Undisclosed Desire (The Complete Box Set

by Falon Gold

  Sasha is going to have a meltdown, and hopefully asks them to leave on the double.

  The thought has barely been established when she spanks the sheet from the outside, a hand propping on her hip.

  “Ma’am and sir,” she says icily, “there’re too many people in here. Two of you will have to leave. So many people will aggravate his condition.”

  My parents’ backs congeal as if someone is hosing them down from behind.

  “I’m his mother.” Her reply and bearing isn’t any warmer than the nurse’s, and it doesn’t feel off about her, when it should. “This is his father. We’re Ashley and Martin Powers, so make the others leave… ma’am.”

  Astrid tenses up as her head whirls to Malisa, who growls quietly. I see that she’s protective of me. Heart of a lion and a sister. I like that very much.

  Dr. Ellis shakes his head. “They’re fine, Sasha. That’s what the call was about. Stay for a minute. Mrs. Powers, Blake has post-traumatic amnesia. He was hit hard enough to cause a lesion on the part of his brain called the hippocampus. It’s responsible for the encoding, storage, and retrieving of memories. Naturally, after this tragedy, those functions were disrupted. It’s as if the burglar knew exactly where to land the blow at on top of Blake’s head to affect that part of his brain. Blake’s pre-existing memories are gone.”

  Astrid levels her head against the heel of her hand, elbow resting on the crown of her tummy. Pure grief fluctuates from her, but she keeps her composure and doesn’t reach for me like I want… I should say I long for her to, while my mother palms her freckled chest that’s burdened with several strings of pearls. She seems genuinely floored, and I debate if I was wrong about her. Then her blues eyes hone in on my father’s browns. They share a mutual uplift in their demeanor, which rounds out their stark bird-like features that could do with an extra ten pounds.

  They quickly cover up their soundless discussion and strange moment of happiness with matching thunderstruck disguises once again. Predators are what they are, too busy preying instead of eating, which most likely consists of a liquid diet of the alcoholic variety. I wouldn’t find it incredible if they can transfer thoughts to one another. Reading each other well and having the same agenda is what births power couples. These two can be considered that, and I should stay far away from them, if I listen to my intuition banging around my middle section.

  “Is he going to be okay?” they ask together with a convincing display of dread interwoven around their words. They would’ve gotten away with their exhibition, if I hadn’t been studying them both closely.

  “In time, but I have to insist that no one divulges facts of your lives with Blake around him. He needs to come to them on his own if he’s to get his accurate memories back.” Dr. Ellis barely diverts his attention in Sasha’s direction, but I catch it.

  Her hand slips from its perch on her ample hip, and she pivots on the heels of her black clogs to hoof it out of here, uttering, “Someone knows some pretty powerful people to be breaking the hospital rules for one man.”

  Really? Who would wield the influence of the powerful to get to me? Surely not my parents who wouldn’t need it since they’re my kin. Astrid then? If only I was so lucky.

  The doctor’s head cants to her then Malisa. “So you two aren’t his family?” I get the notion that he is going somewhere with his inquiry.

  “Of course not!” my mother screeches under the black hairdo that is washing out her scaly skin and amplifying the crow’s feet around her blue eyes, refusing to be veiled by her makeup. Dragon lady, I mean my mother, gives the women the once-over, stopping on Astrid. “Do I know you?”

  The temperature drops. I sit up, on edge and ready to defend Astrid and Malisa.

  “No, you don’t… but you will,” Astrid comments, then turns sideways, widespread fingers scaling each side of her stomach.

  My palms itch to be flat against the backs of her hands, and there’s no limit to the things I’d do for that to be my child in her.

  “Hello, Mrs. and Mr. Powers.” Malisa executes a parade wave, with her middle digit more stiff than the other ones that are just bent enough to raise a valid dispute of whether she is or isn’t shooting a bird at my parents.

  I already know which is accurate and conclude that Astrid and Malisa don’t need defending by me or anyone else. I cough into my hand, concealing my grin.

