Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5) Read online

  “Hey, it’s midnight,” I hear her raspy voice before I see her enter the music room. “Why are you up so late?” AJ’s long hair is tied up into a messy bun and she’s only wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts.

  “Why are you up so late?” I ask straightening the music sheets I’m trying to read. Reading music is the hardest part of being a musician. Two years ago I didn’t see the point of their existence, now I understand that to make my compositions permanent, I have to write them down. Also, to play a classic piece, I have to memorize the sheets. According to Chris Decker, playing by ear is a great ability, but an accomplished musician can do both. “Your parents hate when you go to sleep so late.”

  She shrugs.

  “What happened?”

  “Gabe.” She scrunches her nose. Uh-oh. “He’s leaving for a couple of weeks. I heard them . . . his publicist found a new girlfriend for him.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” She shakes her head, turning around and walking away. That’s my cue to follow. “AJ, you know that’s how they have to do things, don’t you?”

  “What if one day he falls in love with the girl and leaves us?” She sniffs, walking toward the back door. When she arrives at the swings, she sits on the tire swing and stares at the stars. “Aren’t we enough for him?”

  I can’t answer her question, because I don’t understand much about who my foster parents are or why they behave the way they do. They’re a gay couple with three children who live in a secluded area. No one knows about their marriage to each other, or that AJ, MJ, and JC exist—other than family and friends. They hide from the public and, according to AJ, they hide a lot of shit from their children too. All these fucked up shit hurts AJ, but her parents don’t give a damn about it.

  “You’re enough for me,” I say, sitting on the swing next to her. “They are your parents, I get it, but you have to grow immune to what they do. Celebrities never have long-steady relationships. I wouldn’t be surprised if they split one day.”

  The sound of her crying intensifies with the stupid shit I just told her. I’m fucking bad at this shit. For a moment, I think about heading back to the music room. A girl is crying next to me because I said the wrong thing. How do I fix it? With a lie? I mean, how many Hollywood couples marry and stay together? Not many. My foster parents have been together for maybe eighteen or twenty years. If AJ hadn’t been sheltered for so long, she’d understand the dynamic and the shit her parents do wouldn’t hurt her as much.

  “Maybe I’m wrong,” I say, regretting everything I blurted out without thinking. “You know I’m not very smart.”

  She faces me with a grief-filled face that makes me want to punch myself for being such a fucking idiot. A slight frown starts forming on that sad face, her lips twitching a couple of times and she shakes her head.

  “I hate when you say that, Port, you’re smart,” she whispers while wiping her tears and shaking her head in disappointment. This is one of the many reasons why I love her so much. After fucking up really badly, this pretty girl is trying to make me feel good about myself. “I’m crying because maybe you’re right. Why would anyone keep hiding the love of his life?”

  That’s an answer I don’t have and I don’t dare to think about, one wrong move and she might head back inside the house to pick a fight with her parents.

  “When you’re famous, you’re not going to do this, are you?” I shake my head at her question, because when I’m famous, I’ll be dating her. AJ being mine would be an honor. In a few years, I’ll ask her to be mine and we’ll be different from her parents. “Good, I trust that you’ll do the right thing with . . . whoever.”

  “Ainsley Janine,” I hear one of her parents calling her. “It’s past your bed time, young lady.”

  “Is it wrong to hate them a little?” she asks and I tilt my head to the side not wanting to answer that question. “Have you ever heard them calling my brothers because it’s past their bed time?”

  “You have to sleep eight hours,” I remind her.

  “If I were Gabe’s daughter, he wouldn’t hide me and Chris would love me as much as he loves my brothers,” she whispers, tears rolling down her cheeks. “If I were Gabe’s, I wouldn’t be sick . . . fuck, I hate when I get emotional.”

  As she clears the new tears with the hem of her shirt, I rise from the swing and pull her to my body, holding her for a while and letting her cry. Tonight this is all I can do; my words are worthless. Maybe my arms will be able to scare the sadness away, but I want to do so much more with her. Kiss her; feel her, as I fill her body with something else to replace the sorrow that her parents evoke.

  “Some days I think you’re the only person who understands me, Port.” Her words fill my heart with love. After releasing a long breath, she pushes herself lightly from my chest and gives me a fucking smile that weakens my knees. “Thank you, for listening. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you either,” I respond, offering her my hand and walking side by side toward the house. “No matter what, I’ll always be by your side, AJ.”

  “Good night, Port,” she says, entering her house. As her green eyes meet mine, my world makes sense again.

  “What do you mean you’re not going to college?” AJ exclaims, as she takes a seat next to me. “My parents wouldn’t allow us to do that. Before you can have a music career, you need to have a degree.”

  Yes, that’s the rule. Except, I’m not their kid. Last night my foster parents and I had a long conversation about my future. Chris had sent a demo to a few of his friends to see what they thought about my music. The feedback we received helped me change their minds as to what I should do after I finish high school. A couple of his friends wanted me to sign with their label, but of course, Chris told them that I’m taken. He agreed to be my agent and produce my records. In a week I’ll be recording my first EP, the four songs we picked are from some of the music AJ and I have been composing.

