Rebel North

by JB Salsbury

I stare down at the pages inside, seeing nothing but blocks of words and dancing letters.

  “Shit,” he grumbles. “Sorry.”

  Hudson pulls the folder between us and reads the first couple of paragraphs.

  “Stop,” I say and look around the table at the three men who look at me with cautious hope in their expressions. “You guys want to go into business with me?”

  “Not exactly,” Hayes explains. “We’d like to invest in your business. We’ve each agreed to give a significant donation so that you can start your decorating company.”

  “Outside of North Industries?”

  “Independent of North Industries, yes.” Hudson pushes the folder back toward me. “Here’s the total number right here.”

  I see the five and a whole lot of fucking zeroes. “Are you guys shitting me?”

  “Nope.” Hudson hands me a pen. “Sign the bottom here, and you’ll be on your way.”

  “The contract is cut and dry,” Hayes explains. “You take the money without obligation to pay us back. It’s ironclad. I know because I drafted it.”

  Jordan takes the seat next to me. “I looked at the contract too, and it’s exactly as simple as it sounds.”

  My eyes burn, and I take the pen to sign. But before I do, I ask, “Does August know about this?”

  “He will,” Alex says. “Because I’m hiring you to redecorate this building as well as the North Industries building.”

  And then my eyes let loose, and I fucking cry. Like a baby, right there in front of my brothers. And not one of them looks anything other than proud.

  Jordan hands me a tissue, and once I dry my eyes enough to see clearly, I scribble my name on the contract.

  “One more thing,” Hudson says. “We did some research and found out there’s a ton of software available to help people with dyslexia in business.”

  Alex pulls a laptop out of a black case and walks it down to me. “It’ll scan documents and read them to you, voice to text applications, and more. The guy who designed all the software is coming in tomorrow to walk you through it.”

  “The guy that designed the software? You hired him to come teach me? Is he here in New York?”

  “Silicon Valley.”

  “Holy shit,” I whisper. “You guys aren’t messing around.”

  “You deserve better than we gave,” Hudson says. “We’re here to right that wrong. You’re a North, and we’re your family. We take care of our own.”

  I swipe at my eyes and my nose. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Nothing to say,” Alex says. “Just get to work.”

  “This is going to be so much fun!” Jordan claps her hands excitedly. “Go get your shoes on, and let’s go looking for an office building to buy.”

  “Lunch first? I’m starving.”

  The relief in her face matches my own.

  Finally, some direction. A plan. Hope.

  It almost makes me feel complete. Except for that gaping empty hole left behind by Gabriella.

  Gabriella

  The Manhattan Ballet Studio is housed in an old Anglican church built in 1823. The stone walls and stained glass surround the wood floors and mirrored walls, creating a space for dance that lends itself to spiritual reverence.

  The scent of wood polish mixes with a musty perfume as if centuries of incense burning have sunk into the decaying stone. I grip my ballet shoes tightly against my chest and move deeper into the space. Memories wash over me. A place that once felt more like home than my own opens its arms and welcomes me in.

  The prodigal daughter comes home.

  I spot Mrs. Gould across the room. She saw something in me when I was thirteen years old, and she dedicated her time to making me the best dancer I could be. She came to my first recital at Julliard. She brought me a dozen roses.

  “Gabriella, is that you?” Her English accent brings me back to a simpler time when I had dreams of becoming a prima ballerina.

  “Mrs. Gould, it’s been a long time.”

  Her arms wrap tightly around me. “I can’t believe it’s really you.” She draws back to hold me at arm’s length but keeps a grip on my shoulders. “Look at you, all grown up.”

  “It’s good to see you again.”

  Her gaze dances lightly over my scars, and I can see in her eyes that she knows my story. I assume my parents must’ve relayed my excuse for no longer attending Julliard. “How are you, love?”

  “I’ve been better.” I stare around her at the studio to keep from having to see the pity in her eyes and to keep her from seeing the sadness in mine.

  “Life is that way, I suppose.” Her gaze drops to the pointe shoes in my hands. Her eyes light up. “Are you here to dance?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been so long, and the doctors said I’d have to relearn…” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I don’t know if I even remember how.”

  “Doctors see the body. Dance is from the soul.” Her dark-brown eyes warm. She takes my hand and puts it against my heart. “Ballet lives here. Not in your brain or even your muscles, but here. In your heart. You never forget it.”

  “I want that to be true. It’s been so long since I’ve tried.”

  She takes my shoes from my hands. “Let’s start slow.” Her chin kicks up, and her shoulders stiffen. “Put your things down, kick off your shoes, and get on the floor for stretching.” She snaps and points.

  There is comfort in her stern command. Familiarity. Rightness.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever come back to this place after today, but right now, I know I’m exactly where I need to be.

  Twenty-Nine

  Gabriella

  I wish I could say I lost count of how many days it’s been since I last saw Kingston, but that would be a lie.

  It’s been thirty-four days.

  I thought that as time passed, I’d think of him less. I thought his betrayal would burn worse every day until, eventually, it would burn out, and I’d forget him completely. Unfortunately, the very opposite plagues me.

