Unlike Any Other (Unexpected #1)

by Claudia Burgoa

  Yes, I need to find myself.

  “There, I hope I filled that curious bone of yours.” He pushes himself up and offers a hand to help me. “Let’s go grab some food. What’s today’s plan?”

  “Pick up Dad?”

  “I’ll take you,” he offers. “Unless you have other ideas.”

  I have no plans or ideas. JC and I would have to talk about it, as MJ will be asleep until noon if he found a good hideout to avoid us.

  “Are you sticking around, Mase?”

  He takes my hand and doesn’t respond, our fingers fit perfectly.

  No, AJ, don’t do this to yourself. Remember Porter.

  2015

  A new nurse arrives. One much younger with black hair and purple tips, wearing glasses and a pink neon set of scrubs. Seven in the morning and I feel like shit. They weren’t kidding about waking me up every two hours asking my date of birth, place of birth, college, the last movie I made, first movie, my parent’s names, and so on. My head doesn’t hurt, but I’m in need of a good night’s rest.

  “Everything is normal,” the nurse says. “Your breakfast should arrive soon, sir. Call us if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” I respond and before I can ask if any of my children have arrived yet—because I want out—I notice a shadow entering my room.

  Salt and pepper hair, green eyes, and the usual t-shirt and jeans.

  “So, you’re not dead?” His left brow lifts.

  “Dead?”

  “That’s what the news was reporting yesterday,” Christian eases himself into the orange plastic chair beside me. “A terminal illness.”

  “Is that why you came, to bury my body?”

  He shakes his head, crosses one leg on top of the other and crosses his arms.

  “No, Ainse called me,” he says, “as the EMT’s arrived to bring you here. Her voice and thoughts were all over the place. Scared, I guess. Later MJ briefed me about the entire ordeal. Pretty dramatic, if I say so myself. But, that’s you, all drama.”

  The messed up hair and black circles under his eyes, along with the stubble which is longer than usual makes me wonder where he’s come from.

  “Did you just arrive?”

  “Nah, I got here around ten last night.” He shakes his head. “I stepped outside while they checked your vitals and all that shit every five freaking minutes.”

  A doctor arrives, interrupting the small talk. He also checks my vitals and reads a list of things he recommends I do, since my cholesterol levels are high.

  “Exercise, take the prescription I wrote you as indicated.” He signs something on his clipboard and then his gaze is on me again. “The lifestyle changes are on the release forms I’m signing. No smoking or drinking.”

  I huff. The guy has no right to judge me based on my career. He doesn’t know me. I go to sleep at a decent time. At least since I became a father and the kids slept through the night. I barely drank…

  Yes, I made exceptions while at a movie premier, I nurse a glass of champagne and stay late. However, it’s not the way this doctor makes it sound.

  “When can I head home?”

  “Whenever. I’ll sign your discharge papers on my way out.” The doctor adjusts his rim glasses and combs his fingers through his dark brown hair. “I recommend you stay on bed rest for the next couple of days—the concussion.” He touches his head. “Take it easy for a couple of weeks and definitely make the diet change soon. If you can, try to start it immediately. I’m sure your people can accommodate you.”

  I nod at him.

  On his way out, he stops and stares at Christian.

  “Aren’t you the singer of that eighties’ group?” he asks. “Drained Souls?”

  “Dreadful Souls,” Christian corrects in a monotone tone.

  “My dad took me to one of your concerts.” He breaks into a non-professional grin and takes a pen and his prescription pad out of his pocket. “Would you mind signing that for my father? His birthday is coming up soon and this will be the best present.”

  Christian never declines an autograph, so he signs it after asking the father’s name. When the doctor leaves, he huffs. Right before he’s about to open his mouth and complain, the nurse who attended to me earlier swooshes inside with a pen in hand and a folder.

  “You’re a legend at home,” she tells him. “My father loves you, and so do my uncle, my grandfather, and my boyfriend. We really don’t like your band’s last album—Abysmal, but the rest… grand. Would you mind giving me an autograph?”

  He does without any complaint, but his teeth are clenched and his eyes hooded. Chris hates to be reminded of that last album.

  “Since I’m here and the doctor already signed his discharge,” the nurse pulls a few papers out of the folder Christian signed, “here are the instructions for Mr. Colt’s care. You should visit your medical provider and talk to him about this incident. Some anxiety medication can help along with a healthy diet and exercise.”

  She gave the same explanation the doctor did while she unplugged all the cables, needles, and tore off all the stickers attached to my body.

  “Ready to head out, Gabriel?” Chris asks as I start dressing. “The car is in the private parking lot. There are a ton of reporters outside the hospital… you should sit with your people and sort out whatever’s going on out there. There are too many rumors—including your impending death due to a terminal illness and the millions your unborn child is about to inherit. That’ll fly great with your grown children. Not the money, but the parade of reporters and issues you’d leave after you die.”

  I flinch as the thought of having to face the media circus brings. Thankfully, a wave of ideas on how I’m going to fix everything hits me.

