Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5) Page 2

  Standing close to the corner of the kitchen, I watched the two men that found me the previous night. They promised to feed me, give me a bed and that they wouldn’t call the police. The sandwich that Gabriel handed me sealed the deal; I hadn’t eaten in so long. At least, that’s how I remember it. My past is mostly a shadow, but I fight daily to keep two things present: her and my music.

  The two blond boys watched me but neither one spoke to me. JC and MJ. Both glanced at each other and nodded, reading each other’s mind. As one of them began to mumble under his breath, she skipped into the kitchen with her long brown curls, bright green eyes and a bright smile.

  “Morning, JC, morning, MJ,” she greeted her brothers, then turned around to look at the two men. “Morning, parental units. How can I help?” Her nose wiggled as she stared at the table. “Do we have a guest?”

  “No,” answered one of the twins, angling his head toward me. “More like a new resident.”

  She pivoted and scanned me from head to toe. Everyone’s attention turned to me then diverted back to her. The parents watched her closely and neither one breathed as she spoke, “Hi.” Her voice was the sweetest melody to my ears. “My name is AJ,” she introduced herself closing the distance between us. “Well, Ainsley but AJ is what everyone calls me. Who are you?”

  Dumbfounded by her, I spit out my name, sounding like an idiot, “Porter Kendrick.”

  Unlike the boys, she asked why I was there.

  “Your dad found him yesterday night, during my concert, baby girl,” the man named Chris explained. “Hiding in the bathroom of the bar.” I dropped my head, ashamed to hear the story.

  The man with green eyes similar to hers continued the explanation about how they found me. Cold, hungry, and holding onto my old guitar. Pathetic. My heart pulsated rapidly, waiting for her rejection.

  “Where are you from?” she questioned.

  “Alabama.” To this day, I’ve no idea why I shared my story with her. Why I told her about the accident that killed my mother and two siblings when I was four. “My father was driving the car,” I continued, pulling my shirt up revealing the scar that begins on my left clavicle and goes down to my ribs. I then pointed out the scar on the back of my ear. “A piece of glass cut through. If it had come closer to my jugular, I’d . . . He’s in jail—my dad, for killing my family.”

  AJ extended her hand, grabbing mine. Squeezing it gently, the warmth that she sent through my body was different from any touch I’ve ever felt. Tender, loving. I had no previous memory of feeling safe, at peace. In that moment, I knew that I’d love her for the rest of my life. But loving didn’t mean I’d be able to keep her with me forever.

  No.

  I lost her and now I’m paying for not treating her like she deserved, for losing myself instead of being the man she believed I was.

  “Mr. Kendrick.” One of the nurses approaches me. “Dr. Arnett is ready for you.”

  I set my old guitar inside its case and let the nurse push my wheelchair toward the building. Three weeks ago, I had my last surgery to reconstruct my femur. I have screws, plates, and artificial bone in different parts of my body. This is what my foster parents meant when they said: “Drugs destroy you.” I should’ve listened to them. There are some lessons we should learn from others’ experiences, but I learned my lesson the hard way. I got mixed up with who I thought was a dealer, but no, I got myself mixed up with an entire cartel.

  “Porter,” Dr. Arnett greets me as I enter his office. “How are you feeling today?” I shrug, because I don’t feel like talking. “Anything in particular you want to talk about?” I shake my head. “Maybe about your family? A friend who isn’t AJ?”

  AJ is the only person I’ve spoken about. There’s no family, friends, or acquaintances I’d like to mention. My first family died in a car accident when I was four. I don’t remember my mother’s face, her voice, or her scent. It’s hard to picture my older brother, or my baby sister. They’ve been gone for so long. Closing my eyes I concentrate on my childhood, but the earliest memories I can grasp are from when I went to live with the Decker family. When I tell Dr. Arnett that I lost my memories, I’m not lying.

  I recall the basics; that my father was the one who drove the car when our family died. That I was left behind and went to live with my grandparents. But then everything is a black hole, nothing else is clear until they found me. His blue eyes found me cowering inside one of the stalls in the restroom.

