On Every Street (14 page)

Javier stood in front of me in his
casual clothes: dark jeans and a white polo shirt. The wind messed up his shaggy hair and he smiled bigger than the moon. That’s when I saw the boy in him, the twenty-three year old from La Cruz, Mexico—the young man smiling adoringly at his young woman.

“What’s this?” I asked breathlessly, touched by the feelings that were being stirred up.

“I wanted to surprise you, figured you needed a nice break after work.” He came up to me and held me in a tight embrace, his lips pressed against my neck. I softened in his arms, losing my resolve, losing my dilemma.

“You shouldn’t have. It’s almost midnight,” I told him.

“I would do anything for you, at any time of the day.” I brought my head in front of his and searched for the sincerity in his eyes. It was there in spades.

Who do I love?
I thought.
Is it you?
Javier, as if hearing my thoughts, brought me into the most tender, sweep-me-off-my-feet kiss. How could such a bad man make me feel so good? Maybe it was because I’d been right earlier. I was equally bad.

We sat
on the chairs and he poured me a glass of wine. He was sitting across from me and lifted my feet out from under the table, took off my boots, and started massaging them.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked, popping a piece of hard cheddar in
to his mouth with his free hand.

“Something with you?”
I asked hopefully.

“A few buddies of mine…colleagues…are going sailing. One owns a boat I was thinking about buying.”

I straightened up in my seat at two things. One, the mention of colleagues. That was enough to get my heart racing. Two, the mention of a boat he was going to buy. Just how much money did Javier have?

“It’s not a huge boat,” he said, reading part of my expression properly.
“About a 45-foot Jeanneau, from France.”

“
Ooooh,” I said with a laugh. “Only a 45-foot yacht from France.”

He grinned and threw a piece of cheese at my face. I was lucky it was brie.

“Hey, I have had my eye on this boat for some time now.” He grew quiet, concentrating on my feet, being gentle on my scarring. “You know, I used to work on boats as a child. My father was a mechanic in La Cruz. It’s a popular bay for cruisers, people stopping by when Puerto and Nuevo Vallarta were too full. Now I think there’s a brand new marina. It isn’t a bad thing, I think it brought some money to the town. But when I was a little boy, things were more simple. My papa, he knew everyone and fixed everything, from boats to cars. I’d help out when I could. Sometimes I’d run in the water and tow the little boats to shore so the tourists could go for a walk in the village. Sometimes they’d give me a few pesos…sometimes they were fuckheads.”

I nearly spit out my wine over
that swear, sounding so funny with his accent. I wanted to hear more about his past, eager for it, like a little puppy. But Javier quickly dropped the reminiscing. “So, tomorrow, you’ll come?”

I nodded slowly. “Your colleagues are going…from the consulting business
?”

The corner of his mouth twitched and he quickly covered it up with a wine glass, as if we both knew there was no consulting business
, like this was all an inside joke. “Yes. From that. My boss might be there too.”

Again, the wine almost made an appearance. I tried to swallow it down quickly but it caught in my throat and I started coughing
violently.

“A
re you okay?” he asked, placing my feet to the side and starting to get out of his chair.

I nodded frantically, one hand at my chest, the other telling him to stay put. “Yes, I’m fine
. Wrong hole,” I said between breaths.

He sat back in his chair and winked at me. “You’ve never complained about the wrong hole before.”

This time the piece of cheese went flying back at him. This then led to an all-out food war as the entire tray of brie, cheddar, and blue cheese went soaring all over the place. Next thing we knew, we were throwing glasses of wine at each other, covering us in the red liquid, not caring if we were staining our clothes or each other.

We collapsed onto the table with happy giggles and promptly shed our saturated clothing. We made love right there and then, Javier taking control and me letting him. We relished our childishness, our freedom with each other, exploring our bodies like
they were made of one soul, not two.

And it would have
been perfect had it not been for that little seed that had been planted in the back of my brain. The little thought I kept latching onto, even when he was driving me to an explosive orgasm, even when he was grunting swears in my ear as he spilled into me, thrusting hard.

His boss might be coming on the boat trip tomorrow. Travis.
The man behind my actions and his. I’d spent the last few months avoiding the difficult decision I knew I’d have to make. And now, suddenly, it was thrust up on me, begging me to face it.

Tomorrow I might see Travis. Tomorrow I’d have to decide.

CHAPTER TEN

The next morning we
woke early, Javier going out for his usual jog on the beach. The sky was blue and the light breeze smelled of salt and freshness, blowing away any vestiges of humidity. I declined the run, however, telling him I wanted to stay in bed just a while longer. Considering all the sex and spilled wine we had last night, he didn’t question it.

But the moment he put on his low-slung jogging pants, the ones that ma
de you want to undo the drawstring with your teeth, and ran out the back door, I slipped on my robe and crept downstairs to the truck. With shaking hands, I took the bottle of acid out of the glove compartment and slipped it into my pocket. I went back upstairs and got ready for the day.

***

We ended up at a marina in Gulfport. It was obviously still recovering from the hurricane, and even two years later, it looked like a non-stop construction site with new docks being put in everywhere you looked. There were a lot of big yachts though, wealth floating on the waves. I was dressed as neatly as possible for the occasion: white linen pants, a striped boatneck shirt, and a monogrammed scarf wrapped around my head, holding back my hair. A vintage saddlebag purse was slung from my shoulders, holding only three things: my cell phone, a small bag of makeup, and an unidentified bottle that I had to guard with my life.

