I wipe away tears and look around, finding not a single dry eye. Even Erik, who will dig into Javier’s every move since birth, has given in to the reality of the situation. A single tear streaks down his cheek.
This is often what reunification looks like—a mixture of broken and grateful. Bram is holding Nacho as he cries, his face pushed into Bram’s neck. Charlie and Justin have their arms wrapped around each other’s waists, heads tilted together.
Ant finally steps back and his eyes flick to mine. In them is something new.
Hope.
2
JAVIER
It’s hard to believe, but I’ve cried harder in the last eight hours than when we lost him. The information I gathered led me to believe he’d either stayed in Mexico or had been taken south, but his nearly flawless English means he’s been in the United States, probably the entire time.
For a decade, I’ve had variations of the same nightmare. Running through a dark and forbidding landscape, always missing Antonio by mere minutes. I’d wake in a cold sweat to the horrifying sense that my nephew was forever being held just out of my reach.
Last night I discovered I was never even close.
In all those wasted years, it turns out that the only facts I learned with any accuracy were ones I wish I could forget. Ant was only eleven when he was taken from us. The simple math means I didn’t sleep a single second last night. Instead, I stayed up, imagining—knowing—the horrors he’s been through.
Even after years of hunting for him in the worst places I could imagine, some desperate part of me had held out hope that he’d been adopted by some wealthy benefactor, not fed into an insatiable machine that inhales bodies and exhales few survivors.
Seeing Antonio with Charlie and his team killed the fairy tale I’d been telling myself. Antonio may not know this, but Charlie Wills is a legend in the antitrafficking community. Hell, he’s damn near mythical, known for his big daring rescues from some of the worst places. I’ve kept an eye on his reunification lists, almost relieved to never see Antonio’s name.
It allowed me to continue hoping for the impossible. When Antonio confirmed my worst fears, I wished I had thought to reach out and ask Charlie for help.
The protectiveness of Charlie’s crew clued me in on how bad things have been for my nephew, but even more damning is the fact Antonio doesn’t recognize me. And I don’t know if it’s because of trauma or my neglectfulness as an uncle.
Just as I attempt to revisit every failed decision I ever made, my spiral is interrupted by a light knock.
“Come in,” I call out, my voice low and rough as I gingerly sit up on the fold-out couch in Erik’s office.
Like a dream, or maybe a nightmare, Antonio opens the door.
“Did I wake you?”
I shake my head. “No. Not at all.”
He pauses in the doorway, uncertainty in the hold of his body.
“Is there something wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Um, Erik texted me this morning. You passed their initial background check.”
“Were they able to verify we are related?”
He nods, staying in the doorway. “Did you really give Erik a cheek swab last night?”
I run my fingers through my hair and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Yes, of course. Someone showed up and took it. Some guy with long, blond hair that looked related to Erik.”
“That’s Anders. He and Erik are cousins.”
“How did he get the results so quickly?”
Antonio’s knowing grin—so like his mother’s—takes my breath away. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“You’re funny, Antonio. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Charlie Wills has connections,” I say, getting up with an ache in my lower back.
Antonio’s brows meet in the middle, something his mom used to do. “I—can you call me Ant? My friends back when…it’s what my friends used to call me.”