  My foster parents have their reservations about the no college thing, but if I show them that I’m capable of handling myself in the music business, they’ll get off my case. If everything that Chris told me comes to fruition, I’m going to live on a tour bus for almost a year, and if I do everything right, in about four years, AJ and I will have our own home just the way she wants. A big house for a big family—our family. We haven’t taken any steps yet, but soon we will. I can only be away from her for so long.

  “AJ, next week I’m recording an EP,” I explain. “This is my start to becoming a famous musician. Our music will be heard in places we haven’t visited yet.”

  “College is important, Port,” she retorts. “I believe in you. You’re so talented; it won’t matter if you start now or wait for a couple of years.”

  Her eyes dim, and I don’t want to disappoint her because she’s the reason why I work hard every day. The reason why I wake up at five in the morning to practice. The reason I go to bed long after I finish all my homework. But as much as I love her, I can’t wait any longer. College isn’t for everyone, and it’s definitely not for me. I don’t belong in some classroom, and whatever they can teach me there, I can learn in life. Chris Decker was inducted into The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame a couple of years ago and he didn’t go to college. Well, he eventually went back years later. Still, he’s a prime example that college isn’t necessary to succeed. Except, I won’t bring that up to AJ, she always finds a way to prove me wrong.

  “Can you be happy for me?” I take her hand. “Please, your approval and support mean everything to me.”

  “Online classes?” I growl at her suggestion. “That’s what Jacob, Matthew and I are doing, taking some general-ed college classes from home so when we turn eighteen, we can head to a real school and graduate early. Dad doesn’t want us to miss the college experience. Why not do it? You can work, attend classes from wherever you’re at, and graduate in four years.”

  AJ is the last person I want to disappoint. The
re are plenty of reasons, but the biggest one is because I love her. Since the first day we met she’s tried to protect me, to nurture me and make sure I’m happy. Just as I do with her. I’d give anything to see her smile all the time; I’d give my life for hers and would cross the entire universe if that’s what she needed from me. The only thing I don’t do is kiss her or touch her more than a friend would. We’re not ready to take that step, and I fear that if I do before she’s old enough, her parents might kick me out or hate me. Gabe and Chris Decker are important to me, even if they are only my foster parents; I love them as if they were my real parents. Fuck, this entire thing with AJ sounds fucked up, but it’s so real. A few more years I tell myself. Once she turns eighteen we can be together. They’ll understand, and I’ll always be the man that she deserves. That’s why I work hard, to deserve her.

  I brush a strand of hair from her face, watching her irises grow wide. Fuck, if only I could kiss her. “You’re the smartest person I know, AJ. If you think that’s what I should do, I’ll do it. For you.”

  She shakes her head. “No, do it for yourself, Port.” She places her delicate hand on top of my chest. “You’re also smart, I believe in you.”

  There’s a famous saying claiming that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. As I look around the dressing room, I consider this. The other two bands I’m playing with have been fucking around with the fans. A couple of them have girlfriends and the vocalist for Paranoia is married. The groupie who is riding him doesn’t seem to give a shit about it. Hell, Archer Doherty isn’t giving a shit about his marital status either. I pledged my love, my heart, and my soul to one woman four years ago—when I met her. Correction, a girl. She’s only sixteen. A beautiful, girl who doesn’t know I love her. She’s miles away from me and we’re not a couple.

  Then why is it that I feel guilty by only looking at the groupies with barely any clothing on who are trying to score a man tonight?

  Searching for some wise words of advice from my foster parents, I only remember one phrase: Always use condoms, boy. Yes, Chris told me that I was old enough to have sex, but not to drink or experiment with drugs. If I am to stay a part of his record label, I have to accept and follow his rules. No alcohol, drugs, or disturbing behavior. Not sure what the latter meant, but I am staying away from alcohol and drugs.

  “Hey, Kendrick, relax,” Archer shouts at me, as the woman who rode him only seconds ago gets off his lap. “Get laid! Estella here knows how to treat the newbies, right, babe?” He spanks her bare ass.

  Estella flips her dark hair to the side giving me a tempting smile with those full lips that I want to bite. Fuck. I swallow hard. Rubbing my face, I search around for something to distract me. I need an excuse to push away the hot, fucking, little number that is right in front of me.

  “Here,” Archer says, handing me a joint. “Have a little something; it’s mixed with some other shit to wake you up.”

  “No man, Decker will have my balls if I do.”

  “What happens on the road, stays on the road.” Archer winks at me, pinching Estella’s tits. “Decker won’t know that his prodigy is having fucking fun like the rest of us.”

  I close my eyes for a moment, thinking about AJ. We’re not serious, and no one would ever tell her the shit I do. When the time comes when I can be with her, I’ll stop whatever I’m doing. For now, I can have fun and learn a thing or two before I make her mine. It’s only two years, how bad could it be?

  From the kitchen window, I watch Harper and Finn playing outside with their new toys. Three days ago, a tricycle appeared in the backyard along with some other fun things that my kids can play with including a big, pink plastic dollhouse. All slightly used, but clean. My kids think they’re brand new and their daddy sent them over from heaven. I don’t have the heart to burst their bubble yet, but I might have to tell them the truth. That maybe Porter is the one who bought them.

