my heels as I head outside to make a mad dash towards my car. "Jane! Wait! Where do you think you're going? It will be dark soon!"

When I move to open the car door and attempt to duck inside, he steps in front of me to block my path. "Where are you going?"

I glare at him at him stonily. He glares right back. "Move," I order from between clenched teeth.

"Not until you calm down and listen to me. I know you're mad right now but that's no reason to storm off! You want me to apologize? Okay! Fine! I should have given you the phone when Michael called. There! Are you happy?"

If anything, his rancorous apology makes me even angrier. "Get out of my way, Raf."

"We were supposed to discuss what we wanted for our future tonight," he presses on, seemingly impervious to my mounting aggravation, "We're supposed to talk about our family, Jane, and then Michael calls and suddenly all of that is out the window! That's why I didn't give you the damned phone!"

"Well now you can live with the consequences of that decision!" I rudely shove him aside then and hop into the driver's seat. After I crank the ignition I decide to address him one more time before I close the car door. "I'm going to Fort Myers. I'm going to make sure that Michael is okay."

He stumbles back a step, his face slack with disbelief. "You can't be serious. You're going to drive over 150 miles tonight just to see him?"

"Something's wrong with him. I know it. If he won't answer my calls then I need to go to him."

"What if Mateo wakes up and asks where you are?"

"Tell him I will be back as soon as I can."

"So, basically, you're abandoning our son?" he determines, his jaw taut, "Is that it?"

At this very second, I cannot and will not deal with his "my way or the highway" attitude. I'm too worried about Michael. Consequently, my response to him isn't the greatest. "You know what, Raf?" I grit out furiously, "Go to hell!"

I slam the car door then, barely missing his fingers, and back the car from the driveway. From the rearview mirror, I can see him step out into the street to watch me as I peel out of there. That is the last image I have of him as I turn the corner and head towards the highway. Of course, my self-righteous indignation doesn't last very long. I'm about ten minutes into my trip when I start to second guess myself. The one thing that keeps me from turning back is pride. Beyond that, I'm not feeling confident in this decision at all.

What the hell are you thinking, Jane? The question cartwheels through my brain in an endless loop. Michael and I haven't had a real conversation since that God awful camping trip! He isn't answering my calls right now! What makes me think that he wants to see me?

Furthermore, there's a huge amount of tension between us right now. That night in the pizza parlor had done little to alleviate it either. And then, when I remember his voice message and how uncertain and defeated he had sounded even as he confessed his feelings for me, I start to doubt my decision all over again. Because Michael might indeed love me but it's also clear that he doesn't want to love me.

And even knowing that, I had wanted to call him afterwards. I've thought about dialing his number every minute for the past two days. But I'm stubborn and I can't be the one to make the first move this time. I don't want to always be the one chasing after him.

When he saw me and Rafael together that night, he didn't stand his ground and he didn't fight. Instead, he retreated exactly as he's been retreating since the moment it became apparent that his feelings for me were changing. And so I've made up my mind since then that I can't be the only one putting forth the effort. I can't keep fighting for us if Michael isn't willing to do the same. He has to be willing to risk his heart for me and, if he isn't, then we're never going to work. So, I did the only thing I could do. I haven't called him once since that night and he hasn't called me either…until tonight.

I suppose that's the real reason I'm driving like a bat out of hell to Fort Myers right now. Because he called. Michael called and I know that something monumental must have happened to prompt him to do that, to keep him from hanging up the phone immediately when Rafael answered. I don't know what that something is but my gut tells me that he needs me. No matter how unsure I am of my decision right now, it feels like the right one.

I'm so worked up over what could possibly be going on with him that fifty five minutes into my trip, when my cell phone rings, I almost swerve into the next lane and hit the car next to me in my haste to answer it. However, I'm confused when the number illuminated on the I.D. screen is one I don't readily recognize. Normally, I would simply hit "end" to abort the unwanted call but this time, for some inexplicable reason, I decide to answer.

"Mrs. Cordero?" the voice on the other line greets after I say hello, "Am I speaking to Jane Cordero?"