  I have so many questions, and I can’t trust him to tell me the truth. I can’t trust my parents to tell me the truth either.

  Which is why I had to reach out to the only person who has no reason to lie to me.

  From my seat at the window of the coffee shop, I see Ainsley walk up. She hesitates at the door as if second-guessing her agreement to meet me. I hold my breath until she finally pulls open the door. I wave her back, and she keeps her eyes on the floor as she makes her way to me.

  I stand to greet her, but we don’t hug or shake hands. The invisible barrier of our shared history stands between us. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Of course.” She orders a latte, and we talk about the good weather and how our favorite breakfast place went out of business until we run out of small talk.

  “Ainsley, I was hoping you could answer some questions about the night of my accident.”

  Her face pales, but she nods.

  “I got the story up until I fell in, but everything after that I have no memory of.”

  She sips her latte and carefully sets down the mug with shaky hands.

  “Can you tell me what happened that night?”

  “It was my fault,” she says with her face turned down to her mug.

  My heart drops into my gut at the certainty of her voice. “What do you mean?”

  Her gaze meets mine. “He wanted you. You weren’t even trying to get his attention, but he wanted you anyway.” She takes in a breath through her nose and blows it out. “He wanted you over me.”

  “Kingston.” My lungs squeeze around my heart, making it ache.

  Her eyes fill with tears. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just wanted to embarrass you in front of him.”

  My molars slam together.

  “He was driving, and he kept asking you to go sit with him. You were so scared. You were holding on so tight.” Her words come out in a rush as if her heart’s been desperate to purge them. “You stood up to g
o sit with him, and I slid my foot out to trip you.”

  “Jesus…” I whisper.

  Her cheeks are streaked with tears. “If he hadn’t turned the boat at that very second, you would’ve just stumbled. I didn’t mean for you to fall over.”

  I grip my head and rub my temples. “You could’ve killed me all because you were jealous?”

  “I’m sorry, okay? I told your parents I’d do whatever it took to make it up to you. I told them I wanted to make things right.”

  “Tell me the rest of the story.” I sound robotic and hardly recognize my own voice.

  “Kingston found you. He had his friend call the Coast Guard, and he gave you mouth-to-mouth until they got there. He tried to stop the bleeding, held his shirt to your neck, and threatened the paramedics for attempting to take over. He wouldn’t leave your side until they rushed you into surgery—”

  “Is that it?” I don’t know how much more of this I can listen to, but I know this is the last time I’ll see Ainsley and my last chance to learn my story.

  “I tried to visit you at the hospital, but your parents wouldn’t let me see you. They were right to blame me for what happened. They told me if I tried to contact you, they’d call their lawyers. I was so afraid of losing my spot at Julliard and of my family finding out that I did what they asked. But I haven’t lived a single day since without the memory of what I did and all I took from you.”

  “I think I’ve heard enough.” I grab my purse and stand to leave.

  “I’m sorry, okay? You need to know I am so sorry, Gabby.” She swipes at her nose and her mascara-smudged eyes.

  “I know you are. So am I.” I leave a crying Ainsley in the coffee shop.

  My head swims with this new information.

  Kingston saved me.

  But this doesn’t change the fact that he lied about us knowing each other. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a liar and a thief.

  He robbed me of my memories, and then he stole my heart.

  Thirty

  Kingston

  Life can change in the blink of an eye. I never would’ve believed it if I hadn’t lived it. It’s been four months since I signed the paperwork accepting the financial gift from my brothers to start my own interior design company, and here I am, doing it.

  Jordan and I found a warehouse in Brooklyn with five thousand square feet of industrial space on the ground level and three thousand square feet of living space up top. Two apartments—the biggest I took for myself, and the other I plan to rent. I invested in some remodeling to bring the 1910 masonry building up to code, but it is still far from the luxury of Lenox Hill.

  My kitchen is half the size of my last, and my closet doesn’t even hold all of my shoes, much less my clothes. But I find those things aren’t as important to me anymore. Sure, I refuse to go out in public looking like a slob, but I’ve been so busy that I’ve had to cut my getting-ready time down to under an hour, something I would’ve considered impossible months ago.

  Alex accepted my proposal for the redecorating of all the lobby areas in his building, giving the space a more organic modern look rather than a sterile one. I’ve picked up several jobs from the Restaurant Digest exposure, so much that I’ve had to hire a small staff. We’re currently working on the proposal for the lobby areas of North Industries.

  Turns out, I do have something valuable to offer.

  Bee Inspired Designs is a success.

  The name and location of my business are no coincidence. When I was looking for a building, it only made sense to be close to my own inspiration. Gabriella will always be the great beauty of my life. Whether or not she’s in my life doesn’t change that.

  I’m sorting through fabric samples and putting together a vision board for my project at North Industries when my assistant Todd knocks on my door.

  “Yo, K. You got a visitor.” His thick New York accent and tattooed bald head make him the most unlikely of professional choices, which is why I hired him. Bee Inspired Designs is a cesspool of talent, with individuals who represent their own unique style. I want my business to be a place where freedom of expression is our creed, and everyone has a seat at the table.