  My mother harrumphs and knocks invisible wrinkles out her dress, which is red, short sleeves, knee-length, and enhances her ‘dragon lady’ appeal. I expect her to start breathing fire at any minute now. She didn’t misread the message from Malisa’s hand either.

  As if on cue, my father tugs on the hem of his double-breasted coat with gray pin-stripes, taps the blond swoop of his toupee as if he’s asserting his dominance. Yet, I know who wears the pants in their family, my family.

  Ugh!

  I’m confident that the Powers only recognize those with wealth, which is why I don’t even think twice about Malisa’s indirect disrespect for my… Should I even call them my parents? Dr. Owens and Lydia seem like better alternatives. Malisa knows how to throw punches right back without even getting out of her seat, and I haven’t even met her parents yet.

  My parents bless Dr. Ellis with their front sights. Dragon lady crosses her thin arms then opens her beak and squawks, “Dr. Ellis, it’s good to see you again. What exactly do we need to know about Blake?”

  She’s spoken to everyone but me.

  “Well, hello to you too, Mother,” I mock.

  She swats away my statement as if there’s an annoying gnat flying around her head. “I’ll speak with you in a minute, Son. Let’s find out what you need first.” Somehow, I don’t think my needs are usually her main concerns, and I’m certainly not wealthy if she doesn’t even bother to reciprocate my dry greeting.

  I cock my head, as if she’s a piece in a museum that I’m trying to interpret, with no care if she never concedes my existence. She doesn’t give me the impression that she’s vital to it, unlike Astrid. Her, I don’t think I can live without, not for very long anyway.

  Dr. Ellis’ stance grows rigid. “He needs a quiet environment, plenty of rest, no work. He’s been put through a terrible incident and doesn’t need to be goaded into remembering anything about anything or anyone, Mrs. Powers.”

  Oh, he just called her out for sure.

  I don’t think he likes her very much either. Neither do I, and I want to know exactly why.

  She sniffs with conceited dripping from the gesture, going to do exactly what she wants to, regardless. “What does he remember?”

  “Nothing about people or events, but he can grasp the right words to express himself appropriately. That’s more than I hoped for with this type of condition, but the brain does its own thing. What’s even better is he’s using his common sense to work through the memory loss. His short-term memory is fine. Most things, he’ll do because of muscle memory and knee-jerk reactions. Scents and people will trigger visions. He’s already started getting images of his loved ones, but if you rush him into recalling anything, he’ll get confused and start to believe your insight into things as gospel, when it’s his perception that will stimulate his mind to reset itself.”

  Malisa snarls softly, and it’s damn hilarious, but I reject the impulse to laugh.

  “Why did I remember my parents first?” I blurt out. “If I couldn’t remember my own name without it having to be told to me first by Mr. Lindsey, why would I vision the people who gave it to me first? They don’t seem like people I’d eagerly associate with, even when related to them, not when they wear their narrow-mindedness on their sleeves.”

  My… Nuh huh. The parents—something about putting the ‘my’ in front of their status just isn’t working for me—gift me the same look that I was harboring for the bulletproof vest. Astrid flinches in my side eye.

  I’ve hurt her.

  Unacceptable. My arms stretch out to her. Reassuring her is all I want to do, must do. Knee-jerk
reactions, on point.

  “You came soon after, Astrid. I promise, baby. The way you make me feel stuck with my hippo… whatever, even when nothing else did.”

  She circles the bed and embeds her palm in mine, her grip strong for such a small woman. The moisture in her eyes spills over her lashes, but the tips of her full lips boost upwards. A buzzing develops under my skin. It’s like a million insects’ wings are taking flight. The emptiness behind my rib cage fills up. Finally, what has been absent since I left the hotel is finally in its place—a connection with the woman I love on a molecular level that makes everything alright no matter how screwed up things are.

  And plenty is unquestionably screwed up if Ashley and Martin Powers are my damn parents. Maybe even me.

  It doesn’t feel like I am at this moment though, and that’s what counts, well, for me it does.

