Chapter Two

We’re All The Same

Juliana

Present day

“Hello,” I say quietly, answering my phone, hoping not to wake Brandon, who is asleep next to me in his bed.

“Juliana, Mags fell last night.” It’s Gage’s mother, Gail.

“Mags?”

Mags is everything to Gage. She is his second mother. Actually, he is closer to her than his mother. He worships that woman.

She worked for his family when they moved back to the States, and had a hand in raising him before Gail married her husband and he adopted Gage before they moved to Portugal.

Mags is also the reason Gage’s expectation of people are so high. She can do no wrong. At times, it’s almost annoying, but he isn’t wrong; that woman loves hard and expects people to do the same, while being the best they can be.

As hard as it is to admit to myself, she is what Brandon needed. She helped raise all of Gail’s sons, she was family to them, and she loved them deeply. Not that it made it any easier walking away to better myself. It wasn’t. It was hell. Total hell. However, I knew it had to be done. Mags will never know how much she had to do with my change.

When Gage gained custody of Brandon, she moved to the city and stayed with them. When I finished school and had Gail help me get unsupervised visitation back, I learned that Gage was building a place he called Falcon’s Landing, a high-end campground or something. He built her a cabin before building the main house.

As close as Gail and I are, I didn’t know about it. Because of my secret, she still keeps things pertaining to her sons from me. I suppose that’s admirable. The more I live a “normal” life, a life I never even dreamed of, the more I realize that people are pretty much the same everywhere—secrets and lies.

“She broke her hip. I’m going to be leaving the shore to head to Lake Hopatcong. I have a couple rooms booked and would like for you and Brand to come along. She loves that boy and maybe, just maybe, he’ll be a catalyst to her healing. And Juliana, we may need a nurse, as well.”

“But she...” I look at Brand and make sure he’s still sleeping before whispering, “hates me.”

“No more than she will me when she finds out about”—she pauses—”our secret.”

“I’m not ready,” I say louder than expected.

“You are ready, Juliana. Garrett needs this.”

“But—”

“No buts,” she states.

“Gage,” I whisper.

“Gage is stronger than even you know.”

“But Brandon,” I whisper as I look at my sweet, sleeping boy.

“He needs to get used to the idea. He starts school in the fall. It’s time, Juliana. It’s time.”

He does deserve the truth, but when the truth means better than me, it hurts. It hurts so damn much.

“Mags needs us, and God help us, Juliana, we need her.”

I let the fear and regret of my choices wash over me briefly… until I look at his eyes that start to flutter open.

“Is Mags okay?” he asks in his little, sleepy voice that now carries a slight lisp because, whether I deserved it or not, my son lost his first tooth last night, when he was with me.

“She fell, Brand, but she’s okay. We’re gonna go with Grandma Gail and see her,” I tell him then start to kiss his little cheek.

He flies up in excitement. “Let’s go!” He laughs at the same time Gail says, “See you in an hour.”

I hang up the phone and jump out of bed. “Brandon Falcon, get your little butt back in here.”

He stops dead in his tracks, turns, and looks at me in confusion. God, he looks just like Garrett, even his inquisitive, little looks remind me of the boy—man—I once loved.

I point to my front tooth. “Do you want me to check under your pillow? Or do you—”

“The Tooth Fairy!” he exclaims, running toward me in all the excitement a five-year-old boy should carry, and I step out of his way, laughing.

He reaches under his pillow and pulls out the giant, glow-in-the-dark, plastic tooth and opens it.

“Oh boy, look at that!”

“Money?” I ask, knowing it is.

“Yep! I gotta buy Mags some sunflowers. That’ll make her happy. That’s what Dad does!”

I walk out and see Peter standing at the kitchen sink. He and I met during my nursing rotations and have lived together now for two months.

Before he moved in, I told him everything. Well, everything about Gage, not who Brandon’s father is. I never wanted that to be disclosed. A part of me thought it would be something I could take to the grave. In that, I was deceiving myself.

Peter also knows of my struggles with alcohol and pills, my wakeup call when Brand was taken from me, and my plan to get him back.

Peter was understanding, a big believer in second chances, and he was diligent at keeping me focused on my goals. Very, very diligent.

His need for structure and organization is epic. I like it, need it. But for the week Brandon has been with us, I know Brandon hates it.

