Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5)

by Burgoa, Claudia

  My back straightens and I can’t control my voice. “We? I’m here to see Dr. Decker, the woman over the phone said that my consult will be with Dr. Decker.” I repeat this a couple of times, sounding stupid, but she has to understand that I have to see Chris.

  “I’m Thea Bradley-Decker,” she stops me. “The other Dr. Decker.”

  What the fuck? Bradley-Decker . . . that’s a fucked up name. This can’t be happening, suddenly my hands press against my head. “No, no, no. I need Chris, not you. Chris Decker. Where is he?”

  “My father-in-law is on vacation,” she says matter-of-factly. Father-in-law? Who is she married to? It doesn’t matter, what matter is that he’s not here. No, this is fucked up, they’re going to push me away, I just know it. “If you want an appointment with him, you’ll have to call again next year.”

  Shit, of course he’s on vacation. Christmas and all that shit are a family thing. Sacred shit that he never misses. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks that I’ll have to wait for him. Handing her a card with my information, I ask her to tell both Gabe and Chris that I’m looking for them.

  Fucking luck, I’ll head back home hoping they call.

  I jump out of my skin the moment I open the door to my bedroom and turn on the light.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  Surprise, surprise, it’s Mason Bradley. How the hell did he manage to arrive before me? I stumble back.

  “Kendrick.” He rises from the bed; with three strides, he’s towering over me. His penetrating gray eyes are holding my gaze.

  My arms and legs become a couple of noodles. Six years ago, a similar situation happened. I came home and three armed men were waiting for me. They knocked me down and I ended up in another country almost dead. Rubbing my face, I take a step back. How the hell did he know where to find me? Did Molly let him in?

  My gut churns when I find the determination in his eyes. He’s not going to let me do this. Almost six years ago, he warned me to stay away from the Deckers. He’d be easy to ignore, except he’s a force not to be taken lightly. He’s capable of killing a man without a weapon and making anyone disappear. Scary son of a bitch.

  “Mason—”

  “Off limits,” Mason says. Those gray eyes flash hatred. “We made a fucking deal, Kendrick. Hearing that my little sister shared the same space with you—alone—breaks our agreement.”

  “Little sister?” I gulp, trying to find a way to calm him. Six years and the fucker hasn’t changed. “You have it wrong. I haven’t been in contact with anyone. Unless you count that doctor. Yeah, I guess she said she’s Chris’s daughter-in-law.”

  “Yes, Thea is my baby sister.” He peels his teeth.

  Baby sister? Wasn’t he an only child? None of that matters. My business is to find some form of forgiveness from my foster parents. The biggest obstacle is right in front of me. Mason Bradley. This is why I tried to get in touch with Chris or Gabe first. The first is the level headed of the family, but Gabe has a soft side to him. I could’ve talked to either or both and kept everyone away. But no. I had to stumble upon Mason’s sister.

  Taking another step backward, and knowing I have nothing left to lose, I speak, “My father died. Alone. He left me a small amount of money to start a new life, be a different man. I wanted to start by showing the only family that I’ve ever had that I’m sorry for what I did. That I’ve changed.”

  I skip Mac and the kids. He doesn’t need to know about them. His eyes remain fixed on mine, his jaw tensed and his torso pushed forward as if ready to strike.

  “And then what?” His clenched hands become a couple of fists.

  “I come back to where I live,” I answer. “You have parents, a family, and all that shit. What would you do if you made a mistake and you had to stay away from them?” I take a deep breath. “Forever. Wouldn’t you at least try to find a way to apologize? Tell them that you love them and you’re sorry.”

  “Kendrick, you can’t compare me with you,” he says. “Are you aware of what you did?”

  “Yes, I’m fucking aware of my behavior,” I answer back, frustrated, feeling like a child. But also understanding that I’m bonded by a promise I made to him. One I made after he saved my life. “My addictions ruled my entire life.” I touch my temple. “Because of the need I mistreated the woman I loved, put her and my family in danger. I killed my son.” Dropping my head, I look at the ink with his initials. “This time I’m not asking for a second chance, only forgiveness.”

