Unsurprisingly Complicated

by Claudia Burgoa

  “We can handle the drive to our home without you,” he points out, reminding me once again that I’m not welcome.

  “I promised Ainse that I’d do it. My number one rule in life is never break a promise—never.”

  His lips trace a flat line, and I have no fucking idea how to fix this.

  “Can you promise to stay away from her?”

  I hold in a big laugh because there’s no freaking way I’d leave her hanging or stay away from her. Part of that enigmatic power she exercises over me.

  “No, Chris, but have a good night.” I salute him and pivot around.

  “Don’t die, Bradley. I’d like to do that with my own two hands—kill you,” he calls after me. The man is certifiable and should head to the closest mental institution.

  Landon and I don’t discuss what just happened while heading out. My mind prepping for the mission. Some last minute reminders go through my head, the ones I’d like to forget about once I’m on the plane. Like the fact that if something happens to me, my father will be alone. That if I let a bullet come close, I’ll break the promise I made to Ainse of always being safe.

  We jump in the truck he drove from the hangar and head to the airport, which only takes him twenty minutes. When we arrive, the mechanics have already fueled the plane, checked the engine, and completed the usual maintenance between flights. My team waits inside.

  “Let me start the engine and go through my checklist.” Wings heads to the cabin of the plane. “We should be in the air in about ten minutes.”

  “Do your shit, I trust you.” We shake hands, then bump our fists from chest to chest, a salute we’ve done since high school.

  As soon as Wings informs us that it’s safe to use the plane’s Wi-Fi and our electronics, we gather at the small rectangular table at the end of the cabin. My team and I get ready to plan out our strategy for the operation, and think of ways to search around the probable spots without creating any pandemonium in one of the busiest cities in the country. It sounds simple to go in and out, but not when there’re too many witnesses. Added to it, there’s the danger of having a sociopath who doesn’t give a shit about others and likes to blow things up. What are the chances that he’s planning to use his explosive skills during his time in Vegas?

  “What do you have, Kowalski?” I accept his video conference.

  “Am I the man, or am I the man?” He grins. “A paid vacation to some exotic place is what you should give me, boss.”

  “Son of a bitch.” I whistle, his cocky face gives away his news. “You caught him, didn’t you?”

  “Of course we did,” he confirms, and moves the camera toward the FBI agent who’s pushing a handcuffed man. “Handed him over to the FBI as they arrived at the scene.”

  I ask one of my guys to let Wings know that he had to head back to Utah. In the meantime, Kowalski is giving me a brief, which is more like a gloating play-by-play.

  “He shut down the CCTV for the time he worked in the bank; it was one of the few places where the CCTV didn’t work, and it clued me in,” he explains. “We searched for explosives. Found a couple, but they have been taken care of. There’s no need to worry, there won’t be fireworks today.”

  “That’s great news,” I congratulate him again and ask him to follow the protocol: filing the report, making sure all the men are accounted for, and close the case with the authorities. In this case, the FBI.

  “I’ll send you the full report tomorrow.” He narrows his gaze and then asks, “Are we taking the job down in Costa Rica?”

  I cut the conversation and promise to have a decision by tomorrow night. I have no answer about that one. It’d take me away from the States for a prolonged stint, and for the first time in years, I want to stick around. Maybe that’s crazy talk and leaving would clear my head. Because for the past few days, I can’t sleep without dreaming about her and the softness of her lips on mine.

  I should be in Seattle finalizing all the details for my trip to Argentina and then Costa Rica. Instead, I’m sitting next to my friend Ainsley Janine—better known as Nine—while listening to her future plans. She was back home from her therapy, and I came only because my gut told me I might not see her for a few years. However, before I could say something, my stomach twisted with the sight of her dry tears. There was no way I could leave without knowing what the hell happened to her. Porter, her asshole ex-boyfriend, had struck again.

