Unlike Any Other (Unexpected #1)

by Claudia Burgoa

  “This is your home, our house is your house.”

  “You didn’t say that a few days ago.”

  “I had no idea what your intentions were, child, remember three years ago?”

  “I said I was sorry,” her bottom lip trembles. “He was there getting your support while I… my b… I had no one and if I talked, he’d get in trouble.”

  “Why was it so important for you to keep him happy?”

  “Because for years he had a hard life.” She moves from the bench of the piano and sits next to me. I take her in my arms and hug her tight. “When I met him, I put myself in his shoes. Losing my parents, my brothers, and being abused… poor Porter, he deserved happy.”

  Happy endings and family ties are important to AJ. My husband grew up an orphan, but the moment he became part of me and my family, he nourished those values too. Of course, our little girl had to try to save the world by teaching them how to love and make everyone happy.

  The library door opens and JC enters.

  “Dad, Papa is looking for you.” His eyebrows knit into a frown. “You okay, AJ?”

  “Yeah, Dad, can we camp downstairs?” AJ recovers her upbeat tone and heads to where JC stands. “We promise not to interrupt your night.”

  “As long as you don’t come upstairs—at all.”

  She promises and drags JC with her.

  Chris and I linger in the foyer after the trio and Mase head to the basement.

  “Did you really send the kids to bed?” a taunting-husky voice emerges from Chris’ mouth. I order myself to wait before I pounce on him. “What’s next? Taking me to the music room… because there’s no such thing in this house.”

  We used to follow that routine for a couple of years when our kids were about four or five. First, they went to bed, and then we made love for the first part of the night in the music room.

  “I did; what happens next is up to you.” I lift his chin and brush his lips.

  Chris groans, his eyes brighten with lust.

  “How about the library, Chris?” I raise a brow, hopeful.

  “The kitchen, I like when we do it there, Gabe.”

  His devilish grin hardens my cock.

  I want him bad.

  “The height of the counter or… something is just perfect. But no, I’m not ready for us to have sex.”

  “Let’s talk then,” I offer, “in the library.”

  “I sold you this house to live with your family,” Chris comments as we walk through the living room. “This is the first time the five of us are here, how ironic.”

  “The kids judge us for hiding them, but back then, life would’ve been hell for all of us,” I say as a matter of fact.

  Chris is silent for a long moment.

  “Yes, but we can only keep a secret for just so long,” Chris retorts. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  I open the door to find the room illuminated by a few candles, just as I had asked the boys to do.

  “Are you for real, Gabriel, a piano?”

  I’m about to say something when Chris shifts his body from one side and is right in front of me. He captures my face, leans forward, and traps my lips with his. A rough, demanding kiss. I tangle my fingers in his hair thrusting my tongue into his mouth.

  “A piano,” he pants as we break the kiss. “You bought me another piano.”

  I reach for my pants pocket, pull out the rings, and grab his left hand.

  “You can’t live without a piano,” I slide the ring on his finger, “and I want us to come back here more often. We both love this house—our sanctuary.” I place a kiss behind his ear and glide my lips down his jaw. “I’m not saying that I’ll release a statement tomorrow about our relationship. However, I won’t hide you or who I am anymore.”

  Chris’s eyes study me for a long moment. They harbor love, lust, doubt, and anger.

  “Or, I’ll do it,” I say out of desperation. “Tell me what you want, Christian, please. I can’t lose you, and I hate that you hurt because of me.”

  “You have me.” His arms wrap around me, holding me tightly against his body. His warm breath against my neck makes my insides clench. “I don’t need a press release. You know I hate the media being on my ass. But I don’t want to read or hear another lie about your life—our life, ever again.”

  “Marry me?” I propose. “We can renew our vows.”

  “Is that what the rings are for?”

  “No, I want us to wear them, please?” I sigh heavily, the exhausting burden I have carried for so long wearing me down. “I want us together, evolving every day. If no one agrees with who I am and who I love, I don’t give a shit. It’s you, only you, I want. I’m sorry I lost perspective of what you mean to me. I told you once, I don’t need a career. I need you—forever.”

  Chris’s green eyes fill with moisture and at the same time a huge smile tugs his lips. He jerks me forward and kisses me tangling his hands in my hair. A throaty moan escapes me as he caresses the nape of my neck, and our tongues continue dancing for a long time.

  “I want you leaning on my piano,” he orders as he releases me, “but then, you’ll take me in the kitchen.”

  I tilt my head and suck the nape of his neck the way he likes it.

  “Are you sure, Chris, you want me, babe?”

  “Always,” his words resonate against my lips.

  His soft lips demand entrance without breaking the intense assault his exercises over mine, he leads me to the piano.

  “Please tell me you have lube, college boy,” he wheezes as I strip him from his shirt and undo his pants.

  Before he tears my clothes, I pull the small tube of lube from my pants and place it on top of the piano.

  “I knew there was a reason why I love you,” his words muffled by my naked chest. “I’m not as young, so this won’t be a marathon. But I think we can manage a good makeup sex session.”

