Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5) (3 page)

It’s in your smile,

Your eyes,

The way they see me

With you I’m invincible

[Chorus]

Because it’s only me and you

Me and you, no matter where you are

I own your heart and you own mine

You gave me the strength to be who I am

I
abruptly tap the guitar strings, stopping the music. My fingers can’t move from one string to the next fast enough. The strength is almost back. But the only songs I come up with are the first ones I composed to my girl. Fuck. This shit isn’t helping. My counselor insists that I have to move on. I need to forget AJ Colthurst-Decker. It is so fucking hard because my physical therapist encourages me to play the guitar to strengthen my fingers. These days, I listen to the PT guy, because music keeps
her
alive. Her memory is what keeps me going. I remember everything about her, including the first day I saw her, as if it was yesterday.

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.

L
ove 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.