  “I want to learn how to live, do all that I couldn’t because I lived under his magic spell.” Ainse brushes away the curls lingering around her face as she talks about the asshole she dated since the age of sixteen. “That’s what you get when you live an enclosed life.” She gestures to the house where she grew up and lived hidden from the outside world. While growing up, I thought it was cool that she had such a big home, but weird that she barely went outside the walls of the compound.

  Ainse is the daughter of two celebrities who liked to keep their lives private. Being famous makes a person fair game for the media. A famous marriage is like honey for the bees, except her parents aren’t only famous— they’re also two men. Same-sex couples were frowned upon back in the eighties when they got together. Adding the fact that they had three biological children would’ve been a parade. Christian Decker and Gabe Colt worked hard to make sure their children didn’t become part of the media circus, but there were still side effects. The isolation affected their children, Ainsley the most. Aisne is better now; she’s working on her shit. Getting her life back on track, fixing her issues with her parents, and moving on from her abusive, shithead boyfriend.

  “Dates, nightclubs, bars, movie theaters.” She tells me all about the things she never did and plans to do. “The venues I only visited backstage. I want to concentrate on being me.”

  I don’t want her to go to bars, dates, or nightclubs. Well, she can go with me, but not on a date—as friends.

  “If one day a great guy comes along and offers that thing I want, I won’t shut him down because of my past,” Ainsley finishes, after explaining why she spoke to her scumbag ex-boyfriend on the phone when she should avoid him—forever.

  “That’s a mouth full.” I can’t think of anything else to say after she drops the bomb: she’s thinking about falling in love—again. How could she think about the next time when one fucking asshole cheated and emotionally abused her? That was plenty of evidence that should teach her to never again let her heart lead.

  Love. A sentiment that is unreal and usually leaves someone bleeding. Never happened to me; I won’t let it. “What’s that thing you want from your mysterious guy?” That’s better than telling her she’s fucking insane and that next time someone breaks her heart, I might not be around to pick up the pieces. But I can promise one thing: if it happens, I’ll beat the shit out of the guy for hurting her. Just like I did with her ex. No one hurts Nine.

  “A love story, his and mine. Ordinary, and yet extraordinary.” The shine in her bright eyes fill with hope and blind me. “One, unlike any other. You know how they say there’re no two fingerprints alike in the world? Like that.”

  Deep down, I hope she doesn’t find the guy. She deserves more than going through a wild goose chase for the rest of her life. I check my watch; it’s time for me to leave. Not wanting to, but having to, I stand and take her hand so she can join me.

  “It’s time for me to leave,” my voice is a croak that hangs in my throat like a golf ball. For the first time, I want to delegate the mission to someone else and stay to be around while she finds herself. However, as fast as the idea appeared, it goes away. Sedentary isn’t something I do or enjoy.

  The brightness of those eyes dims slightly, her smile transforms into a flat line.

  “I actually only came for a quick visit. I wanted to check on you before leaving the country,” I tell her more than I should. Not knowing where her parents are or if her brothers are around, I take her outside for a final goodbye. The way things work between us, chances are I won’t see her for anothe
r year or more.

  “I have a couple of long-term projects that will keep me busy for an extensive time. Text, email, you know, the same shit. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. Never hesitate.”

  “Goodbye?” Her little voice is a whisper in the night that caresses my ears, and for some freaky reason, I believe she thinks we won’t see each other for a long time—like I do.

  I never make promises, because I hate broken promises. Instead, I gather her into my arms and hold her close. The closest I can, as if fusing our bodies together. The citrusy, sweet scent I miss when she’s not around envelops me like her arms do. I slide my hands over her body, trying to memorize her shape, angles, and the curves I’m allowed to touch. The rest, I leave to my imagination.

  This was meant to be a hug, but now I need a taste. A bite of Ainse to preserve her close to me. I cup her chin with my hand, hold the back of her neck with the other, and brush her lips with mine. I gently start to nibble them and hope she doesn’t push me away. Hers move at the same rhythm as mine, and I take that as an invitation to continue. My tongue pushes against her lips as a request to let me in, to let me take her, at least for a moment.