“No running in the house. You may fall and get hurt.”

“Your bedtime is nine o’clock. We can wait until tomorrow night when I get home to finish the movie.”

“You’re a big boy, Brandon. Our room is just across the hall.”

“I need a few minutes with your mother. How about you sit and color this picture?”

“Mondays, we don’t eat meat, Brandon. No hamburgers tonight.”

I knew that this change in our plans, our schedule, was going to upset him a little bit.

I walk up to him and take the cup of tea he’s made for me, like he does every morning.

“You didn’t come to our bed last night,” he says before placing a kiss on my cheek.

“Brandon wouldn’t admit it, but I think he was nervous about the Tooth Fairy visiting.” I smile before taking a sip of the hit of caffeine.

“Well, why not tell him the—”

I hold my finger over his mouth. “Shh, he’s a little boy.”

When he gives me a look, I pull my hand back.

“It was on the schedule.”

I know immediately he’s talking about sex.

I have no idea why sex has become something scheduled. Gage was like clockwork. Two days a week, he fucked me. Yes, fucked. He put effort into it for the first year; made sure I came, demanded I did. After the first year, he seemingly gave up and simply fucked me. I assume it bothered him that I didn’t much care that a man like him, one who was used to having women trip over their own two feet while walking down the road, touched me.

With Peter, it’s on the calendar.

He told me that someone who went through what I did in my marriage was probably not a very sexual person. Still, he wanted to “connect” twice a week. And yes, it was scheduled. Not the same days like Gage, but around Peter’s surgical schedule.

“I’m sorry, and I hate to change things up, but Mags...” I pause, waiting for him to connect who Mags is.

“The nanny.”

I nod. “She fell and broke her hip. Gail is coming to take me and Brandon to see her.”

“How long will you be gone?” he asks stiffly.

I shrug. “I have no idea, but since I don’t plan to start working until Brandon and I have worked things out...” I shrug again.

He doesn’t get it. He looks at me blankly.

“I’m sure we’ll come up with a schedule that works. I think we can figure it out.”

Brand walks in with a bag already packed. “Mom, can we go now?”

“Brandon, give your mother and I a few minutes. She needs to pack a bag.”

I feel relieved that the tension I felt building was just in my head. Three years of working through my anxiety without the help of a pill that quack of a doctor prescribed me was hard, but at least I didn’t feel like a zombie, or worse yet, dependent on it anymore. That was not without struggle, but I was better for it, regardless.

When he closes and locks the bedroom door behind us, I look at him, wondering what he’s doing.

He reaches down and unzips his gray dress pants. “I’ve never asked for this before, Juliana, but it seems you’ve made a decision without discussing it with me, so it does make it easier.”

I am shocked when he pulls out his penis and nods at me.

“Be a dear, Juliana, and make me come before you leave.”

I don’t know why it shocks me. He is a man after all, and all men who come into my life, sober or drunk, regardless of social or economic circumstance, all seem to want the same thing.

I love the life we are building, one that is mostly open, mostly a partnership, mostly what I want.

“Yes,” I tell him, sitting on the end of our bed. “Of course.”

“Juliana, I am more than meeting your needs. How about you come over here, on your knees, and show me that you are willing to do the same.”

I swallow back the pride I carry with me as best I can from what I have learned from my life with Gage and slide off the bed and onto my knees.

My stomach turns at the look of satisfaction on his face from watching me all but crawl toward him. Then I push myself up and take him in my mouth.

***

After the visit with Mags, I am more than ready to call the quack on the shore and get another prescription filled. I can’t stand the way she seems to see through me. I can’t stand the way Brandon looks at her in such high regards. And I can’t stand the way I know damn well I don’t deserve any differently.

I wait in the hallway, nearly panicked, trying my best to figure out how I’m going to come out of this being strong for Brandon, and for me. The only thing I can even think of is Gage. I need him on my side. I need him, dammit.

***

When Brandon is sleeping at the hotel, I call Gail and ask if she would mind keeping the adjoining door open while I run to the twenty-four-hour chain store to grab some things I forgot.

Of course she was fine with it, and of course she looked at me skeptically.

“I’m not using pills anymore, Gail, it’s been two years, and I barely drink.”

“That’s good, Juliana. It’s also expected,” she says with a forced smile as she hands me the keys to her black Land Rover.

