Callahan
“Are you going home or coming with me?” I ask my uncle.
“I’m coming with you.”
I nod and the two of us, along with a handful of soldiers, head toward the chopper.
My uncle stops me a few feet away. “You should have told me this is where you wanted to spend your wedding night,” my uncle says. He has to raise his voice to be heard over the whirring of the blades.
“You’d try to talk me out of it.”
“And for good reason. Why didn’t you tell me? Even about the church?”
I consider my response. How much I want to give away. “You met with him,” I say, finished with games. I’ve been finished with them since I woke up from the coma.
Time has become more valuable.
And I’m fucking tired.
Both eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Met with who?”
“Fernando.”
“What?”
“Three years ago. On the balcony at the opera. I didn’t even know you liked opera, Uncle.” I study his face as I say it, laying out my cards, watching for any tells.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I have a photo. Several. You and him, ina private and very heated discussion.”
He studies me as closely, left eye narrowing infinitesimally. Then he laughs, just a quick burst of air as he shakes his head.
“It was a charity event. I’d been invited for my contribution. I can’t dictate who the opera allows in and who they bar from entry, now can I?”
“So, you just coincidentally happen to be there at the same tine as the man who murdered your brother, your sister-in-law, your niece and nephews? And you’re able to hold a conversation with him knowing he’s responsible? Knowing what he did to my mother?” That last part I force out, blocking the emotion that wants to worm its way into my words.
“What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“I don’t know, Uncle.”
“Where is this photo? How did you get it?”
“Doesn’t matter. What were you even discussing with him?”
“Quite honestly, I was taken by surprise when he, his soldiers, and those two Cartel brothers arrived at the box where I sat with the president of the charity. He came pour salt into the wound, Callahan. My anger got the better of me. I told him in no uncertain terms that one day, I would kill him.”
“This lasted seven minutes?” The time was stamped on the photos.
“How dare you!”
“Look around you, Uncle. I was betrayed tonight. Again.”
“And you think it was me? I didn’t even fucking know where you were!” he pauses, glances around then lowers his voice. “Have you thought of Alec? Have you wondered how he managed to survive considering they made sure no one else did? The rest were killed execution style. No room for error when you have a fucking bullet in your head. Have you considered maybe it was him?”
“I consider everything,” I say, somehow calm. “I have to. What else were you talking to Fernando about at the opera? Seven minutes is a long fucking time.”
“I already told you. And if you doubt that I was as impacted by the murders of your family, then you’re having a brain hemorrhage.” He leans in close, pokes his finger against my chest. “Remember who saved your fucking l life.”
“Yeah, I remember. Antonio.”
“No, not Antonio. He found you. I’m the one who made sure you were kept safe and protected while you couldn’t defend yourself. I made sure you were taken care of, made sure you were out of sight until you were strong enough to stand on your own, to take back what was stolen from you and to avenge your family. You think Antonio didn’t want to go after them? You think I didn’t want revenge? I protected him too. Saved his life too when he’d have thrown it away going after those crazy fuckers. I knew all along we needed to wait for you. We couldn’t take that from you, and that’s the truth of it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything but hate for the family who killed my family.”
I look beyond him to the waves of the ocean. I scrub my face, take a deep breath. It makes sense what he’s saying.
The tattoo I scribbled badly on my arm throbs. My uncle’s name. But if I look at him now, if I recall how he looked when he told me about last night, he was as surprised as I. And he’s my own blood. My father’s brother.
“Look, it’s been a stressful few days. Portia’s missing. I can guess who has her. You’re under a lot of pressure. And I haven’t helped when it comes to her. I know that. But believe me, Callahan, I have no ulterior motive. You’re the closest thing I have to a son. I’d never betray you.”
I nod. It’s all I can do. Right now, I have to get Portia back. That’s my first priority. All this I’ll process later.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We walk in silence the rest of the way to the chopper and climb inside. The pilot lifts off the ground as soon as we’re inside and I think about the last time we were in the chopper heading to my wedding.
How things change in a matter of hours. Minutes. Seconds.
How life turns upside down and inside out, spitting out what’s left of us after it’s chewed up everything that matters.