  The heat our bodies create is different from any fire I have experienced with anyone else. Scary, safe, unique, magical, and not something I have been prepared to experience. Against my better judgment, I don’t let the moment go and face everything head-on, along with the fear of this strange sensation. For all I know, next time I see her she might have found him: the guy who’ll be everything to her. Who, of course, isn’t me.

  “Take care of yourself, Nine,” I whisper as I trace her jaw with my lips.

  “Bye,” the tiny-raspy voice lets a breath out. “Be safe.”

  “Always. See you around.” I salute her as I climb into my car and head back to my life.

  The roads that lead from and to the Colthurst-Decker home never fail to raise the bittersweet memories of my childhood. Those days when my parents either fought to keep me or pushed me toward the other pour out with every mile I ride.

  It should no longer bother me, but I can still hear the voices of my parents. The fights, the rejection. Everything is as fresh as if Mom is in the driver seat and I’m in my booster holding a book. An agonizing three-hour drive while she vented about my father or left him voicemails with nasty messages.

  “Arthur, it’s your turn to have your child,” she emphasized.

  The fascination of The Magic Tree House book has dissipated. Jack and Annie’s trip in the magical house didn’t matter that day.

  Oh, but how much I wished I had a special vehicle to transport me to other places. I’d be great with solving the riddles, free Morgan from the spell, and become a Master Librarian. What’d I give to be in the Caribbean Sea with Morgan, encountering pirates. Instead, I hold on tight to my book, staring at the letters and listening to her rant over her cell phone.

  “Yes Dave, I’ll be there soon,” she told my soon-to-be stepfather. “Arthur will keep him for the entire summer.”

  “You can leave me with Grandma Milli,” I offered.

  “Are you done with that book?” she questioned me. “I have another one, but you can wait five more minutes. There’s the entrance.”

  I sighed as I look at the big stone arch and the iron gate. My tummy rumbled with hunger and twisted with fear. What if he didn’t want me either?

  “I’m here to drop Mason off to his irresponsible father,” Mom spoke to a black box, similar to the one at the hamburger drive-thru.

  The gates parted. Mom drove forward until the car stopped. I lowered my book and noticed the big house with bright lights and two men standing outside the door. I recognized one of them—my father. Tall, gigantic like Thor, with dark hair like mine, wearing jeans and a white shirt. The other wasn’t as tall as Dad, but he was big, too.

  Mom helped me with my seatbelt and pulled out my bag, shoving it toward Dad.

  Dad took it and leaned down. “Hey, little man,” he said giving me a hug. “Mina, I’m working.” He released me, recovering that big posture of his and faced Mom. “You can’t just drop him off like this.”

  “You wanted joint custody,” she retorted. “It’s your turn. This isn’t a restaurant where you get to pick and choose. You’ve already skipped Christmas and Easter.”

  He did. Mom made sure to tell everyone in her family that he was an irresponsible bastard. Well, those weren’t the exact words, but they’re pretty similar. That’s the Japanese translation, I’m ninety-nine percent sure of it. Mom’s family is part Japanese, part American, and part Canadian. Of course, I had to learn to speak each one of her languages. I didn’t want to believe Dad was a bastard. He called me every time he had promised. Not every night, but often.

  “My turn is the last two weeks of summer,” Dad explained. His loud voice made me cover my ears with my hands. As my book dropped, the other guy picked it up and offered it to me.

  “Well, I don’t care, Arthur,” Mom’s voice matched Dad’s. “Just like you didn’t give a shit during the holidays. I’m getting married, and I want to spend some time alone with my new husband.”

  “You’re going for number three?” Dad questioned and then chuckled. “I don’t care, I’m going to be away working, and no one is going to be with him.”

  “That’s your problem.” Mom dusted her hands. “If you decide to change the custody agreement, beware that you won’t see him again—ever.”