  “You didn’t kill him. The way you handled AJ’s pregnancy and how you behaved when she told you about it was fucked up. All your actions are unforgivable, but you didn’t kill him.” His voice softens as my eyes meet his. “James didn’t make it for different reasons. With or without you around, the miscarriage would’ve happened. Stop carrying the guilt.”

  I narrow my gaze, not understanding why he’s telling me this. “Why are you saying that?”

  “Because you didn’t kill him. Ainse and I carried some of that blame. The two of us believed that if we had done things differently, maybe our kid would be here.” His shoulders slump slightly, his eyes closing for a few minutes.

  I had forgotten about it. Mason considers James his son. He made it clear years ago. “I forbid you to ever bring up James’ memory, Kendrick.” He grabbed the flaps of my leather jacket, pulling me close to him. “I have that fucking link. Ainse called me when she found out about the pregnancy and feared the outcome, including how the jerk she lived with would react to his own child. Those days you ignored her while you were fucking other women, I talked to her daily and reassured her that she’d be fine—a kickass mom. You disappeared for weeks. It was me who was there when she met the little pea.” Frozen, I listened as he screamed while pushing me against the wall. “His heartbeat will forever be recorded here. A beat you’ll never know. Who do you think was with her after she lost him? Me, fucker.” Sliding one open hand up on my throat, pinching it, pressing hard while closing my air duct. “Never speak of him again. Our pea is off limits, too.”

  He said more shit, something about leaving me mute if I ever got close to her or spoke of him. Mason took care of AJ when she lost the baby, while I was getting high and fucking other women.

  His eyes open, studying me as he speaks, “My wife, my children, my sister, my father, and my extended family are precious to me, Porter.” My lungs deflate with the mention of children. They have kids—more than one. I’m happy that she has a family, but the memory of what I lost mingles with what I desire and will never have. “The Decker family is a big unit. Each one of us has a role. Mine is to protect them. After the shit you pulled, I can’t let you get close to them.”

  “People can change, Mason. I did,” I defend myself, taking a step forward as I clear my throat. “If it hadn’t been because of you, I’d be dead somewhere in Juarez. The ordeal woke me up. Realizing that the love of my life was in love with someone else crushed me, but every day I wake up with the conviction of being better for our son and for myself.” I shrug, as Mac’s bright smile comes to mind. Harp, Finn. “I’m a recovering alcoholic and addict. It means that every morning I have to fight my demons. Like Chris and many others. All I ask is to be able to talk to my foster parents. My goal is to make a new life, not sure where or how, but the first step is finding peace with them.”

  He takes a deep breath, looking at the ceiling. “Let me think about it.” He shakes his head. “I don’t trust you. You can say all you want, but to get to them, you’ll have to convince me first.”

  “I’ll talk to them while you’re in the same room,” I blurt out without giving it a thought.

  “Chris and Gabe are out of town.”

  I bob my head, understanding. “Albany? You aren’t going?”

  “No. They’ll be home before Christmas. A lot has changed since you’ve been gone.” He angles his face, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “It’s time for me to leave. I’ll talk to them, but for now, stay away.”

  He heads out of the roo
m and I follow behind him.

  “Porter, is that you?” I hear Molly’s voice the moment he wiggles the handle of the front door. “With company. The nice kind of company.” She scrunches her hair with both hands as she sways her round hips closing in on us. “Molly Thomas.”

  “Nice meeting you, ma’am,” he answers, shaking her hand. “We’ll be in touch.”

  He disappears without a word. Impressive.

  “Mac is leaving soon for Pollard Farms.” I frown, not understanding what she means. “That’s where families go to cut their Christmas tree. Her boss gave her a coupon for a small tree. The kids are excited and hoping you’d join.”

  It’s been so long since I celebrated Christmas. I only remember doing it when I live with the Decker family. We had plenty of evergreens in the compound and every year we decorated one. Cutting them wasn’t an option, as they didn’t like to chop them down. Those traditions that I followed for a few years meant so much. Checking that I have everything to head out again, I kiss Molly’s cheek and leave.