  “Who is it?”

  He shrugs. “Some suit.”

  “Send him in.” I assume it’s one of my brothers coming to check on me. They’ve been annoyingly involved in my life like a pack of mother hens.

  “I’ll be damned.” August saunters into my office, which resembles more art studio than traditional office. He studies the wall of fabric swatches, the corner of wood samples, and the table displaying stone slab countertops. “I didn’t believe them when they told me how well you were doing.” He flips through a book of paint colors.

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” I push my work aside. This asshole kills all creativity when he’s in the room.

  He pulls a stool out and sits across the table from me. He eyes the vision board for the North Industries lobby. “This your plan?” He tilts his head and studies the selection of cotton, linen, and bamboo fabrics mixed with reclaimed wood and recycled glass light fixtures.

  “Everything is natural and sustainably produced.” I turn the board toward him so he can see it better. “Alex insisted.”

  “Huh…” He pinches the fabric between his fingers. “I like it.”

  A compliment? I narrow my eyes. “But?”

  “No but.” He gives the vision board one more glance, then looks at me. “I like it.”

  “Okay, what’s going on here? Do you need an organ or something?”

  “Look, your brothers told me what they discovered about Ms. Coleman, and I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said about your… your, ah… learning issues.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the need to protect the organ behind my ribs. “And?”

  “I’ve come to realize that you’ve overcome a lot, and I, uh…” He clears his throat. “I respect that. Says a lot about a man who can overcome his own shortcomings.”

  “I suppose I should be honored by your compliment, but I find it insincere that you waited until I was running my own business without you that you finally acknowledge my worth.”

  He frowns, and I see a flicker of anger in his eyes as if he wants to defend himself, but he keeps his mouth shut. “Fair enough.” He stands. “Why don’t you go ahead and tack my office onto this project. It could use an update.”

  “I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to you.” Would be fun to reupholster all his furniture in flying dick-paisleys.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles at the ground before looking back at me. “If you ever want to merge your company with North Industries—”

  “I’ll pass.”

  His jaw tenses. “I see.”

  “If you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.” I nod to the door.

  “Sure, see you around, son.”

  Son?

  Not princess?

  I shake my head and get back to the vision board. “He’s definitely asking for an organ.”

  “Who was the stiff?” Angelica, one of the designers on my team, slips in past August. Her white Docs squeak against the polished concrete floor.

  “My sperm donor.” I point to the book of paint colors. “Can you hand me that?”

  “Sure thing,” she says and puts the book in my hands. “I wanted to show you my idea for the windows.” She lays out her sketchbook in front of me. “The glass is great, but in the areas the sun hits, we should do a green wall. Indoor plant walls help productivity and increase oxygen, which is good for the brain, and look how badass they’d look in these spaces.” She runs a hand over her pink mohawk. “Here.”

  “I love that. I’ll add it to the proposal.”

  She throws up a fist pump. “Yes!”

  “Great job.”

  “Thanks, boss!” She skips out of the room and closes the door behind her.

  “Boss?” I feel my lips tick up. “I’m a boss.”

>   Gabriella

  After ballet, I find myself in Central Park, walking the paths and enjoying the cool breeze as fall blows the leaves from their branches. The weather is changing rapidly, and soon we will give up cool breezes for snow and ice.

  Ballet is coming back much quicker than I expected. Mrs. Gould said there’s a cosmic connection between the heart and the body and that they communicate all the time without the interference of our brains. She says it’s that connection that is enabling me to dance again.

  I’ve found healing in the power of my body. I’m beginning to feel hope that I can regain what’s been lost. Not that I’ll ever become a prima ballerina. That dream was my parents’ more than my own, anyway.

  But it feels good to reclaim something of my old self.

  To put back one of the pieces that has been missing for so long.

  I head to the Jamaican jerk food truck to grab dinner. After all these months, this is the first time I’ve been able to even consider hitting one of the spots Kingston and I visited together.

  The ache is there as I approach, but it hurts a little less than it did yesterday. I wait in the short line and place my order. I find a bench nearby and eat while watching people pass, walking their dogs or chasing after their kids.

  A peace washes over me. A contentment I haven’t felt in a long time.

  And that’s when I see him.

  His tall frame is clad in midnight-blue velvet slacks and a black peacoat. He has a Styrofoam bowl of jerk chicken resting in one big hand as he searches out a place to sit and enjoy his dinner.

  His eyes scan the area, and as if drawn by my thoughts, his gaze lands on me. His expression falls slack, and his lips part, like he can’t trust his own eyes to believe what he’s seeing.

  I smile—it’s small, nervous—and my stomach turns over on itself. I give a little wave. He lurches forward as if someone gave him a nudge from behind and heads toward me.

  “You couldn’t stay away, huh?” I nod toward the jerk chicken truck as he approaches.

  He stops a foot away from the bench, and he seems ten feet tall from where I’m sitting. “Gabriella?”