The Girl in the Mirror (Sand & Fog #3) (44 page)

Jack smiles and fixes his intense blue eyes on me. “Wouldn’t have expected you to say anything else. You and Krystal are your family. Remember that and it’s going to be all right, Jake.”

All right?

How can he say that?

And fuck, why am out of nowhere feeling more hopeful for the first time in weeks?

* * *

I lean back in my chair. It’s after 2:00 a.m., and Brayden and Jack cut out hours ago. I should have left with them. But Jack was right. I needed this.

“Fucker, you’re cleaning me out.”

Dillon laughs as he rakes in the pot.

“When you’re hot, you’re hot. What can I say? Can’t fight Lady Luck, Jake. You should have left with the skinflints.”

I smirk and reach for my beer. “Skinflints? You mean the ones who still have money in their pockets.”

My gaze roams the guest cottage—though cottage is an understatement. Dillon’s house on Alan’s property is a beautiful home.

Probably more than I’ll be able to provide Krystal.

My mood dips.

Dillon makes a gun out of his finger and shoots the TV again. I turn to see the picture of Alberto Ramos on the screen. My stomach churns. Why the hell is that on? All night that fucking TV has been on, muted, with a twenty-four-hour news channel.

Dillon holds the cards out to me to cut. “Graham is one smart motherfucker. He’s got high-level contacts all through the government and he knows how to make the system work for him. He’s got some kind of fucking pull. Three months, and the US and Mexican governments can’t stop patting themselves on the back for
their
successful joint operation to take down the Ramos Cartel. Fucking politicians. Won’t help so they can deny if things go bad, but first in for the press op and the credit. Same old, same old. Never changes. Fuckers.”

I do a sloppy cut and he takes the cards back from me.

“I noticed Alan hired a lot of new guys after Juarez. Should I be worried?”

Dillon deals out the cards on the table. “Worried? Worried about what?”

He sounds genuinely dismissive of my question, but my anxiety hasn’t eased up since LA.

“Blowback. The cartel doing something. To Krystal. Any of us. Should I be worried for my family?”

Chuckling, he scoops up his cards and starts to sort them. “Jake, they ain’t coming. Like I said, Carson is a brilliant motherfucker. No loose ends. Watch the news. The US Government did it. And every associate of Ramos in Juarez is dead. The second team in Guadalajara took care of Alberto in his sleep. Bullet to the head. Bullet through the heart. Mark my words, that one was the fucking CIA. I would have loved to have been the one to take care of him. No fast kill. I’d have taken my time with Alberto Ramos.”

His reassurance doesn’t quite do it for me, and the mention of Ramos kicks up everything in me again.

“So you think we’re good?”

He tosses down a card. “We’re better than good. We’re fucking ghosts. We don’t exist. Three months. Nothing. Ain’t happening. We’re good.”

I pick up my cards and try to figure out my play. “Does Carson think we’re good?”

“Who knows what Graham thinks? He’s back in Montecito, retired again, taking his girls to soccer. Yep, I think he thinks we’re in the clear.”

“Then why did Alan hire all the extra guys?”

“Why does Alan do anything? You’d know better than me. You’re family.”

I set down a card. “No, I don’t think so. Alan doesn’t discuss anything with me. He just does and expects me to roll with it.”

Dillon frowns. “What’s that I’m hearing in your voice?”

A flush rolls my cheeks. “Nothing. It’s good.”

“Sounds to me like you’re feeling muscled around by your father-in-law.”

I grimace. “I’ll never get used to hearing that.”

Dillon throws back his head laughing. “Well, that’s what he is. An ordinary man like you and me. If he pisses in your yard, tell him not to. He can’t know where your boundaries are unless you tell him.”

“Great advice. I’ll tell him in the morning. Stay out of my marriage so I can get my wife back.”

“Whoa. That’s unexpected. I was only giving you crap.”

Fuck.

I used to know that.

Why’d I let my mouth run?

“Can we forget I said that? I don’t need any more problems.”

The corners of his lips turn into a tight downward smile. “Consider it forgotten. But I’m giving you some advice first. Alan is as loyal a man as they come. You’re not just married to his daughter, you risked your life like the rest of us to save her and took a bullet in the chest. You don’t have to worry about keeping things cool with Alan. They are cool. They always will be. No matter what you say or do. That’s him.”

