Cruise

Two Months Later . . .

“Annie, call Mother.” I named my car’s computer assistant the day I got the Mercedes. I had to pick one during setup and Annie was all that came to mind. Seems too informal for the car, but it stuck.

Celeste was right about one thing; we were stagnant. I’ve been stagnant. I need to make a decision on what to do, but I think that will come when I get the pieces put together again.

“Hello?” My mother answers as if she has no clue it’s me. I try to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Hi, it’s Cru—John.”

Her tone is generally very controlled, but today it slips and an inflection of excitement can be heard. “John, it’s good to hear from you.”

“I wanted to stop by.”

“Why?”

To fix the panic I’ve caused her, I reply, “Just to say hi.”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

“I’m near the house.”

“I’m at the school. We just had a board meeting about the fundraiser. We’re hosting a carnival here on the grounds.”

I pass the house where I grew up—a Tudor-style mansion on fourteen acres of pristine land that rivals some of the smaller castles in the UK. “I can swing by and give you a ride home if you like.” She has a driver she can send on his way. He’d probably appreciate the break.

“I have a short meeting if you don’t mind waiting?”

“I don’t.”

“Very well. I’ll meet you in the gardens out front in about thirty minutes.”

“I’ll be there, Mother. Goodbye.”

Dread fills my gut. I’ve not seen her in a few months, maybe longer if I think about it. My family is not really the touchy-feely or affectionate type, with an exception to my sister, making it easy for all of us to get caught up in our own lives.

The long, curved drive that leads to the prep school I attended is just how I remember. Back then, Alex and I drove our motorcycles to school just to piss off the principal. Although we graduated with honors, we also left school with a slew of bad impressions. It was worth it.

My mother has been trying to tidy up the Cristley reputation ever since by working with the school to keep it one of the most prestigious in the country.

After parking in the principal’s parking spot, a push of the button sets the alarm when I get out, garnering a few head turns. This car is eye-catching, especially for a guy my age, but I earned every dollar and have no regrets splurging on this sleek vehicle.

It’s weird being back here. I’m such a different person than who I was back then. Wiser, but more jaded. Life’s gotten hold of me in ways I never talk about. During the last year of my life, I’ve spent too much time trying to forget about the abuse I endured to be sitting on this bench today.

Words . . . threats are muffled. My ears are ringing and my eyes are too bloodied to see clearly. A molar was dangling in my mouth but with the last breath I gasped for, it fell out. Now just the open wound remains, but is the least of my concerns.

As I take another blow to the head, it’s not the boot I’ve become used to but something more solid.

A shovel?

A bat?

. . . Darkness fills the room when I come to. It’s night. Again. My foggy brain reasons through the thickness of pain. It’s always fucking nighttime around here. And nighttime means one thing—another round with our kidnapper, the captor determined to destroy us.

“Cruise? You okay?”

I follow the sound of my name said by the familiar voice. King. Alexander. Alex. “No, but I’m alive to see another night and I intend on meeting the next one too.”

It only takes two words to send chills down my spine.

“It’s day.”

Night. It’s night in my world. The realization that my sight is fucked up hits me. I won’t see him coming for me tonight. I won’t see the blows or know the punishment I’m about to receive. Tonight I’m going in blind. Literally.

Fuck. I push up on my hands and knees and feel for my bowl. I need to eat. To gain strength. To speed the healing.

I can recover.

I know I can.

This is temporary.

Mind over pain.

“They haven’t feed us yet,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

When I open my mouth to speak, the throbbing in my mouth begins again. Infection will set in if I’m not vigilant. The taste of blood coats my words when I say, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you sorry?” He can see what I can’t. I need to know if I need to be worried more than I am already about our survival.

“This place. You. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you, King.”

“You shouldn’t call me that anymore.”

A chuckle strikes my ribs and I cringe, a harsh reminder that at least one is broken if not more. “What should I call you?”

“Alex, like you used to.”

“If we survive this, I’ll consider the downgrade.”

I can hear him laugh under his breath. I hear his pain as well, but it doesn’t come from physical pain. “Why are you so damn loyal to a cause that’s not your own?”