This isn't someone who is familiar with me at all. No one I know actually refers to me as "Jane Cordero," and the fact that he does fills me with apprehension because I know this call is an official one. "Yes, this is Jane Cordero. Who is this?"

"My name is Detective Alex Rawles. I've been investigating the homicide victim who was buried in your ex-husband's grave. We've had a breakthrough in the case and I wanted to bring you up to speed."

"Y-You have? What kind of breakthrough?"

"We've learned the man's identity," he continues in a most professional manner, "Are you seated at this time? Do you have any family with you who could offer support?"

"No. Why would I need that?"

"I have some rather shocking news to for you and I want to make sure you're prepared."

"Who was in the grave?" I ask softly.

"The body belonged to your former brother-in-law, Mr. William Cordero."

"Billy?" I croak in disbelief, "He's dead? Are you telling me that the person we buried was my husband's brother?"

"Yes, ma'am. There's no question about it. The DNA confirms it. The body was his."

"Oh my God…"

"I am so sorry for your loss, ma'am."

I blink back my tears so that I can keep focused on the road. "D-Does my hus… I mean, does Michael know?" I ask when I have finally composed myself enough to speak, "Have you told him yet?"

"Yes, ma'am. He's aware. I updated him earlier this evening."

After I end the call, I feel numb. I hadn't known Billy Cordero very well at all. He and Michael had always shared a complicated and contentious relationship. According to Michael, Billy had never recovered following their parents' divorce. The anger and resentment had stayed with him for years and, for a long while, that was something that had bonded them as siblings because Michael had the same difficulty accepting the dissolution of their family. It was only when Michael began to make peace with it, shortly before he joined the police academy, that he and Billy began to have a strained relationship.

Now Michael's behavior on the phone earlier makes so much sense. I can only imagine the crushing anguish he must feel right now. I know he already carried the burden of that nameless man's death on his conscience. To learn that the man buried in his place had actually been his own brother must be too devastating to bear. And that's obviously why he had called me, to tell me that his baby brother was dead. Only he had been blocked and insulted by Rafael. Just thinking about how he must have felt causes my anger with Rafael to surge anew and I have to grit my teeth to keep from swearing aloud.

But I can't let myself get caught up in those boiling feelings of rage because it's unproductive. If I am going to maintain any sort of perspective, and I have to for Mateo's sake, I need to be reasonable about this entire situation. There are many complicated motivations behind why Rafael did what he did tonight and most of those stem from my inability to be completely honest with him…and myself.

It's true that my feelings for him are very muddled at the moment. He has been my lover and my best friend. He has supported me through some of the darkest periods of my life. He's the person who encouraged me to become a writer and pursue my dreams. We have a child together, a beautifully complicated history together. So much of who I've become is tied up in Rafael. He is a very permanent part of my heart but…I'm not in love with him anymore.

I'm not certain when the realization fully hits me but when it does I can't deny the truth anymore. I love Rafael and I will always want him in my life in some capacity but I can't imagine a future with him. Not anymore, not after all that has happened. Because as much as we've shared over the years, as close as we've become, I've never, never given my entire heart to Rafael. I couldn't. Michael took a large chunk of it when I lost him and now that he's returned, he still has it.

It's Michael. It's always been Michael. I think, deep inside, I've known that since the second I walked into Rafael's apartment and saw him standing there.

While I've always struggled with defining what I feel and want with Rafael, what I feel and want with Michael has always been clear to me. I knew from the second we met that we would have something special, from the moment I staggered forward to pull open my front door and found him standing on the other side of it. I knew we were meant for each other when I was a drunk, silly 21 year old girl and I know it now. That night when I saw Michael again in Rafael's apartment, I could still feel that connection. That something special was still there between us, even if he couldn't remember, even if I couldn't admit it to myself at the time.

So that's the entire truth. I've fallen back in love with Michael. If I'm truly honest, I have never fallen out of it.

Now that I've finally made peace with that, I feel strangely free. I'm not afraid. I'm not uncertain. I know exactly what and who I want now and I absolutely know that we belong together. I won't give up on us.

