Chapter 1: A Fresh Start

~~ Misty ~~

Let’s get one thing straight! My brother is a Grade-A asshole. I just want to clear that up before we delve into my own sins. Brian is the worst of the worst. He is a liar, a bully and a thief. He was often just plain malicious, frequently beating the crap out of me when I was little, and I guess, also when I was not so little, apparently just for fun.

Brian could have been considered a golden boy in high school if he hadn’t gotten himself expelled in his freshman year. He could have been captain of the football team or something like that if he had had any ability at all to get along with others.

Back then he was handsome, charming, dangerous, a bad boy, every girl’s dream. And He went through them faster than water through a fire hose. Even with that reputation, the girls just lined up for him.

There was even a rumor that the reason that he had gotten expelled was for getting caught banging one of our teachers. Miss Weckston did get fired the same week he got expelled. Hell, it was probably just the rumor mill running overtime. But if you knew Brian like I did, you wouldn’t doubt it.

The school would have been a better place without him, but he never really left. The machine shop he went to work at was just down the street, so he was always there in the halls after school. Even though he had been expelled, none of the faculty ever seemed to mind, or even notice his presence. Either they were completely blind, or they were scared of him, too. I just learned to avoid him at all costs. Especially when he was there, making out with Misty in the hall. I just couldn’t see that it was worse than the beatings.

Yes, he was the worst. Screwing any girl who would let him. Beating the crap out of anyone who got in his way. And stealing his friends’ girlfriends. That’s probably why he never had a friend for long. Yet his little gang of toughs always came back to his side ... eventually.

Worst of all is how he treated Misty. She was the prettiest girl in my class, and I had a crush on her since second grade. He has never been faithful to her for a single day since the day they met. I know for a fact he was fucking our cousin Alisha an hour after his first date with Misty. I know because I saw it. The asshole never bothered to close his bedroom door.

Alisha was a total bitch, and I hated her. Not least of which was because she had been sucking face with my asshat brother since she was twelve and never even had as much as a kind word to spare for me. Maybe that bitchiness comes with good looks. A lot of Brian’s girlfriends were like that, at least to me. But Misty was different.

Misty and I became close because Brian frequently made me cover for him when he was off banging some other girl. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was an artist, painting these incredible pictures. And her singing voice could melt your soul. She even acted. She’d ask me to read lines with her while she practiced for school plays.

It tore me up inside spending hours with the perfect girl, only for Brian to storm back in smelling like cheap booze and drag Misty off to his room. The worst part? Seeing the way her eyes lit up when he came around. And how she giggled when he grabbed her, calling me a “loser” before saying, “Enough time with this dweeb, babe. You have some cock to suck.”

Eventually, I decided I had to stop seeing Misty so much. It was killing me.

A year after, trying to avoid Misty had become like second nature to me. But hell, it had not been easy, not by a long shot. She was always there, and often asking me to read lines with her. Oh my God, it was always so hard to say no to her, but then I finally snagged myself a girl. Amy. Four months into dating her, and she was still practically untouched. Just kisses and maybe a little over-the-covers groping was all that she would allow. Amy was sweet and innocent and just one year behind me in school. She didn’t want to move too fast because I was her first boyfriend. And I was okay with going slow. Just being near her made my life better, happy even. With Amy, I was finally able to move past my infatuation with Misty, or at least start to.

Then one afternoon after softball practice, I walked in on my brother fucking Amy on my bed. My own damn bed! She was on her knees, getting plowed from behind by Brian, while moaning like a fucking bitch in heat.

Needless to say, I lost it. I screamed at her that she was a whore, that we were through. Brian just laughed and didn’t even stop pounding into her. In tears, I ran away — first time, but definitely not the last — from home. Pa found me starving in Dunston a few days later. My dad, bless his heart, dragged me back. Eighteen years old, no job, no money. I was eating out of garbage cans for the first time.

On the way back, I told Dad what Brian had done. He swore he’d beat the hell outta Brian when we got home. Big talk, but it never happened. Heard him storm up to Brian’s room, but then silence. Found Dad passed out in his armchair an hour later, drowning in whiskey. Same old Dad.