After playing two more hands, I cut out and head for the main house and my room. Quickly, I undress, tossing my clothes on a chair, then carefully slip into bed on the edge, leaving a good six inches between me and the pillow Krystal has against her back between us.

I stare at the ceiling. What a fucking weird night. First Jack Parker’s out of nowhere man-to-man chat on the grass, then Dillon Warrick giving me advice.

Can everyone see I’m barely holding together my own shit? Crap. No wonder Krystal isn’t ready to lower the walls with me. I’m a guy hanging on by a thread, and worse, they can see it.

The question is, how the fuck do I fix this?

I don’t know what Krystal needs from me.

I don’t have anything but myself to give—and that’s been working fucking great so far.

Too many cooks in the kitchen.

Only thing anyone said tonight that makes sense.

How do I get the cooks out of my kitchen?

You could have given me that answer, Jack.

Fuck. Leaning over, I grab a yellow pad and a pen, switch on the small reading light, and then divide the paper into two columns:
what we’ve been doing
and
what I can do to improve it
.

The
what we’ve been doing
since the hospital half of the paper fills up, but no matter how much I turn it in my head, there’s only one thing on the
what I can do
side.

One thing.

Not much.

Not even a good solution.

It’s all I’ve got.

Jesus Christ, I hope it works.

“Krystal”

One week later

I sit on the bed and stare at the door. Another day. I’m so damn tired of every waking moment being hard, my emotions running frantic on the surface, and feeling either frightened or awful.

I’m failing Jacob. I’m failing my family. And I’m failing myself. I can’t get back to normal with anyone or anything. Too many parts of my life are in disarray. I can’t manage any of it because there’s too much, all the time, always.

Brushing at my tears, I know if I had my way I’d climb beneath the covers and stay there until this horrible cycle of ugly memories and pain in my body went away. I always thought I was so strong, but nothing in my life prepared me for the aftermath of Alberto Ramos. Never did I expect to feel as I do: weak and fragile and unable to do anything about either.

Useless to myself and everyone who loves me.

A knock on the door makes me jump. I grab a tissue, dab at my eyes, and then blow my nose. Time to end my morning pity party. “You can come in, Jacob.”

He ambles into the room, a smile rising on his tense features when he spots me dressed and waiting. “You ready to go?”

The tone of his voice makes my heart ache. I’ve sunk Jacob with me into this deep, dark place I can’t climb out of and where there was once so much love there is now a careful sadness between us.

He brings my chair to the bed, and when I don’t move, he says, “It’s just the doctor, Krystal. To her office and then back. Nothing to worry about, babe.”

“I know. I’m not being difficult. I’m sorry. I was thinking.”

“You can think in the car.” He makes a silly expression that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Or better yet, you can tell me what you’re thinking while we’re driving. I miss our quiet talks in the car.”

I stare at the chair, and my body tenses as he runs a hand through his tousled sandy-brown hair. By the looks of it, he’s been running a hand through it all morning like he’s been thinking serious thoughts as well.

He looks so ragged and unlike himself. How long is he going to stay in this with me? Why would he want to? Why would any man stay with a woman after…

“I don’t want the chair,” I say abruptly. “I want the crutches today.”

He smiles but the brightness doesn’t touch his eyes. “Thank you. You’ve got to keep trying if we’re going to keep moving forward, babe. Small steps every day. I’m glad you want to try this today.”

Tears burn behind my lids and I battle not to let them surface. “I try every day, Jacob. It doesn’t seem to matter. I try and I try and it never amounts to anything.”

His eyes flash—
oh crap, why did I say that?
—and he stares several moments before he lowers down in front of me at the bed.

“It’s everything,” he whispers, and my gaze moves to his fingers flexing and unflexing. He wants to touch me but he won’t. “I know you’re doing your best, babe. I’d do it for you if I could. The only thing I can do is do it with you.”

My already roiling emotions twirl faster.

“But I don’t want you to do this with me,” I sputter between harsh breaths. “I want you happy. You deserve to be happy. Don’t think I don’t know how I am. Being with me is miserable for you.”