  Leaving the house this afternoon was harder than usual. Finn has been parked on the couch where he usually sits with Porter to sing. Things are worse than before and I have no idea what to do with all of it. Does he have depression? At least the idea of Christmas presents—that I haven’t bought because there’s no money for that—made him move. I appreciate Harper for such a brilliant idea. “If we don’t have a tree, Santa won’t come and bring us presents.”

  Finn’s new attitude frustrates me. No matter what I say or do, he refuses to interact with me, or others. After making sure that they’re wearing their winter gear, we leave the house. Pushing the car key remote, the back doors slide automatically.

  “I can drive.” The voice shakes me. Wasn’t he gone? Porter disappeared the night after he told me everything that had happened to him. The ugly stuff he had done. Without a word, not even a goodbye. The fear that he wouldn’t come back lingered around the house. He had become a part of us. Looking at my two kids who are gasping at me, I realize that neither one knows how to react to him. His disappearance without a warning hurt us all. “In fact, we can move the car seats to my truck. The tree will fit better in the bed.”

  My eyes remain fixated on my children, waiting for an explanation of why he left without a word. Afraid that what I’ve been feeling for the past couple of days is bigger than I anticipated. I care for Porter. More than I want to admit. The feelings are deeper than a simple friendship with the next-door neighbor. I have my doubts, because I never thought that I’d feel anything for anyone other than my late husband.

  “Mac, you need help cutting the tree,” he says. “What if Finn tries to escape?”

  The sensible thing to do is accept his help, but should that be before or after he explains where he’s been. Does he have to? No, we’re friends. Neighbors. But I’ve been fucking worried about him. Staying up all night wondering where he is and if he’s all right. A call would’ve taken care of the worry. But I don’t say anything, he’s busy taking the seats out my van and setting them in his truck. Harper, who is holding my hand, steps closer to me and squeezes it harder when Porter finishes and walks toward us.

  “Harp?” Porter’s cautious question matches his steps.

  “You left,” she sniffs. “I saw your truck from the window the other night. You promised.”

  He scratches his two-day old stubble, then squats in front of her and smiles. “I went to see my parents. But I came back before Christmas to spend the holiday with you. We’re baking cookies for Santa, aren’t we?”

  She nods, chewing on her lip. Porter opens his arms and she releases my hand walking to him and hugging him tightly.

  “Next time I have to go, I promise to say goodbye,” he assures her, as he rises from the floor carrying her.

  He walks with her to the truck and then comes back for Finn who just mimics his sister’s big hug. Nothing else needs to be said between the two of them. My children adore him.

  “Mac.” His voice snaps me from the internal debate about him. The moment he’s in front of me, he tilts my chin slightly with his thumb. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my trip. It’s a long explanation; we can talk about everything later tonight. After the kids are tucked in, please?”

  I press my lips tight together, not knowing what to say.

  “Maybe I should do this alone with them.” Not the words I meant to say, but they’re out.

  “It’s a tree, Mac. Please, don’t make a big deal.”

  But it is a big deal. This is the first year I’ve decided to trim a tree since Leo’s death. Evergreens remind me of so many things. We married in Vail, during Memorial Day weekend on a breezy, sunny afternoon surrounded by pines. Holding in the tears is easier these days and what upsets me is that Porter’s presence makes me stronger—immune to the memories. Is that wrong? Everything is new to me, what I’m feeling, what I want . . . but . . .

  “Mom, it’s getting late,” Harper yells from the car.

  I pull up my scarf, covering my mouth and using my children to give me strength to keep my distance. Giving me the power to avoid my new weakness—Porter’s touch.

