The Misters Series (Mister #1-7)

by J. A. Huss

  “What’s your idea?” I ask.

  “Fuck you,” he says. “I’m not telling you my amazing plan.” But then he turns, reaching into his pocket, and throws me some keys.

  I catch them in my hand. Stare at them for a second.

  “Take the boat, Mac. Go see that island. Go walk in those caves. Or just lie on the beach and play with the pigs. And if that doesn’t work, tell her something amazing. Something you’d never tell anyone else. I’ve got the coordinates set up in my navigation because we’re gonna stop on our way home. Take her there. It’s been a long time since you did something spontaneous.”

  He walks away.

  “I’m spontaneous!” I call back. “Fuck you! I’m totally spontaneous.”

  “No,” he yells back, already out of sight. “You’re predictable.”

  Fuck him.

  Am I predictable?

  I ask myself that all the way down to the marina where I look at his boat and wonder if I should risk some time off the island. Inside I find the coordinates in the GPS system, and look at the backlit screen as it charts a course.

  Ten miles. It’s not so far.

  I leave the boat and stand on the deck. Look up at the sky. Nothing but blue. Not a single cloud.

  The ocean is pretty calm today. Almost like glass. I stare at it. Then look back at Five’s island and make a promise to myself and my future wife.

  Chapter Fifteen - NOLAN

  I feel bad for cutting things short with Mac, but I’m on a mission now. A mission to be a better man. A better father. Maybe even a better everything.

  “Halt!” one of the little masked miscreants yells as she jumps out of the jungle, pointing her stick at me. “Who goes there?”

  “It’s me,” I say, annoyed. Then, “Ow, shit!” as the other little delinquent pokes me in the ribs. Didn’t even see her. Fucking little villains.

  “You’re our prisoner!” the smaller one shouts. “March, prisoner!”

  It occurs to me that it might take a little longer than I thought to warm up to them. “It’s me,” I say again. “Nolan Delaney.”

  The taller one lifts up her mask and says, “We know who you are, Mr. Romantic.”

  Jesus. What the fuck has Five been telling these kids? “Don’t call me that, OK? I’m just Nolan now.”

  The taller one—Mathilda, I remember—squints her eyes. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  “Prove it,” she demands.

  “How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

  The smaller one, Louise, snickers. “He said the f-word.”

  Mathilda pokes me again. Harder this time.

  “Ow, dammit! Stop fucking poking me.”

  “You’re not supposed to swear in front of children, Mr. Romantic.” Mathilda sneers my name. Again.

  “Yeah,” Louise adds. “Mommy says it’s inappropriate.”

  “Are you inappropriate?” Mathilda asks.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Just stop poking me with that stupid stick. I’m a friendly, remember? I need help.”

  “What kind of help?” Louise asks. She lifts her mask up now too and points her wide eyes at me.

  “We don’t help prisoners,” Mathilda says.

  “Unless you pay us.” Louise laughs.

  Then they’re both giggling.

  “OK,” I say, rolling my eyes. Fucking kids. I take out my wallet and start pulling out bills. How much do kids get paid for shit these days? Five bucks? I hold out two fivers. “Here. One for each of you, how’s that?”

  They giggle again. “Not with money,” Mathilda says.

  “Yeah,” Louise chirps. “We can’t spend money on the island.”

  “Then what do ya want?”

  They both look at each other. Sly grins creep up their elfish faces.

  “What?” I ask, getting tired of these games real fast. “Just tell me what the hell you want.”

  They both poke me this time. Hard. “Jesus Christ, man! Stop that! I’m a friendly!”

  Mathilda motions for Louise to follow her over behind some large palm fronds and they have a secret parley about me. There’s lots of whispering and dramatic sighs.