Pulling out of the parking lot, I have no intention of going to the store. After the blowjob Peter received, he was a little remorseful of his treatment. He even packed my bag, so I know it was done thoroughly, and I am sure I have everything I need.

I am going to Falcon’s Landing. I want to be the one to talk to Gage.

On my way, I pass a little bar, kind of a dive, not any place I expect to see one of my ex-husband’s vehicles.

I quickly pull in, almost relieved that I don’t have to drive up to Falcon’s Landing and park next to it.

I look at myself in the mirror, making sure I look presentable. When we were married, Gage had a way with his expressions. Never spoken, he would give me a quick onceover in approval before heading to an event I attended with him. However, he would stall if he didn’t approve. Then I, the ever grateful, deceitful, and “for show” wife, would make a wardrobe change to appease him.

I walk into the bar and see the back of his head. He’s seated at the bar, looking somewhat out of place. To most, it’s attractive—the confidence he carries. To me, it’s a taunting reminder that he, Gage Falcon, is better than me.

No more, Juliana, no more, I say in my head so that anxiety’s curse doesn’t have me running back out the door. You need to be better, stronger, ready to face all your doings for your son, for Brandon.

I walk up with all the confidence I felt while being presented to his business associates and pull out the empty barstool next to him

“This seat taken?” I ask.

His body stiffens, but he doesn’t look back when he says, “It is.”

I want to run, crawl, hide, but I won’t. I can’t. There is too much at risk, too much to lose.

“Just need a few minutes, Gage.”

“Brandon okay?” he asks.

“He misses Daddy Gage.”

He doesn’t say a word for several seconds, and I realize I have started this all out wrong. However, I know. I know the minute I act less than confident, he will never listen.

“You and I have not a damn thing to talk about,” he replies, not even looking at me.

“Brandon, Mags—”

“I have to share Brand; got no choice. Mags, she’s not your concern,” he interrupts.

Strength, dammit, find strength.

“She’s part of his life; therefore, she’s part of mine.”

A cute little bartender comes up and looks at him, and not like the other women look at him. “You ready for a refill?”

“I’d love the same thing Gage is having,” I tell her.

She doesn’t look at me. She stares at Gage, and he stares back. I don’t understand the look.

“I’m good. Thanks,” he finally says to her.

“You sure?” she asks him, then looks at me as she sets up a glass and pours me a drink, one in which I need, even though I hate Jameson.

“Thanks,” I say.

She doesn’t reply, just looks at him.

“I’m good,” he says in an unfamiliar, warm tone.

Oh, hell. He’s...No way. She’s not his type.

She takes my money with a slight glare, and now I know for sure.

She’s exactly what I didn’t expect. Unreal.

“So, now you’re hooking up with bartenders?” I ask.

He turns toward me, with a glare that is bone chilling. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Hold it together. Meet him head-on, or he will not give you an ounce of respect.

“I told you; Brandon wanted to see Mags.”

“How the hell does he even know she’s in the hospital?”

“Your mother called to let me know, and he overheard Mags’ name.”

He stands abruptly, nearly knocking over his stool, and walks away. He stops in front of the bar, in front of her, and they exchange words.

She looks down at me, giving me a nasty look, then back at him and shrugs.

When he disappears into the bathroom, I toss back my drink, and then hold up my glass for another. I will not let this girl, this...nobody, come in and make things messier than they already are going to be.

When she comes down, her face is stone, her eyes are angry, and she reeks of bitch.

Fuck.

“I’ll have another,” I tell her, not returning the glare, but not allowing her to intimidate me, either.

She slams down the glass, fills the drink, and as if she knows he’s there, she walks away.

I watch them eye each other, and then he walks toward the door, not even looking back. She looks at me and gives me a smug-ass smile.

No. No. No. No.

Desperation sets in, and I yell at him, “Gage!”

When he doesn’t stop, I stand up to follow him.

The child, the one taunted by her peers for being a nothing, for smelling, for her clothes being disgusting, for her hair being a mess, looks down at the next generation tauntress.

She shrugs and smirks.

I hate her. I hate her, and I hate him.

I hurry toward the door after him, yelling, “Gage Falcon, do not walk away from me. We need to talk!”

He looks back. “Go fuck yourself, Juliana.”