  He pushes my slacks and boxers down, bringing my cock to life. It’s hard and ready. Aching for Chris’s mouth.

  Chris descends to his knees and with a loving-lustful look, he traps my gaze and kisses the tip of my cock. A sharp gasp leaves my mouth, followed by a shudder as I think of his heated throat.

  Fuck, I missed him. I arch and push myself as he takes me into his mouth.

  Sucking me while swirling his hot tongue, I push deeper into his throat.

  “I’m not going to last, babe,” I warn him.

  He frees my dick and drags me to the couch with him.

  “On your back, babe,” he demands, tilting his head to the couch.

  I don’t question him and follow his lead, enjoying his dominant side. Blissful to watch the sight of his hard, thick erection. One hand strokes my cock, the other prepares my hole. He pushes two fingers against my tight entrance.

  “Chris,” I gasp his name as he works me out. “Please, babe, I need you. I won’t last long.”

  He falls back over me, opens me wider with his arm and the tip of his dick brushes against my entrance. With one effective push, he glides inside making me arch to push him deeper.

  I drive forward as he pushes inside, soon our bodies move at the same rhythm. Our voices emit similar grunting noises as we build a surge that will undo us in only moments.

  My orgasm hits the moment he surges forward one last time and cries out my name. The spray of ecstasy spreads on our chests. Chris ignores it and falls on top of me, kissing me without abandon.

  “I love you.” My fingertips caress his sensitive back.

  “Don’t do this again, Gabe,” his after-sex, rough voice begs me. “You’re my life.”

  “I promise, Chris.” He kisses me deeply. “Press release?”

  “No.” He taps his ring with his thumb. “But if they ask you about the ring, it’ll be nice to tell the truth. I know I will.” />
  “Kitchen?” I offer.

  “In a minute, I’m not thirty anymore. My recovery time is… longer. Next decade: the blue pill.”

  2015

  Mason walks into the room carrying the coffeemaker he just finished uninstalling. “The kitchen is done,” he states and I check it off the list.

  According to the list, almost everything is in the truck. AJ’s studio is almost empty. The tanned walls are full of holes from all the frames AJ hung on the walls. Frames with family pictures, posters of her favorite bands, a couple of landscapes, and superheroes. The flat screen mounted on the wall along with an entertainment system that fits on a small shelf is next on the list to pack up.

  During the weekend of Thanksgiving, AJ talked to us about her plans, the lack of, to be exact. She didn’t want to come back to Texas, but she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with her life. We dropped her off at the airport on Saturday. She went to San Diego for the two-week retreat. So far, she’s been gone for one.

  In the meantime, we’re moving her belongings to the Washington house. While she makes a few decisions about her future, she’s going to stay there with us.

  “Ready for inspection, Dad,” JC and MJ walk by carrying the last two boxes and I look around the studio to make sure we’re not missing anything.

  “Constantine has left the building,” Chris enters the studio.

  He hired a piano moving expert for Constantine, AJ’s baby grand piano.

  “Where are we going to put it?”

  “Ainse’s room is big enough—bigger than this place.” He walks around the studio. “I’m not rearranging the music room. She’s moving out after we come back from our trip.”

  The boys are touring around Europe and Asia the first couple of months of the upcoming year. When it’s over, they’ll take a hiatus and reconvene about their careers. During those months, we’re going to follow them at the same time as Ainsley, Chris and I explore around.

  “That sounds sensible,” I agree. “But it can also fit in the living room…” I wiggle my brows. “It’s only for a few weeks.”

  “We’re not having sex on our daughter’s piano,” Christian lashes back. “Horny old man, there’s something wrong with you.”

  I laugh because the most sexual man I know has some limits.

  “You two stop it.” MJ enters the room with widened eyes and shaking his head. “The moans, gasps, and ‘Please, harder babe,’ still wake me up at night. You two are forbidden to have, talk, or think about sex while I’m around.”

  Rumor has it that he heard us having sex while in the kitchen. I told them the house was off limits for the night, but they never listen.

  “The moving truck is packed, Mason is driving it.” MJ runs a hand through his hair. “JC and I are driving Eleanor.”

  “Don’t speed and remember your stops,” I check the map one more time.

  Instead of paying for a truck to move the car, another to move her belongings and wait for them, we decided to take a road trip. Some bonding time between us and our sons… However, Mason joined the trip. He had promised AJ he’d pack and help her if she decided to leave Texas. Chris wasn’t too happy about letting Mason in because that’d make him part of the family. However, we’re bonding with the kid too, he isn’t half as bad as my husband fears. I guess the fact that he likes AJ makes him a complete troll.

  Mason knows a lot more about road trips, and he traced the entire journey. Our first stop is Albuquerque, then Ogden, and finally home. Seven days on the road, four down and three to go.

  “I paid to have the walls repaired and painted.” I look around the apartment wanting to know why he is complaining. “She’s like her father, can’t see a plain wall because they have to tamper with it.”

  I lift my shoulder and tilt my head as if saying, ‘What can you do? That’s the way we are.’

