“I am not,” I responded.
“Well, then I won’t help you.”
“I don’t own any.”
“Ah, you should’ve started with that. I’ll buy them for you.” I heard a few voices in the background, but he continued. “You need to be aware that I don’t like to pack. Which means that you have to have your stuff ready to go, and at the end of the school year I’ll help with the same condition, missy.”
“I’ll hang three posters,” I agreed.
“Four, or you’ll have to ask… Why aren’t your parents helping?”
“Because they’re famous and don’t want to cramp my style… the usual crap.”
Mason knew about their usual crap. My pet peeve with my parent’s privacy was similar to his parents’ divorce.
“Say no more, I’ll be there to drive you around—road trip!” His contagious excitement had me giddy for an entire week.
We had fun moving the bunk beds around. The metallic desk with my computer resting on it also found a new residence in the room. As my college gift, he bought and installed a modem that would work no matter how crappy the connection in the building was.
“Call me if you need me,” he said before leaving. “And break up with the asshole. Why isn’t he here?”
“He’s on tour.” I ignored the breaking up part.
Mason wasn’t a fan.
“Right, tour.” He shook his head.
At the end of my first year of college, Porter helped me pack my dorm room before I headed back home. Three hours, seven boxes, and five plastic containers later, we finished. We packed everything into his truck and headed back to the room for the final checkup. As I went to find the RA to check my room and sign me out, Porter stayed to sweep the floors. My roommate had checked out before I did and left the cleaning up to me—bitch. Not that it mattered; I had someone to help who was more fun than her snobbish parents who barely acknowledged me.
Once I turned in the keys, we headed to the truck. Porter opened the door for me, helped me climb the tall vehicle and closed the door behind me.
“Guess what?” His playful voice made me turn my gaze from my iPhone, where I was checking my grades, to him. He didn’t wait for me to say anything. “I bought us a house.”
“Us, a house?” The three words didn’t make sense, then again, my hands began to tingle and my heart skipped a few beats.
“Yes, well, Gabriel told me the other day that I should invest in something.”
Of course, Dad and his financial advice, I thought.
“What better than buying a place for my girl where we can live together?”
“Live together?”
“Baby, you usually speak more than a few nonsense words, what’s going on?” His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He twisted his mouth from one side to the other and didn’t say a word for several breaths. “You don’t want us to live together?”
“We haven’t… you know, told my parents or had sex,” I whispered with fear that my words would upset him. I couldn’t stand to hurt him, upset him… I liked him happy. “We’ve been waiting for the right time, and suddenly you buy a house. I’m speechless, Port, and I have no idea how to react. Happy, worried, elated… my parents…”
“Right, forgot for a moment that my girl likes to over-think everything.” He took my hand and kissed the back of it, then each knuckle. “Sex is no rush, I want you to be sure and ready. Your parents… I don’t think I’m ready yet. There are tours, presentations, and all the rest of the shit that keeps me away, to deal with the stress of telling your parents.”
He sighed and slammed the steering wheel. I flinched.
“But I wanted us to have a home. The first idea that came to mind was having a place close to you. Usually, I fly down here when I have a few days off… might as well have a house for us to spend more time together. To know at all times where you are and that you’re safe. What do you think?”
“That I love you,” I responded with the conviction that this was right.
So what if my parents didn’t know? It wasn’t a big deal. They’d freak out. Twenty-year-old famous musician dating their daughter wasn’t exactly something they’d like to hear according to Porter. I didn’t understand why, they loved him, but I listened to him. We’d plan to tell them when the time was perfect.
They had their secrets; I had the right to have my own.
“When can we see this house?” My voice sounded happier than I actually felt.
He pointed at a gated property with greenery on each side of a concrete pathway. We were there. He entered the code: the year when he came to live with us and my birthday month. The gate opened, and he pulled forward. A half mile later, a Victorian two-story house came into view, and behind it was a gorgeous view of the lake.
“It has almost the same security features that your parents have on their properties.” Porter took off my seatbelt and pulled me to his lap. “Big enough to keep out uninvited guests, this is only for the two of us. We’ll build a practice room; we can share a music room and perhaps later a studio. Two pools, one indoor, and the other one is private enough for you to feel safe. AJ, would you do the honors of living with me?”
I held his head with both hands, intertwining my fingers in his hair. Instead of answering with words, I crushed my lips against his as our passionate embraced heated.
“I love you,” I whispered.
2015
As we pulled up next to the house, a silhouette is leaning against the door.
“Porter?” JC and MJ inquire. I narrow my eyes and agree.
The three of us climb out of the car and head to the house. We need to find a room for each of us and figure out how and when we’ll get our father out of the hospital.
“Porter.” JC shakes hands with him, and they proceed to do the entire male bonding handshake; MJ follows suit.
“Gabriel?” Porter asks.
“In the hospital, he’s doing fine,” JC answers and opens the door. We all follow behind.
“AJ?” Porter nods at me.