With that firm resolve fixed in my heart, I make the entire trip to Fort Myers in a little over two hours. It's a miracle I'm not stopped and ticketed as I race down the highway at nearly 90 miles per hour. By the time I make it to Patricia Cordero's home it is 10:15 at night. Unfortunately, all of my bravado fizzles into nothing when her house looms before me. Once again, I find myself questioning the wisdom of this trip.

Do I really want to show up on Patricia Cordero's doorstep unannounced at 10 pm when she just learned that her youngest son is dead? It doesn't seem like a solid plan at all and yet, here I am. I've driven too far to turn back now. Michael's brother is dead. He and his mother are probably going through emotional hell right now. If there's anything I can do to ease their suffering I want to try.

A quick glance at my phone reveals several missed called from my parents and Abuela. Rafael hasn't called at all. I don't know whether I should be concerned by that fact or relieved. In the end, I decide to put it out of my mind and, after a quick text to my mother to let her know that I had arrived safe and sound, I exit the car.

Once I'm on the front porch it takes me a few minutes to work up the courage to ring the doorbell. I'm hoping I will have a second to calm my frayed nerves but right after I ring the bell, Michael answers the door right away. I'm startled to see him standing there because I had been preparing myself to come face to face with his mother instead.

He is clearly shocked to see me as well but I hardly register that because I'm so distracted by how awful he looks. His skin is pale and sallow. His hair is unkempt, falling over his forehead in disheveled waves. His appearance is made all the more grizzled by his shaggy beard. His face is blotchy and puffy and I assume that's from crying. His eyes confirm further confirm that assumption. They are dull and bloodshot and rimmed with angry red. I want so badly to hug him right then but his guarded expression makes me hesitate.

"Jane?" he says in a tone that is rough with grief, "What are you doing here?"

Once more I have to check the impulse to throw my arms around him. "I heard about Billy," I tell him instead, "I am so, so sorry, Michael."

I don't know if I expect anything in that moment beyond his polite acceptance of my condolences but when he suddenly wraps his arms around me tightly I can't help but return his embrace. I clasp him against me, hoping to convey all my empathy, support and love through my touch. He buries his face against my neck, murmuring a litany of "thank yous" against my skin. When he finally pulls away from me I discover that we are both crying. We make a mutual effort to compose ourselves and then Michael invites me inside.

It's dim within the house. Only a single lamp illuminates the living room. Spread across the surface of the coffee table are dozens and dozens of pictures of Billy spanning across several decades. I imagine Michael must have been sorting his way through them before I knocked.

After we've dispensed with small talk and I'm seated in the chair nearest to the front door, Michael sinks down onto the sofa and asks, "How did you know about Billy?"

"The detective called and told me that they had identified the body from the grave."

His blue eyes flare wide with surprise. "And you drove out here as soon as you heard?"

"Actually, I was already on my way here when I got the call." I can tell he is stunned by the admission. "Well, you didn't really give me any other options," I tell him, easily discerning his tacit question, "I tried to call you. You weren't answering your phone and I was worried."

Michael ducks his head in what appears to be sheepish remorse. "Sorry about that. I turned off my cell after the first time you called."

"Oh. Well, don't be alarmed to find about 20 missed calls from me when you turn it back on," I joke.

He doesn't laugh, however. If anything, my attempt at levity only seems to heighten his guilt. "I should have picked up," he acknowledges, "It wasn't my intention to worry you. But I didn't want it to become this whole, big deal with Rafael. I wasn't in the headspace for that, Jane."

I repress my answering growl of aggravation when I think of Rafael's actions tonight. "He was way out of line with what he said to you, Michael."

"Yeah…well, he's trying to keep his family together. I get why he said it. At least he was honest."

I'm about to make a vehement argument against excusing Rafael's behavior when it suddenly dawns on me that we are alone. A quick listen for the soft, ambient sounds within the house confirms it. I regard Michael with a confused frown. "Where's your mother?"

"She went to tell Dad about Billy. She didn't want to do it over the phone."

"You didn't go with her?"

"I offered but she said no. I think she wanted to be alone." He stares down at his hands with a forlorn expression and I see his lashes fluttering rapidly so I know he's blinking back his tears. "I think she blames me."