He’s being a child, a bully, mean. Although I deserve his anger, this is unacceptable.

“Grow up and think of Brandon!”

“He’s all I have thought about. You...” He pauses. “You have it made, Juliana. You manipulated your way into a family who can take care of your undeserving ass. You got a fucking degree, a house, alimony, and child support enough that you don’t even have to work!”

“For him. For my son!” I cry out, desperately needing him to try to understand.

“Exactly, a little boy who I thought was my blood for years, and you fucking pulled the cuntiest move of all to do that to him for your own fucking gain! You are one sick bitch, you know that?”

Anxiety and desperation is now replaced with anger.

“I have my reasons, and someday, you’ll understand.”

“I understand. You may have fucking manipulated me back then, but I’m no fucking fool. I know you want what’s best for you—hell, maybe even for him—but that doesn’t mean shit. Just fucking go. Let the winds of the south blow your ass back to bitchville.”

“That’s so mature, Gage Falcon,” I say, trying to calm down, but not ready to give him the upper hand.

His look, the one of disgust, the one that makes me feel beneath him, forces me to defend myself, defend my lie. Set the stage for the truth that will no doubt rock his world even harder.

“When you know why I’ve kept his father’s name a secret, you’ll be sorry you said that about him!”

“I’ll be sorry? You lied to me about Brandon being mine and I’ll be fucking sorry? You’re the sorry one, Juliana. You hitting the bottle hard again, or have you totally fucking lost your mind? Any man who knows he has a kid out there and gives fuck not is a piece of shit.”

“Hey!” I hear a voice call from behind me and turn around.

God, she followed us out, probably wants to stir up trouble. Why won’t she leave us alone?

She throws my jacket in my face, shocking me. “You forgot to pay for your drink.”

Shock turns to pissed off when the jacket zipper catches the bridge of my nose. I have no idea why, but I look at Gage to say something, anything. He doesn’t.

Fuck her. Fuck him.

“Oh, my God, you’re really fucking that?”

He steps toward me, and for a minute, I am fearful. Then realization sets in. He’s defending her.

When she laughs at me, I spew venom at her, giving her laugh back to her. “You fuck for tips?”

Without expectation or warning, she punches me in the nose. It hurts, it hurts bad, but I’m nobody’s punching bag, not anymore.

I lunge forward and grab her by the hair. “You little bitch!”

“Phoenix, trust me; she isn’t worth it,” Gage says with a hint of amusement in his voice as he pulls her back. “Let go of her, Juliana, or I will ruin everything you think you have going on.”

Fuck him. I don’t let go. I don’t, and then she kicks me.

I fall back on my ass in a puddle, and he laughs as he drags her crazy, screaming ass back to the bar.

“You’re barred, bitch!” she shouts.

Humiliated, I sit for a moment as I wipe away the blood pouring out of my nose. When I see headlights coming down the road, I stand, unable to take any more taunting or shame tonight. Right now, right at this moment, I hate myself for what I have done. I hate it, but there is no turning back.

I made my bed. It’s dirty, filthy, rotten, and crawling with lies and deceit. Yet, I have no choice but to lie in it.

***

When I walk into the hotel room, I pray to a God that has never once heard me that Brandon and Gail are asleep and that I will not have to explain the blood on my shirt. True to form, he still hasn’t heard me, or maybe a girl from the wrong side of town, who went to her knees and took it in the ass to survive, just doesn’t deserve her prayers to be answered.

His words taunt me whenever I am at my lowest, like now, as I walk in the door and see Gail looking at me, blood-stained, filthy, branded by so many as nothing, and his words, his crushing, taunting words screaming in my ears.

“We’re never gonna be right!” Garrett yelled. “We’ve been branded by way too many as nothings. Brands don’t fucking go away. They stay forever!”

“Are you sober?” Gail asks, eerily calm.

I nod as tears fill my eyes.

“Go shower, Juliana, then we’ll talk.”

Standing beneath the shower, I cry. I cry for the hell I have lived, the love I lost, and the lives I messed up. I know I will never be what Gage is to Brandon. Never. I need to accept it and accept it now. He can hate me. He can. But he can’t hate the family who has been the reason he is who he is—a beautiful, smart, kind, and caring boy. If—no, when he meets Garrett, I hope he loves him like I did, and I hope Garrett—

The thought of his name catches in my throat, and I sob into my hands. What did I do to him? What did I do to the boy who saved me then pushed me away? Surely, it was me. It had to have been. Look at his family. Look at them.

