“We can go to the store tomorrow if you feel up to it. You need to be eating better than this. The Evan I knew would never touch half the stuff in the fridge.” She laughs, pulling away slowly.
She's right and I'm still not. I barely eat anything these days, except for mashed potatoes and oatmeal, along with canned soup. I still can't bring myself to touch chicken noodle or cream of wheat. The smell of both dishes makes me gag. “I'm slowly getting my appetite back. You know that. I've been eating fine considering what I had been surviving on almost two weeks ago. I do think adding a few old favorites to my diet will help but I can take myself to the store.”
“Of course.” She grabs her purse from the table, clutching it to her chest. “You'll be coming over for dinner tomorrow night with your brother, right?”
“Dinner?” I arch a brow, hoping Ignacio remains patient. My mom can't find out he's here. My brother already knows too much about what's happened between us as it is. I can't have anyone else learning the truth of how I've been coping.
“Yeah, for Christmas Eve.”
I blink rapidly, unable to believe I forgot Christmas was so soon. “Right. Sure. Connor will more than likely drag me there whether I'm up for it or not.”
She laughs, her purse hanging lower in front of her. “You could use some family time right now and a little holiday cheer. We all could.”
“I'll be there.” I guide her to the door. “As long as I get plenty of sleep before then.”
Nodding in understanding, she pecks my cheek and walks out the door, waving one last time before pulling it shut. Sighing in relief, my shoulders drop and I flip the lock, hoping she doesn't come back. I lied about Connor being home soon. He works late tonight. It's on the schedule he left for me on the fridge. I pulled it down and shoved it in my pocket as soon as we entered the kitchen. If she saw it, she would have never left.
Inhaling sharply, I head for my room, releasing a shaky breath. My hand rests on the knob for too long before twisting the door open.
Ignacio stands in front of the window beside the bed, peeking between the curtains. “What took you so long?”
“I had company.” I walk closer, taking in his rumpled clothing and mussed hair.
“I'm aware, I'm in here,” he says, curtly.
Rolling my eyes, I huff out a laugh. “Besides you. My mom came to tell me I needed to eat better.”
“That makes two of us.” He continues to look forward, not moving an inch.
“Why are you here, Iggy?”
Sighing softly, his fingers tug on one of the curtains. “You told me to come.”
“No, I didn't.”
“You said it wasn't safe to discuss on the phone so here I am.”
“I did, but you were already here before I sent that message.” I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for him. “So what's so important it couldn't wait until after the holidays?”
He turns around and my heart lurches at his blood-covered clothes. Streaks of crimson line his cheeks and cover parts of his neck. “Jesus, are you hurt? Who did this? Was it your uncle? Is that why—”
“No.” He licks his lips, his eyes bloodshot and red rimmed. Tear streaks stain his cheeks and despite everything he's been through, I've never seen him this broken. “I mean, it's not my blood and I don't know if it was my uncle's doing or not. I was hoping you were paying attention to him as much as you were my dad while I was gone.”
“What did he do?”
He shakes his head, staring down at his feet. “It's what I did. It's all my fucking fault, but if he was in any way involved, I need to know. I need to make sure I kill the right man.”
“In what? Your kidnapping?” I ask, my throat tightening. If Rudy took any part in it, I'll do much worse than send his ass to prison with his brother.
His eyes water when they meet mine again. “Everything. All of it.”
“Ignacio,” I say sternly. “Whose blood are you covered in?”
Soft sobs escape him and he runs a hand through his hair, his bottom lip trembling. “I shouldn't have believed they'd actually let her go. If I’d been thinking clearly, maybe things could have ended differently. Even if I had gotten killed in the process, at least she would still be alive. Why couldn't it have been me instead?” He pounds his hand against his chest, his nostrils flaring.
My throat is dry and the dread filling me has me frozen in place. “Maria,” I whisper. “Where is your mom?”
He drops to the floor, his knees crashing against the wood with a loud thud. His head hangs low and he presses his fingers into the ground. “They killed her. Right in front of me. At first I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to but her eyes were…there was no heartbeat and no matter how much I begged for her to, she wouldn't move.”