“You know how to choose them, Ryker.”
“No, I’m purely stating the truth. Drama is a family trait—my parents.” I find myself saying more than I want to divulge to a woman I wronged.
“Sorry,” I repeat, looking into those seething eyes of hers. “I’ve been there you know… and it hurts, destroys you.” I point at myself. “Evidence.”
“How old are you?” She glances for the millionth time from me to her husband. “You can’t be older than twenty-five.”
“Twenty-four,” I correct while tracing an imaginary line with my bare foot. I need my boots and socks for the getaway.
A quick glance around the floor and I spot them a few inches in front of me. Ducking forward, I grab the suckers to quickly finish dressing and straighten up to look Mrs. Ryker in the eyes.
“Well, this was… awkward, and again, sorry. Not me, this isn’t me. If you knew my story, you’d know I wouldn’t even think of cheating. So sorry.”
I turn to look at Ryker giving him my best slit-throat glare.
“I hope your dick dries up and falls off the next time you think about cheating on your wife.”
“Next time, try dating someone in your own age group,” Mrs. Ryker Finn advises me as she bites her lip. “And make sure they are single.”
“Yes, thank you, I’ll take that under advice.” I give her my best student-tone voice with a courtesy nod and all that shit.
Ha, as if I’ll date again. This is the last time. I won’t give men the power to damage me—break my heart. Wait, that’s impossible. I touch the left side of my chest and feel the thump of the organ we use to pump blood and to love. One function still works, the other… that side of my heart is decayed.
Closing in on the dark cherry couch to snatch my purse, I spot a thick, wool winter coat.
Ah, winter gear, that reminds me of home.
Unlike Texas, back home—middle of nowhere between Washington and Oregon—the weather is bone chilling this time of the year.
Yep, these are signs of withdrawal. Not sure if it’s the holiday, home or family, I miss, but I’m suffering from the loss of one of them—or all. Fortunately, no one from my family is here to witness how weak I am. After so many months, I have come to realize that I overreacted a bit. That my young and immature mind inflated reality.
I haven’t seen my parents since then and I have no idea how to reach them. Not physically, but emotionally. In order to do so, I have to explain our last encounter. Explain the why of my behavior three years ago, but I don’t want to remember.
I hate to refresh the memory. Remembering makes me feel and I hate to feel.
Never again.
Emotionless, that’s the new AJ.
I grab my purse and head to the door where I notice the rolling luggage and a magazine on top of the entrance table…
‘Bachelor Gabe Colt has finally found his match.’
Blond hair, blue eyes, and white radiant smile walking beside a woman about twenty-four, twenty-five maybe? I’m guessing holding hands while her pronounced belly stares at the viewer. A baby?
‘… and he’s finally going to be a father.’
Finally?
The belly hits me right in the face, the words punch me in the gut and I can’t breathe.
2015
I slam the door of the condo behind me, losing the last strand of cool I had.
The swirling memories in my head prevent me from thinking straight. Pushing and tugging each one of them back to where they belong—limbo—isn’t easy. My last resort is to make a call to one of the last humans in this world who hasn’t betrayed me and doesn’t hate me.
“Whatup, princess?” Ugh, I hate when he calls me that.
“Hello, Prince Charming, have you read any tabloids lately?”
“Nope, I don’t read that shit,” my brother JC responds. Yes, our language is deplorable at best. “You know, I just went to bed. I worked last night, your highness. It’s four in the morning for me.”
“Yeah, yeah, you poor baby, I don’t give a flipping feather about your work at the moment.” I should, as some of his revenue goes to my bank account, because I worked for it. “Is MJ around?”
“Princess, if I’m barely awake, he’s dead to the world,” JC reminds me.
Yeah, MJ isn’t a morning or a late afternoon person. His name should be Hedwig the owl; he’s one hundred percent nocturnal.
“Are you trying to organize a sibling meeting?”
“JC, Gabe’s engaged.” I deflate. The man went from making up casual flings to now a fake engagement—or is it real? “Gabriel’s having a baby, Daily Gossip announced. He’s engaged. There’s a picture of a pregnant woman. I’m breaking down here.”
My parents are the epitome of the perfect couple. They have the perfect marriage, the perfect love. Except, not one soul outside our immediate family and close friends is aware that they are together or that they have three grown triplets. Now, my father is announcing to the world that he’s engaged.
“Oh, Ainse,” his voice softening. “I’m sure there’s a perfect explanation for it. Showbiz is a game of ‘he said, she said.’ In his thirty years of being an actor, Gabriel hasn’t revealed anything about himself. I doubt this is true.”
“Are they okay, our parents?”
“That’s… complicated, AJ,” the big breath, he lets out, isn’t comforting. My brother is withholding information. “Think. We know better, AJ. I need to recover. Give me a few hours and we’ll get this shit figured out. Love you, sis.”
The line goes dead.
You don’t know better, he didn’t give me the time to respond to him.
My brothers don’t know from firsthand experience how those trashy magazines have more truth entwined in them. In my experience, those magazines give you more facts than you want to believe.
Complicated is another word for not okay. So many things can happen within an hour. How many could’ve happened in three years?