  With the tinted windows, we are able to pass through the press without a glitch. Christian doesn’t let me read or listen to any headlines. In fact, he connects his iPod and we ride to the sound of The Beatles the entire way to the Santa Barbara house. My eyes open and close with the shift and swerve of the car on the road.

  “Nothing has changed,” I hear Christian’s voice. “You’ve kept it the same all these years.”

  “I didn’t see any reason to modify it,” I add. “It’s not like anyone visits the place, I kept it more for… I’m not sure. It’s the first property I owned with an ocean view I’ll never get tired of.”

  There are a few reporters outside the gates; fortunately, they can’t trespass or they’ll be electrocuted. The trees block the view to the main house and is too deeply set back inside the gates for them to be able to take any pictures. Christian parks the car inside the garage; we use the back entrance and head to the master bedroom.

  “What’s the real story with the girl in the magazines, Gabriel?”

  I rub the back of my head and sigh. “She’s Carl’s niece, Carl Winston, the producer,” I fidget with the hospital bracelet. “The girl made a huge mess and he needed a hand to keep the lid on her for a while. I agreed to give her a place to stay and let them run the story about me being the fiancé slash father of the unborn child. Yesterday, I called and told him to search for someone else. I explained to him that I didn’t think about the repercussions to my family when I agreed.”

  “Is there a contingency plan, does she know about the trio?”

  “She doesn’t know about them,” I clarify. I’d never put my children in that kind of situation. “But I have the usual stock options and some money.” He sighs because that’s the way I fix my shit all the time—keep them quiet, give them money.

  “Well, that girl’s going to be trouble if you don’t dispose of her fast,” he says. “We’ll talk in a couple of days when you feel better. Now, why don’t you rest while I fetch some food from downstairs?”

  “Coco is around,” I tell him. “Unless AJ and JC are already making breakfast.”

  “It’ll
be nice to see Ainse,” he narrows his eyes. “How is she? I heard Porter arrived last night. MJ mentioned that him being here wasn’t such a great idea for either one. Know something about that?”

  There’s a story.

  “Chris, it’s fucked up—they dated for years. My sweet girl is hurting bad.” I clench my jaw. “Ainse hid something huge for the past few years. She’s letting it out slowly. Porter has to go before I fucking kill him.”

  Chris stalks away toward the door. He pinches his lips together as he scratches the back of his neck, his eyes turning red but doesn’t say anything.

  “I’ll change into a pair of sweats and take yet another nap. How long will you stay?”

  Chris doesn’t say a word; my stomach hardens at the lack of response.

  “Chris?”

  “Not sure.” He doesn’t turn around. “At least until you can fix all the shit that’s going around throughout the media and I make sure you’re alright.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “You doubted I would?” a harsh breath follows his offended tone. “After everything, you’d think I wouldn’t jump on a plane…”

  1988

  Within a few weeks, Chris bought an apartment in Seattle and passed his GED. The house became my dominion—the big room facing the sea became my library. My career had taken priority over everything else I had going on. In one year, I made four movies, two as an actor and two as a producer. My life continued to travel on the Hollywood road. I spoke a few times a week—if not daily—with Chris about his new life. He found a warehouse and converted it to the site of a recording company. I invested in it and continued handling his portfolio.

  Around September, I received a script with a role I didn’t want to pass up—Journey’s End. The plot captured me. A terminally ill patient trying to fill his bucket list, mend his relationship, and find love before he died. After reading it twice, I had no doubt that taking on the role was the right step for my career. I had the money to accept roles that would demonstrate my abilities as an actor instead of searching for that part that would pay the bills until the next gig came along.

  When I auditioned, they offered me the role right on the spot, and the next day I found myself with the casting director reading lines with who would be my leading lady.

  Abigail Ritz, now with a darker shade of blonde, same green eyes, and a slimmer figure introduced herself before we began.

  “I’m the same ole’ lame, flawless, dickweed,” I warned her.

  “Lucky for me, I’m not in the middle of my period either.” She smiled at me, and something told me that perhaps everything that had happened before between us had been a trial. Some test to prove that we could last for more than the duration of filming the movie.

  That night, like every night, I talked to Chris who, of course, had a good laugh at my expense.

  “I think it’s fate,” I told him.

  “You are a dork, college boy,” he chuckled. “I can see it –Gabe, the family man. In a couple of years, I’m going to be receiving the birth announcements. The pretty wife, the suburban home, the children, the minivan; all is coming together.”

  “That’s a far cry from today, Chris. We’re just getting to get to know each other.”

  “I’m right,” he insisted. “You might’ve changed a few aspects of your future plans, but not that. I understand; your family is nice.”

  After I brought Chris home for the first time after his tour, he became part of the family. Each time I headed up for a visit, he’d come along. Like on the Fourth of July weekend when he met the entire Colthurst clan that included the famous Colthurst Olympics. Mom also invited him to spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve with us.

  “One thing you should always remember: stay grounded; don’t let fame wash you away,” he warned me. “Now, back to what matters. Does this mean you finally get to bang Abby?”