“Because you’re my brother, and brothers stick together.” I don’t know this from personal experience. Seems like a thing family should do—stick together.

. . . Under a large tree with knotted branches, I look around not seeing who I used to be in any of the students walking by. Just like with my family, I never really fit in anywhere.

Sure, I was popular. I’m fun as fuck when I party. But where did that get me? Working for my best friend and squatting in his apartment. More money than I can spend and no one to spend it on.

Holy shit.

I see pink.

Curvy ass under a fitted skirt. Tight as fucking—good God Almighty. Bubblegum pink.

Like a flame, I’m drawn to her. I stand, not even sure why, but I’m moving before I can stop myself following a bubblegum-pink skirt that just so happens to be attached to a killer little body and a head of brown hair that flows to the middle of her back.

“Hey?”

What the fuck? Why’d I yell that?

Damn. I stumble. She reaches as if she’s going to catch me before I fall. I’m falling all right, but not to the ground. I stop, standing tall and straightening my shoulders. Real smooth. I actually fucking stumble when she looks back and our eyes meet.

A halo of yellow sunshine surrounds her, an angel sent from the heavens to save me. The beauty asks, “Are you all right?”

“Me?”

A smile that rivals the heavens appears. “Yes, you.”

“I’m good, so great.”

That pretty smile grows, and a sweet giggle follows. “I’m glad.” The longer we hold eye contact, the more her composure falters, an unease entering her pretty hazels. “Okay, I should go then.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Stay.”

“Stay?” she asks in the same confused tone as the last question.

“Yes.” Stepping closer, I hold out my hand. “I’m Cruise. What’s your name?”

Her hand slips into mine and I’m tempted to not just shake it, but never let it go. “Nice to meet you, Cruise. If you’ll excuse me—”

That’s when I notice the books held to her chest with her other hand. “Are you a student?”

“No.” Her reply comes fast with a look of horror filling wide eyes. “I’m not. Are you?”

“No.”

The relief between us is palpable as our sighs fill the space. Her eyes glance down to our adjoined hands, my hold on her still just as firm. “May I have my hand back, Cruise?”

“Yes,” I reply, and then reluctantly release her.

“I’m late for an appointment.”

I don’t want her to go. I like looking at her. I like talking to her and I really like holding her hand. She has fine features, but I can’t stop staring at her cherry-kissed lips. She turns to walk away too soon, so I call out, “Hey, I never got your name.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around.”

She’s not showy when she saunters off, but I watch rapt by every sweet sway of her hips. I find myself tugging at the collar of my shirt, that all-wrong-itchy feeling returning.

Fuck it.

I run after her.

Sidling up beside her, I keep her pace, and ask, “Why won’t you tell me your name?”

“Because you don’t need to know it.”

“I want to know it.”

She stops, and looks at me. “Just because you want it, doesn’t mean I owe it to you.”

Feisty. Getting a woman’s name isn’t usually a problem for me, but I respect her argument too much to counter with one of my own. “You’re right. Absolutely right.” This time I notice how the white sweater hugs the front of her body. Damn. I invade her personal space, captivated by her defiance. “I’ve been rude. My apologies.”

“I don’t need an apology, but I do need to go. I’m running late.” She takes a few steps away from me, but says, “Have a good life.”

My hands rise in the air, exasperated with this outcome. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

Her laughter splinters the air. “Unfortunately no. I can tell you’re the kind of trouble I should definitely walk away from. Name intact.” Quick stepping with determination, I watch as she crosses the parking lot.

“John?”

My mother is walking down the front steps of the building. One last glance at the beauty who just blew me off and I decide to let her go, and even though she still owns my full attention, I greet my mother.

Dressed in a head-to-toe stuffy designer suit, her outfit screams of uptight and snobby. Beatrice Cristley is the epitome of WASP, though her religious beliefs waver with her drive to see the Cristley name immortalized as one of the great families of New England.