  Maybe I should just resign myself to my fate as a totally inappropriate father and go find Ivy. She’s a great mother. Does Bronte really need me? I mean, really? These fucking kids are right. I’m not a role model and these thoughts about wishing for a boy just prove it. Not to mention I don’t even have the good sense not to swear in front of Five’s little wannabe She-Ras. I have this fucked-up reputation and one day Bronte is gonna read about me on the internet. Or worse, her friends will. And they’ll be the ones to tell her who I am. What I am.

  I feel sick. Because there’s nothing I can do about that. Ever. I can’t erase history or take back all my mistakes, or nothin’.

  I am Mr. Romantic. For better or worse. Forever.

  “OK,” Mathilda says. “We might be able to make a deal.”

  “I dunno,” I say, resigning myself to my fucked-up future. “This is probably stupid, anyway. Never mind. I’m never gonna turn into Mr. Respectable.”

  I turn to walk back to the cabaña, but Louise and Mathilda both grab my wrists and make me stop. I look down at them. I wonder if they know who their father is. Really is. But Five Aston has flown under the radar for decades. He wasn’t accused of rape. He wasn’t given an ironic nickname. He didn’t do anything as far as the rest of the world is concerned. If anything ever leaks out and people find out about this island and his secret family he’s hiding out here, he’ll just be another eccentric billionaire who likes his privacy. And yeah, I read all about his father, Ford. And Rory and Cindy’s father, Spencer. And even though there are a few parallels—they were accused of murder, after all, and they fucking did it—it’s not the same. Being accused of rape is so much worse. Because people survive rape. They have to live with it. They remember.

  No one remembers that guy they killed. No one cares because he was part of something sick and disgusting. And if they do remember anything about that whole fuck-up, it’s that Ford, Spencer, and Ronin were trying to save women, not hurt them.

  “What?” I ask them.

  “We can help you, Nolan,” Mathilda says.

  “If I help you,” I finish.

  “Yes,” Louise says.

  “Well, what’s the price? I might not be able to afford you.”

  They laugh at that. “You can,” Mathilda says. “Come with us.”

  I follow them through the jungle for so long, I start to get paranoid. If they were a little older I might think this was a set-up. Five Aston has been one surprise after another from start to finish. Why wouldn’t his children be the same way? Maybe they’re gonna tie me up somewhere? Poke me with those sticks a little more? Then laugh in my face as they—

  “OK,” Mathilda says, halting her little three-man brigade with one raised hand. “That’s what we want. If you get us that, we’ll turn you into Mr. Respectable. Deal?”

  I squint my eyes out at the water and see nothing but… you know, water. “You want the ocean?” I ask.

  “Not the ocean, doofus,” Louise quips. “Them!”

  I follow her pointing finger to a few small specks on the water. Heads, I realize. Animals swimming. “What the fuck are they?”

  I deserve the two sharp pokes to my ribs, but I’m about to protest anyway when Louise says, “Pigs.”

  “We want a pig, Romantic,” Mathilda says. “A very specific pig.”

  “And you’re gonna get him for us,” Louise says.

  I watch from the safety of the jungle as they swim towards the beach. Then one by one they come ashore. The first one is huge. He’s got tusks and everything. I watch silently as a few more spill out of the waves after him, all of them equally as terrifying.

  “Fuck that,” I say. “I’m not getting you a wild pig. Your parents would kill me.”

  “No, not them,” Louise says. “Watch.”

  I do that. And more pi
gs come out of the water. Smaller ones. Then, finally, one very tiny one.

  “We want the baby pig,” Mathilda says. “It’s gonna die if we don’t help it. It’s too little.”

  “It’s not growing,” Louise adds, her voice small and sad now. “We need to save it.”

  “So if you get us that little pig,” Mathilda says, “we’ll help you.”

  Chapter Sixteen - WEST

  I should be doing date day with my soon-to-be wife like Nolan, but I’m not. I’m too fucking worried about Ethan to even think about the wedding.

  I just can’t get that conversation out of my head. Both the one with Pax and the one with Ethan.

  I like you guys, so I stick around. But I don’t need you guys.

  We’re just born this way.

