Jade's Song (South of the Border Book 2) Read online

  Jade’s Song

  South of the Border 2

  Sabrina Devonshire

  Jade Phelps fled from her old life to escape it all. The chaos and stress of American life. Her sister’s constant criticism. Men who said she wasn’t enough. She learned to listen to what was wrong with her more than what was right. She felt insignificant and unworthy of love. It had to end—she knew it. In a small Mexican beach town on the Sea of Cortez, Jade begins again, making peace with herself day by day. She swims in the sea. She writes. She vows to stay away from men. But when she meets Luca and is instantly drawn to him, her plans fall apart. Will he hurt her or try to run her life, like everyone else? Or could Luca be her one chance for happily ever after?

  Luca Espinoza grew up on the Amalfi Coast of Italy. Now he’s a famous pop singer who travels the globe with his band. His wavy dark hair, gorgeous blue-green eyes and to-die-for-body drive women wild. They throw themselves at him constantly, but most only see his fame and money. They don’t see—or even want to see past—his celebrity veneer. On a short vacation, he meets Jade—a beautiful, athletic woman full of energy and joy who swims with dolphins and shares his passion for artistic expression. She excites him in an alarming way and seems to genuinely like him. The bond he feels with her touches his heart. But he senses her fragility. And that the pain she’s buried deep inside might destroy their chance for lasting happiness.

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  Jade’s Song

  South of the Border 2

  Copyright © 2018 Sabrina Devonshire

  Published by Corazon del Oro Communications, LLC

  Cover Art by Anya Kelleye

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  ABOUT SABRINA

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jade

  Brandon and I sit across from each other at a table in my favorite restaurant. It’s a fancy Italian place in the Tucson Foothills. We’ve been together for eight years and finally, it’s going to happen. I’ve waited for this day for so long. The day he asks me to marry him. I just know he’s going to pop the question. I can just feel it. I’m jumping-out-of-my skin excited.

  Brandon is good looking, has a great sense of humor, and a successful career as an investment broker. What woman wouldn’t be happy to marry him? I mean, okay, things between us aren’t perfect. He works late a lot and I spend a lot of nights alone on my computer. But whenever I ask him why he has to work until 2 AM, he kisses away my questions until I forget all about them. Sure I was bummed that he cancelled a trip to La Jolla at the last minute. He had to stay on top of an important new client, he’d said. It was one of many disappointments. But this is what his job demands, and I’ll get used to it. Like everyone else in corporate America, he has to work overtime to get ahead.

  Now we’re sipping Chardonnay and I’m wondering why he didn’t order champagne. That’s how this scenario is supposed to go. The champagne, the little black velvet box. Brandon on bended knee asking me to marry him.

  Brandon clears his throat, and for a second glances away from me before meeting my gaze. “This isn’t going to be easy. But I figured this would be the best way.”

  A wave of panic rolls over me. Something’s wrong with this picture. Really, really wrong. He’s not down on his knees. And he’s not speaking to me like I’m the love of his life.

  “I don’t understand–”

  “Jade, I don’t want to hurt you. But our relationship isn’t working out.”

  My throat feels like it’s coated with sandpaper. My ears ring, and the room starts to sway. Oh, God, no. This can’t be happening. I want to say something, but I can’t. My jaw has locked up, frozen.

  “I met someone else. She’s right for me, Jade. You and I—we were never quite right for each other. You must have sensed that.”

  Did I? Then why was I expecting him to ask me to marry him? Did I conjure this all up in my mind—that he loved me? Or did he somehow fool me into believing it until it was convenient for him to tell me it was over?

  “Jade, aren’t you going to say anything?”

  I look at the man across from me—this blond-haired, blue-eyed man I shared a bed with, shared hundreds of meals with, made love to so many times. And I realize he has become a stranger. That I never really knew him. How could I have misjudged things—and him—so badly? His jaw’s clenched and his brows are drawn inward. He’s actually irritated with me. Because I’m not answering. I’m not telling him it’s fine that he wants someone else. What does he expect? For me to look him in the eye and say, “Sure, no problem. I don’t mind that you are discarding me like yesterday’s leftovers.” Or maybe that’s why he brought me here in the first place—because he knew I’d be super upset and figured if we were in public, I wouldn’t make a scene. Well he’s in for a surprise. “Yeah, I am going to say something.” I rise from my seat. “I’m leaving.” I drop my cloth napkin on the table. I don’t want to remember the birthdays and holidays when we sat at this same table. All I want to do is get the hell out of this place.

  “Wait, Jade. We’re not finished talking. We haven’t had dinner yet.”

  “I’m not hungry. For obvious reasons. I’ll take an Uber back to my house.”

  “Let me drive you home at least. We can talk more then.”

  “It’s not your home, it’s my house. And you’re no longer welcome there. I’ll pack your stuff and leave it outside for you.” Or maybe I’ll throw it all in the back of my pickup truck, take it downtown, and give it to homeless people.