Despite the fact both women are dressed conservatively, my mother is in stark contrast to the vixen that just caught my eye. I’ll be thinking about that skirt all day. I look back over my shoulder and she’s long gone. Probably for the best. I’m the kind of trouble a good girl like that doesn’t need. That makes me laugh. I’m sure that’s similar to what Alex said to me about Sara Jane the day he met her.

“John, you’re here?” my mother says when she approaches as if I wouldn’t be.

“As promised.”

We greet with polite kisses on each other’s cheek. “You’re looking well.”

“Taking it day by day.”

She looks around. “Should we talk here?”

“Sure. There’s a bench under the tree.”

We take a seat on opposite sides. I would normally be uncomfortable. Conversations with her usually don’t end well. With my ego and her strong stubborn side to make everything into a lesson . . . we tend to clash. I assume she has no plans to speak of money and I have no plans to ask for any, so things should stay on the lighter side. “It’s a beautiful day,” she remarks finally glancing my way. “Why are you here?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Seven months.”

That she knows when we last saw each other surprises me. I drop my head a little and lean my forearms on my legs. “The effects of . . . ah, the recovery from being kidnapped took longer than I would have liked. I’m sorry if that put you out in any way.” She didn’t really want to know about the effects. Just the recovery.

“It didn’t put us out, John. It hurt. You made it clear you didn’t want to see us. Although it pained me to see you hurt, I tried to respect your wishes. I understand there’s a lot of water flowing under our bridge, but maybe we can give each other the benefit of the doubt instead of assuming the worst.”

She may not be my biological mother, but I’m definitely stubborn like her. Maybe it’s time to mend fences with my family, especially if I want to find my birth parents. “I’d like that. I know I was a disappointment in many ways, embarrassed the Senator when he was actively in office, but they were growing pains.”

“You never embarrassed your father. His advisors on the other hand . . .” She laughs lightly. “I know you think we were hard on you, but we never treated you any differently. For good or bad, all of your brothers and sisters were treated the same. We hoped that tough love would help each of you grow to be independent and fuel a drive inside of you for creating your own security and wealth in life.”

“It led me to do things I shouldn’t have done.” I didn’t expect to be sitting in a confessional, but for some reason, this feels right. Laying our emotional weapons down and seeing each other for who we are instead of what we pretend to be. “When I was being tortured, I felt like a failure inside. Like if I died there, my death would be just another disappointment to you both. I was as strong as I could be. I survived when I should have died.”

Her hand covers mine. It’s bony and cold, but she made the effort and for that I’m grateful. “You are so much stronger than you ever knew. We knew. We knew the moment we held you in our arms. You had already survived so much.” A small smile, that lends itself to genuine, appears on her face. “You’re here to tell me you want to find your birth mother.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t give birth to you, but I’ll still defer to a mother’s intuition. I knew this day would come and I tried to prepare myself. I was actually surprised it didn’t come sooner. Being estranged from you has been difficult. We may have stopped paying your bills, but we never stopped loving you.”

This is a lot to process. “I thought you didn’t even like me.”

“The Senator and I need to work on our parenting technique.” She stands. “You survived a horrendous situation to prove how strong you already were.” There’s that smile again. “You always were a handful, but it saved you this time and for that, I have no regrets. Because of that, we have a second chance. In this second chance, we can discuss your biological parents soon.”

“Okay.”

Reaching out her hand, I take it and stand. The chill of her skin has warmed, but I’m struck with reality. My mom is getting older. Her hand is so small, frail almost in my hand, and I realize I don’t remember the last time we walked like this. Maybe when I was five or six. A long damn time ago. We stroll toward the car, and she says, “I would like to have the family over for dinner the first Sunday of next month. Your father and I will be traveling until then, but we’d like for you to join us when we get back.”

I stop, and our hands part. When she turns back, I say, “You sure I’m welcome by everyone else?”

“I don’t care what they think if you don’t.”

I’ve been the black sheep a long time. My siblings haven’t been the kindest. Although there are two exceptions—Paige and Matty. My mother is right. Mending fences, making amends, it’s all the same thing, and maybe it’s time to put this emotional mess behind us. Maybe finding peace with my family will help me find peace in this unsettled world. “I’ll be there.”