  “Are you lost?” he asked and I didn’t move. “Don’t be afraid.” My stomach tightened and I hugged my guitar close to me, afraid that he’d take it away. “You like to play music?” I nodded. “My house is full of musicians. I’m the only one who doesn’t know how to play an instrument.”

  “Gabe are you here?” A deep voice asked and I made myself into a small ball, hoping that they’d go away. The other man approached me; he was almost as tall but with brown hair and green eyes. His eyebrow crooked as he spotted me. “What do we have here?”

  “Not sure, babe, I think he’s afraid and maybe hungry.” He squatted and lowered his voice, “Why don’t you come with us? There’s enough food in the dressing room for everyone. Maybe later we can take you home for the night while we find your parents.”

  “No, I . . . no, you’re going to try to send me back to him,” I responded, my gut tightening—fearing the worst. “I don’t want to go back.”

  Something bad happened at my grandparent’s house, but I don’t recall what I did or why I feared going back again. They didn’t force me to tell them my story, but convinced me to walk with them to an office where I was given a sandwich. The two men introduced themselves as Gabe and Chris Colthurst-Decker. They were husbands and had three children at home—triplets. Chris was a musician. Gabe was an actor. Their unconventional family was loving, caring and I became a part of them. Until I fucked up so badly it almost got them killed and lost them forever.

  “Porter, these sessions only help when you participate,” Dr. Arnett says after a long silence. “If you want to talk about AJ, I guess we can revisit her.”

  I shake my head, talking about AJ will take more than two hours. She’s special. Different from anyone I had met. She saw something inside me that no one had seen before. She made me believe that I wasn’t stupid. It’s because of her that they found I had dyslexia and, because of her, I learned how to read. Fuck, I swore to always kiss the ground she walked on, to care for her. But I didn’t. I bang my head a couple of times with the heel of my hand.

  “Porter, are you okay?”

  “No,” I finally speak. “My purpose in life was to protect her, to make her happy, to be her best friend. She loved me and, instead of keeping that love safe, I took it for granted. I pushed her away. I lost her.”

  My heart aches with the reminder that it’s been almost a year since I saw her last. I laid in bed battered with several broken bones and a shitload of issues. The moment she entered my room, her worried eyes set on me. As her lips quivered, hope filled my heart, until her bright eyes connected with mine and in a second, they moved toward him. That’s when my world collided and I knew that I’d lost her forever. Her eyes radiated love, her voice spoke sweetly to him, and they embraced as if they hadn’t seen each other for centuries. She had found someone else and I had no one else to blame but me.

  The buzzer announces that my time is over; a nurse enters the room to wheel me away. “Porter, only you can help yourself. We’re here to guide you, but we can’t take you to the next level if you refuse to work.”

  I shrug, because there’s nothing they can do for me. No matter what I tell them, what I do or whom I talk to, my woman is gone, my kid is dead, my career is over and the only family that loved me now hates me.

  Love is a four-letter word more powerful than the energy of the sun. Love can move mountains. Love can conquer all. Those phrases have been around since . . . Forever? Are they even true? The fact is, we all want to believe them. But there’s also the other side of the
story, the sad truth. Love can destroy. Once, there was this boy I met with a set of amber eyes and a bright smile who took my breath away. It wasn’t love at first sight. No, we fell in love slowly, through the day-to-day contact. Between AP Calc and art class, it was innocent, pure. And as we grew, our love did too.

  He promised to be my prince charming as long as I could save him when he needed me. No other man could make me feel strong, safe, loved, and cherished. Leonard Brooke and I experienced so many milestones together. We celebrated the small successes and our biggest achievements. From waiting for me at the DMV during my driving test, to holding my hair while I puked my guts out on my twenty-first birthday. Anywhere one went, the other followed. We fought together during the small battles and those big wars. He taught me how to live; I taught him how to laugh. We were partners, each other’s teachers in life. In front of God and our families, we swore to love each other in sickness and in health until death do us part.

