Chapter 68
Edmundo
Ididn’t tell Marcus where to go. That should have worried him. It didn’t. We just quietly drove around the city resembling a funeral procession.
The city slid past the tinted windows in streaks of light and shadow, streets blurred together as if distance could untangle what had just detonated inside my house.
The hum of the engine was steady, the creak of leather comforting in an odd way.
Three armored SUVs followed close behind us, headlights like watchful eyes. None of it reached my chest.
My hands were clenched so tightly in my lap that my fingers had gone numb. I welcomed it. Pain was easier when it was simple.
I glanced at the rearview mirror, and as if sensing my stare, Marcus looked back at me, checking in before turning back to the road. Marcus was being exactly what I needed…a friend.
The image wouldn’t leave me.
Yuliana. My Ana. Alive.
I hated that she lied to me, that she didn’t feel she could come to me, and believed that I would’ve interfered in her plans. She was probably right. I’d never known how to be anything but protective when it came to her.
Seeing her on top of Patricia, holding a sharp steel blade against her throat.
..she was not the Ana that I remembered, who needed my protection.
Maybe she never did. There was something far too enticing about her.
Always had been. One look, one touch, and I wanted her no matter the cost to my heart.
Did that make me a masochist? Probably. What else would you call what we had?
Four hundred and ninety-two days of mourning. Waking up with the hollow ache of loss lodged behind my ribs. Building a future around an absence I thought was permanent. And she had been breathing elsewhere the entire time.
Marcus checked on me in the rearview mirror, his face impassive, trained when not to pry.
“Do you want me to keep driving around?”
“Yeah, for a little longer.”
He nodded.
I didn’t want silence, but I didn’t trust what would come out of my mouth if I spoke.
Eventually, without consciously deciding, I leaned forward.
“Take us to Ethan’s.”
That earned a second glance.
“You got it.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and fired off texts in a small group chat.
Edmundo: Need you both at Ethan’s house tonight, now.
Edmundo: Don’t ask questions.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Emmett: That doesn’t sound ominous at all.
Paul: On my way.
I huffed out a laugh that felt foreign in my throat.
At a red light, I pointed to the grocery store that was still open.
“We need to go there first.”
“Grocery shopping? Not where I thought we’d end up,” Marcus said.
“Just drive,” I grumbled.
An hour later, we pulled into Ethan’s driveway. Emmett’s car was there, but Paul had yet to arrive.
“I want you to come in and relax with me tonight,” I said to Marcus as we walked to the door, all of the bags from the grocery store in our hands.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Marcus said.
“It wasn’t a suggestion.”
My best friend rolled his eyes at me, but I knew he was going to agree to let his guard down for one night.
“You got it,” Marcus said.
Ethan opened the door with suspicion etched into his features, eyes scanning me like he expected gunfire to follow.
“You look like hell,” he said flatly. “What’s going on?”
He looked around outside, but the sky didn’t open into a rain of bullets.
“Happy birthday to me,” I replied.
“Should I be worried,” Ethan asked, stepping back for us to walk in, and then closed the door.
“Not unless you’re scared of losing at cards and having a few drinks,” I said as we followed him to the den.
“Cards? Jesus, Edmundo, you had me counting the weapons in my house and getting ready for the next takeover conversation,” Ethan said, visibly relaxing.
I laughed, setting the bags down on the table.
“From one little text? I do like being me.”
“Until your dead wife comes back to life,” Marcus said. We all looked at him. “Too soon?”
“No…you know, that is exactly the kind of humor we need tonight. You’re also very right,” I said, and chuckled.
The table was cleared within minutes. Bottles and snacks were pulled out of the bags. Whiskey, scotch, and tequila with a red label and a gold symbol that looked like a skull and crossbones. The guy at the store claimed it would either numb us or kill us.
I poured us all a round and was just about to sit when Paul came through the door, he hadn’t even knocked, just let himself in. I stood and walked over to him, staring him in the eyes.
“Ed, I—”
I punched him square in the face, cutting off whatever he was going to say. He went down hard. Marcus, Ethan, and Emmett were silent. No one moved as Paul pushed himself up into a seated position and grabbed his glasses that had gone flying. He touched his jaw, then looked at me with resigned calm.
“I guess I deserved that.”
“You fucking know you did. You knew she was alive and you kept it from me,” I said.
He nodded once. “Yes.”
Taking a deep breath, my fist unclenched, and I held out my hand. Paul grabbed it, and I hauled him to his feet.
Silence had settled thick and heavy, broken only by the clink of glass as someone poured another drink.
“Come on,” I said, and wrapped my arm around his shoulders.
A drink had already been placed at his seat, and Paul took it without protest. Ethan turned on the hockey game in the background, and soon we all had our jackets off, cigars were lit, and we were laughing at jokes so terrible they were funny.
The cards were dealt and shuffled in a steady rhythm, the familiar snap of cardboard against wood cutting through the haze of liquor and old memories. Chips were stacked as blinds were posted, Paul tossed his in without looking, and Emmett was smirking like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.
