Julian: A Dark Angel Series Companion Novella (Dark Angel #3) (4 page)

I sit perfectly still, my posture straight and my eyes focused. The room is lit brightly, the fluorescent glow creating a clinical atmosphere. Trying not to appear too distracted, I shift my eyes to the pictures that grace the wall. Aligned in the dark brown frames, achievement after achievement…wait, did I just see the words ‘Nobel Prize winner’?

Run now…

Mr. Grimmer sits behind his large mahogany oak desk. His eyes are darting across the pages, giving me the opportunity to watch him. He’s an older man, maybe mid-sixties. His bald patch leaves nothing to the imagination. There’s a slight comb-over, but you probably wouldn’t be paying attention to that because you would be too busy staring at his tortoise shell glasses. The lenses are so thick they look like the type you would get at a gag shop. He wears a short-sleeved white shirt that has a pocket at the front; inside sits a blue pen and a red pen. Well, duh, red could only mean an ass kicking.

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a pen and I watch as his fingers linger on the tip of the red pen.

FUCK!
I
knew
it. EPIC FAIL. Did I really think I could pull this off?
All that cramming in Yale and you’re going to end up in the gutter.

“Mr. Baker, I have to tell you, I am quite impressed with your manuscript.” He offers a warm smile; perhaps I was overthinking things. He pushes his glasses back past the bridge of his nose, his face searching mine, obviously waiting for an answer.

Act confident—don’t show weakness.

“Thank you, Mr. Grimmer. I feel honored that you can see my vision. As you are aware, this is my first venture into writing my own piece.”

“Well, we all have to start somewhere, Mr. Baker, and you definitely have the talent to pursue this. Now, what I want to see is the finished manuscript. Have that to me by September first and if it’s up to par with what I’ve read so far, you have yourself a publishing deal.”

September first, as in eight weeks…how the
fuck
am I going to pull that off?

“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Grimmer.” I stand up and politely shake his hand.

With his right hand, he pats me on the back. “Mr. Baker, I have faith in you and your work. You’ve got something I don’t see much of anymore—compassion. You can do this, son. Stay focused and keep your eyes on the prize.”

…

I hear the loud sounds of the waves crashing on the shore as I walk along the beach, attempting to clear my thoughts. Eight weeks to finish a manuscript that had taken me six months to write. The big fucking problem was it was written when I was high as a kite. The days when I barely slept, when I remained isolated in my apartment with the blinds closed, deep within the darkness, just me and my thoughts.

But I hadn’t touched that shit in such a long time.

Not since I discovered that Charlie was a far better addiction.

Only, without Charlie, I had no inspiration…which left me with only one option—back to watching.

She would be so fucking proud of you if she knew what you were writing, and that makes this all okay…right?
Charlie had a heart, the biggest heart I knew. It was such a damn shame she wasted its efforts on scum like Edwards.

Eyes on the prize. Once this is done and published, maybe Charlie will realize what she has been missing all along—a man that truly loved her and only her. A man who would move heaven and earth for her and give her everything she deserves.

I close my eyes, wanting to see Charlie’s face, but the image of Chelsea’s dead body flashes through my mind instead, causing my heart to temporarily stop. I clutch at my chest, pain soaring through me.

What the hell was that?

The demons are returning, the same ones that have trapped me for all these years. The same ones that linger amongst the shadows and torture me with their ghostly presence.

I need an escape now…anything to take away the pain.

The demons taunt me, their eyes thirsty for the white-laced acid.

Fucking run. Now.

I run back to my car, knowing I have to use all my strength to distract myself. The only healthy thing I could do right now is head back to my office and throw myself into work. I just need to get through today, survive.

Distract yourself with work,
I repeated in my head.

My workplace has become a home away from home. The building is located in downtown LA and is fairly new. Like any newsroom, the atmosphere is constant chaos. Employees are running around like turkeys a week before Thanksgiving, others sitting behind their partitions talking loudly on the phone. The sound of keyboards clicking at record speed echoes throughout the office, the desperate task of trying to hit that sought-after deadline.

I walk into the main foyer to be greeted by our receptionist, Nyree. She is new to our office and I’ve barely had a chance to talk with her. Our phones would ring off the hook and she would constantly be busy. Today, she’s sitting quietly at her computer, typing away.

“Good morning, Mr. Baker,” she cheerfully greets.

“Nyree, call me Julian, please,” I scold playfully.

“Sorry
Julian,
” she enunciates. “I’ve got a ton of messages for you. You may just be the most wanted man right now.”