  My lip quivered as the idea of never seeing my father dropped down to my stomach. I didn’t see him often, but when I did, it was fun.

  “You’ll have more time to sleep with all those whores,” Mom continued. “You’re a depraved asshole, like your employers.”

  The guy with bright green eyes lifted me up still holding the book. “Arthur, he’s welcome to stay for the summer, the kids will have fun.” He tilted his head toward Mom. “We’re not depraved. I’ve read about raising children, and you shouldn’t talk this way around them. Excuse me.”

  I took a deep breath, afraid something would happen to me inside that house without my mom.

  “You’re growing up,” the man said. “You might not remember me. I’m Chris. I met you when you were a baby.” He set me down as we stepped inside a room where there were toys, books, and some puzzles.

  “Thank you, Decker,” I heard Dad say. “I can make arrangements. Check if my brother and sister-in-law…”

  “Nah.” The man shook his head. “The days you have to travel for work, there’ll be someone to look over him. Either Gabe or myself is always at home with the kids. One more will be fun.”

  “This is a one-time thing,” Dad assured him.

  “Or you can keep your time with him,” Chris shrugged. “We have extra rooms and plenty of stuff for him to do.”

  They did have plenty of things. There was a playground, two pools, a playroom, computers, and toys. Their children were younger than me, but as the years progressed the difference in our ages didn’t matter.

  Every time my mother had to drop me at their home, she’d talk about my father as if he was this evil man who only took me because duty called. I never understood their battles over who should take me and who shouldn’t have the right to.

  I push down the gas pedal just as I do the memories of my childhood. They can no longer decide where or how I live; not even where I go. In fact, I’ve created my own Magic Tree House. A way to travel around the world while leading numerous missions, solving riddles, and building security systems. Tonight I’m leaving town, and nothing or no one will change the way I live my life.

  J-9: Merry Christmas, Mase.

  Mase: Merry Christmas, Nine.

  J-9: Where are you spending it?

  Mase: Working somewhere I can’t say. Did Santa bring you that pony you always asked for?

  J-9: Nope, I can’t believe you remember that. I gave up when I turned twelve.

  Mase: Then what did you ask for, a cat?

  J-9: This year my brothers
and I played Santa to our nephews and nieces. All seventeen of them. Can you believe I have a niece only five years younger than me?

  Mase: That’s crazy. Where are you?

  J-9: Albany. I wish you were here, celebrating with us. Yesterday we went skating at the pond. A family tradition since Dad was a kid himself.

  Mase: Sounds like too many people.

  J-9: Yes, but we all love each other. I had the best time while my parents skated around holding hands. Later, while drinking coffee and warming up, they told us about the first time they came to the pond. My grandparents showed us a video of the three of us skating here at the age of three. Adorable. I love big families, maybe I’ll have one like this—five children.

  Mase: I don’t like big families. That’s why I try to avoid Christmas with Mom and her fam.

  J-9: Sometimes I think you avoid your Mom for any and all reasons. You should visit her soon.

  Mase: Bye Nine, I have to head back to work. Have an amazing Christmas!

  Mase: I heard from Dad that you and your parents packed and followed your brothers around the world while they’re on tour. Where are you guys?

  J-9: We are in Manitoba, our first leg is North America. Then we’re spending a big chunk of the year in Europe and Asia.

  Mase: Have fun.

  J-9: Stay safe!

  J-9: Valentine’s sucked big time.

  Mase: Happy Valentine’s Day? What happened?

  J-9: My brothers had a gig, my parents went out on a big date, and I remained in bed dying of food poisoning. Stupid escargots.

  Mase: I take it you didn’t die. Wait, Valentine’s was two days ago.

  J-9: Yes to both, I just recovered from eating slimy snails. Which, according to my parents, was a sign that they were bad.

  J-9: How was Valentine’s for you? No, wait. Let me guess. You worked.