  He jumps up from his seat and grabs my arm. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Jade.”

  I twist away from his grip. “Don’t put this on me. You made your choice. Now I’m making mine.” Tears well up in my eyes. I bite my lip to keep them from spilling down my cheeks and speed past curious diners that have been watching the whole scene unfold. I can keep it together for a few moments. I clench my jaw and stride from the room, leaving my bleeding heart behind.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jade

  F
acebook is my new best friend. Instead of meeting my daily writing word count, I now spend most of my days and nights lurking online, skimming other people’s posts. I click through photos taken in the south of France, another person’s Switzerland hiking vacation, a photo of a cute fluffy dog that died. I select the sad face icon for the last post and write a short phrase of condolence. Then I browse through more vacation photos—of beaches in Costa Rica, Mexico, the South Pacific. Bikini-clad women stand in shallow clear sea water smiling, sipping tropical drinks or holding a mask and snorkel. The locales pique my interest mostly because they’re far away from here—the one place on Earth where I really don’t want to be right now. In Tucson. Near Brandon. As hard as I try, I can’t seem to wipe the man from my mind for even a minute.

  What if scenarios break into my thoughts during the day and keep me awake late into the night. I keep wondering what made him change his mind about me. I keep thinking if I did this or that differently, he might not have hooked up with someone else and we might still be together. I know he didn’t want me to quit my engineering job to write full-time. Maybe that made him decide to end it. Or maybe he lost interest and started noticing other women because I dressed too sloppy around the house. Maybe if I’d worn more makeup or sexier clothes or—oh, damn—why do I keep torturing myself like this? If he didn’t want me the way I am, I shouldn’t want him anyway. I let out a frustrated sigh. If only it were that easy.

  I glance at a list of suggested groups that pops up. Beach Vacation Homes and Condos. Expats Living in Mexico. Andes Mountain Tours. Wait, Expats Living in Mexico? That sounds interesting. No, it sounds outstanding. That’s something I could go for right now—running away to live in another country. I walk into the kitchen, pour myself a third glass of wine, and return to my computer. I click the link, then click again on the Join button. Minutes later, I’ve been added to the group and am reading strangers’ posts.

  One thread’s all about Mexican towns and cities where people have relocated including all the pros and cons. Another’s about how Americans can obtain permanent residency. There’s another discussion about food—how you go about sanitizing fruits and vegetables, what kind of water filters to buy, where people should buy their meat, cooking with nopal, which turns out to be diced prickly pear cactus. Who knew you could make a meal with that? I wonder how you get the spines out. And then there’s talk about housing and how much people pay for homes and condos. My eyes widen when I see the numbers. Wow. Whether you rent or buy, it’s dirt cheap to get a place compared to what we pay in the US.

  I bounce in my seat with excitement. I could do this. Why the hell not? It would be great to escape and pretend this shit with Brandon never happened. I’d be so busy adjusting to the lifestyle differences, I’d stop thinking about how I just wasted eight years of my life with him. I could live on a beach somewhere. In Mexico, it would be affordable. Some of these homes and condos people are buying—in Mazatlán and Colima and Puerto Vallarta—cost way less than the house I own now.

  The next week passes in a blur. I cull through my stuff and put my house on the market. My house sells in two days. The buyer wants to close in thirty days. Now what? I still haven’t picked a destination. Mexico is a big country. And there are so many cool places to choose from. After a marathon online research session, I pick San Carlos, near Guaymas, in Sonora, Mexico, for its beautiful beaches and the fact that it’s only a seven-hour drive from Tucson. It’s a safe gamble, I tell myself. It’s close enough to the States that I can easily come back if this crazy idea of mine turns out to be a mistake. But staring at photos of the deep blue Sea of Cortez and all the offshore islands makes me think it could never be anything short of amazing.

  My skin prickles with excitement. I play an electronic dance music mix on my iPad. I snap my fingers and sway my hips to the beat as I pack my suitcases. I love this plan. I can’t wait to leave here, to go somewhere new where I have no bad memories to weigh me down. For years, I’ve wanted to travel. Brandon and I took a few trips, but we never went anywhere unusual.

  I told Brandon I’d always wanted visit Costa Rica or Greece, but he said there were dangerous pythons and huge spiders in Costa Rica and that Greece was a poor country full of desperate people. So we vacationed in Florida, which was nice, but not the least bit exotic. I wanted to see toucans and brightly colored scarlet macaws in Costa Rica and swim in the blue Aegean Sea off the coast of Greece. All these urges have nudged me in the ribs for years. Now, I can finally give in to them. I no longer have to worry about what Brandon wants—what any man wants. I’m free. I can do whatever I want. And right now, I want to move to Mexico.