“That depends by whom…” My eyes dance as I watch her, waiting for her flirtatious reaction to my comment.

Nyree is a very beautiful woman, tall and slender with the perfect amount of curves in all the right places.

Her piercing blue eyes and unruly blonde hair stands out. She lets out a wide grin, handing me the messages. Our fingers touch for a moment.
Hmm, wouldn’t she be a nice girl to fuck
? Okay, seriously, do not mix business with pleasure, but all my dick could think about right now was pleasure. This is what happens when your nephew moves in with you and you have no private time to jerk off. I give her a wink and head to my office, trying to hide the bulge in my pants that needs relieving.

With a mountain of work done, the day goes by fairly quickly, and before I know it, the clock reads five-thirty. The office starts to clear out and my phone rings. It’s Nyree.

“
Miss Parkins
, staying late? Quite the productive employee,” I tease.

“I have someone here to see you,” she politely answers.

Fuck, I wish it was a booty call.
Seriously, Julian, go to the fucking restroom and jerk off now.

“Sure, who is it?”

“He would prefer to see you…”

Huh, odd. “Okay, send him in.”

I tidy up my desk, making it more presentable, not knowing when she said someone would be here to see me that meant I would find Lex Edwards standing in my office only moments later.

What. The.
Fuck.

I stand up and extend my hand as a polite gesture. If he saw my hand was solid as a rock, he wouldn’t know I thought about Charlie almost every second of the day and that last night, my lips touched her. I retract my arm as it’s evident he doesn’t want to play along with my game. “Lex, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He stands at my door, his glare fierce. He’s a tall man, pretty much on par with me. He’s standing there dressed in a business suit and tie, arms folded. He’s trying to intimidate me. Perhaps it was working, but all I had to do was remember that I was once inside his wife…
more than once actually
…and with that thought alone, I know I’m not the only person scorned in this room.

I motion for him to take a seat, which he declines by remaining silent.

“Do I need to be more cautious of my wife’s whereabouts?” he grits.

“
Excuse me?”

He pauses, trying to remain calm but I can see the vein almost popping on his forehead. “First, I hear that Eric is dating your nephew.”

“I wouldn’t call it dating considering Tristan is straight.”

“Well, not according to Eric. I can’t stop Eric from doing whatever the hell he wants, but I can stop Charlotte from having any contact with you.”

“Interesting. Your wife hasn’t contacted me, and if you know Charlie, she’ll do whatever the hell she wants. Remember, once upon a time she was going to marry me. I know her inside and out, just like you do.”

Inside and out…
especially inside
. I watch him as his fists clench, his eyes bulging out of his head. My defense is up and I’m certain he’s going to strike at any moment.

He shifts his neck, creating a slight crack. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

I think about his question carefully, but know I have to answer promptly because my hesitation could be interpreted as guilt.

“Could you be more specific? C’mon, Edwards, I’ve got shit to do and I don’t appreciate my time being wasted.”

This time he inches closer, his hands leaning on my desk for support
. “Someone has been at my house and I am this close to ending your fucking life right now.”

I look him straight in the eye. “Do you think I would be that stupid to break into your house? Besides, Charlie made it perfectly clear to me that she was married. You won, game over. Leave now.”

“Game over?”
He lets out a chilling laugh. “I believe it’s still being played, and I’m warning you so listen carefully. If I catch you anywhere near Charlotte, and I mean
anywhere
near her, I will personally hunt you down and beat the fucking shit out of you with my bare hands.”

“Oh c’mon, Edwards…if you did that, do you think Charlie would be happy?”

He almost spits out the words, “
My wife doesn’t get a say in this.”

I laugh at the thought. I’m safe. I know Charlie. She wouldn’t wish anything bad to happen to me.

“Here’s the thing. Charlie loved me. Yes, loved me. Wanted to be with me the rest of her life…wanted kids…five, to be exact. If you hurt me, you hurt her. Simple. I’m not doing anything wrong here. I wish you guys all the best.”

His ragged breathing is the only noise filtering throughout the room, and I am so close to punching his fucking face. He has Charlie, he fucking married her and made children with her. The nerve of the fucking idiot to walk in here and parade what was once fucking mine! Now my blood is boiling.

“Don’t think this is over, you understand me? I will do everything to protect my family. Watch your back, Baker.” With these final words, he storms out of my office.

Sweat beads trickle down my forehead as the realization that in a blink of an eye, my life could be over. That was a close fucking call.
You fucking idiot, Julian, why can’t you just get your fucking life together for once?