  I growled, not wanting to answer that question, his boundaries disappeared completely. I didn’t want him to give me a few pointers on how to make her a better fuck. He did that a few times while we had sex with the same girl. My cock hardened with the memories of those crazy weeks on the road. I hadn’t fucked since the night before Dreadful Souls’ last concert.

  “I have to go learn my lines, Chris. Talk to you tomorrow?”

  “Yes, good luck with the shooting and the girl, Gabe.”

  Production wouldn’t start until the next year, but I wanted to be prepared for the role. I’d have to drop more than twenty pounds in muscle in order to appear sickly.

  I waved to Chris as he walked through the gate. He wore the navy blue parka Mom bought him, along with the scarf and hat she knitted for him. He wasn’t used to the cold of Seattle or the one we faced in Albany. The official fifty degree winter weather of LA became a sweet memory for the native Californian.

  “Are you okay? His wide eyes scanned me from top to bottom and he squeezed my biceps. “You’ve lost a bunch of weight.”

  For a careless bastard, he looked worried about me, and the fact that I could pass as a sick man made me smile. I had accomplished my goal. Mom had freaked almost the same way as he did.

  “Remember I mentioned that I had to lose weight for the next movie?”

  “Fuck the movie, you look sick,” he said harshly. “I personally don’t like it. Here I’m thinking that you’re about to tell me about some terminal illness and your impending death.”

  He punched me hard on the arm and handed me his duffle bag.

  “How’s Seattle?”

  “Cold,” his eyes lowered half-mast and his lips formed a horizontal line. “I miss sunny California some days but the city is cool. Thank you for the jacket. I seriously hate to shop and had no idea what’d work for the winter.”

  I shrugged and pointed toward the exit. My mother had been the one who bought the parka for him. I mailed it to Chris the moment I received it from her order. The woman liked him, and the fact that he didn’t have a family weighed heavily on her heart, I guessed.

  “My parents are heading to the pond. They’re taking the grandkids ice-skating,” I told him as we climbed inside my sister’s Suburban. “I volunteered to help with the demons. Fortunately, only seven of them are coming over. The older ones think they’re too cool to follow tradition.”

  Mom and Dad always took us ice-skating on Christmas Eve, right after we wrote our letters to Santa and placed them inside the special red mailbox, Mrs. Gunther built. Unfortunately, Mrs. Gunther died years ago and no one recreated the tradition of the mailbox. However, my parents kept the ice-skating custom with their grandchildren. The letters to Santa were my siblings’ jurisdiction and not theirs.

  The perks of being the grandparents, they said.

  “You Colthurst need to stop procreating,” Chris mentioned. “But yeah, ice-skating sounds cool. We can add it to the things I’ve never done and should try once before I’m too old. Next to traveling around the world and actually visiting places, not only arenas, stadiums, and hotels.”

  “And skydiving?” He grinned and nodded.

  I wondered what else would be added to that list in the future and how many of them would he end up doing. Traveling around the world without making any stops must suck.

  “So when are you going to recover your health?” Chris questioned as I trekked through the ice packed roads. I certainly needed to visit my parents more often during this season to keep my driving skills up to date. “Because you look like shit.”

  “We start filming the second week of January.” I parked in front of my parents’ house.

  Chris whistled and shook his head, “You weren’t kidding about Christmas throwing up at your parents’ house.”

  “Wait until you see it at night,” I warned him.

  She had reindeers, a toddler-size nativity set and other decorations outside along with some greenery around the
railing of the porch. At night everything light up. Then there was the inside of the house, mainly the banister and the living room. They had thousands of decorations that she had gathered throughout the years, plus the twinkling lights. My mother believed Christmas was synonymous of twinkling lights.

  “Uncle Gabe,” my youngest niece, Claire came running to greet me as I opened the door of the house. “Are you ready to head to the pond?”

  “Yes sweetheart.” I kissed the top of her head. “Let me show Chris his room and make sure he brings his winter gear with him. You can teach him to skate,” I lowered my voice, “he doesn’t know how to.”

  She twisted her lips and eyed Chris up several times, then nodded before speaking, “I’ll take care of him.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Colthurst.” Chris walked towards my mother and hugged her.

  “I already told you, Chris, it’s Janine.” She patted his arm after kissing his cheek. “Are you coming with us?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it, ma’am.” He tilted his head toward the guest room and smiled at her. “Let me take my bag to my bedroom—is it the same room?”

  Mom smiled at him confirming that she had set him up in the same room as usual. He had her eating from the palm of his hand. My poor mother thought he was a proper, young man—that’s what she called him the first time she met him. The asshole had never cussed in front of her; if only she knew the real him. I bet she’d stop inviting him to every family holiday like she has been doing since she met him. I doubt she’d let him be so close to her precious grandchildren.

  “I’m ready.” Chris didn’t take long. “I assumed jeans and the same gloves and jacket should suffice.”

  Mom fixed his hat to cover his ears and tightened his scarf, “Now you’re ready. Maybe I can introduce you to a nice girl.”

  I hoped that Chris wouldn’t laugh at her. That was my mother, always trying to play cupid and failing miserable.