  So that’s it, I guess. We’re just born this way.

  I love my new son. Love him. Like… he’s mine now. And then I wonder if that’s how my parents felt about me. Not the biological ones, they never gave a shit. Neither of them. If my mom loved me the way I love Ethan, she wouldn’t have killed herself in that restaurant. I mean, I understand it’s not reasonable to say she wouldn’t have killed herself at all. Mental illness is overpowering in a way that renders you incapable of seeing straight. But she killed herself while I was there. While I was waiting for food in a restaurant. If she loved me—even if she couldn’t control her urge to end it all—wouldn’t she have made sure I didn’t have to experience her final act with her?

  And my father. Fuck him. Bastard.

  So that leaves me with the Conrads.

  “What are you thinking about?” Tori asks.

  “Family,” I say.

  “So me and Ethan,” she says.

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “Because that’s all I’ve got left.”

  “They weren’t your family, West. I don’t know why you can’t see this. And it would be completely normal for you to change your name back—”

  “No,” I say, cutting her off.

  “Why? Why would you want to perpetuate the Conrad name? After everything they did to you?”

  But she’s missing the point. “They did a lot for me too, ya know.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like got me off the fucking beach! Like fed me, like sent me to the best schools—”

  “And they only did that because they knew you had the gold tucked away in some secret spot.”

  “They didn’t need the gold, Victoria. They were fucking rich.”

  “Maybe,” she says. “But then you should be asking yourself why they got you mixed up in all that Mister stuff in the first place.”

  I know why. It was because they wanted a son in the Silver Society. And the whole fucking thing is wrong. I get that too. But they’re the only parents I ever really had and that has to count for something.

  “Ethan already left for the beach,” Tori says. “I’m gonna join him.”

  She turns away from me and walks down the path.

  And Ethan. I mean… fucking Ethan had parents too. At one point he was part of a family. And yeah, now we’re his parents, so how would I feel if he grew up to hate me? Us. Both of us. Even after we loved him, cared for him, and did all we could for him.

  Even if it was all misguided.

  I mean, he’s gonna find out who I am eventually, right? He’s gonna figure all this shit out. He’s gonna know I turned on my parents and then he’s gonna wonder… will I turn on him too?

  I kinda feel like… if I give up my adopted parents, that means all adopted kids feel like this. That those new parents are just the substitutes. And I don’t get why Tori can’t see this. She was adopted too. Her father was in some shit too. And even though he’s dead and he died saving her, he got her mixed up in things. Awful things, just like my parents did. And yet we don’t have this conversation, over and over and over, about him.

  I make my way down to the beach to find them. Tori, because I love her and I know she loves me and the only reason she’s so insistent on this whole Conrad thing is because she hates them. For what they did and didn’t do. For the way they used me. All that shit. And Ethan, because I love that little boy. I see myself in him more and more every single day.

  Which is probably the scary part.

  What if he’s got secrets like I did? What if… what if he betrays me, like I did my parents?

  And there it is.

  My problem.

  I betrayed them. I fucking turned on them. They took me in, gave me a new life. A good life. No… a great fucking life. And yeah, it was based on something dark, and if I’m being honest, probably evil. But it was so much better than I had before.

  Where would I be now if they had never shown up? Dead? In prison? Crazy, like my mom?

  That day my mom killed herself in the restaurant bathroom was the worst fucking day of my life. And the day Mrs. Conrad took me in… that was the best. Never mind all the shit that came after. I felt saved when I became Weston Conrad. I felt saved.

  But still, it wasn’t enough for me to take their side. What if… when Ethan finds out the whole truth about me he decides I’m not worthy of his loyalty either?

  What if he does to me what I did to them?

  Tori and Ethan are swimming out to the rock he was fishing off of last night when I reach the beach.

  He’s got poles—enough for all of us, because that’s the kind of kid he is. And bait. He showed me this morning. Some little crabs he dug up from the sand before we even woke up. He even brought sunscreen for everyone. Because that’s the kind of kid he is.

