Page 7 of Connected

Chapter 3

Pilar Lopez

The sunlight filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, forcing me to open my eyes. At first nothing registers. Not the pounding headache or the fact that my entire body feels hollow and certainly not Joaquin’s body pressed tightly against mine. It takes every bit of strength for me to keep my eyes open and every ounce of willpower not to relish in the intimate way the man who broke me is currently holding me. Instead, I remind myself of the facts.

He’s using you, Pilar.

You’re nothing but another notch in his belt.

A body he can use, abuse, and break.

Something easily discarded.

Those cold-hard facts are the exact thoughts that ran through my mind as I sat in a sleek leather booth last night and stared across the crowded club at Joaquin. He had no idea I was there, and as crazy as it sounds, that cut me deep. Not deeper than the abortion, but it still hurt. You see, I’ve always had this idea that love is more than an emotion, that it’s a connection. It’s walking into a crowded room and not being able to see the person you love but knowing they’re close. It’s feeling their presence because whenever they’re near, you’re whole.

The first time I felt it was three years ago. I was working at the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami Beach as a maid and had just finished making up one of the guest rooms. I pushed my cart into the hallway and the door across from the room opened. I felt him before my eyes even met his, before my browns met his blues. I knew the man dressed in a sharp suit was the other half of my soul, the piece I was missing. The love that would complete my life.

However, to him, I was simply someone who’d bring him clean towels and sadly, three years later, I’m not sure much has changed. While I don’t change his linens anymore, I’m still just something of convenience. I’m a willing body and a decent piece of arm candy for the occasional business function. I’m not the missing link to anything. Not his soul and surely not his heart.

In fact, I’m not even certain Joaquin has a heart, because if he had, he wouldn’t have acted the way he did or said the things he did when I told him I was carrying his child. That undoubtedly was a missing link, a piece of him he so easily wanted ‘taken care of’.

“You’re awake.”

The sound of his raspy voice startles me and I instinctively turn my head. Our eyes lock as he reaches out to gently caress my cheek.

“You scared me,” he murmurs huskily. “I thought I lost you for good.”

As badly as I want to believe him, I know better. Nothing scares Joaquin unless it jeopardizes his place in the underworld, another point he proved when he handed me the money for the abortion. A child didn’t fit his lifestyle, he claimed. To him, it was an unfortunate mess that needed to be swept under a rug.

Anger floods my veins as I recall laying on top of the sterile table. I stared at the halogen lights above me with my legs spread open and cried as they drained the life from my body. He wasn’t there holding my hand, assuring me I was doing the right thing. Nor was he there to remind me of his argument, citing a child of his would only suffer because of the choices he made and the lifestyle he lived. No, Joaquin wanted no part of anything.

Not the child.

Not the abortion.

Not the heartache.

I suppose I’m lucky he provided a car to drive me to and from the clinic. Maybe I should get down on my hands and knees and thank him for the heating pad he bought me when I told him the cramping was unbearable. I bet he’d like that.

“Pilar, say something,” he pleads.

Funny, that’s why I went to the club last night. There was so much I wanted to say, so many words I wanted to use as weapons, but when the opportunity presented itself, I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I looked for a way to alleviate the pain. A man slid into the booth next to me and unlike Joaquin, he noticed the hurt in my eyes. I should’ve been wary. I should’ve remembered Joaquin’s boss didn’t like drugs in his club, but when that man slipped the baggie into the palm of my hand, all I knew was I held something that would erase the debilitating pain consuming me.

Swallowing, I focus on Joaquin’s handsome face. There was a time when I would’ve been perfectly content just staring into his eyes after a long night of making love.

“I wish I never met you,” I whisper, watching as regret flashes in his blue eyes.

Expecting him to release his hold on me, he surprises me by keeping his gaze locked with mine. Fearing he will see right through my defenses, I turn my head. Joaquin reaches out, touching a hand to my cheek and with ease, he forces my eyes back to his.

“You don’t mean that,” he argues softly.

His thumb gently strokes my cheek and the simple touch is too much. My resolve starts to crumble just as it always does when it comes to this man. That’s how this thing works between us, I finally get the courage to say I’ve had enough and he strips me down with a single look, a gentle touch, maybe even a false promise, but never the three words I yearn to hear.

Tears sting my eyes as I meet his gaze.

“You’re right, but— ”

My words die as he silences me by touching a finger to my lips.

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