“Porter.” I bob my head and continue my way in.
Blondie, whose name escapes me, sits in the living room and glares at all of us.
“Where is Gabriel?” she questions. “Is that a publicity stunt to get out of our deal?”
My brothers and I stare at each other and remain silent.
“I don’t know who the three of you are… ” She trails off and stares at Porter. “Well, I know who you are, but it doesn’t matter. None of you have the right to be here.”
I scratch my head and shake it. There’s no point in discussing with her who we are, if Dad didn’t tell her, it isn’t our place to do so.
JC stays downstairs dealing with Gabe’s problem.
Instead of lingering around, I head to the library for Breezy and then I climb to the second story of the house looking for shelter.
The first room to the right has the same custom-made big bed that my parents have in all of their homes. The bed is covered with a sage-green duvet and the walls are a light brown. There are a few pictures of my parents and some of us too.
I know Dad told me to assign rooms, but as I don’t want to face the woman downstairs or Porter, I make the executive decision of staying here for one night. Protected by them, my parents.
But I’m not that lucky as Porter opens the door. Damn, I should lock behind me at all times.
The memories of our last months together resurface as soon as I saw him for the first time only a few minutes ago. That added to the hospital visit is making my head hurt.
I want to be alone, yet I crave for someone to hold me for just one night; but not him.
I wish I could disappear and forget him.
“AJ,” Porter addresses me. “It’s okay to cry.”
He always says that to me, but I used to work extra hard not to because my brothers didn’t cry—they were boys, they explained. I wouldn’t do it either—because girls could be just as strong too. The man doesn’t know me. I allow myself to cry these days and to be myself. A girly-girl with a dash of tomboy in her heart who can keep up with her two brothers any day of the week.
“Leave me alone, Porter.”
“Answer me this one question,” his eyes focus on me, “and I’ll know if you lie. Do you really want to be alone tonight? After your dad crumbled in front of you; I can see them, the sadness, and the grief. Let me hold you, baby.”
“Do not call me that.” I lash back holding Breezy’s case tightly to keep myself steady.
“You want to hold me now?” I hear the rising shrillness in my voice, and I can’t contain it. “A few years too late, I needed you then. Do me a favor, Porter, stay the fuck away from me. That night, you killed what we had—all of it. You killed me.”
I march to the door, open it wide and point to the hallway. “Leave.”
“I didn’t kill him,” he screams in a desperate tone.
The frames shake as I slam the door as he disappears.
I pace a few times around the room, park myself in front of the enormous bay window that faces the blue giant. I watch the waves come and go and pray that they take all my struggles with them. But it doesn’t happen, they stay with me like a second skin cemented to my body.
My limbs beg for me to rest, my head demands a break before it goes on strike. This is a prime example of one of those moments I should call my therapist. As usual, I talk myself out of it. He’s just going to tell me that as long as I refuse to talk about the past, and set any goals for the future, I’m only wasting my money.
Well, within the last few hours I’ve talked more about my past than I’ve done during the two years I’ve been seeing him.
My future… That fairy inside my head cracks a laugh. I have no idea what that looks like.
Nor do I dare to dream of one.
I’m pathetic.
Dear Ocean, can you swallow me up, please?
Of course, it won’t. Instead of continuing my self-torture and go back to being the emotional creature who can’t stand by herself, I decide to put on some pajamas, a t-shirt or whatever. As I open the drawers inside the closet, I find a gray washed-down t-shirt.
Dreadful Tour 1987 reads the back; the front has the skull with a guitar and a drum on top.
Their last tour.
I can’t imagine Gabriel Colthurst trapped inside a bus tour with a bunch of other guys. Picturing Christian as the Rock God is hard enough. His biographies confirm he was wild. The man is now a homebody who doesn’t like to party. Weird.
I definitely don’t want to imagine what happened during said tour.
Tours.
I didn’t know much about tours until Mason mentioned the roadie code. Tours are like Vegas. What happens during a tour stays there. The roadies don’t breathe a word of what they hear, see or do during tours.
Mason worked a few concerts during Porter’s tours. Mason didn’t say anything specific, but he always pushed me to find out more. Not that I listened to him.
Mason was biased about the subject. He had never liked Porter; from the first moment he knew about my relationship with him, he tried to convince me to break it off.
Yeah, I should have listened. Ah, to be young and stupid.
The first time Mason and Porter interacted in front of me was when my brothers began to tour with other bands. I used to visit them when Porter had time. One night, as I danced and sang along with them from the audience, someone poked me on the shoulder.
Mason.
Tall, dark and mysterious. That was him.
“Mase.” I walked into his open arms and hugged him tight. “What a surprise!”
“Nine,” he whispered in my ear, as it was hard to hear each other with the music.
Porter immediately pulled me toward him and Mason’s jaw twitched.
I didn’t remember if Porter and Mason met, so I introduced them.
“Mason is Mr. Bradley’s son,” I mentioned to Porter. “Mase, this is Porter.”