Now what do I do? He’s onto me—a dog sniffing the trail. But now I need Charlie more than ever. I need her in order to get through the rest of my manuscript.

Or I succumb to the white-laced acid.

There isn’t a question. Charlie is my only way to survive.

The night is filled with raging nightmares, tossing and turning. I’m always just a moment’s reach from pulling Chelsea’s body out of the wreckage, her screams echoing through the night.

I am paralyzed with terror.

Chelsea!

I scream but my voice can’t be heard. My cries are silent pleas, and with force I try, but it’s like my vocal chords don’t exist.

Until I awake in the morning drenched in sweat.

They are back…

With my heart beating erratically, I continue to lie perfectly still as I stare blankly at the ceiling. 

I battled with my good angel. We had a love hate relationship—mainly hate. It constantly whispered in my ear telling me to fucking fix my life. Reminders that once upon a time I had the world at my feet.

That was until the world decided to crush me.

I had to at least try again to get back on track. I wasn’t stupid; I knew I was intelligent and had the “whole package” according to some women I had dated, but that was on the outside.

On the inside I was a train wreck on fucking crack.

I wasn’t going to take Lex’s warning lightly. If Charlie was mine, I would do the exact same thing. Maybe that’s why I battled with this decision so much. Yeah, I know he wanted the best for her, but who fucking said he was best? Then again, was I? What could I possibly offer her now?

It was too much thought for six a.m., and the only clear decision I could make was that I needed to get through the next eight weeks without seeing Charlie…and definitely no coke.

Week one:

I was on a roll; with a fresh attitude, the writing just flowed. Every night I would sit in my apartment and pour my words onto the screen. It was a different type of high…a positive high. I even positioned my Yale pictures near my desk, reminding me of how hard I had worked to get to this point in my life.

Life was coming together. I could win this battle.

Week two:

Hell broke loose in my head. Tristan was annoying the fuck out of me. I needed my space. Okay, to be fair, he wasn’t around as much; Eric was taking this tour guide thing to a new level. I had even seen a physical change in the kid. I had to bring it up; I feared he was taking steroids.

“Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but since when did you get so big?”

“If you weren’t my uncle I would be extremely paranoid right now.” He continues to rapidly press the buttons on his control; whatever war game he was playing was occupying his attention.

And that was another thing. The fucking PlayStation! I only had one TV in my apartment and forgive me for wanting to watch the news to catch up on what was happening in the world. I was this close to throwing it out the window and claiming the apartment was burglarized.

“Just want to make sure you’re not mixing with the wrong crowd.” Who the fuck was I to talk about wrong crowds?

“I’ve been hanging out with some bangin’ babes. If you mean wrong as in double D hunnies, well…”

I raise my brow. “Eric hooked you up with double D hunnies?

He pauses his game and turns to face me. “I don’t always hang out with Eric. I have a life outside of him. Besides, he prefers men.”

“Yes, he does. Okay, just making sure you aren’t stocking up on the ‘roids, okay, kid?”

He presses play on the control. “I’m not a kid! In fact, I got a date with double D hunny Claudia tonight, and considering it’s at her place, I’m pretty certain you won’t be cooking me breakfast.”

“When have I ever cooked you breakfast?” It was laughable. The kid ate Captain Crunch every morning.

“It’s an expression. You know, because I will be busy motor boating all night…”

There’s a knock on the door; I wince at Tristan for his motor boating comment. Staring into the peephole, I see Eric’s perfectly styled hair staring right back at me. Oh dear god, seriously, here comes a tidal wave of drama.

I open the door; Eric walks right in and stands beside me. He is dressed in gym gear—the tights hugging his thin frame, and other parts that prompt me to look away.
Okay, seriously, you did not just look at his tights.

“Make yourself at home, Eric,” I comment sarcastically.

“Hey, Batman. Robin ready to hit the gym?” He notices Tristan playing on the sofa. With a look of disgust, he turns off the TV.

“Eric, what the fuck?” Annoyed, Tristan glares at Eric.

“Uh hello, Flubber! Gym time. I messaged you!”

Flubber!
Tristan was scrawny; the irony and reference to the movie made me laugh out loud.

“No you didn’t,” Tristan argues back.

Eric searches the coffee table until he locates Tristan’s cell. “Here, let me prove it.” He scrolls through with a confused look on his face. “Who’s Claudia?”

Tristan snatches the phone but doesn’t speak. I interject, “Double D hunny who Tristan plans to motorboat tonight.”