  Pressing his portrait to my chest, I let the tears that I held in during the funeral service fall. He’s gone. Left me without a warning, a goodbye . . . Leonard Brooke broke his promise. He swore to grow old with me. Among everything he taught me, he forgot to teach me how to live without him. My heart can’t beat any longer, my lungs forgot what to do with the air around me. Five days ago my husband was snatched from this world, leaving his wife and adoring children to learn how to live without his smile, his blueberry waffles, and his love.

  The words of Detective Murray, from the homicide division of the Arapahoe County Sheriff’s office, resonate inside my head, “Mrs. Brooke, we’re here to take you to the coroner’s office to identify the body of Leonard Brooke.” He said much more but I can’t recall the words. The moment he mentioned body my world crumbled. Of course, I accompanied them, praying that they had the wrong person—maybe Leonard lost his license.

  But there he was, sleeping like an angel on top of a metal table pale and lifeless. I lost my husband.

  I lost my life.

  Each morning I reach to my left side hoping that the past months have been nothing but a long, bad dream. The longest nightmare in the history of the world, but no. Leonard’s side of the bed remains empty—like my heart. The inside of my wrist misses his feathery kisses that would travel all the way up to my mouth. He took a piece of me with him. No, he took all of me.

  “Keep on going, Mac, don’t stop breathing,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut. I’m working hard to keep the burning tears at bay, but I fail.

  “I can’t. Please, come back to me,” I plea. “Help me because I’m drowning, Leo, this isn’t worth it without you.”

  His loss is still a sharp knife that cuts deeper and deeper into my heart. My heart has holes. I might look alive, but I’m dead inside. Wiping the tears with the edge of my sheet, I sober up, because even death has responsibilities. Two beautiful responsibilities that became my life support. Harper and Finn. It is because of them that I drag myself out of bed every morning and pretend to function like any other mother. But inside I’m incomplete.

  Losing my mind.

  Living in hell.

  Broken.

  “Mommy, you forgot to open the blinds again,” Harper, my five-year-old daughter says, as she storms into the room. I wish I could stop her, but I don’t have the energy to argue with her. With two swift movements, the morning illuminates the cold walls of the bedroom. “Good morning, Mom it’s time to head to school.”

  “It’s Saturday,” I remind her. Her small shoulder slump and her face falls. These days school is more fun than staying at home with her mom and brother. “We’ll find something fun to do.”

  “Like what?” She narrows her gaze, with the same “I-don’t-believe-you” look Leonard had, yet she waits because maybe today she’ll have her mother back.

  Grocery shopping trips aren’t fun with me. Not like when she went with Daddy. They’d organize a treasure hunt and if they found everything, they’d get ice cream afterwards. Sounds easy, but I don’t have the energy to enter into Leonard’s office and search for the maps he created. No. That room will remain closed for as long as I need it to while I pretend that he’s in there. Leo is working on a secret project for the United Nations and can’t come out until he finishes it. Whatever he’s building will stop global warming, bring world peace, and eliminate world hunger. That’s why he’s there, because the entire human race depends on him.

  I tilt my chin up, looking at the ceiling. Expecting a miracle, begging for a sign, or anything that’ll take me out of this hellhole. Waiting for the wave of sadness to drift away, working overtime to be the mother she deserves. Why did you leave me? I ask one more time.

  What would Leo say to make her smile? “For ice cream, then how about we—”

  “We haven’t had breakfast yet, Mom.” My gaze shifts to the clock on top of the nightstand. Seven in the morning, another twelve hours before I can crawl back in bed. “How about if you make Mickey Mouse waffles.”

  That was Leonard’s favorite breakfast, another thing I refuse to make. My heart squeezes as I realize that everything was his favorite. He was full of life, love. A happy man that found greatness among everyone and everything. Living for the moment, every minute counted. “In a blink of an eye something can happen” was his motto. In fact, it happened in the blink of an eye. A junkie mugged and shot him, leaving him on the side of the road bleeding out to die.