“Yes, I’ve seen him,” Porter interrupted, not letting me say anymore. “You’re a bouncer, like your father, aren’t you?”
“Something like that.” Mason’s jaw tightened even more.
Mr. Bradley was the head of security for my parents—companies and events. Not a bouncer.
“You work with them, Mase?” I tilted my head toward my brothers who were on stage.
“Nah.” He rolled his eyes. “I work on and off for Dad when he needs people or I’m low on funds and our schedules agree. I work a lot when this guy plays.” He pointed toward Porter with his head.
“I think we should go, baby,” Porter cut the conversation short. “It’s late and you need a good night sleep. What, with you being sick and all that shit.”
That night Mason texted me.
Mase: Are you hanging out with him?
J-9: We’re dating.
Mase: Since when?
J-9: A few months
Mase: He’s not good for you, 9.
The other times we ran into Mason, Porter tried to keep the conversation with him to a minimum. He hated when I talked to other crew members, friends or stayed around late. But each time, Mason texted me the same note: It was great to see you, break up with him.
One day he asked me, “Have you ever wondered why he doesn’t want to tell your parents?”
No, I never wondered. I believed in Porter like a bat trusting the sound of its own voice to navigate around.
Yes, stupid.
Breezy and I play a few old covers, “Eleanor Rigby”, “Here Comes the Sun” and “Let It Be.” Those are Dad’s favorites; anything the Beatles performed is Dad’s favorite. Hence, the music we learned to play when we were little.
Dad.
Out of impulse I search for the paper where I wrote the phone number to his room, grab the home phone and call him. I also need to send a text to Mason.
J-9: When we arrived at my father’s place in SB we found Porter.
Mase-10: He better stay away from you. TTYS.
J-9: I can only hope. Don’t worry about me, I just… feel better now that you know. You get it ☺
Mase doesn’t text back, and that is okay. Of everyone I know, Mason is the one person who knows the entire story from beginning to end. The person who rescued me a few times while Porter left me bleeding.
“Hello?” Dad answers after the third ring.
“Did I wake you up, Dad?”
“No sweetheart, is everything alright?”
“Yes, I just… Porter is here, Dad.”
“What’s the problem with him, AJ?”
I slam my face against the soft pillows and let a muffled scream out. After that small episode, I sit back up and grasp the little courage I have inside me. Following Dad’s earlier steps, I walk to the big window and stare at the ocean.
“Dad, remember that story I avoided telling you earlier,” I mumble. “Well, I’m going to tell you something, and I ask that you let me speak first without interrupting, please.”
Dad’s grunting on the other side of the line signals the green light for me to speak.
“Things became too complicated between us—Porter and I. We dated Dad, for years. Lived together and… things turned ugly. There was a moment he made me believe I was going crazy.” I get on the bed and set myself in the middle, between my parents’ spots. “That I was this insanely insecure, jealous woman.”
He tried hard to convince me that I was wrong, even when the proof was so obvious. Yet, I succumbed several times to his hollow words.
“Dated?” Dad’s startled voice makes me cover my head with the blankets and nod even when
I am aware he can’t see me. “Can you tell me more? When?”
2015
I start at the beginning of our relationship and Dad, of course, interrupts, “Please don’t tell me you were watching movies with him—or anyone at the age of sixteen.”
Dad’s comment draws a chuckle out of me, he’s such a father. Worried about the things that don’t matter much to others. However, the agitation of his voice makes me want to stop our conversation and forget I called.
The pit of my stomach churns, my heart is starting to bleed. I have to stop remembering. The pain will shred me to pieces—again. I can’t take this, and I fear that like the last time, my parents won’t be around to catch me. They’ll hate me for keeping so much from them.
Then it hits me. I’m not that kid anymore. Three years should make a difference. I control myself, try hard to remain calm and behave like usual.
“First of all, you have to stop saying watching movies; it’s having sex, Father,” I correct him. “Second, no, we didn’t do anything extreme for a long time. We wanted to wait at least until we both were sure we wanted to take that step.”
My parents talked to me about safe sex. But also, they pressed that if and when I decided to finally experience it, that I did it in a meaningful way and not for the sake of it.
After everything that happened with Porter and me, I know for sure the day we made love, it meant something. I don’t regret it, but… the pain of everything that happened between us weighs more than the magical moment we shared.
“Can we not talk about my sex life, Dad?”
His strained breathing is his confirmation that he agrees, “It wasn’t a simple crush then?” he questions.
“A crush?” I repeat dumbfounded. “I think I crushed on him the moment we met. It was his eyes, they hypnotized me each time I saw them. At some point, I thought we had what my own parents had, but then one day the castles we built in the sand disappeared as the tide came in.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t know if I want to continue this conversation. Well, my side of the conversation. So far, he hasn’t said anything about Porter. Will he cut him out of the family?
Unlike Any Other (Unexpected Book 1) Page 11