  Harper, Finn, and Porter drink hot cocoa by the Christmas tree we decorated earlier as he reads them Olive the Other Reindeer. This strange man always finds a way to wiggle himself inside the family. Yesterday he came with us to find the perfect tree. After we cut it, paid for it, and realized we didn’t have any ornaments, he took us for dinner and then to buy the necessary trimmings to adorn our tree. When we arrived home, he helped me carry Harper, who was fast asleep. We didn’t have much time to talk since he fell asleep on my couch while I was in the kitchen preparing some coffee. Instead of waking him up, I covered him with a blanket and let him sleep for the night.

  Earlier, after I came back from work, he offered to help decorate the tree. Since tomorrow is Christmas Eve, I couldn’t say no. Molly came to help, too. When I asked them if I could head to the store, Porter showed me the garage. He bought the kids several presents and he finished the headboard for Finn.

  “And that’s all for the night,” He says closing the book.

  “Are you helping mommy tuck us in?”

  “Am I?” He arches an eyebrow, as he’s rising from the floor with Finn nestled in his arms. “Maybe I’ll just give you both a ride to your room.”

  Harper’s head drops, her chin hitting her torso twice. “Can you help me?” I ask, not sure if it’s for Harper, or for myself. Every night is harder for us to see him go, even those times we know he’s heading to work. “But only if you have time? It’ll be faster if you help us.”

  And, in record time, the two Brooke children have brushed their teeth, put on their pajamas, and said their prayers. We tuck them in and, when the door closes, I regret inviting Porter to stay. The need of him hasn’t subsided and I doubt it’ll go away. It might if I ignore him and stay away, but my children adore him. They come first, and apparently, the dad duties are easy for him to handle. Would he have been like that with his son if he hadn’t died?

  “How was your visit?” I ask him about his trip. I’m curious about his foster parent’s reaction, but also about AJ—if things can be fixed. That must be something he wants, I mean the man has her initials tattooed on his wrist. My heart slows its beating with the thought of the possibility. Selfishly I’m hoping that she won’t take him back. “Did it work out?”

  “They weren’t there,” Porter says, marching down the stairs. “My foster parents are out of town. It was frustrating. The drive, the crappy hotel, everything was against this trip. I swear.” I glare at him not understanding what he’s trying to say.

  He explains about the pile-up on I-5. Then continues with him at a hotel with poor Internet connection where he had to finish some project. There wasn’t a pause to ask what the project was about because he continues with the frustration of meeting their daughter-in-law. Their family is growing and he’s not a part of it.

  “For the pas
t week I’ve discovered that they transformed their old life into something different, something new that I have no idea about.” Porter taps his chest lightly with his fingers, his eyes set on the wall. “I thought I found them and suddenly they were out of reach once again.”

  “Will you be able to talk to them?”

  His signature shrug appears. “Mason was here yesterday,” he mumbles. “That’s AJ’s husband. First he warned me to stay away, but then.” He runs both hands through his hair. “He’s going to talk to them. I’m hopeful for the chance to at least get the closure I need.”

  “Things with AJ?” I ask. Porter tilts his head, crooning an eyebrow. “Are you two going to fix things?”

  “If her husband allows it, I’ll get to apologize to her.” He frowns and smirks. “You mean can I fix my old relationship with her? Are you jealous, Mac?”

  I shrug, because it’d be stupid to deny it, but even more to accept it.

  “There’s nothing to fix. She was once someone important. My first love. But we grew up, things changed, and even though there’s a special place for her in my heart, I moved on.” He shakes his head. “You’re not ready to hear more, but I hope someday we can discuss it further. Or not. I just want to ask you that you let me be part of your life in any kind of capacity. Your kids mean the world to me and I’d hate to lose them.” He kisses my cheek. “Thank you for letting me spend these two days with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve been a part of a family or celebrated . . .” He turns around, shakes his head, and spins one more time.

  “You mean everything to me.” With those last words he disappears behind the door leaving me flustered, wanting him to repeat it, or say more. Much more.

  Does he also mean everything to me? I wish someone could come and tell me what to do next.

  “I think you were right, College Boy,” I admit, as we step inside the house and look at all the packages we’ve been mailing to the house for the past three weeks. “We might have overdone it this time.”