Page 52 of Everything We Left Behind

“La’i lua ke kai.”

He swings his head toward Natalya as she peels off her cover-up. “What does that mean?” He forces his gaze away from her athletically lean form, but not before he catches the matching puckers of scar tissue just inside her hip bones. His hand involuntarily touches the scar on his face.

“‘The sea is calm. All is peaceful,’” Natalya translates.

Marc splashes Julian. Julian dunks his younger brother. “That’s not peaceful,” James says with a laugh.

“But the energy is. They love the ocean. Everyone in my family does. Water is life. Life is family.” She squints up at him from under the bill of the cap and flicks his shirt collar. “I don’t think Carlos owned one shirt with a collar.”

James takes in his white Under Armour polo and gray flat-front swim trunks that look more like stylish shorts than something he’d wear to the beach. His attire isn’t anything different from what he usually wore to the beach, and it isn’t what he would have worn in Mexico.

“I’m not Carlos,” he murmurs. It comes out sounding like an apology, and in a way, he regrets he can’t be the man she loves.

“I know. I have to keep reminding myself of that.” There’s a touch of melancholy in her voice and something shifts inside him. He reaches for her but she steps out of reach, her back already turned toward him. She whips off her cap and charges into the ocean, grabbing his sons around their waists, and all three of them go under.

James watches from the shore, feeling overdressed and out of sync with his family. Out of place in his own life.

CHAPTER 16

CARLOS

Five Years Ago

August 14

San Jose, California

Thomas swung open the passenger door with a flourish and gestured inside. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” I tightly gripped the phone. It buzzed incessantly. “How about I meet you at your office tomorrow?”

Thomas leaned on the door. “Come on, Carlos. You look like shit and I bet you’re hungry. The least I can do is buy you lunch.”

As if he hadn’t done enough already. “How did you know I was coming?”

“Isn’t that the million-dollar question?” He smirked. “I’m ready to talk if you’re ready to listen. Last time you threw a temper tantrum.” He scratched his cheek where I’d punched him last December.

I wasn’t in the mind-set yet to meet with him. I had my own game plan. Plans Natalya and I repeatedly drilled through. Spontaneity wasn’t in the rule book, and neither was a tour with Thomas as the guide. I spun around, looking for the rental-car kiosks. “I’ll get my own car and follow you.”

“You have no idea who anyone is or where you should go. Get in the fucking car, little bro, or I call my buddy over there and he’ll put you back on the plane to Mexico.”

Near the door to baggage claim stood a man. He wore a golf shirt, casual pants, and wraparound sunglasses. He looked like any other traveler at the airport except for his demeanor. It screamed government. He watched us cautiously.

Fear coursed through my veins, turning me cold. I looked around the airport, the flow of cars in front of me and the deafening noise of a jet overhead, and I saw no other choice. Either we created a scene or I went with Thomas.

I dumped my bag at his feet as if he were a parking valet and slid into the front seat.

“I wish you would have called me. I’d have had more time to prepare,” he said, and slammed the door.

My phone vibrated again and Natalya’s face lit the screen. I tapped the red icon, sending her call to voice mail; then I powered down my phone. Hopefully she’d forgive me later. I also hoped it wouldn’t be the last time I recognized her face.

“Where are we going?” I demanded when Thomas sank into his seat.

He finished a text, tossed his phone aside, and pulled from the curb. “Lunch, and if you’re up for it, a trip down memory lane.”

“Not interested.”

“That’s a load of shit. Why else would you come home?”

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