  “Yet, the entire studio was perfectly organized.” I arch a brow. “That’s your OCD, babe, AJ is daddy’s little girl if you haven’t noticed.”

  She is daddy’s little girl because both of us have spoiled her plenty of times. Just like we spoiled the other two. Then other times, we treated them with a firm hand. A hand that went overboard when she needed us the most.

  “I can’t believe she fit everything inside this tiny place.” Chris shuts the door behind us. “If everything else fails, she can become a life-organizer. Famous people pay a lot of shit to do that.”

  “Aren’t I lucky? I have two of those at home.” He laughs at my complaint.

  I give him a peck as we reach the car and open the passenger door for him.

  “Let’s head home, babe,” I whisper.

  Chris takes away the car keys. “I’m driving. You drove from Tucson.”

  He sets the GPS with the new address and pulls out of the parking lot.

  My heart feels lighter as we head north. As parents, we tried to make things right, but they didn’t work out the way we thought. When our children moved out of the house and went to college, we gave them our blessing. It wasn’t important for us to help them move in. It had been for Ainse, and back then we failed her. She no longer resents us for that, but it’s a red mark for us. Another mistake we made.

  So maybe we didn’t help her move into her dorm. Needless to say, we helped her move into her new life, whatever that will be. It’s all about our actions from now on and not what we aren’t able to fix from the past.

  I glance at Chris, satisfied that my actions didn’t destroy our life together and that there will be a future for the two of us.

  2015

  My phone rings as I close my journal. Every day I write a page with memories of things that hurt me. Words from strangers, from friends, or their attitudes. Each day it’s harder for me to fill that page.

  Then I proceed to write two pages with memories of great things that have happened. Those happy moments that filled my heart with joy and made me laugh. It’s harder to stop at two pages, every day I find more.

  After that Thanksgiving weekend, I put everything on hold and stayed with my parents. I needed time to recognize what I want from my life. Find point B. My first step had been going to a grieving retreat. A place where they helped me with the pain I harbored for so long, the loss of James.

  Two weeks later I went home with my parents and started counseling to help me finish what I had started a couple of years ago.

  I’m searching for myself in all the right places. Recognizing who I am and who I want to be—for myself. I lost myself during the Porter period. For so long Porter became my world and conditioned me to do everything around his happiness. I let him become the only person who mattered.

  As for him, Porter, he is in a rehabilitation center. My brothers who wanted to confront him found him drunk and high. It was the last thing they did for that friend they once loved. When they arrived in Arizona, they confiscated two bottles of prescription drugs and a bottle of whiskey.

  Now he’s working through the twelve steps of AA and the steps include me. Not losing any more time, I pick up the phone, having agreed to take the call today at five.

  “Hey,” I greet Porter. The only noise I hear is his breathing. I close my eyes as I try to organize my thoughts and wait for him to start this. “Are you okay?”

  “Better,” he responds. “I’m sorry about…”

  There’s another long pause on the phone, I hear his breathing and I wait for him to continue.

  “Everything,” he continues. “You rescued me and I took advantage of you. I have an addictive personality—the doctors told me. You were my drug. The one who gifted me the love I never had. But my madness got the best of me and there came a day I didn’t care about you anymore. I remember your huge crinkling eyes that observed me the first day you spotted me. You were so patient with me, you’re gentle and soft… no one ever gave me that.”

  Tea
rs fall from the corner of my eyes as I remember that boy.

  “As we grew older, I… I feared you’d discover I wasn’t that great guy you raved about. I worked so hard to be a smidgen of who you described.”

  “You were great, Porter,” I sniff. “If you could see yourself as I did. You crossed the country to find something better for yourself. Fought against those ideas you grew up with, that you’d never do anything better with your life. You fought to believe you were smart.”

  “I ended up an abusive alcoholic, AJ.”

  I clean the tears with the hem of my cami and try to regain my strength.

  “A lot of great men and women have succumbed to a vice and bravely fight against their addiction every day. Papi does.”

  “I’m sorry for all the pain I inflicted,” he sobs.

  I bite my lip. “There are memories, so many, I want them to stay with me, but the others weigh so heavy.”

  “We’ll store the bad ones in the jar of lessons—as sour moments in history,” I tell him. “Never to pull them out, unless we need to review them. I don’t want to hurt anymore, I don’t want you to hurt either, Porter.”

  “Are we giving up?”

  “No, Porter,” I respond with a bright smile on my lips. “We should never give up.”

  I pause, afraid of the overdoses my brothers told me about and say, “Life goes on, there’s so much that giving up is simply not an option,” I continue. “I survived so much. Why would I give up? That’s what we are, Porter, survivors. We continue and if we fall, we either stand up, crawl, or ask for help. Never give up.”

  “That sounds cool,” Porter says, “but I’m talking about us, AJ.”

  “Ah, was there ever really an us, Porter?” I confront that door I’ve avoided for so long. “There was you, and you, and…”

  I browse through my journal and find the page: Things I missed while young and hidden from my parents or while I dated Porter.

  Finding myself and love—when you love yourself plenty. The other kind is far from my plan, that’s more heading to point C. If I’m ever ready to take that journey.