37. Robin
ROBIN
I drive with my hands locked around the steering wheel. Thank God Senora Valentina’s car has GPS. What was I thinking, just leaving without having a clue how to get to the embassy?
Every intersection feels like a trap. Every motorbike that pulls too close makes my heart slam into my ribs. Every man standing on a corner becomes Zabala. Every dark car in the rearview mirror becomes Vega.
I don’t know if I’m going the right way half the time.
I don’t know if I’m being followed.
I don’t know if Cruz is alive.
No.
I shove that thought away so hard it hurts.
I think about the road. The next turn. The embassy.
My throat is dry. I have no passport. No phone. The peso notes Cruz gave me.
When the embassy finally comes into view, I almost miss it.
I park quickly and run to the gate, ready to kiss the American flag.
Someone approaches. “May I help you?”
“I’m an American citizen,” I say. “I need help.”
After that, things happen quickly and not quickly enough.
Questions.
Identification I don’t have.
Names.
Dates.
My voice shakes as I explain enough to be believed but not enough to collapse. I say kidnapped. I say held against my will. I say escaped. I say my family is in Texas. I say I need to call them.
I do not say Cruz.
I do not say Zabala.
I do not say Senora Valentina.
I do not say the man who rescued me also almost killed my brother.
Relief hits so hard it feels physical.
For the first time since I woke up in that awful cell on that disgusting cot, I breathe without feeling fear.
A woman with kind eyes brings me water. Another person asks if I need medical attention. I say I don’t know.
Because I don’t.
What counts as medical attention?
My body is bruised. My wrists are scraped. I haven’t slept properly. My nerves are shredded. My heart keeps doing strange things.
“Come with me,” the woman who’s helping me finally says.
She brings me to a small room. Inside is a table. A phone. A box of tissues. A chair with worn fabric.
It’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.
“Take your time,” the woman says.
I almost laugh. “I need to call my family. They’ll wire me money. Help me get home.”
She reaches for my hand. “You’ve been through trauma. You need to relax. Just give me the names and phone number of the person you want to reach. If you don’t remember the number, I can help you find it.”
I scrunch my forehead. “I know the number. Why wouldn’t I know the number?”
“Because you’ve been—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “I’ve been to hell and back,” I say. “I get it. But I know my sister’s number. I know the numbers for all my family members.” I let out a breath. Two tears drop from my eyes.
Fuck.
Now I’m going to cry?
“It’s all right,” the woman says.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Juanita. I already told you.”
Did she? Yes, she did. The first few minutes I was here everything was a blur. Name. Identification. Citizenship. Blah, blah, blah.
“Of course. I’m sorry, Juanita. I’m so sorry.”
She pulls a tissue out of the box and hands it to me. “Everything will be all right now. Take your time.”
Take my time.
I’ve been racing against time for the last forty-eight hours. Time seems unreal to me now.
I breathe in. Out. In again.
Then I pick up the phone.
“Dial one first for the US,” Juanita tells me.
I nod and then tap in Raven’s number. Raven. My twin. The other half of me. That’s who I want to call first.
It rings once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
“Hello?”
“Raven,” I whisper.
“Oh, my God! Robin?”
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s me.”
“Oh my God.” Her voice goes muffled, like she’s turned away from the phone. “It’s Robin. It’s Robin!”
Noise explodes on the other end.
Voices.
Movement.
Someone swearing.
Someone saying my name.
Then Raven is back, breathless. “Where are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Robin, where are you?”
“I’m okay.”
It’s the first lie I tell my family.
Probably not the last.
“I’m at the U.S. Embassy.”
“The embassy?” Raven asks. “Where?”
I close my eyes. “Colombia.”
The silence on the line is so total for a second I think the call dropped.
“Colombia?” Vinnie’s voice.
“Yes,” I say.
“Colombia,” he repeats. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’m okay.”
“Don’t say that yet,” he snaps. Then softer, “Sorry. Sorry. I’m just— We’ve been looking everywhere.”
“I know.”
“We didn’t even think—” He cuts himself off with a harsh breath. “I didn’t think to check there.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have.”
“No, Vinnie.” My voice is sharp.
“I thought the Bellamy chapter in Colombia was over,” he says. “I guess not.”
A chill slips through me. Vinnie brought Daniela back from Colombia. From her father and others.
Vega, probably.
“Who has eyes on you there?” Raven asks. “Are embassy officials with you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re inside?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
Despite everything, my mouth almost curves. “Unless this is the most elaborate fake embassy in history.”
