Page 101 of Everything We Left Behind

His father pulled back his arm, the leather belt swinging from his hand. James squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. He wondered if someone could pass out from the pain. God knew he couldn’t take much more. He heard the whir of the leather before he felt it. The impact sent him to his knees.

“Stop! Stop hurting him.”

James looked up from his curled, half-naked position on the floor. Phil stood over him as he faced Edgar.

“Wearebrothers, whether you like it or not. We willalwaysbe brothers. But I’m the one you hate. Beat me.”

James’s father tossed aside the belt. “You disgust me. Get out of my sight. Both of you.”

Phil leaned over to help him up and James pushed away his hand. He should be thanking him, but all he felt was humiliation. He stood on his own and pulled up his pants. God, he wished he’d never walked in on his mom and Uncle Grant. He hated them and he hated Phil. Phil was the reason his father punished him and Thomas. Why did he have to go and dig up his birth certificate to find the proof? Phil was the reason they were in California. Phil was the reason his father beat him. Everything was Phil’s fault.

“You’renotmy brother,” he said to Phil. “Stay away from me.”

Just stay away.

“Wake up, sir.”

Stay away.

“Wake up!”

James jolts awake. He blinks and looks up into the face of a woman he’s never seen before. He doesn’t recognize her or anything around him.

“Who are you?” he asks, panting.

She frowns.

“Where am I?”

CHAPTER 30

CARLOS

Seven Months Ago

November 29

Puerto Escondido, Mexico

How can you trust anyone if you can’t trust yourself?

Carla’s question had been haunting me for two days.

When I first learned the truth about my condition, there was no doubt in my mind I’d always be Carlos. I’d already been in a fugue state for nineteen months when Aimee appeared. Truth was, I’d been in denial. The enormity of my situation hadn’t sunk in.

Days and months passed, and so did that belief, disappearing like mist over the ocean with the rising sun. With the headaches, the blackout, and Natalya’s discussion with Dr.Feinstein, it became apparent that my mind was in the process of healing. The question was no longerifI surfaced from the fugue state, but when, and how, and where.

This unknown scared me.

I trusted Natalya to care for my sons. She’d keep them safe and raise them far away from the Donato family should, God forbid, James—rather,I—not want the responsibility.

I trusted Julian to watch over his brother. And I trusted him in that rebellious, preteen way of his, to not only help guide me back to fatherhood but make me want to be a father. It was an enormous responsibility, but Julian had a strong spirit. He’d also have his aunt’s help.

Since the day I woke in the medical clinic more than six years ago, I’d had little faith in anything, except my art, or anyone, except my sons and Natalya.

You’re the same man,Natalya had told me time and time again.Same body, same heart ... same soul.

My headaches didn’t respond to the medication like they used to. As Carla observed, they’d grown in frequency and intensity. So had my nightmares. They kept my stomach in knots and my heart palpitating long into the night.

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