“I didn’t say that!”

Eric is quiet which is very out of character. “A date, huh? So tell me. What do you plan to wear?”

Tristan shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Maybe that blue shirt and my jeans.”

“
And shoes?”
Uh oh, Tim Gunn has entered the building.

“My chucks…I think.”

“Tristan, no girl wants her beaver pounded by a guy wearing chucks. Rule number one,” Eric points out.

“Errrr I do plan on removing my chucks before I bang anyone!” Tristan shouts.             

“I’ll argue that…I have chucks. I pound beavers,” I correct him.

Eric plasters on a fake smile. “But you, my dear, are Batman. You could wear a pink tutu and women would still want the full buffet breakfast.”

“Buffet breakfast? As in eggs, bacon—”

Eric cuts Tristan off. “No, sweet pea, as in they want an Aussie kiss. The same as a French one but down under.”

“
Eric…”
I burst out laughing at his pathetic analogy.

“Oh wait! I’ve got a good joke I heard the other day!” Eric straightens his face to tell the joke, Tristan cringing already as I suspect Eric tells crude jokes to him all the time.

“How is a pussy like a grapefruit?” He waits for our response.

“How?” I indulge him.

“The best ones squirt when you eat them!” He slaps his hand on his thigh and lets out a huge roar of laughter which I can’t help but join.

“I don’t get it.” Tristan scratches his head.

“Go take a shower,” I tell him. “Perhaps Eric can give you a lesson on it another time.”

“Unfortunately, I am more educated in that department than I should be. Rocky has an unhealthy obsession with them and is not afraid to send me links. Once I watched a squirting contest. I swear it was like the squirting Olympics!”

I had seen the exact video, but now was not the time to bring that up. “Give Tristan a break. It’s not that easy to get laid sometimes. I think he’s just trying to find his feet.”

“How is it not easy? I’ve seen women swarm around you. In fact, it used to drive Charlie insane. Although she would never say so since she is as stubborn as a mule sometimes.” He continues to ramble on but I am taken aback and distracted by his comment about Charlie.

Her name…
her jealousy
. No, don’t succumb.

There is a silence in the room. Fuck, think of something…anything!

Eric places his hand over his mouth like a five-year-old caught saying a swear word. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up Charlie. I realize it might be a sore spot.”

Sore spot…more like open wound with a bullet still sitting in it. “It’s fine. How is she doing, anyway?”

“I um…
do you really want to know?”

“It’s fine, Eric. She’s moved on…I get it.”

“But have you?”

I turn to look at him and I know he is trying to read me. I don’t answer; I can’t muster the courage to lie right now so I don’t say anything at all.

Eric breaks the silence. “She’s doing well considering…”

“
Considering what?”
What the fuck is wrong with her?

“Nothing alarming, considering she is up the duff again. Her cravings are making me gag. Last night it was bread dipped in ice cream.” He dry heaves for a moment.

“Oh well, yeah, that has to suck right? My sister Josie was the same and look what she gave birth to!”

There was another silence. “Am I missing something here, Eric?” I question.

His eyebrows perk up. “What are you talking about?”

“So, what do you and Tristan do? I don’t get to speak to him much despite him living here.” I was on parental duty. Odd, I know. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Eric; I just knew there were some bad crowds in LA and I didn’t want Tristan near them.

“Been showing him all the hot spots in LA. Taking him to the gym…I don’t know, just stuff us young ones do.”

I ask the question directly. “Look, is he using anything to bulk up?”

Eric laughs. “Tristan? OMG no, he just enjoys the weights. So do I…well, not to do them but there is this trainer Mitchell and WOW! You should see his pecs, first class, I could eat a five-course meal off them.”

“Too much info, Eric.”

Tristan walks out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. He is completely dripping wet. I did notice that he had formed a six pack—shit, the kid was becoming a man. It wasn’t that which caught my attention, but the fact that Eric’s mouth was gaping.

Oh shit.

This was a heartbreak waiting to happen. I didn’t have the heart to remind Eric that Tristan was straight, but I was fairly certain Tristan was a big enough boy to tell him on his own.

Eric straightens up and walks over to Tristan. “Okay, show me this damn shirt.”

I decide to leave them alone as I need to clear my head. Grabbing my keys, I head out of the apartment with Eric’s voice on high.

“This shirt belongs in the clearance rack at Wal-Mart! If you want a crack at this
bird
, you need to show off your body.” I can hear the muffled voices and decide to leave the divas to their own.