We walked
along the marina, my hand in Javier’s. I was nearly floating away from anxiety; each step we took along the dock felt like a step toward the end of my life. At least the life I had so carefully constructed for Eden White.

Javier seemed a bit on edge too, wiggling his jaw back and forth
. He was dressed entirely in black: black shirt, black dress pants, black boat shoes. Like a nautical Johnny Cash. He looked like he meant business, though I wasn’t sure what business that was.

All I could think about was Travis. Every second led us toward him. I started scanning the marina, looking for him everywhere, on every sailboat, on every yacht. I imagined what I would say when I met him. If I’d be able to keep it together
long enough until I found the right moment. If the moment would even present itself. After all, I couldn’t just toss the acid in his face and run away. Like Javier would just let me leave…would he? What exactly would my lover do to me if he found out everything had been a lie? What did he
really
feel for me, and would it be enough?

I started t
o feel sick, the marrow of my bones full of lead. I clutched my stomach and slowed. Javier immediately stopped and grabbed my arm.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. I had a hard time looking at him, my eyes concentrating on the wooden splinters of the dock. “Angel?”

“Just feeling a bit queasy,” I managed to say.

“We aren’t even on the boat yet,” he said, looking around him. “Should we turn back? We can always go out another day.”

I shook my head. “I think I’ll be fine,” I lied through my teeth. How could I ever be fine after this? I was about to destroy everything I had come to love.

“Maybe you’re not cut out for sailing.”

I smiled weakly, looking into his eyes, swayed by the concern in their depths. “I won’t know until I try it.”

He watched me for a few moments before he nodded and started leading me along again.
“All right. We shall see. You are one hard cookie.”

“Tough cookie,”
I corrected him, forcing lightness into my voice. I had to act like everything was normal, I
had
to. He squeezed my hand and we continued. Each step toward love. Each step toward revenge. I walked toward the end of something, maybe the end of everything.

And it was all in my hands.

We turned the corner, a lump forming in my throat, and there before us was a gorgeous, long white sailboat with the name Northern Girl painted on the side. One man was sitting at the helm drinking a beer. The other two were on the dock, checking their cell phones, waiting for us.

I didn’t see Travis anywhere.

“Is Travis down below?” Javier asked them. My heart shuddered. It was the first time I’d heard the name come out of his mouth, the very mouth that kissed me and savored me. It made everything so damn real and the reality plunged into me like one of his bullets.

How could I choose between love and revenge? How was I going to get out of this alive?
How on earth did my heart keep beating, as if it wasn’t about to stop? My mind reeled.

The man at the helm got up, putting his beer down. “No, he had something to do in Mobile,” he said. “He sends his apologies.”

Javier visibly relaxed, smiling sympathetically at the man on the ship.

Travis wasn’t coming.

The relief gutted me in the best way possible. It
was overwhelming, palpable, bringing tears to my eyes.

At that moment, Javier looked at me and whispered
, “Are you okay?”

I smiled bravely at him. “I think I have allergies.”

He brought my head toward him and kissed my temple and then introduced me to the other men. Raul was on the ship, Alex and Miguel on the docks. I couldn’t take in much about them at that moment, except for the fact that Miguel was the only one who smiled at me. Actually, I couldn’t focus on anything except the expansion in my chest, as if I finally got air, as if I finally stopped drowning.

Last night I had to make the hardest decision of my life. I had to choose between keeping Javier and our life together or fulfilling my destiny
and exacting my revenge. I’d spent too many years nursing my wounds, wrapped up in the blackness that permeated every fiber of my being, dreaming of the day that I could get my life back. Revenge was all I knew, all I cared about.

Until I met Javier.
The man who would lead me to it, who would bring me the justice I craved like an addict on their knees. Now I craved him, trading one addiction for another. And wasn’t love the noble choice? Wasn’t I choosing the right thing?

I didn’t want
to question my priorities anymore.

I got on the boat and we set sail for
nearby islands. I kept to the bow, sitting with Javier, leaning back into his strong chest as he explained sailing to me, the currents, the whole new world that lay before us on the Gulf. Later, when he went back to talk to his colleagues, I scooted over to the edge of the boat, dipping my legs over the side, delighting in the tickle of the sea spray. When I made sure no one was looking, I reached into my purse. Grasping the cool bottle underneath my hands, I gave it a squeeze. Then I chucked the bottle into the sea. It landed with a small splash and quickly moved past the boat. It was one message I hoped no one would receive.

We docked at a small secluded bay at a marine preserve
around lunchtime and sat down to an impressive feast on deck. I felt a million times lighter since throwing away the bottle and couldn’t help grinning at Javier every second like a sick teenager in love. I was so happy and relieved with my decision to go legit that I didn’t mind that Raul and Alex gave me the cold shoulder as we dug into our prawn cocktails and okra-laden gumbo. Maybe cold shoulder was pushing it—they were practically glaring at me the whole time, watching me like a hawk.

Javier could tell, I knew it, but he didn’t confront them. He let them ignore me while holding me close to his side. But Miguel, on the other hand, paid me extra attention. He was the one who prepared the food for us, his skills just as good as Javier’s.

I brought this up as I slurped back a hearty spoonful of the gumbo.

He beamed. Miguel was a cute man, a few years old than Javier
, with full cheeks, a sparse mustache and goatee, like an angelic devil. He was a short man too, but built like an athlete.

“Well, I have to say that if it weren’t for Maria, I wouldn’t even know how to heat up soup,” Miguel smiled.