Julian: A Dark Angel Series Companion Novella (Dark Angel #3) (2 page)

The loud banging on the door wakes me from my deep slumber. I turn over to look at my watch—7 a.m.

Who the fuck? I rub my eyes vigorously, the memory of last night flashing before me, reminding me why I am beyond exhausted.

A faint glow filtered through the room. Her silhouette teased me and my heart thumped so loud I was certain it would pop out of my chest. She lifted her blouse over her shoulders. Fuck, this was it. This was what I had been waiting for. Her hands reached for the bottom of her tank top, gliding it just above her stomach until she stopped. She focused on something else. Walking over to the nightstand, a smile widened across her face as she placed the cell to her ear.

An hour later, I sat still behind the bushes, irritated by the length of the conversation. No doubt she was talking to him. Fucking asshole, can’t even leave her alone for an hour. Considering he was in London for this big conference, you would think he would be all business.

Her movements changed, my boredom shifted, I positioned my binoculars, hoping to continue what I had come here for. Instead, I saw the slow drop of the blinds covering my view, and she was out of sight.

Fucking hell!

I kicked the rock beside me in frustration, a stupid move as the pain ricocheted throughout me.
God, you’re a fucking loser, Julian
. Just like every other time I had done this, the lust was soon overcome by guilt. I was a sick bastard for doing this, and I knew the only reason I allowed myself to do it was because it replaced my addiction to Cocaine. Surely stalking Charlie was healthier, right? It was my perverse way of justifying what I knew deep inside was just plain wrong.

I hear the voice from outside the hall; it sounds vaguely familiar. I stumble to the door wearing only my boxers and a wife beater. As I peek through the peephole, I see the face. Scrawny looking, with an odd blemish here and there. I rub my eyes; no way—this can’t be who I think it is.

“C’mon, Uncle Jools, open the fricken door!”

You’ve got to be kidding me.
Reluctantly, I open the door. It’s Tristan, my nephew.

“Tristan? Why and what the hell are you doing here?”

He barges in, throwing his duffle bag on the floor and placing a small bag that was draped over his shoulder gently on the coffee table.
Oh fuck no
…duffel bags are never a good sign. The sign of a drifter looking for a place to stay. He can’t stay with me, I’m a nomad. Born to wander the earth alone…I enjoy peace and quiet. I can’t have a kid living here.

“Mom said you’ve gone off ya nut and needed some company.”

He makes himself at home, sitting on the couch, placing his feet on the table with his hands behind his head.

I run my hands through my hair in order to calm myself down, but of course it doesn’t work. “Tristan, you can’t stay here.”

“Why not? Place is big enough for both of us.” He lifts a magazine from the table and cringes. I wasn’t wrong in thinking finance literature was not his taste.

My place wasn’t huge. It was a one-bedroom apartment on top of some seedy massage place downstairs. It was all I could afford right now. I had blown so much money on coke that I had to downgrade luxuries, like a secure apartment. It wasn’t such a bad place, fairly modern inside but really cramped. He would have to sleep on the couch…
what, now you’re thinking he can stay?

“I don’t have time to take care of a minor, Tristan. I’m busy enough with work and…
stuff.”

He would get in the way of your night activities. Find him somewhere else to stay,
the sadistic voices in my head yell at me.

“Minor? I’m twenty-one. I’m old enough to drink, gamble and root. I’m in California, the babes here are bangin’ hot! Just outside there was this blonde…she wanted to invite me in for iced tea and shit but I swear…and
I swear…
she was going commando. Totally wanted to fuck me.” His Aussie accent wasn’t lost on me, although his slang was.

“Tristan, why on Earth are you back in the States? Josie wouldn’t just send her firstborn to her incapable brother. Remember the last time I took care of you? I almost dropped you on your head.”

“I was like a year old…that was so twenty years ago.” He rolls his eyes at me.

I knew my sister well enough to know she loved her son, and the thought of shipping him off would have sent her into a depressive spiral for days.

“Truth? Husband number four doesn’t like me.” There was a change of tone in his voice. His eyes shifted toward the window, my cue to change subjects and make sure I made that long-distance call to Josie to find out what the fuck happened. Fuck, that asshole better not have laid a finger on him.

I let out a breath, not believing that I am allowing him to stay here. Where else would he go? I have been a lousy uncle; I guess I owe him at least this.

As I continue to look at him, I notice how much he’s changed since Thanksgiving five years ago. Josie would constantly email me pictures of him when they moved to Australia because of husband number three. That ended like a bad train wreck and so she moved onto husband number four. Tristan has grown up into a man…well, okay, maybe a man-child. He’s slightly shorter than me; his physique hidden behind a baggy t-shirt with a green lantern symbol on it. His hair is scruffy and untidy; the bleach blond makes him look like an Aussie surfer. Probably why he’s sporting a tan as well.

“Okay, listen, you can stay here, but only for a couple of weeks and I want to lay some ground rules.” Fuck, when did I become so parental?

“Deal.” He smiles.

“Number one, pick up after yourself. I don’t tolerate slobs.”

“Well, how do you explain your bedroom?”

“A momentary lapse of concentration that will not happen again.” No, Roxy will not happen again.

“Right, so you screwed your brains out with a chick that gave great head but in daylight her face belonged on a wanted posted?”

“Rule number two. My life is private. You want to stay here, respect my privacy.”

“What are you hiding, Uncle Jools? Some weird BDSM fetish? Somewhere in here is a secret entrance to your cave?”

“Rule number three, please stop calling me ‘Uncle Jools’. Fuck the respect bullshit. Yes, I’m your uncle, but Julian is acceptable.”

“Okay, well now my rule, and I only have one.”

“You kidding me, kid?” I have to laugh at this one. Tristan and rules?

