Rebel North by J.B. Salsbury

Twenty-Six

Kingston

Thanks to Jordan, I was packed and moved in a matter of days. My first night sleeping in Alexander and Jordan’s guest room was a sleepless night filled with fears that I may never see Gabriella again. Never get the chance to explain. Wanting to be close to her for one last time, I headed back to my old condo praying the locks hadn’t been changed yet.

Just as I hoped, walking through my empty Lenox Hill condo for the last time, I see Gabriella everywhere. Her turning around to laugh at me from her position on the couch, her sitting on the island after stepping on glass, and her in my room. Even with the furniture gone, I can still see her sleeping on the bed as if nothing had changed.

But everything has changed.

With each day that passes, the dread of never seeing her again grows and kills what little hope I clung to.

I stare out my old bedroom window to the city and all of the millions of New Yorkers, wondering where she is. Has she already forgotten about me? Or does her hatred for me fuel her resolve to stay away?

Sick and tired of wallowing in my own pity party, I say one final goodbye to my now-empty closet.

I walk leisurely down the hallway, knowing this will be the last time, and stop in my tracks when I see Gabriella standing in the foyer, her hands gripped tightly on her purse at her stomach.

She must sense me because she turns abruptly toward me. Her hands fist tighter onto her bag.

Am I dreaming? Is she really here? “You came back?” I soften my voice so as not to scare her away.

“I tried to call.” She makes an attempt to relax her shoulders and appear less nervous, but I can see the tension in her expression.

“My phone is disconnected.” I take a few steps closer, cautious not to get too close.

“You’re moving.”

I nod and take another step closer. “I’m living with Alex.” I want her to know where to find me.

Her gaze darts around the empty space, but only for a second before coming back to me. As if I’m a dangerous animal she has to keep in sight. “I need to talk to you.”

“Of course. There’s a coffee shop down the street. We can—”

“No. Here is fine. It’ll be quick, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

The weight of what she’s saying sinks against my shoulders, and I nod. At least she’s here now, and for that, I’m grateful. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

She breathes in through her nose and juts out her chin. “The night of the accident.”

My pulse skips and races.

“I have gaps in my memory, and I need you to fill them.”

“I don’t know—”

“You led me to believe we were strangers. I trusted you to the degree that we made love, Kingston.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she beats them back with anger. “You owe me the truth. And I’m not leaving until I get it. All of it.”

I run both hands through my hair and nod. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything.” I crank my mind back to where it all began. “It was the last day of your freshman year, the night of your final performance at Julliard.”

Three years ago…

Gabriella

“I don’t care what you say, you’re coming with me.” Ainsley hooks her arm in mine as we leave the backstage of the Peter Jay Sharp Theater.

The applause ended an hour ago, and the audience is gone. The last of the dancers, including Ainsley and me, leave our first year at Julliard behind.

“I’m so tired,” I whine as she drags me across the street toward our residence hall.

She pulls out her phone and smiles at whatever she sees on the screen. “You just need a drink. That’ll perk you up.”

“Or put me right to sleep.”

“How old are you again?” She punches out a reply text. “Because you sound like my mom.”

“Not old enough to drink, but neither are you.”

We get to our dorm room and drop our dance bags. My twin bed calls me, but Ainsley is right. How can I not celebrate the completion of my freshman year?

“This guy will buy for us.” She grabs her robe and heads for the bathroom. “He wants us to meet him in an hour, so we have to get showered fast.” The excitement in her voice and the sparkle in her eyes make me groan.

“Hold on. Which guy is this? Please tell me it’s not that nouveau-riche guy who’s always flirting obnoxiously.” I work on releasing my hair from my ballet bun. “What’s his name? Kingsley?”

“Kingston.”

“More like Queenston,” I mumble to myself. The guy dresses as if he’s an offspring of Elton John and David Gandy.

“And you’re in no position to call anyone nouveau-riche, Miss Sterling-Penn.” She shakes out her tightly wound hair.

Touché. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather eat our weight in carbs?” I fall back onto my bed, thinking carbs in bed seems like a lot more fun than fighting off the advances of rich, drunk dudes.

“You’re coming out. The topic is not up for discussion.” She disappears into the bathroom.

I down an energy drink to rally and get myself cleaned up but make little effort getting ready. Jeans, a lightweight sweater, and Converse. Ainsley’s stunning in a short dress and heels. Good, she’ll catch all the eyes tonight, and I can fade into the background.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, we walk out of our dorm and climb into a cab.

“The Yacht Club,” Ainsley tells the driver.

“The Yacht Club?” In the past, we’ve met this guy out at parties or swanky restaurants. Not that I’ve ever hung out for long. As soon as Ainsley was properly draped against him, I’d grab a cab home.

“Don’t sound so surprised. The guy is loaded.”

“Are you guys dating?” I’ve found it nearly impossible to connect with friends in the last few months, much less romantic possibilities. If I’m not in class, in rehearsals, or sleeping, I’m doing laundry or having a meal with my parents, and neither of those happens often enough. How Ainsley manages a social life is beyond me. The only reason we’ve remained friends is because we’re roommates and in the ballet program together.

“I wish.” She checks her makeup on her phone camera. “I’ve made it clear that I’m interested…”

From what I’ve seen, she’s made it more than clear. She’s thrown herself at him on more than one occasion.

“…but he never takes the bait.”

“So why exactly are we meeting up with him again?”

“He keeps inviting us out, so he must be interested. Maybe he just wants to get to know me better before jumping into anything.” Satisfied with her face, she puts her phone back into her purse. “Anyway, he’s hot.” Her eyes light up with excitement. “I’m not giving up on him yet.”