Paul placed the flop slowly, deliberately being dramatic. It was queen, ten, ten, dangerous. Ethan checked, casually, and I followed, watching Emmett’s knuckles tighten just a fraction around his glass.
Emmett bet anyway, bold as ever. I called, Marcus raised, and just like that, the table leaned in, tension coiling tight as the turn card slapped down—a king. We all went quiet.
Big hands were in play now. The river brought nothing useful, just a low card.
When the showdown came, Ethan laid down a full house like it had been inevitable.
Emmett swore, Paul laughed, and Marcus grunted his annoyance.
I pushed my chips forward without a word, the loss not registering as one, but simply a fun time, win or lose.
“Emmett, remember your freshman year, when you took the football to the face ‘cause you were staring at…shit was her name,” Marcus asked, and Emmett’s face got red.
Marcus snapped his fingers.
“Olivia Stanton. You dropped at her feet and then fucking jumped right back up. Blood was streaming down your face, the refs tried to stop play, fans were throwing up, but you just kept running. I’ve never laughed so hard.”
I snickered. “That was funny. Anyone still call you Nose Guard,” I asked, and smirked as Emmett glared at me.
“No, and don’t fucking start that shit up again,” he growled, as Paul shuffled the next hand.
I looked at Paul. “I remember when Paul here sharked a group of guys from a local gang out of ten grand one night. We ended up running for it as they shot at us. I thought for sure we were dead,” I said, and Paul laughed.
“I would’ve liked to see that,” Marcus said, the others nodding. “Where the hell was I again?”
“With Ester,” I said and smirked as Marcus groaned. “You two were like fucking rabbits. I couldn’t get you to leave the room the whole month you were together.”
“Shit…I barely remember her, how do you remember this stuff,” Marcus asked, and I shrugged.
“It’s a gift,” I said.
“No, money is a gift, that’s just annoying,” Marcus said, and we all laughed.
As we picked up our cards, Paul sighed and took off his glasses before he hit me with a look.
“I want you all to know that I hate holding secrets,” Paul said. “I hate being the one who knows everything and can’t save anyone from it. Time after time, it happens, and it cuts deep.”
Emmett squinted at him.
“Do you have any secrets about me?”
Paul smirked.
Emmett groaned.
“I knew it. Prick. I don’t want to know. It’s like finding out what day you’re going to die, that’s all I’ll be able to think about.”
Ethan leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
“Did you know about my affair with Megan, and that Lip was mine?”
Paul didn’t answer, just gave him a flat, apologetic expression. No words needed.
Ethan swore and drained his glass.
“Any about me,” Marcus asked.
“Only that you like to sing in the shower, read mystery novels, and hate beer,” Paul said, which, to the best of my knowledge, were all true. “Oh…and I know where the six children are that you fathered.”
Marcus spat his drink back into his glass, choking.
“Six kids? What the fuck?”
Paul laughed hard, and we all did the same.
“You’re all assholes, making me think I had six kids. My dick just jumped off my body and ran out the door.”
We laughed harder, and this was exactly what was needed.
“How the hell do you know about the other stuff? Do you slink around my room when I’m in the shower?”
Paul smirked and organized his cards, not providing an answer.
“You’re a fucking freak.”
Marcus pointed, then stood to get more chips from the side table.
All eyes turned to me next, and I shrugged.
“I’ve lived my life assuming Paul knows everything about me, most of which I’ve told him,” I said. “But the love of my life not being dead?” I laughed once, the sound broken. “That’s an all-new low.”
No one disagreed.
“I know, my friend, but I couldn’t,” Paul said, grabbing my shoulder.
“I know. I know how the game works,” I said.
“I would take that,” Ethan said, and we all looked at him. “I’d rather Ella be alive than for her to really be gone. But I held her hand, and I saw the light leave her eyes as she said she loved me. I’d do anything for her to storm through the door right now and yell at me.”
We stayed quiet, letting him have this moment. Emmett grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. Ethan’s eyes lifted to mine.
“I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be, but…don’t throw this chance away to be happy. And just so you know, Paul wasn’t the only one who knew that Yuli was alive.”
I held my breath and blinked once, knowing the answer before he said it.
“Ella knew. She’d been secretly helping Yuli and Ren since they ran from Christov. She told me the truth of what she’d done before she died so that I could continue what she started if either of them needed something.” He lifted a shoulder and let it drop.
“Damn…your wife dies telling you that his wife is alive? I don’t know if that is the most depressing or most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard,” Marcus said.
Ethan smiled and then chuckled. Soon, we were all laughing as hands slapped the table and shots were poured.
The night unraveled from there.
Stories spilled out. Bad ones. Worse ones. Teen years soaked in poor decisions and blood oaths. Laughter that hurt. Silence that spoke louder. All the ghosts that never really left.
At some point, I realized I wasn’t angry anymore.
Just tired.
Heartbreak and therapy didn’t always roar or make sense. Sometimes it sat at the table with you, playing cards until dawn when you could no longer see straight.