His mouth tightens. “It’s not miserable. Being without you would be miserable, Krystal. Being with you is where I want to be.”

I lay my head against his shoulder, and out of the corner of my eyes I see his arms move. Time stops and hovers in my waiting anxiety, and then his hands lightly move up my back.

“We’re going to get through this, Krystal,” he whispers. “We’re a team. We always have been, and we’re going to start living like it again.”

I’m not sure what he means and my senses are too focused on the feel of him touching me that I haven’t anything left to process what he’s telling me.

My arms remain lowered and my heart accelerates, but for this brief moment there’s only the touch of Jacob and him in my head.

His arms tighten around me and cautiously his lips touch my hair. “You’re everything to me, babe. You always will be.”

“You’re everything to me, Jacob.”

His face moves like he’s going to kiss me, but I ease away before his lips touch mine and lower my gaze to the floor. Small steps. I’ve felt a tiny bit of good for the first time in too long. It’s enough for today.

He lifts a hand to brush back my curls and when I don’t pull away, the smile this time reaches his eyes. “Come on, let’s get moving. We’re late.”

I watch him go for the crutches. “Still thinking you can order me, Jacob?” I tease.

“Hoping you still love it when I do and will let me.”

Another wave of sadness moves across my jittery limbs. Oh, why did he have to say that? I fight back fresh gales of emotion.

I put the crutches under my arms, hobble toward the door, and turn back to look at Jacob. “You don’t have to go with me today if you don’t want to. I know it’s not fun for you hauling me around. You told me it was a routine follow-up with the doctor. Nothing serious.”

He shakes his head. “You couldn’t keep me away if you tried.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Don’t,” he admonishes. “It’s a beautiful day. We’re getting away from this house alone for a while. Just you and me, babe. Like it used to be. There’s nothing I’d rather do today.”

When we get to the car, Brayden’s waiting to drive us.

Jacob opens the passenger door, and I frown. “You’re riding in the front today?”

“No, babe. You are. Let me lift you in.”

He settles me on the seat, buckles my seat belt, and closes my door. I watch him run around the front of the car. He holds out his hand to Brayden, and they’re talking fast back and forth, but I can’t hear them. It almost looks like they’re arguing.

After a moment, Brayden hands him the keys, but he doesn’t look happy. Jacob tosses my crutches in the backseat, climbs in, and turns on the ignition.

“What was that about?”

Jacob shrugs. “That was about
me
being your husband and making the decision for us.”

* * *

We drive up Pacific Coast Highway instead of taking the fast route to the doctor’s on the freeway. I thought we were going to be late. I don’t say anything. What does it matter? We’re riding in the car, like a normal couple this morning.

I lean my head out of my window, savoring the feel of the wind in my hair, and then memories of driving to Redondo Beach with Jacob all those years ago dance in my head.

The quiet between us in the car has the feel of that day. Jacob has the same expression again, sort of nervous and tentative. Weird, but that’s what it is. And here I am, not knowing where I’m going—for different reasons—and letting Jacob take me wherever.

God, we’ve almost been married two years, and we’re sort of back where we started. Riding in a car with that strained first-date feeling. Both of us quiet and careful, no music, and not talking.

It occurs to me to wonder if this is how Jacob always is when he drives. Funny that I don’t know that, though not really surprising. We haven’t been alone in a car since Malibu.

The ocean, people, and the beach towns fly past my watching gaze. Birds skim the water, sometimes disappearing into it or fading away in the bouncing reflections of sunlight. Cars everywhere. Stop. Start. Honking. Music turned up too loud from convertibles. Everything familiar and strange at once.

It’s like I’ve been away from home forever. I know the streets, but they feel different. Being here feels different…or maybe it’s me.

I ease back into my seat and lean my cheek against my headrest. “This is nice, Jacob. This drive with you. Thank you for thinking of this.”

His fingers tighten on the wheel as his eyes shift briefly to me. “You don’t have to thank me, babe. It’s a gift just being alone with you.”

A smile rises, surprising me.

“I’m sure you didn’t feel that way the last time we drove this road.”

He laughs. “No, I did.”