I think about what happened after he left angry that first night at the motel.

The night I stayed with Garrett, the night he left angry at me, then returned an hour later, apologizing for the whole “I paid for you thing,” he spoke of Gage with great disdain, pertaining to his hero complex. He assured me he didn’t have one. I wanted to tell him that he may not have one, but he was in fact some kind of hero to me.

His hands were full of bags that he sat on the little table that wasn’t littered with overflowing ashtrays, or empty bottles, pieces of foil, or baggies and bottles.

He pulled out a small vanilla cake, topped with buttercream frosting, and the words “Happy Birthday, Juliana” spelled with two N’s, not one, but I didn’t care. Then he pulled out a pint of Ben and Jerry’s chocolate cookie dough ice cream. He was nervous, a shy smile on his perfect and full lips that I knew just by looking at them were soft. He even lit a candle. All to celebrate my birthday.

After we ate, he gave me a pair of pajamas with pink kitten print, a bag of toiletries—all name brand—a pair of sweats, and a sweatshirt that said “Jersey Shore” on them from a twenty-four-hour drug store, along with a prepaid cell phone.

What he did for me that night, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he was in fact a superhero.

Four days of being spoiled by Garrett, with food enough to fill ten bellies, clothes he bought from real stores—Hollister, American Eagle, Abercrombie and Fitch—asking that I try them on for him as he sat on the bed, smiling.

When I came out in the fourth outfit—a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt that fit me perfectly—he didn’t look at me like he had the others. His face was glued to the television. I assumed he didn’t care for it, and when I started to walk into the bathroom, my name said in a sad voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

I looked at the television as the house of hell went up in smoke.

He held me while I mourned the death of two people who made my life hell. When I felt like I was stupid for caring, he told me he understood. He assured me that he would make sure I was okay, and then he convinced me to call the police after telling me everything to say to them. Then he left and went to talk to the old man who owned the place, making sure the owner of the Shore’s Point Motel gave the same story.

My story? I had run away from an abusive home and found refuge here.

Garrett wasn’t my alibi; he didn’t want to be involved. I understood, his life being different than mine, yet he really didn’t seem that different.

Not long after that, I was emancipated and able to finish school while living and working at a motel.

Every day, he showed up. And each day, the feelings, real feelings, began growing at a rapid pace. I was surely more eager than he was.

He was everything good in my life. No man had ever smelled so good, looked so good, had teeth so perfect that his smile was just so...good. And no one—man nor woman—ever seemed as interested in me or my life, the good, the bad, and the ugly, than he did.

Everything became possible with him. Being free, feeling kindness and compassion, sleeping without worry, the ability to say what was on my mind.

There was no falling in love. It just...was.

Looking back, it was total bullshit, yet I still mourn the loss of the only man who ever looked at me like he did. Every time I look at our beautiful son, I am reminded of the night he pushed me away with his horrible and slurred words.

Yet, that isn’t what I remember first of our time together, not even close. I wish it were. Being angry at him would be so much easier than thinking of him every. Single. Day.

Unlike Gage, Garrett didn’t keep his perfect fucking nose in the air, holding his perfect head up high so everyone thought he was perfect. A trait of Gage’s that, somehow through the years, when I was Mrs. Gage Falcon, I adopted.

I was angry at Garrett, so angry at him for telling me to get the hell away from him, stay away from him, and that I should pray that the child I was carrying wasn’t his, because a child from a girl like me and a man like him would be branded forever by all things wrong.

When his brother stepped in and dragged me away from the room, he and I snuck away to talk. We were at a beach party at a well-off friend’s home.

I knew what I had to do to make sure the child growing inside of me was protected from my past...and from Garrett’s words that felt like a curse. Words I knew were not from the man I had been in love with for almost a year. The man I seduced because he wouldn’t touch me, even though he wanted to, the evidence always plan as day.

He was hard, I was incredibly in love, and even though he tried to stop what happened, I pushed because I wanted him, my hero, to be my first. Hell, I wanted him to be my only.

