Page 85 of The Saint

I wanted to scream, and the only thing stopping me was the people surrounding me. Supporting me. Rolly and Lorenzo and D’Angelo and Queenie.

They were the ones who mattered.

Pulling my face away from Rolly’s chest, I looked up and met his eyes. My lips were pursed, this violent energy rumbling through me, and not even the calm of his slate-blue eyes could quiet the fire growing inside of me.

Rolly’s lips turned up into a pained smile, something close to pity that hurt my heart. I wouldn’t stand for this any longer. I wouldn’t be my mother’s whipping boy anymore.

Pushing up on my tiptoes, I pressed a kiss to Rolly’s lips. Then, patting his chest, I gave a quick nod, turned, and walked away. The door to the gallery was falling shut behind Goldberg as I rushed through the front room, and I pushed outside before it could close, losing my shoes in the process, and coming up behind them with a fire burning in my veins.

Carmen turned, mouth opening to speak. But only my mother’s name fell across her lips before she saw me and stopped. “Jael?”

My mother turned her disinterested gaze my way. The way she dragged it down my body, top lip curled up, had that fire in my veins burning me up. “Really, Bashe—”

“No, Mother.” Her mouth dropped open, but before she could complain about my rude behavior, or chastise me for not wearing shoes on this frigid November night, I put my hand up to stop her. “This,” I said, gesturing to her before tossing a hand toward the door behind me, “is not okay. You do not get to come here and make me feel like shit.”

“Bash—”

“It’s Jael,” I hissed, seething venom. The door swung open, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jet, then Arik, step out onto the New York City sidewalk. “You will not call me Bashe anymore. Better yet, you will not talk to me anymore. I am tired of you using that name to try to control me. You lost your chance to be a real mother to me years ago, and you do not get to walk into my life and treat me like you know what’s best. I am done with you and your uppity, know-it-all attitude. Not once, in the past five years, have you tried to contact me. Not once have you tried to make sure I was okay.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, the bitter cold air burning my lungs.

“I am done, Mother. I’m done with you and your games. The next time you see me? Do yourself a favor and turn and walk away.”

Spinning on my heel, I faltered. Because it wasn’t just Jet and Arik who’d come through the door, but the rest of my brothers as well. Avi stepped toward me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and tugging me close. Then Paz gave us a nod before turning around and opening the door. My brothers ushered me back inside the building, to Rolly and the friends and family who cared about me, leaving our mother outside where she belonged.

These people filling the gallery, they were the ones that mattered.

It would never, ever be her.

22

ROLLY

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. From the moment I saw her step off the bottom stair, her gorgeous, tanned body draped in green silk, I’d wanted to hunt her down and take her, hide her away to keep anyone else from seeing how beautiful she was.

She was mine.

That’s the only thing I could think as I saw her talking to her men. Or with my friends, moments later. When she started my way, I could finally break free of the barrage of people keeping me from her.

She was mine, and all I wanted was to hold her close to me, wrap her up in my arms and have her at my side.

None of this would have been possible without her. It was terrifying and exhilarating, and it was all thanks to her.

Everything felt right when she was beside me. When my hand was wrapped around hers, when her body heat was mixing with mine. My heart didn’t race each time someone came to speak to me, to congratulate me, to question me about my art. She made this tolerable, and it opened up a world of possibilities.

While I expected all the discomfort of having people I knew see my paintings and drawings, the one thing I hadn’t anticipated was Jael’s mother showing up. I was livid, and any thoughts of discomfort vanished as every cell inside my body screamed to get rid of the threat.

She was rude, as usual, treating Jael like she was second rate. Calling her by her middle name, a reminder that she was Devorah’s daughter and she should act like it. Jael had never acted like a typical girl, never wanted to do the things Devorah wanted. She was more like her father, like Arik and Yosef, and Devorah had always expressed her displeasure in passive-aggressive ways.

Then there was her apology. “I’m sorry for whatever it is you think I’ve done.”

As if she didn’t know exactly what she’d done. As if her daughter and sons hadn’t explained it to her many times.

Mom ushered Devorah out of the studio, but Jael was close on her heels, with Jet and her brothers following after. I was unable to leave my show the way I wanted to, to stand by her in what had to be one of the most difficult things she’d ever done. I had to trust that our families would take care of her until I could break free and take her in my arms.

Not long after they’d left, Jael’s brothers ushered her back in, supporting her on unsteady feet as they took her to one of the meeting rooms off the main gallery. I watched through the sidelight as much as I could, as Mom and Dad, Jet and Zio, and the David brothers, all comforted her and lifted her up.

When the last patron had left and the studio was closing for the night, I headed for the meeting room, only to be stopped by Jet as he was coming out.