No one had asked if he wanted this. Whether he wanted to be the Patrón didn’t matter. He was no longer a man but a symbol, an extension of his grandfather’s power, and as long as he did what he was told and hid the parts of him no one wanted to see hidden, his family would finally be proud of him. A hollow opened in Felipe’s heart, and his throat tightened. He didn’t want this, but maybe if he was the Patrón, he could fix things. Alfonso and his uncle couldn’t hurt him if he had his grandfather’s protection, and he could show everyone that men like him could be the Patrón, that they could be worth something. All he had to do was survive long enough to make a difference.
At his grandfather’s dismissal, Felipe stood, and the study wavered. A new dread overlayed the one already in his breast. Something was wrong. This wasn’t how it went. Instead of going to the door, Felipe’s eyes locked on the pistol again. Between one step and the next, his grandfather disappeared, and all that remained was the gun.
Wake up.
Señor Quintero wasn’t coming to save him, a familiar voice crooned. His life had already been filled with so much pain. One moment more, and he would never have to hurt again. His hand closed around the cold metal of its own accord, the sudden weight of the pistol dragging his wrist down.
Wake up.
His choices were to die by Alfonso’s hand in another unfortunate accident or live long enough to become the Patrón. Both were a death sentence. Tears burned the backs of Felipe’s eyes, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want this life. He never asked for it, the voice crooned. His hand shook as he raised the gun to his temple. Why not end it on his terms?
Wake up!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Close Calls
Oliver’s arm jerked out from under his head. Felipe had already accidentally awoken him twice by trying to turn on his side while forgetting he was in a sling and that their wrists were tied together. The idea was brilliant in its simplicity, but it was also stopping Oliver from sleeping more than it was stopping Felipe from sleepwalking. He was about to yank his arm back and force himself to sleep when he heard a stifled sob.
“Felipe?” Oliver called, but there was no answer.
Opening his eyes, Oliver found Felipe’s side of the bed empty, but when he raised his head and followed the string to Felipe’s wrist, his heart nearly stopped. Felipe stood haloed in moonlight with tears streaming down his cheeks and his gun in his hand. His glowing, golden eyes were half-open and unseeing as Oliver called to him again. Beneath the sling, his chest heaved, and Oliver sat in frozen horror as Felipe slowly raised the revolver to his temple with a shaking hand. For a moment, he thought it must be a dreamuntil he heard the hammer slip and struggle to click into place. A strangled cry escaped Oliver’s lips as he dove across the bed and crashed into Felipe’s arm.
Oliver yanked it back, afraid the gun might still go off, but he would rather blow a hole in the ceiling than in his lover. He had expected Felipe to thrash or fight, but when he ripped the weapon from his half-slack grip and dropped it onto the rug, Felipe let out a strangled breath and sank against him. Relief warred with fury in Oliver’s breast as he crushed Felipe to him. His arms shook and his lungs strained against his ribs at the realization of what he had seen. It made no sense. Felipe had been fine hours earlier, yet he had tried to kill himself.He tried to kill himself, his mind screamed. Oliver wanted to shake him or cry or throw up, but all he could do was hold Felipe and fight back angry tears.
“Why?” was all Oliver could stammer, but Felipe didn’t answer. “Felipe.”
Grabbing his arms, Oliver pulled him back to look in his face, but his expression was wrong, too slack, too flat. “Felipe!”
Beneath his fingernails, Felipe’s body jerked. He blinked, and a dizzying rush of emotion surged across the tether. Felipe touched his temple and then his heart as if he checking to make sure he was still whole, but when he looked up into Oliver’s features, his expression cracked with relief. A stifled sob broke from his lips as he buried his face against Oliver’s robe.
“Why would you do that?” Oliver choked.
Felipe shook his head without looking up. Wave after wave of panic and relief battered the tether as he clung to Oliver. “I didn’t want to. Please believe me, Oliver. I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t stop. I tried to wake myself up, but I couldn’t.”
Oliver rubbed his back and tried to calm him. “What do you mean you tried to wake yourself up? Were you sleepwalking again?”
Felipe nodded miserably, sucking in a tremulous breath. “I thought writing the letter today would help, but it still happened. I don’t know how to make it stop.”
“Take a deep breath. It’s hard to understand you.” Sitting back onhis heels, Oliver disentangled the string from his wrist and Felipe’s injured arm and tossed it aside. Felipe’s cheeks were wet with tears as he blinked away the burning in his eyes. “What letter are you talking about?”
“The one to my parents,” Felipe said, forcing down the tremor in his voice. “I’ve been trying to write it all week, but I can’t do it. Mr. Allen said writing them a fake letter telling them all the ways they hurt me might help. I thought if I could do that, it might fix the sleepwalking, but it only made it worse.”
Oliver rubbed Felipe’s shoulders and replied slowly, “Darling, I still don’t see how these things are connected.”
“Every time I’ve sleepwalked, it started with a dream about my family. Every single time. But this time it ended differently.” Felipe sucked in a wet, panicked breath. His hand went to his pounding heart as he stared up beseechingly at his partner. “I don’t know what to do, Oliver. Every time I sleep there’s a nightmare waiting for me. What if I try again tomorrow? What if you don’t wake up that time? I can’t—”
Oliver’s heart lurched as the half-sobbed words turned into a panicked suck of breath. Holding Felipe’s gaze, Oliver whispered in his most calm voice, “You’re all right now. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Take a deep breath for me. Nice and slow.”
Counting for him, Oliver watched as Felipe gulped a breath and then exhaled slower. Across the tether, Felipe’s pulse raced, and in time with his breathing, Oliver carefully synchronized his partner’s body with his own. He brushed the sweat-dampened curls from his partner’s forehead and kissed his cheek. His skin was hot from sleeping and crying, but soon, the chill of the room would catch up with him. When he was certain Felipe was safe and stable, Oliver set the revolver on the nightstand and pulled the blanket off the bed. He draped it around Felipe’s shoulders and sat on the rug beside him. For a long moment, they merely leaned against each other in the darkened room. Felipe was safe, Oliver reminded himself.
“If you ever felt like you wanted to do that…,” Oliver began slowly.
“I would tell you. I haven’t wanted to, not in a very long time, but I know if I asked you to let me go, you would,” Felipe replied with a sniff. He eyed the gun wearily. “I wouldn’t do it like that. I couldn’t leave you with that.”
Oliver nodded, slipping his fingers between Felipe’s. As he listened to Felipe’s breathing even out, he replayed what he had said, though it still didn’t make sense. “The dream you mentioned. How did it end differently?”
“You mean besides trying to shoot myself?” When Oliver nodded, he sighed and let his head fall against the bed. “The dream wasn’t right. They’ve all been memories so far, like I’m reliving my worst moments, but this time the ending wasn’t what really happened. This time I was sixteen or seventeen standing in my grandfather’s study after he named me as his successor. At the end, he tells me I can go. I should have left the room, but in the dream, I picked up his gun. I never once touched that gun. I—”