  Scrutinizing everyone from behind his glasses, Dr. Ellis stashes the clipboard under his arm. “It’s the hippocampus, Mr. Powers. The older memories usually come back first. Most patients going through what you are would’ve given their teeth to remember those who loved them this soon, and I don’t think Astrid has been in your life long enough to be considered an old memory or flame. Do you feel like there’s something’s out of sync with yours and your parents’ relationship, Blake?”

  “Yes,” my instincts field his question before I can even think about it. Malisa’s, Astrid’s, and perhaps everyone who’s outside the curtain duplicate responses ride on top of mine, emulating a choir that is fully in tune for at least that one, single note.

  The parents’ resounding, mutual ‘NO!’ drowns us out, but who’s going to believe them when the bulk of my visitors have already spoken?

  Dr. Ellis blanches. “Uh, can I ask everyone to not respond unless spoken directly to? That’s one of several reasons for the 2-visitor only rule… that’s being broken.”

  “Thank God for Councilman Alder,” Astrid sneers quietly.

  The mother turns completely white. “Who?”

  Astrid’s eyes dart to me. “No one.” Should I know Councilman Alder?

  The mother points at Astrid with a trembling finger capped by a white-tipped talon, um, nail. “You said Councilman Alder. Is he the one that pulled the strings for you to visit my son when you’re clearly not family?”

  “Put your finger down, Mother,” I demand quietly.

  “Blake, that’s your mother!” The father rebukes.

  I cock one eyebrow.

  Half-moons form on Astrid’s high cheekbones when her eyelids condense, nose puckering at the bridge. “You’ll have to ask Councilman Alder, Mrs. Powers”

  The mother finally drops her finger. “No, I’m asking you did you talk to him, and you will answer me.”

  Astrid snorts.

  “This is what I’m talking about,” Dr. Ellis rumbles. “Blake can’t handle the bickering. You are going have to find your happy places, people, until you can take this elsewhere.”

  The dropping of a pin can be heard for about two seconds before the mother’s mouth expands, “But he shouldn’t be alone with a head injury, right?” Her nails fabricate indentations in her arms, like she’s truly worried, but her question is as rhetorical as they can get. She simply needs confirmation of what she’s already knows, or thinks she does.

  And she’s totally up to something.

  But what?

  “I don’t think he needs to be alone until he’s had time to just familiarize himself with the here and now. What came before will come back later. I’m almost definite of it, Mrs. Powers.”

  One side of the mother’s mouth crooks upward.

  “How long will he need to familiarize himself?” The father pipes up. “Blake has responsibilities, Dr. Ellis.” And what could those be?

  “It could be a few hours to a few days to a few weeks or even months. Depends on his brain and his stable environment.”

  Astrid’s slender fingers clutch mine tighter. “Is that all you’re worried about, Mr. and Mrs. Powers? Getting Blake to take over your businesses for you and keeping your bloodline pure? He’s never worked for you, and that shouldn’t be your main priority in the first place. Your son. Doesn’t. Know. Who. You. Are. Do. You. Even. Care?” Each word is stressed a little more as her anger mounts.

  Dr. Ellis’ head tracks the argument, listening and waiting for someone to say something revealing that they normally wouldn’t when levelheaded.

  I’m also guilty of letting Astrid shake my mother’s tree, hoping something juicy will fall out of it. Plus, it’s fascinating to watch her get pissy on my behalf, and interrogate my mother. Somehow, I’m emphatically certain that Astrid’s more inclined to get pissy at me, and damn good at digging until she hits the bottom of any situation when she sets her mind to it.

  The mother bats her false eyelashes that could be mistaken for wings. “Who are you to talk to me like that?”

  “I’m the woman that’s carrying the next heir to your fortune,” Astrid jabs, with every intention to maim the mother where it would be felt the most, in her bank account. “You didn’t see that coming, now did you, Grandma?”

  I couldn’t be prouder of Astrid for hitting her where it hurts. I got a nagging feeling that the mother has done that to me more than a time or two. Her just desserts have been served, but I better not have a damn brother.