My heart wells with compassion and sympathy when he says that and I need to comfort him, anyway that I can. "Michael, you know she doesn't."

He grunts his dissent. "Maybe she should."

I recognize that he's about to spiral then. In hopes of slowing his tumble down the rabbit hole of guilt and blame, I try to shift the subject somewhat. "How is she doing, by the way?"

"She's devastated, of course." He drags both hands down the length of his haggard face in a gesture of supreme weariness. "Did you know that neither of my parents had heard from Billy in five years? It never once occurred to them that he might be dead." I watch as his eyes well with fresh tears. "It didn't occur to me either."

"Michael, it's not your fault."

"Then why does it feel like it?" he weeps, "He was my little brother! I should have protected him and he died because of me…and I have to live with that!"

As he breaks down completely, his features contorted with grief, I'm compelled to go to him. I don't even think about it. I simply walk over and pull him into my arms and he comes willingly. He bands his arms tightly around my waist and buries his face into my chest, sobbing so harshly that his entire body shakes. I cradle him against my body and press my lips to the crown of his head, murmuring mindless words of comfort into his tousled hair that mingle with my own tears. It feels like he cries for an eternity, like he's not only crying for his brother but for everything he's lost these last five years and I can't help but cry with him.

When his grief finally begins to subside I can feel something begin to change between us as he quiets. His grip on my waist loosens but he doesn't release me. I can feel the warmth of his breath permeate the thin cotton of my tank top, feel the slow, deliberate way he inhales and exhales. My own breath catches in my lungs when I feel him begin to nuzzle against my breast, his slim fingers strumming along the curve of my lower back. I am suddenly intensely aware of his body pressed into mine, the warmth of his skin against my own. He lifts his head to look at me then and I finally expel the breath I've been holding. I know he's going to kiss me even before he pulls me closer and his eyelids become heavy with the intent.

The first touch of his lips is soft, sweet and so fleeting, almost like the beat of a butterfly's wings. When I open my eyes he is staring at me intently, his own gaze full of silent supplication. I answer with slight nod of my head and we kiss again, deeper this time, slowly in tentative exploration. I cradle his face in my hands, fitting myself as closely as I can, reacquainting myself with the lean contours of his body, the softness of his lips. He moans his approval and pulls me closer, his hands twisting into my hair, his tongue teasing the seam of my lips.

Somehow I end up straddling his lap and our kisses grow increasingly frantic, breathless, desperate. We rock against each other in timeless, familiar rhythm, our bodies straining and writhing together in need. His hands are everywhere. Under my shirt, skimming my back, cupping my breasts, squeezing my thighs. He peppers open mouthed kisses across my throat and collarbone, wherever he can find exposed flesh. I hold him against me, needing to be closer. But it's not close enough. I need more. I need to touch his bare skin.

I'm reaching for the hem of his t-shirt before I've even fully formed the idea. I break our kiss, just long enough to pull the soft cotton up and over his head before flinging it aside. But when I try to resume our kiss he stops me. I regard him with glassy eyes, panting harshly, heart thundering. He stares back at me, plainly in the same state.

"Why are we stopping?" I whisper as I duck my head for another taste of his mouth. To my everlasting frustration, he averts his face so that my lips graze his cheek instead.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

When I meet his eyes, I can see the troubled anxiety swirling in their blue depths. I know what he's asking and I know why. After all, we're charting unfamiliar territory together and for more reasons than the most obvious. The Jane he knew before would have been hesitant and uncertain and would have been far too cautious about giving into her desire but I am not that young woman anymore. I'm not afraid to take what I want or make my needs known. And I need him.

I can feel his desire for me throbbing against my inner thigh. It's not even a thought in my head to tell him refuse him. Without a word, I lean back from him to slowly remove my shirt and bra and then toss them aside. His eyes roam over my body in a hungry approval. "Does that answer your question?"

Michael doesn't respond to the question with words at all. Instead, with all traces of hesitation vanished from his expression, he draws his fingers down the slope of my breast in a feather-light caress, as if he's familiarizing himself with the shape and feel of me again. Then he wraps his arms around me once more and pulls me down against him for another kiss.