What Lies Within (38 page)

Almost as much as he.

Tell her
.

He didn’t argue this time. He simply started talking.

“I always liked you, Kyla. Too much. From the first time I saw you, all I could think of was you. You filled my heart and mind, fired my imagination. I was just a kid to you, but in my heart, I knew we belonged together.”

“But”—her words slipped out, muffled against his chest—“you were so …”

“Mean?”

She nodded against him, and he smiled. “I didn’t mean to be. I was so confused. All I wanted to do was make you see that Berto was wrong for you.”

Her head lowered, as though a weight pressed down on her. “Because I wasn’t good enough for—”

This time he did shake her.
“No!”
He gripped her arms, holding her away from him, just enough to look deep into those eyes. Eyes that had haunted his dreams for so many years. Eyes that had reminded him, when he felt lost and alone in the Iraqi desert, that it was all for a reason.

To protect her. To protect all women like her.

He gentled his tone. “No, Kyla. Not because you weren’t good enough for Berto. But because
he
wasn’t good enough for you.” His jaw tensed. “Because I knew he’d hurt you. And I couldn’t let him do that. Not without trying to stop him.”

Tears glistened, and she blinked them back. “I thought … I thought you just wanted to get rid of me.”

How could such a smart woman be so dense? “Yeah, well. You were wrong.”

Something flickered in the depths of her gaze. Something troubled. She looked down. Picked at a button on his shirt.

“Kyla.” He covered her hand with his own, pressing her palm to his chest—and immediately regretted the action. The warmth of her hand over his heart was enough to make his knees weak.
Buck up, soldier!
He pulled in a deep breath, steadied his pulse rate.
Focus on what she needs, not on your stupid feelings
. “Kyla, what’s wrong?”

She pulled away from him, shaking her head. He didn’t move. Didn’t want to crowd her. “Tell me.”

At his low command, she spun back to him, fire returning to her eyes. “I’m not one of your soldiers.”

That all-too-obvious truth almost tugged a laugh out of him. She
definitely
wasn’t one of his soldiers. Good thing, too, considering the way one
look or word from her could get to him. He’d never have been able to function. He inclined his head, conceding the point. “I’m sorry.” He held her gaze. “Kyla, you know you can trust me.”

The barest nod answered him.

“Then please, tell me.”

She struggled for another heartbeat, her arms coming up to hug herself. Rafe understood what she was doing, probably better than she. He took two steps forward and placed his hands on her arms. With gentle force, he removed the barrier she’d created. Keeping one of her trembling hands nestled in his, he led her to a chair. They sat, side by side, and the words came out in a tumble.

“I did something. Something I’m so ashamed of.”

Misery punctuated the words, but he didn’t try to soothe her. She needed to get this out. No more delays.

“When Berto and I were dating, I”—she closed her eyes and exhaled, then finished on a whisper—“I got pregnant.”

Her eyes came to his face then, seeking, probably for any sign of shock or condemnation. But she’d find none.

Because Rafe already knew.

FORTY-SIX   

S
he’d come.

Rafe knew fifteen was too young, in some people’s minds to have the feelings he did for Kyla Justice. But they were there. Had been since he was twelve. Little wonder, then, that he knew the moment Kyla walked into their house for his fifteenth birthday party.

And that something was wrong.

He read it in her every movement, heard it in her voice. Berto, of course, was clueless. All through his party, Rafe watched Kyla, anxiety growing ever stronger. What could make her look so miserable?

So frightened.

His hands fisted at his sides. Had Berto done something to hurt her? His fingers clenched so tight they ached. If so, he’d have Rafe to answer to.

Rafe had never understood what Kyla saw in his older brother. That they’d been together for a little over three years utterly stymied him. But it
also worked in his favor at times, like tonight. With the connection through Kyla and Berto, both of their families had gathered at Rafe’s home to celebrate his fifteen birthday. And that meant he got the best present of all.

The chance to see Kyla.

At one point, Rafe spotted her sitting by herself. Screwing up his courage, he grabbed a cup, filled it with punch, and carried it to her. She started when he thrust it toward her, then offered him a wan smile and took the cup in both hands.

“Thank you.”

Her words were as troubled as her expression. Rafe wanted to soothe her, to take away whatever troubled her. But his tongue wouldn’t work, and so he ended up just standing there.

“Hey, little brother”—Berto’s too-loud voice grated on Rafe’s nerves—“just ’cause it’s your birthday, don’t think you can get away with mooning over my girl.”

Is that what she thought he was doing? Humiliation washed over him and Rafe turned and walked away, his brother’s raucous laugh echoing in his burning ears. But he couldn’t shut out her voice …

“Berto, that’s mean. He wasn’t mooning—”

“Forget him. You should be focusing on me, Kylita.”

Why
did she let him talk to her that way? Didn’t she know she deserved better?

