The journal ends with me confessing all my sins to Kinsley, including that I was in love with her. Sweet.
Only two remain in the pile. A brown one contains most of senior year. Kinsley getting screwed over and unable to pay for what she promised for prom. Me joining Battle of the Bands and winning to earn that money back. Being offered a tour with Dragons. A fistfight with Dad. Getting kicked out of the house. Ugh. Dad again.
The last journal is burgundy with a coffee ring in the center. The edges are worn, the pages soft. This is it. It starts with touring. Telling Kinsley my contract was extended. Meeting Amanda, CJ, and Lena. When Kinsley came out to L.A… I pause at how many pages are left in the journal. I’m already halfway through, and it’s still September. A sinking sickness grips my stomach.
We broke up in May. Each page flip adds to the growing reality, I’m not holding the answer in my hand. December. I asked her to transfer to LABS. Three pages left. I dropped her off at the airport. No… Where is it?
I go through the pile again. And again. It doesn’t make sense. Where is it? Red. Green. Black. Brown. Blue. Burgundy. But the one journal that contains every answer I need isn’t here.
Like a total asshole, I make half the team go through every unit and box a second time, while I go home. Well, it’s not exactly home. I’ve never loved this house. It screams of new money trying to fit in and be cool. Six bedrooms when I only need one. A wine cellar filled with bottles someone told me were good, but I don’t drink. It does have a nice fridge and dishwasher though. Damn, when did I get so old that appliances became the biggest selling feature of the house?
It’s got three cars in the garage, but I only drive one. The other two I bought because I thought retail therapy could help my depression. Guess what? It didn’t, and now I have multiple car loans, that’s more than some mortgages.
But as I open the front door something feels off. Faint sounds from the kitchen, drawers opening, metal clanging. Why didn't Darren come with me? There’s no clear line of sight from the front door to the kitchen. Silently, I walk through the living room and poke my head around the corner.
The sound of metal whizzes past my head, and I twist out of the way fast enough to feel the breeze against my nose. A butcher knife slams through the drywall of my little alcove dividing the living and eating areas.
“What the actual hell?” I yell at the man standing in my kitchen with his arm outstretched. He’s got a few years on me and has a haunted expression that’s out of habit and survival versus any reality of how he’s feeling. “Are you making a sandwich?” I snap, noticing the butter knife in his other hand.
“I got hungry waiting for you.” He continues to spread mustard against the sourdough bread.
“But there’s no food in this house. So you went shopping, brought it here, decided to make yourself lunch, and throw a fucking knife at my head?”
“Are you pissed about the food or the knife?” The man lifts the bread up and takes a bite.
“I’m pissed that you broke into my house and now I have to spackle this hole in my wall.”
The man smirks. “That’s a more interesting reaction than I was expecting. You’re not just an artsy pretty boy...Hmm. Maybe things might work out between you and Alana.” I wish I could say I was surprised that another one of Alana’s friends broke into my house.
“Is this going to be a trend? Every time I come home, there’s going to be a strange man threatening me about Alana?”
“I see you already met the Four Families bros. Those guys are minor league. I'm a Hall of Fame talent.” He takes another big bite of his sandwich. His frame is small, but even from here I can see he’s solid muscle. He’s got that lean, quiet strength about him.
“And you know Alana because?” He’s testing my patience and he knows it. I’m outmatched, so I have to play this stupid game.
“We used to work together.” He motions to the knife in the wall with his half-eaten sandwich. “She’s got a complicated resume and has made a lot of allies.” He walks around the counter, and now I can see the gun in his holster. But that’s the one he wants me to know about. It’s the weapons I can’t see that worry me. “I’ve got a vested interest in making sure she’s happy.” His tone darkens, “And you, my friend, have several strikes against you.”
“We’re not friends.” I yank the knife out of the wall, running my finger over the hole.
He grins and extends his hand, “Name’s Teddy. I used to be Alana’s partner when she was a Hunter. And you’ve been on my radar for a very long time. I know things about you that even she doesn’t know.”
“Oh?” I don’t have many skeletons hiding under my baseboard so I’m not sure what he could be referring to.
“Your early twenties were rough, and you made quite a name for yourself in the underground fighting rings.” Oh shit, okay, so I do have a few skeletons. Oops. “You made a lot of dangerous people a lot of money.” He tilts his head, “Are you going to tell Alana about that?”
“When the time is right,” I reply with false confidence. But really when is a good time to bring up that I spent my early twenties traveling in the underground fighting circuit at night when I wasn’t in the studio working?
He takes another bite and chews his sandwich, staring at me. His sleeves are rolled up, and I can see a hammerhead shark on his arm. I recognize the style instantly since I see it on my own body every day.
“You get that from Lukas?” He moves his arm and glances down.
“Yeah. Years ago.”
I roll up my sleeves and show him my own tats, and he nods with respect. He lifts his pant leg and reveals an anime character.
“Luffy?” I smirk. “That’s a little basic,” says the guy who has read every manga and seen every episode the day it comes out for the last twenty years.
“Just because it’s basic doesn’t mean it’s not good,” Teddy retorts and finishes his sandwich, then gestures to the knife in my hand. “You gonna throw that at me?” I raise my eyebrow.
