Say Nothing... (The Speak Series Book 2) (41 page)

Dr. Stone thinks I’m holding on to my anger and that visiting this asshole will give me some closure. Closure would be having him six feet under.

We’re led in groups to a brightly lit room. The woman standing next to me walks to one of the eight empty chairs, obviously a veteran of the process. I quickly follow suit and sit behind the cubicle style desk. The loud buzz and sound of a sliding door makes me sit up straighter. My attention focuses on the glass partition in front of me. One by one, I watch as inmates wearing blue jumpsuits walk in and look for their guest.

He’s the last one to walk in, and he’s unable to hide his shock as he meets my eyes. The man I knew no longer exists. I wouldn’t recognize him if I saw him walking down the street. His once neatly cropped hair is now long and disheveled. The purple shadows under his eyes are a tell of his many sleepless nights.

I pick up the black receiver gesturing for him to do the same. He hesitates for a second before sitting down.

“What are-”

“I don’t need you to talk,” I say cutting him off. “I just need you to listen.” He nods. I’ve rehearsed what I want to say about a hundred times, but no words will ever cause the pain I wish to inflict on him.

“You were dead to me the minute I saw you put your hands on her. My family took you in when you had nothing, and they should have left you with nothing like the piece of shit you turned out to be.” His head bows, and I slap the glass to regain his attention. “You’ll never touch what’s mine again,” I grit. His eyes narrow letting me know I’ve hit a nerve. “So when you’re all alone, with nothing but your fucked-up delusions keeping you company, know that the object of your affection will be wrapped in my arms every night.”

His chair hits the ground as he lunges toward the glass. “I should have fucking killed you when I had the chance, you little prick,” he screams.

I watch as two guards tackle him to the ground, his legs kick and flail in an attempt to get free. Calmly placing the phone on the receiver, I leave the room to the sound of his muffled cries.

Closure.

I’m lost to the sound of crashing waves as the crisp breeze brushes across my skin. I’m on the balcony of our new townhome soaking up the view of the ocean. Ben sold Nana Rosemarie’s house, and when all was said and done, we wanted a place to make our own. Somewhere we could plant roots and make new memories without the old ones tainting our little piece of happy.

Closing my eyes, I tilt my face toward the sun. A smile spreads at the feel of his strong arms wrapping around me.

“Hey, handsome.” I melt into him as the mix of my favorite cologne and sea air engulfs my senses.

“Hey,” he says placing a kiss on my neck.

“How did it go?”

He rests his chin on my shoulder and waits for a beat before answering. “I talked . . . he listened. It went as well as I expected,” he says with a heavy sigh.

Turning to face him, I attempt to gauge his mood. He’s averted his gaze, and I use it as a sign not to press for any more. After sitting in on a few of my sessions, Dr. Stone recommended that he go visit Amos. He finally agreed. Today was the visit.

“Are we about ready to leave?” I ask changing the subject.

“The car’s all packed. I’m ready when you are.”

My sister, Amelie, is celebrating her twenty-first birthday this weekend, and we’ve planned a big group trip. It’s the first vacation we’ve taken since that bastard’s been put away.

Ben gets a call from Eli just as we pass the giant thermometer in Baker. I hum along to the radio as he finishes his call, eager to start our weekend.

“All right, man, just give us a call when you get closer.”

“So what time do Vonne and Eli get in?” I ask as he ends his call.

“They just hit Barstow, so they shouldn’t be too far behind.”

I nod, focusing my attention on the setting sun outside my window. The car slows, and he begins to veer toward the exit.

“Funny, Rodriguez. What the hell are you doing?” He knows I’m in a hurry to get there, and we’re in the middle of nowhere. Not the ideal setting for an unplanned stop.

“Do you trust me?” he asks with a mischievous grin.

“That depends. Are you planning on having me whacked Tony Soprano style?” He chuckles and hands me a bandana.

“Here, put this over your eyes.” I look at him like he’s just lost his damn mind.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not having you whacked, Ari. Now put the darn blindfold on. You’re gonna ruin my surprise.”

“Yeah. Surprise, you’re getting murdered,” I mutter while tying the material around my head. My comment makes him laugh a little harder.

Eyes now shrouded in darkness, we drive for a few minutes before the car comes to a stop. My breathing picks up as I hear him get out of the car. I don’t know why I’m so nervous; I’d trust him with my life.

“Okay, babe. Swing your feet out and I’ll help you.” I do as I’m told and feel the warmth of his palm as he helps to guide me out. The door slams behind me, and he tucks my hand under his arm.

“I’ll take it slow. The ground is flat, so just keep one foot in front of the other.”
I always do.
All of my other senses have been heightened. I hear the faint sound of music in the background and the murmur of people’s voices. We stop, and his hands brace my shoulders before making their way to the blindfold.

“Wait, don’t I at least get a cigarette before you shoot me?” He chuckles pressing a sweet kiss to my lips and slides the blindfold off the rest of the way.