  Grief, the pain that you feel when you lose a loved one, never goes away, but you learn to handle it. I thought we had, that it had diminished in some sort of way, but it hasn’t. Not one bit. Each holiday, each milestone, each anniversary or birthday, we’re all reminded of who we lost. His absence is bigger. It fills the house with a certain void that asphyxiates me. I’m not sure how we’ll survive without him. Every time we’re supposed to celebrate, we mourn more and more.

  A sob escapes from my gut and I can’t stop myself. My body crumbles and Harper’s little body is suddenly next to me. She’s sobbing with me. Fuck. I need to find the strength for them.

  Lying in bed next to my son, I wait for him to fall asleep. I wonder when he’ll come back to me. Finn Michael Brooke was once a happy boy filled with life. A curious kid who, at twenty-six months, spoke in full sentences and asked more questions than I could answer. His light brown eyes crinkled when he grinned or as his full-blown laugh filled a room. All of that disappeared when he realized that daddy wasn’t coming back. The therapist says it’s a phase. Phase or not, I’m desperate. It’s been almost two years and he’s half-alive.

  “You need a change,” Mom said during our weekly call. “Get out of Colorado, find a new place. You’re not even from there, sweetheart.”

  “Where would I go, Mom?” I asked without disclosing that my financial situation wouldn’t allow me for much. We both knew there was no way I’d move with her and Dad to Florida. They lived in a retirement community.

  “Aunt Molly has space; she’s offered it before.”

  Aunt Molly lives in Portland, alone with a cat and two extra rooms. I love her dearly; she’s a little eccentric woman with a kind heart and a wonderful sense of humor.

  “Mom, I have to go, let’s talk later.”

  At the end of the call, Mom suggested I move away from what makes me sad. My aunt has a free place that would give me the new beginning I urgently need. “Think about it, honey.”

  What’s there to think about? If for some miraculous reason Leonard came back, he wouldn’t find us. For just a second I close my eyes, finding Leo’s amber ones staring at me. The brightness coming from them illuminates the dark room. His presence warms my heart, making it beat fast and hard. That fresh aftershave scent of his softens the thick atmosphere. Finn’s room is filled with my husband’s presence, but is he real or am I losing my mind?

  The panic is back. My eyes sweep the room, then look back to the bed’s footrest. He’s still wearing a pair of khaki pants, a button-down shirt, and his wool sweater. His brown hair swooped to the left, n
ot one hair out of place.

  Thank God.

  It was all a dream.

  “You’re back,” I murmur, not wanting to wake up my little boy. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me—leave us.”

  “Kenzie, you’re never alone,” he says, his unmoving lips giving me a tender smile. “I’m with you, inside your heart—always. But it’s time to let me go, baby. Find a way out, for them. For our little ones.”

  “Leo, I can’t,” I choke with my tears. “Take me with you, please.”

  “You’re my strong girl; be their hero, pull through this. I promise you that better days are yet to come and even when you don’t see me, I’ll be next to you.”

  “I don’t know where to start.” He tilts his head giving me his typical, “Kenzie, who are you fooling” glare. “Leo, please just come back.”

  “Portland, start there. I can’t stay long, but remember—I’ll never leave you.”

  “No, Leo, don’t go,” I beg when the phone rings and he’s gone.

  My eyes flutter open, I’m still in Finn’s room, but on top of his Mickey Mouse bedding is Leo’s wool sweater. I snatch it, hugging it tight. Absorbing his essence and believing, for a second, he was here. The sweater has his fresh scent. The ringing of my phone, pounding my head like an electric hammer, wouldn’t stop. With each ring, the automated voice repeats: “Call from Mom.”

  There’s no way I’ll answer her call, not while the shattered pieces of my heart become atoms. My mind remains trapped inside that dream, or whatever had happened just now. After several attempts, Mom finally gives up, but leaves a message. I carry myself closer to my room, to listen to her voicemail.