  Chapter Eleven

  Blake

  The mother gasps. “She called me grandma to her child, Martin!”

  His face turns to stone then pats my mother’s shoulder delicately, obviously doing it for appearance’s sake. Then I’m racing down a road after a blue truck with lights flashing in my face. I don’t know what that has to do with anything, but it must be important if my mind is evoking that scene at this moment.

  “A blue truck. Who has one?”

  Astrid exhales and closes her eyes. “I do. You used to work on it for me on Sundays. The last time you saw it, you were chasing me. You were always on my back about using one of the cruisers for work, but I wouldn’t because I like driving my truck.” So, she’s a sheriff or a deputy too. The inside of a janitor closet flashes behind my eyes.

  What the hell does that mean?

  “Stop, Astrid. That’s too much detail.” Dr. Ellis’ warning precedes Astrid opening her eyes slowly. I start to sink in them.

  Malisa sniggers, “Not for this crisis, it isn’t too much.”

  Astrid’s truck means a lot more than just liking driving it if she chooses to put unnecessary miles on it. I’ll even venture to say someone special gave it to her. People tend to treasure things when they’re connected to another heart, but whose? I don’t want to know. If she says it’s a gift from one of her lovers, and you can bet your ass that they’re all past lovers now, I’ll go ballistic.

  “Chasing you? Why in God’s name would I do that?” I can come up with a reason or a hundred though.

  She swallows, morose suddenly. “I was going back home after I told Malisa to tell you I was pregnant. It happened just today.”

  Hallelujah! Astrid is pregnant with my son.

  That only leaves a few thousand questions, like why was she going back home.

  Unless, she’s not mine anymore.

  Rage slaps me in the chest then drags its hooks downward. I quietly gag on the discomfort and struggle to ask, “We’re not together?”

  Astrid forms a singular, tight fist of our unified hands. “We are now, and that’s all that matters.”

  We’re together! Thank God!

  I flop back on the pillows, with the picture of floating lavender and white balloons. Now, I know the colors that were chosen for Malisa’s and Apollo’s special day, and the only thing that benefits is the empty compartments in my head that are filling up with one fragment of data at a time. I never been happier to be hallucinating about latex that’s getting away.

  “You were not with my son yesterday!” Ashley howls, completely freaking the hell out. “That is not his child!”

  “
How do you know that… Mother?” I stumble over the last word.

  “She’s got eyes on you, Blake,” Astrid says straight-faced. “That’s how. And she knows we got back together today before Malisa and Apollo’s wedding. Did you get a snapshot of the kiss I gave him at the reception, Ashley? You’re probably pissed off that we’ve been together all day, too, huh? But you not as angry as you’re going to be.”

  Mother sucks up oxygen, like a bull preparing to rampage.

  Astrid’s lip spike into a humorless crescent shape. “You should’ve hired your private investigator a year ago, Mrs. Powers, when the people that mattered the most to Blake were the only ones that didn’t know about us. When I was making love to your son every chance I got in every corner of Arrow with this brown body that carries Blake’s one-third black, white, and Haitian child. I’ve had my brown hands all over his pale skin that you think makes you better than me. Let me tell you what your son’s skin feels like, silk, and it turns a blush color whenever he’s inside me. It kills you that he left something behind in me that you coveted for the next princess in the Powers’ line, but anytime you want to meet me on the other end of a DNA test, all you and your princess have to do is dial my number. It’s too bad that all your money, superior attitude, and riding on your high horse won’t change the fact that your son sullied your heritage with a mixed baby? You may deny my child and even disown yours if he decides to stay with me, but you’ll never forget mine. When you’re up on your high horse, my child’s existence will ride with you. When you’re posturing for society, he’ll be in the back of your mind. When you’re on your sick bed, getting ready to bust hell wide open, your last thought will be. Of. My. Son. But he will never know you.”

  “Astrid,” Dr. Ellis cautions.