Since I like to be proactive, get things done immediately, I decide to find my own answers and not wait for a callback. I’m going to right to the source.
I splurge with my parents’ money and rent a charter plane to take me to where Gabriel is. Something so unlike me, but I have no other choice. According to Molly, his assistant, he’s in Santa Barbara, California. Strange, as for my twenty-four years he always said that he hated California. Or was it only Los Angeles? It doesn’t matter, not right now. He lives there and I’m going to find him.
The trip from Austin to Santa Barbara doesn’t take long, and the plane lands only a few minutes after nine o’clock… in the morning.
Carrying Breezy—my guitar—I walk to the car the pilot said waited for me. The car is easy to spot, the only one in the area, a black sedan. My entire body lightens up as I spot the guy who is leaning against it.
His toned arms are crossed over his muscular torso that’s covered by a black tight t-shirt. His bright green-gray eyes concentrate on me; his soft black hair is asking for a trim. It is down to the base of his neck with some strands over his left eye. My hand itches to brush those out of his handsome face.
Mason Bradley.
Mason is the son of my parent’s head of security—Arthur Bradley. His parents divorced long ago. While growing up, a few weeks during the summers and a few weekends of the year, he’d stay at our place while his dad worked.
Mason’s occupation is unknown to me as well as his whereabouts. The man is a computer genius and rumor has it that he works for some top-secret organizations… or that’s what he calls unemployment. However, when I need him, he appears from behind the shadows and saves the day.
At least that’s how Mason, the comic geek, likes to tell the story.
“Hey, handsome, did you run out of video games to play?” I lean forward, kiss his cheek, and ruffle his hai
r.
“Nah, I heard that someone needed a superhero.” He pushes himself off the car; his strong arms embrace me tightly. Mason’s soft male voice and sandalwood scent envelope me. They are like a welcome home party after a long trip to some unknown land. “How are you, Nine?”
He releases me, taking Breezy away from me. I have to laugh because he’s never going to change. Then, I try to use my tender-firm-teacher-bossy voice and explain again.
“The name is Janine, not Nine. J-a-n-i-n-e.”
Since we were kids, he has called me that, Nine. Or Jay-nine, at times Ainsley, but never AJ. He says it’s too generic; it lumps me with my two brothers. Being a triplet doesn’t mean being part of the bunch. Nine began when we traveled to the house down in Baja, and the customs officials had to see my passport. Ainsley Janine was printed on the document.
“Your middle name is like the letter J and the number nine?” That’s Mason, not only a computer genius, but also a math genius who correlates everything with numbers. As it became my permanent nickname, I called him Ten—but not as often as he calls me Nine.
“Right, Jay-nine.” He slams the palm of his hand on his forehead and shakes his head. “How could I forget?”
My heavy sigh only grants me a wide smile. As I said, he’s never going to change.
Mason angles his face to the left and after a few seconds, to the right. “I forgot what you look like in person. It’s been what, decades?”
“Something like that.” A big cloud settles on top of my head.
The last time, we occupied the same space, was the night I left my parents’ home. He rescued the hysterical woman stranded in the middle of nowhere Washington state.
“Not that I mind, but why are you here, Mase?” I blow away the gloomy cloud and order myself to remain in the present.
“I was in the neighborhood and heard you’d be arriving soon. I’m taking you to your final destination.”
Mason opens the passenger door for me and as I climb in, he sets Breezy in the trunk. Grrr, she hates to be in dark spaces. Remembering my earlier call, I text my brothers. I don’t want them to worry about me.
AJ: I decided to confront Gabriel.
MJ: I imagined you would when JC told me. We’ll see you soon, little pain in the ass.
“Breezy doesn’t like to be in the trunk, Mase,” I remind him as he settles in the driver seat.
“Breezy will survive the trip back there, Nine.” He gives me a side smirk and starts the car. “You could’ve left it at home.”
Ugh, he called her an it. Instead of falling into his taunting, I ignore him, pull out my iPad, and listen to the music I composed during my flight.
Music is as much a part of me as air, or the blood that runs through my veins. As I strum a guitar, bring to life a flute with my own wind, stroke the keys of a piano, or simply use my voice to produce a song; my soul releases the emotions I harbor.
Today, I summoned Alanis Morissette, penning an angry message to the Rykers around the world. A statement accompanied by a sweet, sticky rhythm to captivate the audience.
During the entire drive, I focus on my latest creation; making notes for my brothers on what they have to add. I’d like for it to have an electronic vibe. That’s how we work: I write down my music, they tune it and either use it for their group or give it to another musician. Another way to make some money. A way to support myself and not depend on my parents. I pause when Mason stops the car, lifting my gaze. We are in front of a black iron gate. He lowers the window and punches some numbers on the keypad. The gates part and he pulls over.
Is it too late to head back home?
A question that surges as I’m only a few seconds from the truth, where I may see my entire life crumble right in front of my eyes.
What did JC mean when he said, complicated?
As my heart and my brain battle for who should prevail, the one that says to head back or the one that says confront the issue at hand, I admire the compound. We drive at least another mile from the gate to the hacienda-style house. Oaks, pines, and flowers adorn the landscape and I spot a big pool.