Brian found me eventually, grinning like a goddamn wolf. “What can I say?” he said. “Can’t keep a hot piece of ass like Amy around and not fuck her.” He patted my shoulder condescendingly. “Did you a favor, showing what a cunt she really is, little brother.”

He leaned closer, voice low and smug. “She’s mine now. Stay the hell away from her, dweeb.”

“Get the fuck out of my room!” I snapped.

But avoiding Brian was like trying to outrun quicksand. The bastard could make me feel ashamed just by looking at me with that smug grin--you know, the one that said, “Loser. I’m better than you.” And then came the whispers: “You hear how Amy squealed last night while you were trying to sleep?”

He’d often leave Amy naked on my bed, passed out, covered in his cum. Every single time, I’d puke and bolt, sometimes for days at a time. Once I nearly froze to death sleeping in old man Miller’s barn, but hunger always dragged me back. Brian’s mocking laughter was waiting for me. Or more often, it was his fists.

After I split with Amy, Misty still slipped into my life when Brian was gone. I couldn’t resist her smile for long, or reading lines with her. But it always tore me apart when his voice called for her, silencing us both. “Sorry, Matt,” she’d say, giggling before rushing off. “Gotta go.”

Brian kept up the charade: fucking Alisha, Amy, and a dozen other girls while he was still dating Misty, all the way, until their wedding six years ago. I have no doubt he continued his shenanigans after they tied the knot. But, I Haven’t spoken to either of them since that rehearsal dinner.

See, I’d finally had enough. It wasn’t just lust; I loved her. She was perfect — every goddamn inch of her: that dazzling smile, long blond hair cascading down to her sexy heart-shaped ass, those perfect peach-sized tits and a waist you could cinch with a ribbon. She was a walking dream.

Not to mention those legs that went on forever. And she had the kindest heart you ever met. Each time she told me how much she loved my loser brother, how good he was to her ... it ripped a hole in my gut.

Finally, at the rehearsal dinner, a few minutes after I had seen Brian dragging Alisha off to one of the back rooms at the reception hall. I summoned every ounce of courage I had and pulled Misty aside.

“Misty,” I breathed, taking her hand. “I’m in love with you. I have been for years. I’d treat you like heaven, not the way he does. You deserve better than him. Please, please don’t marry him.”

She laughed right in my face.

My heart felt like it shattered into a million goddamn shards.

“Oh my God, you’re serious?” She asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Of course,” I choked out. “You’re the most perfect girl I’ve ever met, and he has no idea what he’s got.”

“Matt, I’m sorry,” she said, a patronizing lilt in her voice. “I like you enough ... but you’re a complete dweeb. Seriously, if I wasn’t dating Brian, I wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“He’s been cheating on you with half the girls from school! He’s in the back room fucking Alisha right now!”

“Don’t be absurd!” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “And stop being a jealous ass. It doesn’t suit you. Brian would never do that to me. And she’s your cousin; that’s gross!”

She turned and walked away, leaving me there with a heart that felt like it had exploded.

When I returned to the main room, she was laughing with Brian, everyone else joining in the mirth. But Brian’s eyes locked onto mine, narrowed to slits, and the most icy expression I’d ever seen. I was a dead man. I just grabbed my stuff and bolted.

I ran the six miles straight back home and packed up what little that mattered to me. An hour later, I was on a Greyhound out of town, heading somewhere, anywhere, but away from them.

Six years gone. A whole damn lifetime ago. My life’s a different beast now. There were some rough patches, sure, those first couple of years after I bolted. Hostels. Odd jobs. More nights sleeping on San Diego sidewalks than I care to remember. But I finally hit pay dirt a few years back.

It was pure luck, really. I wrote this book, Cad’s Journey. You’ve probably heard of it. They turned it into a movie with Jessie ... yeah, that Jessie. The money rolled in faster than I could count it. Kids all over the world are obsessed with Cad, and a lot of adults are crazy about it too, apparently. I saw six cosplayers dressed as Dr. Morgart at Comic-Con last year. And don’t even get me started on the sexualized versions of Cad ... It was so fucking wrong, but so goddamn hot, especially the redhead.

But that’s where things got interesting...