For six months, we were all over each other. Mornings before school, afternoons when he dropped me off, and nights when he snuck out of his house to see me. Once a week, he took me to dinner, and sometimes he would drive by to show me where he lived. It was beautiful, and as a young woman in love, I dreamed of someday living in a home like that...with Garrett Falcon.

I lied to Gage.

Half of me hates it. The other half is forever grateful that, after that year of hell that was Garrett and my love, followed by nine months of torture, being pregnant and pretending it was Gage’s. Then lying about the night we were together that he was drunk, so damn drunk that he passed out. I did exactly what I had to do by throwing off my clothes and tucking myself beside a man who may not be my child’s father but shared DNA, and from what I heard about him, would do the right thing, even if he hated it. I did it out of love for the child who deserved better than me. I did it for the man who believed nothing good could come from him and I. I also did it to spite him, hurt him, break his heart like he had mine and I did it because I loved him.

The morning after the party, Gage looked at me, cocked his eyebrow, and shook his head, saying, “Sorry, babe, I gotta be honest, I don’t remember much of last night.”

I shrugged and forced the first lie. “You saved me from Garrett.”

He nodded, sat up, and rubbed his hand over his black hair. “He’s a good guy, my brother. He just, I don’t know, flips shit sometimes. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything he said.”

“It’s fine.” I sat up. “It gave me a chance to”—I look down his body, covered in ink and muscle, and acted as if I was into him—”meet you.”

“Meet? So nothing happened?” he asked.

I gave him a look, as if to say I was hurt, and went to stand.

As expected from what Garrett had told me, it bothered him.

“I’ll take you to breakfast, but I can’t promise anything more. Got a girlfriend.”

When we walked out of the bedroom, Garrett was standing at the door of whoever’s place the party was at. He was fucked up, I could tell. I’d seen it too many times, just not with him.

“You fuck that?” he asked Gage.

“Mind your business, little brother,” Gage snarled at him.

He shook his head and walked away.

A month later, an entire month, I lived in that motel, worked, and waited for Garrett. He never came, called, or messaged. I knew I had to do something.

I waited until Gage was pulling out of his driveway, had a taxi follow him to the nearest Starbucks, and “ran into him.”

He looked like he didn’t even remember me. Then I told him I was pregnant.

He didn’t flinch, run, or tell me to fuck off. He simply asked, “Is it mine?”

I gave him that same look, the one of hurt I gave him that morning when he asked if we had slept together.

“Okay.” He nodded. “Let’s go have a chat. Figure this out.”

A month later, I became Mrs. Gage Falcon.

Garrett didn’t show up to the wedding. He was supposed to be the best man. Gage wrote him off, because his brother was now a mess. He hadn’t done drugs when I was with him, but he had drunk occasionally. So, when I found out he was pretty hardcore into coke, pills, and pot, it was a bit of a shock, until I thought back on how we had met. It made perfect sense then.

I lived in hell, absolute hell, as Gage lorded over me, keeping me away from the speculative eyes of his mother, I suppose it was to protect me, until the day Brandon was born. That was when she found me sobbing on my maternity suite’s bathroom floor, high on pain meds. I told her everything.

My mother-in-law became my greatest ally in the sick and twisted game I played with her sons.

Why? For Brandon.

In that commonality, life became manageable, until Gage found out the truth that he wasn’t Brand’s father. Then my life became what I never imagined it would.

I needed an escape when he took Brandon. I was a mess. I took some pills to numb myself. When I didn’t come home for three days, Garrett Falcon became right about me. For several months after that, I was a train wreck, hooked on pills prescribed to me for depression.

That was when Gail threatened to make sure Gage didn’t let me see Brandon ever again, and so it happened that the only light shining through the façade that was my life could only visit me every three weeks. Then I knew I needed to do whatever I could to get my shit together.

I went to school, got my bachelors in three years, passed my boards to become a nurse, met a nice man—a doctor—and now...Now I will get Brandon back. Now I am becoming the mother he deserves. The mother I always wanted. The mother I always wanted to be.

This hell—knowing if Gage is with that bitch I’ll be watching him bond with other people—I deserve it, but I’ll be damned if I let that little bitch or my doubt win.

Brandon is the product of the only real love I ever knew.

Brandon isn’t a horrible brand caused by two people who are horrible. He is everything good. Everything.