“Actually, two. No coke in the house. I don’t want to find you OD’ing on some line you did.”

What the fuck? The nerve of the kid!

“I don’t do that shit anymore.”

“Well, you used to, so just don’t. Get some help or something.”

“And two?” I ask, annoyed.

“If I stop calling you ‘Uncle Jools’, you stop calling me ‘kid’.” He holds out his hand to shake on it, something I reluctantly do.

“Great, now for the
piece de resistance
!” He opens the zip to his precious cargo and reveals his PlayStation 4. Video games? Talk about juvenile. The last time I played was Legend of Zelda back in the nineties. Right before Chelsea…don’t fucking go there…
not now.

“Listen ki...Tristan. I’m not a video game kinda guy. Since it’s your first day in Cali, how about we head down to Venice beach?”

“Awesome, bro!”

“Yeah, awesome.” I shake my head before letting out a small laugh.

The first laugh I’ve had in months.

…

We walked along the esplanade, and like always, it was entertainment central. One could spend hours here just watching the different acts that would so desperately try to drum up a crowd for a little bit of cash. People of all different ages would glide past us in roller-skates. Ladies in shorts and bikini tops would casually walk by, their sun-kissed tans and long blonde hair shimmering in the sun. Tristan would stop every so often, his feeble attempt to flirt with the hoard of girls.

“So, you’re an Aussie? Do you know the Hemsworth brothers?” They would giggle.

“Sure! Jason and Keith? In fact I went to school with them.”

It was cringe-worthy. I didn’t have the heart to tell him they were referring to Liam and Chris, but felt like I needed to when they walked away in a fit of laughter.

“Snobs!” he yelled out.

“Uh, kid…I think they were referring to Chris and Liam Hemsworth.”

“Don’t call me that, and who?”

“You know, the two Aussie actors.”

“Oh…
Thor! I knew that. Mate, the women here are hot! Damn, I’ve been missing out on so much in boarding school…” His voice trails off as we walk past the weights area where Arnold Schwarzenegger wannabes are showing off and trying to be the next big thing.

“How do you think I can get guns like that guy?” Tristan points to a somewhat slim guy, though his forearms are nicely cut. God, this is so gay of me for staring.

“Gee, ki…Tristan, you would need to start taking steroids or something. Have you even finished puberty?”

“Nice one…NOT! I might have to check out the local gym. You’re not bad, what do you bench?”

“I don’t go to the gym. I just do weights at home.”

The gym is where you meet beautiful ladies who have a fucked-up past with a shitload of baggage. Lesson number one. The type of women who rip your heart out of your chest, stomp on it in front of your very own eyes, then throw it back in your face saying, “Ha ha, loser.”

“Like Bruce Wayne?” he blurts out, followed by a chuckle.

“How original. I haven’t heard that before.”

“Really? Because you really look like—”

“Sarcasm, Tristan. Look it up.”

We walk a little further past the juggling performers before stopping at a coffee cart. I order a latte and offer to order Tristan one.

“Coffee? Mate, that’s old people drink…I’ll just have a milkshake.”

“Milkshake? That’s a child’s drink.” I roll my eyes.

After grabbing his milkshake from another shop and my coffee, we find a bench to sit at that looks out over the ocean. It’s a beautiful day out, as beautiful as you can get in LA. I still wasn’t used to all the smog, not when you’ve visited some of the most picture-perfect beaches in the world. Still, it was a refreshing change to be outdoors.

“So, are you still a journalist?” Tristan asks.

“Yes…for the meantime.”

“Why the meantime?”

“I’m looking into other things.”

“Like?” He slurps on his milkshake, following it with a loud belch.

Jesus, no class.

Should I even bother going into my aspirations? He was fucking twenty-one. His resume probably consisted of a string of fast food chains. I wasn’t used to these conversations with other human beings. After moving to LA, I struggled to meet friends, especially when I was so high on coke all the time. My dealer would be my only friend, or enemy, whatever the fuck you want to call him. All my friends were still in New York, living the high life I left behind.

“I don’t think journalism is for me anymore.” It was the honest truth. I had no idea why I was telling him this. Maybe because there was a part of me that was hoping he could gain some sort of lesson from my mistakes.

“But didn’t you go to college to study that shit? Isn’t it a bit too late to change your mind?”

“Perhaps…I don’t know.”

“See, that’s the reason why I didn’t go to college back home. What’s the point?”

“For academic reasons? To make sure you’re educated enough to follow a career?”

“I don’t need a career, I’m happy bumming it.” His response was so chilled. Great, I had a bum on my hands. Josie obviously thought dumping him in boarding school would work wonders.

He continued to ramble on about skateboards and competitions, but I was distracted. I knew what time it was, Thursday afternoon, 4 p.m., and just like clockwork it happened…
she was here.

Yes, there was a reason why I suggested we take a stroll down to Venice beach.

She was with a woman who I often saw with her, but I didn’t recognize her by name. She had blonde hair and quite a stunning figure. They wore their workout gear, Charlie’s belly protruding from underneath the tank top.

I remember the moment I discovered it about three months ago. Her belly popped overnight and there was no denying she was pregnant with her second child. I went on a bender after that, straight lines of coke every night. My dealer had practically moved in. The only thing that pulled me out of it was a warning I got from my boss telling me to get my shit together or I was gone. With my savings account drained, I had no choice but to stay clean. In order to do that, I stalked Charlie even more. It was a vicious cycle, and one I knew had to stop. I just didn’t know how.

Placing my sunglasses on, I continue to stare at her, making sure she can’t see me. She still looks unbelievably gorgeous. Her hair is cut shorter, just touching her shoulders, and it’s tied back in a ponytail. She and the blonde would do these yoga poses, and goddammit, there was a lot of spreading going on.