“Surprise,” he whispers.

It takes a few seconds for my eyes to focus

“Holy shit.” I gasp and pull him into a tight hug. “How did you? When did you?” Words escape me as I take in the whole scene. We’re in the middle of the Mojave surrounded by thousands of people. Large square columns change in color as rays of purple light guide our path. A sea of silver torches stick out of the ground and the music I heard is coming from a DJ playing on a giant stage in the distance.

“Take that, Flynn Rider,” he says with a smug smile as I bring him in for another kiss.

Tangled
is one of my favorite Disney movies, and I’ve tortured Ben on more than one occasion to watch it with me. The lantern scene toward the end always makes me cry, so when I found out they have an actual festival in real life . . . Let’s just say, I haven’t shut up about it.

“So? Good surprise?”

“Best surprise,” I say wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Okay good. You think now that you’re going to witness it in person, you’ll lay off torturing me with that movie for a while?”

“Nope.”

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” He sighs. “All right, here you go,” he says handing me what looks like a round paper bag and a marker. “This is your show, babe. Now what?” he asks laying out two small mats.

“Now, we get to writing. It can be anything you want, random words, a note, a wish.” We sit and he takes our lanterns out of the plastic packages.

At first, it was just about seeing the pretty lights, but now that I’m here, I see that it’s about so much more. Everyone around us concentrates on decorating their lanterns. Ben and I stare at them blankly for a few minutes before we begin writing. Four words come to mind: Strength, Courage, Truth, and Love. All of them sum up the past year. I found the strength to carry on when I didn’t think I could, gained the courage to face my fears, and shared my truth, which in turn led me to the most epic love.

I finish writing the last word, just as Ben is doing the same.

“All done?” he asks smiling up at me. His lantern says
Nana
on the front with the dates of her birth and death. Underneath it reads
To my guardian angel, I miss you. I love you. Until we meet again.

“She’s going to love it,” I say pointing to the note.

“Hope so.” He shrugs.

We stand just as a voice calls out over the speakers that it’s time. Holding the lantern over the torches, we light each one and wait for the countdown.

“3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . 0.” We let go, and I watch in awe as people’s hopes and dreams illuminate the night’s sky. They disappear into the distance and one lantern trails behind, struggling to catch the wind; the large block letters catch my eye. At second glance, the words become clear
Ari, Will You Marry Me?

Eyes wide, I turn toward Ben and find him down on one knee. His dimpled smile melts my heart as he grips my trembling hand. The other covers my mouth in disbelief.

“The moment I laid eyes on you, I had to have you. I knew then that one night would never be enough, and now, I want them all. Your days . . . Your nights . . . Forever. I love you, Arely Muñoz. Will you marry me?”

He opens a black velvet box, and I gasp. A beautiful rose gold ring with a diamond-encrusted band sits inside. The large emerald-cut diamond sparkles against the backdrop of the lights overhead.

“Yes,” I choke out. Cheers break out around us. He stands and pulls me into his arms, pressing a tender kiss to my lips. He leaves me breathless as I wipe away tears.

“Open your hand.” I do and watch as he places the ring on my open palm.

“It belonged to my grandmother.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say picking it up to get a better look.

“Look at the inscription.”

I tilt it toward the light.
Mine.

Meeting those amber eyes, I smile.

“Always yours.”

Summer 2016

Vonne

IT'S BEEN WEEKS SINCE I'VE
had contact with friends and family. I've been holed up in my apartment for what feels like a year. The bar exam is four days away, and I've read every book, taken every class, and watched every damn YouTube video known to man in preparation for this thing. Do you know thousands of videos revolve around taking this test?

40%.
That number stares back at me and the reality of it makes me want to vomit. California currently has a 40% passing rate. What if I'm one of the losers in the sixty percent who doesn’t pass? What if I've missed out on years of my life for nothing? My cursor is hovering over the FAQs about reapplying when a loud knock sounds on my front door.

I'm in the middle of placing my laptop on the couch cushion when another loud bang sounds on the door. "Geez, keep your hair on," I mutter.

My ponytail is a ratty mess, and I've been wearing the same pink sweats for at least the last three days. Another knock sounds on the door.

"Who is it?" I finally shout.

"UPS."

"Just leave it by the door."

"Sorry, ma'am, I can't. I need a signature."

Fuck
. I'm going to shank the bastard who is making me open this door right now.

The sun blinds me the minute I open it. Placing my hand on my forehead in mock salute seems to help. "Where's Pat?" I grumble while signing on the dotted line.

My usual guy is in his late fifties, balding, and happily married. Of course, on the off chance I decide not to shower and sport my homeless look, they send a fricken Dolce & Gabbana model to deliver my package.
Double shank.

"He's in Hawaii celebrating his twenty-fifth wedding anniversary,” he says handing me a white box.