“Don’t worry,” the scarred man said, amused. “Carlos will break her spirit, along with her fight. And if he cannot do so, then I will cut her beloved hermanito up into little pieces so we can feed them to her.”
I froze as the reason they hadn’t killed Alejandro yet became clear. He was an insurance policy. One which would ensure I fell in line like the rest of their puppets, doing whatever they demanded of me.
Dios mío…
Scared out of my mind but refusing to feel defeated, I screamed as loud and as hard as I could. “I love you, hermanito! I swear I’ll find my way back to you!”
So help me Cristo I would.
“Carmen, wait!”
The door to the Suburban slammed shut, drowning out the outside world. Through the tinted glass, I watched as a hulking man dragged Alejandro to the vehicle parked in front of us.
Before they forced him into the backseat, his eyes found mine through the windshield, and with tears rolling down his face, he mouthed three words that I feared I’d never hear him speak again.
I love you.
A moment later, he was shoved into the SUV, vanishing from my sight. When the vehicle then drove off, carrying him away from me, a piece of my once beautiful soul died, turning to dust.
Without it, I’d never be whole again.
One
James
Sixteen Years Later
Toluca, Georgia
Blood thick with fiery determination, I sat in the middle of the Toluca Community Center, my eyes fixed on Gladys Altman, who stood ten feet away, her thin arms resting on the speaking podium in front of her.
Smiling, she clutched a faded Bible in one hand while preaching to the audience seated behind me about the power of faith.
Like the gold and emerald brooch she wore pinned to the front of her silk blouse, the hope-filled words she spoke were beautiful.
Too bad they were complete bullshit.
“With prayer, anything is possible,” she said, her dark blue eyes awash with tears. “Forgiveness, as freeing as it is, can be attained by asking for it. As for redemption, all one needs to do is veer away from the dark path they’ve become accustomed to walking.”
My jaw ticked.
Achieving forgiveness wasn’t that simple.
Neither was finding redemption.
Both were truths I knew all too well.
Having heard enough of the false hope being preached, I stood quickly, drawing more than one pair of curious eyes.
Face streaked with soot and clothes reeking of smoke thanks to the three-alarm fire I’d spent most of the past twelve hours battling, I stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Mrs. Gladys,” I said, forcing a smile that felt unnatural as hell, “how about you let me take over for a bit?”
Catching the irritation dripping from my tight voice, she fiddled with her beloved Bible, wrinkled face filled with apprehension. “Are you sure, James? I don’t mind—”
“I’m sure.” Not wasting any time, I headed to the front. At my hurried approach, she shuffled to the side, giving me room to take my place behind the podium.
Filled with so many emotions I could hardly decipher one from the next, I pulled my keys from my pocket and grasped the multiple AA chips that dangled from the silver ring tight.
The engraved metal bit into my calloused palm and fingers, bringing me comfort as I looked around the room, meeting one individual’s stare before moving to another.
Other than Gladys, I knew no one there, but the expressions each person in the crowd wore were as familiar to me as the feel of my own skin.
Fear. Denial.
And a whole lot of anger.
“My name is James Cole,” I said, straightening my spine. “A decorated fireman, most in this community see me as an upstanding citizen. But like many of you, I’m an alcoholic, a gambler, and an abuser.”
A young woman seated in the front row gasped while a middle-aged man near the back mumbled, “Man, I ain’t none of that shit.”
It was a bald-faced lie.
His sallow skin and slurred words were proof of that. Even then, he was drunker than a skunk. At a court-mandated parenting class, no less.
For fuck’s sake.
Not buying into his bullshit, I shook my head. “Every person in this room except for Mrs. Gladys and myself is here because at least one of their kids has been removed by Child Protective Services on account of abuse or neglect. So let’s not waste time lying to each other about who and what we all are.”
The drunken man’s eyes blazed with fury.
Yet he said nothing.
“Were your kids taken?”
My gaze jerked to the woman who’d spoken. Sitting amid the crowd, she held a pen in one hand and a notebook in the other. Tear-filled eyes flooded with pain, her lower lip trembled.
“No,” I answered honestly. “But he should’ve been.” Her brows knitted in confusion. “My son hasn’t been a kid for a long time. He’s twenty-five now, engaged, and has a baby of his own on the way.”
“Your son is twenty-five? But you look—”
“I’m forty-three,” I interrupted, already knowing she would tell me I looked too young to have a grown son, just as many others had before her. “I was only seventeen when I got my high school girlfriend pregnant. I was eighteen when my boy was born, and I’d just turned twenty when my pregnant ex walked out on him and me, taking my daughter, who I didn’t know she was carrying at the time, with her.”
Eighteen months younger than my son, my daughter didn’t even know I existed. Six months had passed since I’d found her by chance, and I still hadn’t told her the truth about who I was. I wanted to, Christ knows I did, but she deserved better than a scumbag father like me.
The woman quirked her head to the side. “Then why are you here?”
“To atone.” Before anyone could ask what I meant, I held up my keychain, showcasing my latest sobriety chip. “My name is James Cole, and I’m an alcoholic, a gambler, and an