  Smart. Self-sufficient. Strong.

  Just like me.

  One day he’s gonna wake up and realize not only does he not need us, but he never loved us either. One day he’s gonna walk out and never come back. Or worse, he’s gonna set me up for a great big fall.

  Just. Like. Me.

  It breaks my heart, it really does. Because I love him. I want only the best for my first son. I want to give him the world. Every opportunity. Every advantage.

  And isn’t that all my parents wanted too?

  And yet… it wasn’t enough for me, was it?

  I turned on them and Ethan will probably turn on me too. Because Tori can pretend all she wants that we’re the good guys here, but no matter what Tori says, we’re not. Maybe we’re not the bad guys either, but we’re far from perfect. We’re flawed and we make mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes.

  I want to forgive my mother. My dad too. But they’re dead now, so that opportunity is gone forever.

  “Dad!” Ethan calls from his perch on the rock. “Come on! They’re biting and I see lobsters!”

  I take off my shirt as I walk across the scorching sand. I let the sun beat down on me, let the salty mist sprinkle my face as I wade into the crashing waves.

  And then I go under.

  The ocean covers me. Blankets me in the past. It cools me down and brings it all back.

  It feels like home…

  …and I remember.

  I remember everything…

  I am thin. Too thin. But I’m lean too. My arms are long and my body is strong, but there’s no fat on me to cushion the blows I took over the past few days and the bruises are fresh, so they are purple and crimson against my summer-tanned skin.

  My father is dead. They told me that. So now I have no one.

  “Hello there,” the woman says. “I’m Mrs. Conrad.”

  I say nothing. Not because I’m being defiant and surly, but just because I have nothing to say. She wants something from me. I don’t yet know what it is, but she wants something from me. Everyone wants something from everyone. It’s just the way of the world.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks.

  I nod. It’s just the truth. And there’s no way to hide that fact because my small chest is bare like my feet, and if I were to touch my ribs, I’d feel every single one of them protrude out from my flesh.

  “Come sit down at the table,” she says. “We have plenty of food for you
here. Do you like seafood?”

  I shouldn’t. Because it feels like that’s the only thing I’ve eaten over the past few years. But I do. I love it. It makes me feel free and every time I eat the day’s catch at night, I feel strong. Strong enough to go on another day. And that makes me think that if I consume what’s in the sea I’ll live. Even through the beatings. Even through the insults. Even through death.

  The table is long and there’s a lot of chairs. So many I feel compelled to count them. Sixteen, I come up with. But there are only three place settings. One at the very head, near the window that has an expansive view of the ocean waves crashing against rocks, and two on either side.

  A man is sitting in the one at the head. The other two are empty now, but I know I’m supposed to sit in one and she—Mrs. Conrad—will sit in the other.

  I take my seat and place my hands in my lap to prevent them from grabbing at the crab legs stacked on a large silver platter.

  “You can have one, son,” the man says. “Have as many as you want.”

  I catch crabs and lobsters. Almost every day in the summer. But I’ve never had this much food in front of me at one time.

  “Do you like it with butter?” Mrs. Conrad asks. She recognizes the look on my face as confusion, so she adds, “Do you like to dip your crab legs in hot butter?”

  I shrug. “I dunno,” I say, in the strongest voice I can muster up through my split lips.

  “Try it,” she says, dipping some crab meat into a small dish on her plate and then putting it in her mouth. She smiles through that first taste. “Mmmm.” She hums. “It’s good. And it has calories you need. I don’t need the extra calories.” She laughs. “But you do. If you dip it in butter it will taste even better than you can imagine. And it’ll make you stronger too. Help you heal,” she adds.

  I pick a crab leg from the platter and crack it near the claw, then dip the claw in the butter and suck out the meat.

  My head swoons, that’s how good the butter tastes. My whole body vibrates from the food after being starved for three days.

  I eat. Like really eat for the first time in my life. I eat everything they put in front of me.