  I shouldn’t have told my sister I was leaving. But I figured someone related to me should know, and she’s kind of it as far as family goes. Kelsi said moving to Mexico was the stupidest idea I’d ever come up with, almost as dumb as quitting my job to become a full-time writer. “Everyone sells drugs down there,” she said. I rolled my eyes and shook my head at that. Like no one’s selling drugs in Tucson.

  But that conversation’s long over. I’m ready to run. Away from that limiting logic that says I have no other choice other than to stay here and wallow in my misery and spend half the day tied up in traffic jams. Tucson has never been right for me. Since Brandon dumped me, it’s become more apparent than ever. The barrenness of the place and all the chaos of traffic and constant construction depresses me. It makes me feel lost—like I can’t keep up with a pace I have no desire to keep up with. Every day, I seek solace in the pool. Underwater, it’s quiet. During that hour I swim from end to end, the anxious chatter in my mind slows down at least temporarily. But it returns the minute I climb out of the pool. This week when I swam, I heard the water rush past my ears and imagined I was swimming in the Sea of Cortez. Floating over a wave, smelling the salt in the air and gazing up at the sky. Maybe in the sea, I can finally find freedom, instead of remaining a prisoner of my own negative thoughts.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jade

  Arizona disappears in my rear-view mirror as I cross into Mexico. After following cars in front of me through a maze of barricades and braking several times for large speed bumps, I am officially across the border. On the opposite side of the road, where cars are approaching the U.S. border, Mexican soldiers wearing camouflage uniforms patrol the road with semi-automatic rifles. The machine guns I’ve seen before are in movies. Seeing them just feet away is unnerving. The road narrows to a corridor walled by unstable cliffs of rock on one side and chain-linked fence on the other. I drive on, catching glimpses of Nogales—the Sonora side—as I go. Randomly oriented, cement block houses obscure most of the arid hillsides.

  A red-rimmed triangular sign with a black image of boulders tumbling down a cliff warns drivers about falling rocks. I don’t need to see it to know rocks are a threat here. Orange and white rocks litter the road and the shoulder. I see a black and white pickup truck with flashing lights driving in the opposite direction. Policía Federal it says on the side of the truck. Did I do something wrong? I watch the truck get smaller and smaller in my rear-view mirror. I release a long exhale. Maybe here the police always drive with their flashing lights on? That’s something no one ever mentioned on the Facebook pages. I wipe away sweat from my forehead. I’ve never even driven in another country before. Everything looks so alien, so unfamiliar.

  Calm down, I tell myself. You’ll get used to it after a while. I know I’m supposed to stop at a place 21 kilometers beyond the border to get my papers stamped. I already applied for permanent residency at the Mexican consulate in Tucson. I’ll take some forms and my temporary visa to an immigration office near where I’m going, and in a month or so, fingers crossed, I’ll be a resident. I approach an immigration checkpoint. There are lanes for trucks and autos, and another for vehicles with something to declare. I drive into a lane with a green X over it. As I enter the narrow lane, a machine snaps a photo of me. When I get to the end and the gate bar pops up, I pull into one of the open
lanes. Two young women in blue uniforms are drinking coffee and laughing. They don’t look like they want to cause anyone any trouble.

  So why am I so nervous? All I have to do is use my limited Spanish to tell them what’s in my car and they should let me pass unmolested. Hopefully. I lower the window and say, Buenos Días. One of the women glances away from her companions, masks a yawn with one hand, and leans toward my window. After returning my greeting, she asks in Spanish, What’s in your car?

  My suitcases with clothes, books, and sports equipment, I manage to stammer out in Spanish. I don’t mention my laptop or smartphone. It says online I can bring those into the country without paying duty, but I’m worried if I say too much, they’ll want to open every suitcase and they will burst out laughing when my ten boxes of tampons fall out. But seriously…One has to be prepared, just in case. For all I know, they only sell jumbo maxi-pads down here.

  I’m not in much of a mood to carry on a conversation. It’s intimidating enough traveling to a strange country. Having to explain myself to strangers in Spanish when I’m already way out of my comfort zone feels like too much. I know my expectations are unrealistic. I wanted to run away from my life. I wanted adventure. But I wasn’t prepared to face the scary unknowns of being in an unfamiliar country. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding when the woman waves her hand forward and says, Adelante.

  Shortly after immigration I encounter a toll booth. The sign in front of it says Prepare su cuota. The amount due is displayed on a digital display, which makes the toll payment quick and easy. Soon, I’m back on my way. But then there’s road construction. And it’s a scary mess. I almost miss the turn off for kilometer 21. I park the car, make a beeline to the bathroom for a stress-relieving pee and then enter the building where I’m supposed to get my visa and passport stamped. Several people stand ahead of me in line. The odor of bleached floors and sweaty bodies assaults my nostrils. The room is hot and stuffy. The temperature outside is already well over 90. It can’t be much below that in here.