The party was winding down when Rafe realized Kyla and Berto were missing. Normally, he would have just marked it up to Berto wanting time with his girl. He didn’t like sharing Kyla with anyone, not even their families. But the look in her eyes when she arrived wouldn’t let him go. And so Rafe went searching.

It wasn’t hard to find them. All he had to do was follow their raised voices. He stood just outside the doorway of his father’s library, listening. Not to eavesdrop, but to be ready. Just in case. Berto’s temper, as unpredictable as it was fierce, decided to make an appearance.

“What do you
want
from me?”

Kyla’s response was equal parts anger and agony. “How can you ask that? This didn’t just happen to me, Berto! It happened to us!”

“You want me to be sorry? Well, I’m not! I’m glad. You were stupid to let it happen in the first place.”

Rafe planted his hands on either side of the door. It took all his control not to burst into the room and shove his brother’s scornful words down his throat. But Berto wasn’t finished.

“It’s good that thing is gone.”

“Thing?”

The ragged pain in Kyla’s wail pierced Rafe’s gut.
What
was going on? When she finally spoke again, her words were soft, broken.

Like grief come to life.

“That
thing
was your baby, Berto. And now it’s dead. Our baby is dead.”

Her sorrow became his own, loosing tears to course down Rafe’s face. He put his hand on the doorknob … everything within him needed to go to her. To comfort her. To ease her pain. But he was halted by his brother’s hissing response.

“Did I
ask
for a baby? No! I told you to be careful. But you let this happen, so it’s on your head. I
told
you, chica, I wasn’t going to let you or some screaming brat ruin my life. I’ve got a future, and your baby was not a part of it.”

“My … 
my
baby?”

Rafe’s throat was so tight he could scarcely breathe.
Listen to her, Berto! Don’t you hear the pain? Pain
you
are causing …

“I’m just glad that thing is out of my life. You should be glad too.”

The silence that followed Berto’s words was heavy. When Kyla spoke, Rafe barely recognized her voice. The words came out flat, emotionless.

Dead.

“And will you be glad when I’m out of your life as well?”

Rafe could just see his brother’s reaction. The curled lip; the derision. No woman had ever left him. No matter what he’d done or said.

Sure enough, Berto’s tone shifted, turned low and husky—the voice he used to sway women. “Don’t be silly,
cara
. Te amo. You know I love you.”

Rafe closed his eyes. It wouldn’t work. Not this time. No amount of charm could erase what Berto had said. Not from the way Kyla’s voice had sounded—

“Good-bye, Berto.”

Rafe barely had time to step back before Kyla burst through the door. She jerked to a halt when she saw him there. Those deep green eyes, drenched in tears, stared at him. The seemingly limitless sorrow he saw in those depths pierced his heart. For a moment the pain was so intense he thought he might be having a heart attack. But no pain could keep him from wanting to reach out, to comfort her. Words balanced on the precipice of his tongue, waiting to take flight. Assurances that she was better off without his jerk of a brother. That any man would be blessed to have her love.

But before he could coax them forth, she folded her arms around herself and dropped her gaze to the floor.

“I guess you’re glad to see me go.”

No! He wanted to scream it out. To tell her how he felt. That she owned him. Owned his heart. But the words wouldn’t come. They just tangled up inside him. Left him standing mute while she bit her lips, fighting against the pain, then gave one final nod.

“Good-bye, Rafa.”

And with that she was gone.

The moment the door closed behind her, Rafe came back to life. “No!” He started after her, but someone grabbed him from behind, jerking him off his feet.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Berto.

Rafe spun, striking his brother’s arm, knocking him away.

“
¿Por qué andas tan brava?
What’s wrong with you?”

Rafe met anger with anger. “Why am I angry? What’s wrong with
me?
How could you
do
that? How could you treat her that way?”

Berto’s eyes—eyes women swooned over—narrowed. “Were you listening,
tarado?
”

His brother was bigger and stronger than he. Rafe knew he’d lose in a fight. But he didn’t care. That his brother had done this to such a woman.

He couldn’t bear it.

“Women think you’re so wonderful, but you’re
nada!
”

“Be careful, little brother.”

“Or what?” Rafe pulled himself to his full height. “I’m no woman you can knock around.”

Berto smirked. “Or knock up.”

Rafe didn’t know he was going to hit his brother until it happened. But hit him he did, with the full fury of his outrage and sorrow. All the shame, the anger, congealed within him, drawing his hand into a fist that flew through the air with such force he heard his brother’s jaw break when it connected.

Standing there, staring down at his brother where he lay sprawled on the floor, Rafe knew his life was over. Not because of what he’d done here. Berto deserved it. All that and more.

No, what cut to the quick, what stole the future he’d dreamed of since he was twelve, was the shame of what Berto did to Kyla Justice.

And the sure knowledge she could never, ever want to see any of them again.

FORTY-SEVEN   

I
never expected to see you again.”