  “They look happier than they were three weeks ago,” Aunt Molly mentions, as she chops the carrots. “How’s the job search going?”

  I chew on my lip, thinking about the stupid job I need and laugh as I’m washing the spinach. That’s as much hands-on experience I have with plants. “The Department of Agriculture called, they have an entry level offer. I’d love to accept, but twenty-five thousand dollars a year with no benefits is not going to cover much.”

  “That’s all?” she replies and I nod.

  Then I voice what I’ve been thinking, “The holiday season is approaching. Chances are they’re going to be hiring at all of the department stores.”

  As I’m about to hand over the spinach to my aunt, I spot him, Porter. He’s sitting by the tree, strumming his guitar. Finn stops pouring sand and his attention goes to the man who, from what it looks like from here, is singing too. Harper’s head shows through the dollhouse window.

  “He’s the whole package,” my aunt says, standing next to me. “Handsome, thoughtful and he can sing.”

  “How long has he been living next door?”

  “Two years, and no, I have no idea what happened to him.” She moves toward the counter and continues chopping. “All I know is that there’s loss in his heart.”

  Diverting my eyes from the sink back to the yard, our gazes collide. I feel as if there’s a part of him that wants to tell me his secret, let some of the weight he harbors inside go. Free himself from whatever loss he carries. And the scary part is that I want to know it all and be the one he trusts—and takes away his pain.

  “Finn likes him,” my aunt continues. “Which reminds me, have you thought about taking him to another specialist? It’s not normal that he won’t talk.”

  I shake my head. “They tested him in Denver and the psychologist didn’t find anything wrong with him. She called it a phase.”

  She sighs and the words she’s not saying linger inside the room. Two years is no longer a phase. Something more must be going on with him.

  “Well, everything is ready.” She dries her hands. “Go and set the table while I call them.”

  I do as she asks, thankful that unlike my mother, she restrained herself from saying something more about my little boy. It already frustrates me that I spend a couple of hours a day working with him and he refuses to speak. With the lack of insurance, I’m just trying to do what I’ve learned on the Internet and the books I got from the library.

  “Don’t forget to wash your hands,” my aunt yells. “You too, Porter, that guitar must be filthy.”

  As I turn toward the backyard door, our eyes connect again and he gives me a boyish smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

  My gut clenches and the uneasiness is back. It’s not fear, or distrust. Whatever his presence provokes is better to ignore. When my aunt enters the dining room I have to ask, “He’s eating with us?”

  “Of course, we share a kitchen.” My aunt winks. “And the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. That’s why I’m cooking him three meals a day.” She fixes her hair and sets the side dishes down before heading for the meatloaf.

  I don’t know if she’s serious, but I release a loud laugh. She’s about thirty-some years older than Porter is. Would that make her a cougar or a saber-tooth?

  Finn approaches the table, looking at each place. Then his gaze goes to Porter who starts placing the silverware I haven’t set yet. Once he finishes, he slides on one of the chairs and Finn follows suit—on the seat right next to Porter. The man smiles down at Finn before we start serving the food. I’d love to think further about their connection; instead, I enjoy the meal and forget about the serious man who has conquered my little boy’s heart.

  “Should we write down a schedule? Because you’re cutting into my alone time every night.”

  I shake my head when I hear Porter’s voice. “No, I just wanted to thank you.”

  “For?”

  “The toys that you brought. For the way you treat Finn—my son. You’re easygoing, patient with him. He likes you.”

  “He doesn’t speak a
t all . . .” Porter trails his sentence and doesn’t finish it; instead, he takes a seat next to me placing his guitar on his lap. “Does he have some kind of disability?”

  “God I hope not,” my words stumble one after the other without even putting any thought into them. Placing the tips of my fingers on top of my lips, I think about rephrasing. I sounded cold and insensitive. The real answer should’ve been that I’ve prayed every day that whatever my son has disappears one of these nights. Because if there’s something else going on with him, I doubt that I’m strong, or capable enough to help him. I’m emotionally and financially drained. But I can’t explain how fucked up Mackenzie Brooke’s life is. And how much I’ve failed as a mother.

  Depressed for the first few months after my husband died—eighteen, or maybe twenty-four of them. I neglected my duties as a mother. I went from president of the PTCO to the mother that always dropped off her children in pajamas and who never waved back at the rest of the perfectly dressed and pristine mothers. Harper can mention at least a hundred ways how I’ve made her life miserable. While Finn hasn’t said a word in so long I can’t remember his sweet, beautiful voice.

  “She’ll be alright—Harper.” Porter’s voice sounds like a promise, and I can’t help but frown at him. How does he know that she’ll be alright? “She looks like a smart little girl and kids are resilient.” He scratches his chin and his coffee-colored eyes give me their full attention. “Change is hard and sometimes we show anger when we’re scared. Love her, as a parent that’s all you can do. Finn . . . maybe you can look into some kind of government insurance and have him tested again.” He lets out a big breath and looks at his guitar. “If all fails, I know someone who can help you. She has some fancy degrees in childhood education and special education for kids with disabilities.”