I just stepped off a flight from Reno. Six weeks straight of book signings, each city blurring into the next. I was bone-tired. All I craved was to crash at my beach house, hit the shower, and sleep for a week. It doesn’t matter what I want. I know that I need to do a couple lines of coke and bang out another few chapters of Cad’s Revenge. The publisher’s breathing down my neck. They want it within a month.

Forty minutes after Marcus picked me up at San Diego International, he finally pulled up to my beach house. He always did the classic car-door thing. Guy was a pro.

“Thanks, Marcus,” I said, grabbing my bags and stepping out.

“My pleasure, Mr. Tanner. You’ll need the car in the morning?”

“Nah, taking the day off. If I need you, I’ll call. Otherwise, give Emily and the kid a kiss for me — take the day off yourselves.”

Marcus smiled. “Emily will be thrilled with that, sir. Thank you, sir. And Kori can’t wait for your next book. Any word on when that might drop?”

His wife, Emily, was a stunner — a beautiful mix of Latino and French. Their eight-year-old daughter, Kori, well, she was just plain adorable. I often let them use the pool and beach while I’m away — and sometimes when I’m home. It gets so damn hot in Santee, where they live.

“Can’t say yet. Still wrestling with the middle section. Hinds and Whitney are on my ass, though. Plan to hole up for the next week and write. No more travel until I get a rough draft off to them.”

“Well, enjoy your time, sir. Call if you need me,” he said, before walking back around to his side of the car, my car. My black Bentley, a car that he treated so lovingly you would think it was one of his kids. He pulled away up the road towards Torrey Pines.

... I sighed, slung my bag over my shoulder, grabbed my carry-on, and headed towards the beach house.

To my utter shock, there she was — Misty — sitting on my front stoop. She was heavily pregnant, with a faded black eye blooming above her left cheekbone. A little girl, maybe five or six years old, leaned against Misty’s swollen belly, sleeping soundly. Her head rested against that impossibly round curve, like a tiny bird nestled in its nest.

I froze at the sight of them. As I clicked the gate shut, Misty looked up. When she saw me, her eyes sparked with a familiar light — the one they used to hold when we were kids, reading lines together in the backyard. But that flicker died almost instantly, replaced by shame as she caught my expression.

~~ Past Trauma ~~

“What the fuck are you doing here‽” I snarled, unable to contain the anger born from long suffered humiliation erupting from me.

I couldn’t help myself. The emotions roiling up inside me were like a hurricane. Between the exhaustion of travel, and the shock of seeing her again warring with my long dormant desire for her and my utter humiliation at our last encounter. It all just boiled up and came out as fury.

I dropped my bag and carry on, fists clenching at my sides.

How could she be here? How did she find me? I had changed my name and moved across the country. I barely even looked like the old me.

The child stirred, and she drew an arm in tight around the girl. As she did, the warm summer thermal coming in off the ocean blew her long hair into her face, but I could still see the tears flowing.

At the sight of her tears, the rage that was building melted away, leaving only that familiar shame. Rage ... Anger ... Anger at Misty. That was new. In all the years I had known her, I had never been angry at her. Not even when she rejected me. Not even when she laughed at me.

I hadn’t even known I was capable of anger until I got away from that house. Not even when I had caught Brian fucking Amy in my bed. There had only been a deep sort of sadness and shame. It had felt like anger only briefly. Then, as always, he gave me that look that said... ‘Ya I am fucking your girl and you’re not going to do a damn thing about it.’

Well, I had done something about it. I left. And I never spoke to Amy again. Well, I did call her a whore, that next time I had seen her. But Brian beat the fucking crap out of me for it, broke my rib. So, I just never spoke to her again after that. Whenever she was over getting fucked by my brother, I would just leave. He mostly never had her stay long because he didn’t want Misty to catch them, except those times when he left the fucking whore passed out in my bed just to torment me.

But ... Misty ... there she was; very, very, pregnant and sitting on my front doorstep. And now I could see the black eye more clearly. It wasn’t recent.

I took a breath. Using one of the techniques from my yoga instructor. I focused my will and brought it back to center.

“Misty, what are you doing here?” I asked this time in a much calmer voice.

“We don’t have anywhere to go,” she sobbed. She looked down and away as she said it.

Softly, in a strained voice, she continued, “You were right. He is a monster.”