“Don’t joke.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize. God. Robin.” Her voice cracks. “We’ve been so scared.”
I press my fingers to my eyes. “I know.”
“Everyone’s been losing their minds.” She sniffs a few times. “I have to call Hawk. And Falcon. Eagle at the hospital. Dad.”
One name is absent from the list.
My mother.
A bitter little spark moves through me.
She doesn’t give a shit about me. She never has.
I hate that I think it.
I hate that it still hurts.
I clear my throat. “How’s Eagle? And Dad? Daniela? Belinda?”
“Eagle’s good,” she says. “Still recovering, but not ready to go home yet. Belinda is home, thank God.”
“Thank God,” I echo.
“And Daniela is okay. But Dad…is the same.”
I sigh.
“Listen”—Vinnie again—“I can get to you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.”
“Vinnie—”
“No.” His voice goes into his calm and decisive mode. “My grandfather had private planes all over North and South America. He kept one in Colombia. I still have access. I’ll send it for you. It will be quicker.”
“When?” I ask.
“As soon as they clear it,” Vinnie says. “We’ll coordinate with the embassy. You let them handle your documents and transport. Do not leave that building unless they tell you it’s secure.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“And when we get you back to Austin,” Raven says through tears, “we’ll go wherever you want. Any restaurant. Your choice.”
The image is so strange I almost can’t process it.
A restaurant.
A table.
Menus.
Chips and salsa. Or steak. Or pancakes at midnight if I want them. A glass of wine. My family crowded around me, asking too many questions, touching my arm every five seconds to make sure I’m real.
“Anywhere?” I whisper.
“Anywhere,” Vinnie says. “You want the most expensive steak in Texas, done. You want greasy burgers, done. You want a whole restaurant bought out so no one looks at you, also done.”
I laugh. It comes out broken. “I don’t think you need to buy out a restaurant.”
Raven gives a watery laugh.
And then I laugh too. Also a watery laugh, even though I shouldn’t be laughing.
Not with Senora Valentina dead.
Not with Cruz God knows where.
Not with Eagle still in the hospital because of the man I kissed goodbye in a house flooded with blood.
But the laugh comes anyway.
Just one impossible sound your body makes to prove you’re still alive.
“We’re going to want the story,” Vinnie says after a moment.
“I know.”
“All of it.”
Does all of it include Cruz?
His hands on my face.
His confession.
His mouth on mine.
His role in Eagle’s overdose.
His grief over Senora Valentina.
His body between me and Zabala.
The fact that I left him in danger because I couldn’t figure out how to forgive him and love him in the same breath.
“I’ll tell you what I can,” I say.
“What you can?” he asks.
I run my fingers down my face. “Vinnie.”
“Robin, what does that mean?”
“It means I’m exhausted, and I’ve been through hell, and I can’t do this part yet.”
“Then don’t,” Raven cuts in. “Not right now.”
A lump rises in my throat. “Thank you.”
“No one’s going to push you the second you get home,” she says.
I close my eyes. “I know,” I whisper.
And I break.
I cry.
I fucking sob.
“Oh, honey.” From Raven.
I fold over the table with the phone pressed to my ear and bawl.
Hard.
Ugly.
Uncontrollable.
“Robin, it’s okay,” Raven says. “You’re coming home.”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “I know.”
“You’re safe now.”
I nod again. “I know.”
“We’ve got you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I know.”
But that isn’t why I’m crying.
Not entirely.
Yes, I’m relieved. Yes, I’m grateful. Yes, hearing my family’s voices after thinking I might never hear them again makes me joyful.
But deep down, in the place I can’t let anyone see, I know the real reason I just broke down is because of Cruz.
The thought of never seeing him again.
The thought of him walking toward that stolen car alone.
The thought of Vega’s men finding him.
The thought of Adriana finding him.
I cry because I’m going home.
I cry because he isn’t.
I cry because I should hate him.
I cry because I don’t.
Raven keeps murmuring into the phone. “It’s okay, Robbie. I understand. We all understand.”
I let her think my reaction is tears of relief. “I can’t wait to see you,” I manage.
“We can’t wait to see you either,” Raven says.
“Hold on a little longer, okay?” From Vinnie.
I wipe my face with the ruined tissue. “Okay.”
“You’re almost home.”
Home.
Home is waiting for me. Home is where I want to be more than anywhere else in the world.
But I’m also leaving something behind.