Mason parks the car right in front of the main entrance, tells me to wait for him, walks around the car and opens the door for me.
Such a gentleman.
“The heroine has arrived safely,” he says, taking Breezy out of her confinement.
“Heroines shouldn’t have to be rescued,” I point out and take Breezy out of his hands. “Thank you for the ride. How did you know?”
“That’s what sentinels do at night or very early in the morning; keep a watchful eye to rescue pretty girls,” he pokes my nose. “I wish I could stay around, but I have things to do.”
“What is it? A new video game to play, your couch is lonely.” I tilt my head to the side and raise an eyebrow. I’ve always been curious to know what this crazy geek does for a living. And I have fun trying to guess.
“Something like that, Nine.” He kisses my cheek and a grin tugs at his full lips. “Stay out of trouble and call if you need me.”
I spin around and take a few steps finding myself in front of a majestic main door that is fit for a palace—carved wood. Before I knock on the door, a beautiful woman—correction—the blonde of the picture with that swollen belly opens the door. She’s around my age, early twenties with a petite, slim frame—Hollywood anorexic, as my brothers call it. Yet her baby bump points boldly at me.
“May I help you?”
Suddenly my bravado dissipates and my voice runs away. Quickly I look over my shoulder searching for the getaway vehicle, but Mason has pulled away.
Damn.
2015
Be brave.
“I’m here for Gabriel.” Like a spoiled brat, I walk around her and enter the house screaming his name. “Gabriel!”
Our parents taught us to call them by their name outside of our house. Another one of those rules I never liked or understood.
“Wait. You can’t just waltz into the house as if it belongs to you,” her shrill voice makes my blood boil.
I bet Hollywood Barbie doesn’t know I’m the half-sister of the thing she is carrying. Unbelievable. He hasn’t told her about us. Freaking crazy but not surprising.
“Watch me,” I slash her with my words.
“Gabriel!” I yell. “Gabriel, where are you?”
As if I had said abracadabra, he appears. It’s all in the tone I use. His blue eyes glare at me as if he’s trying to reprimand me for something. Then again, he seems to be debating if he should hug me. He’s a great actor, but I know him pretty well, and he’s fighting hard to resist my presence. Resist the ‘cuteness factor’ was what my parents and grandparents used to say while growing up.
“Follow me,” he orders, no hello or greeting involved. Before he takes a step, he looks at his new woman. “Make sure no one interrupts us, Nikki, including you.”
“Is she a reporter?” the weary woman asks, covering her tummy.
“No, don’t worry about her,” he responds. “In fact, you never saw her.”
“Now I’m down to imaginary status,” I blurt out. No inside voice modulators are working at the moment. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
“The bank called earlier to inform me that Miss Colthurst spent twenty-five thousand dollars in one swipe and to confirm that I authorized the transaction. You haven’t used your card in a long time and suddenly you spend thousands of dollars in just minutes.” We enter a large room with wall to wall bookcases that span from the floor up to the ceiling. Behind a mahogany desk, there is a majestic panoramic window that faces the ocean. A familiar setting, but I’m positive that I’ve never been here before. Gabriel closes the door behind us and resumes the conversation. “Logically, I had to find out what you were up to. I feared you’d been in the hospital and with that pride you carry… you wouldn’t call. That
’s why I sent Mason to pick you up, I wanted him to make sure you’re alright. He was in the neighborhood.”
Well, he’s here, I’m here, might as well get the party started.
“I wanted you to tell me that what the magazine published is a lie.” I fight with the fist-sized knot in my throat. “But I witnessed that it’s real: a wife, a kid… your first kid, the magazine highlighted that part. Congratulations, I guess.”
I clean the dripping sarcasm from my mouth with the back of my hand.
Those wrinkles around his blue eyes shrink even more. He doesn’t look as young as he does on the cover of magazines. Late fifties look different in front of the cameras, in the media, and, in general. With all the makeup and Photoshop they apply, not many get to see the real face of Gabriel Colt; only a few of us are lucky.
“Ah, that made you crawl outside your little hideout, I see.” He closes his eyes and takes several breaths before opening them again. “Life changed while you were gone, AJ. I don’t think you have the right to burst into my house and make a scene.”
“Your house?” I try to grab the edge of the desk to keep myself from getting caught in the rapids I’m swimming against at the moment. What happened to: “What’s yours is ours?”
“So, I take it you’re not here to apologize?” he dodges my question.
“This house looks a lot like the house in Baja—also looks like home,” I take a few steps and scan the room—avoiding his question.
Two can play the same game. I learned from the best—him.
The answer is simple. Hell, no, I’m not asking him to forgive me. Not when he’s proving that I was right. He lied for a long time. Or, that he only cares about his image and what the rest of the world thinks of him.
“Eight rooms upstairs, I bet. The biggest facing the ocean and it’s right above this library, isn’t it? You never brought us here.” Babbling, faking anger that’s keeping me standing in one piece without shedding a tear. “Can I ask you a question? Actually, just a few things and after that, I swear I’ll disappear forever since that is what you want.”
Unlike Any Other (Unexpected Book 1) Page 2