He’s leading her on. Now I really don’t like him. I see my night play out in my head—me, drinking alone, while Ainsley flirts obnoxiously, and he rejects her to fluff his own ego.

We pay the cab and hop out at the Yacht Club marina. The scent of seafood and sunbaked bay water is not an unpleasant one. The inside of the clubhouse is decorated in marine-time décor ala Ralph Lauren—red, white, and blue mixed with rusty ship anchors, steering wheels, and flags on the walls.

I follow Ainsley to the bar, wondering if I should’ve dressed in something nicer because I’m getting a major dress code vibe in this place. Or maybe it’s just because the average age of those inside is at least twenty-five years older than us.

“Oh, my God, there he is,” Ainsley says.

The guy looks completely out of place in a sea of sport coats and golf shirts. He’s tall, lean, wearing fitted black slacks that are rolled up, with red socks and black combat boots. His shirt is bright red silk and covered in little tigers. The whole ensemble would look clownlike if he didn’t wear it so well. He has the kind of face that belongs on a Houston Street billboard.

“You made it,” he says, and he’s not looking at Ainsley. He’s looking directly at me.

“Yes, I dragged her out.” Ainsley smiles up at him adoringly. “Let’s get her a drink before she changes her mind.”

“She won’t change her mind.” He smirks. More cocky than confident. “What do you want to drink?”

“To get through this night? Dirty Kettle One martini with two olives.”

“I’ll try to at least make it memorable,” he says smoothly and turns to the bartender to order our drinks.

I pull out cash to pay for my drink.

“They don’t accept cash here.” He eyes my twenty bucks as if it’s colorful Monopoly money. As if he finds it and my offer to pay cute. “Drinks on me.” He scoots the frosted martini glass toward me.

“Thanks, um…. what was your name again?”

He turns back from placing his order, a smirk on his lips. “Kingston.”

I hold up my glass in an air toast. “Thanks for the drink, Kingsley.”

His eyes narrow, but his lips tip up on the ends. “You’re welcome, Bee.”

Ugh. I take down a healthy sip and try not to react to the burning booze as it slides down my throat.

“Come on. We have a table over here.” He leads us out to the patio that sits on the docks, where multi-million-dollar yachts are docked next to fancy sailboats and a handful of smaller speedboats. “Gabriella, Ainsley, this is my friend, Remy.”

His friend doesn’t have nearly the same fashion standards as Kingston. He’s wearing an untucked blue polo shirt with tan cargo shorts. He’s a prep-school guy, complete with the slip-on Sperrys. He’s attractive but not nearly as eye-catching as Kingston. Not that I’m looking at either of them in that way. We say hello and head to a table outside. Conversation between us comes easily with Remy. We talk about school and our most recent recital, and he talks about his classes at NYU. He’s a couple of years older, legal drinking age, but his stories of fraternity pranks and parties make him sound much younger.

I notice Kingston doesn’t participate in the stories at all.

He’s hardly spoken a word.

I catch him watching me several times, and whereas most people would look away, ashamed at being caught, he only tilts his head and stares longer, more directly, every time I catch him.

“What about you, Kingston?” Ainsley leans into him.

“What about me?” he says without looking at her.

Ainsley does her best to entice him into conversation, entice him into her, but he acts as though she’s an annoying fly at our midnight picnic.

What an asshole. He invited her just to ignore her? Ego much?

Emboldened by my martini, I face him directly. “What? Is there something on my face?”

I feel Ainsley tense at my side, probably worried I’m going to ruin the whole night.

He grins as if amused by my irritation. “Not that I can see. If you want to come closer—”

“Pass.” I swallow back the last of my drink.

“You don’t like me.” His observation makes him chuckle.

My guess is he’s used to women falling at his feet, laughing at all his jokes, begging for his dick.

“I don’t know you,” I say, even though he’s right. I’ve had these types of men thrown at me since I was old enough to date. Words and phrases like pedigree, he comes from a good family, and he’d make a good provider have haunted my young adult years. Don’t let feelings cloud your judgment. Pick smart, Gabriella. As if I’m buying a racehorse rather than dating.

“If you knew me, you’d like me.”

“Doubt it.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No. It’s called rejection. A new concept to you, I’m sure.”

“Gabby,” Ainsley hisses. She mouths stop.

I hold my hands up. “I’m going to the restroom.”

Or maybe I’ll call an Uber and text Ainsley that I took off.

Kingston

“Damn, your friend is a bitch,” Remy says to Ainsley the second Gabriella is out of earshot.

“I know,” she replies. “I shouldn’t have brought her.”

“No,” I say. “I’m glad you did.” I look at the eager-faced blonde. She’s an attractive woman, but she’s not the reason I’m here tonight.

I’m here for Gabriella.

The first time I saw her, she was standing impatiently at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn. Her long auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail that was tossed in the wind around her face. She was dressed in fitness clothes—hot pink leggings and a black sports bra. The light turned, and she walked right past my car toward Lincoln Center. The draw I felt was immediate. I knew I had to know her.

I pulled my car over and hit the hazard lights. I’d get ticketed, but it would be worth it. I walked quickly to catch up with her and strategically placed myself in her path, only to have her walk right by me as if I didn’t exist. I expected some eye contact, a cursory glance, and yet she ignored me as if I were one more piece of trash on the street.

I wanted to chase after her, to jump into her way and demand she let me talk to her, but I lost my chance when she met up with another woman in front of the doors of Julliard.

Ainsley was much easier to attract. Her gaze snagged on mine, and I let the eye contact hold. Gabriella eventually left her friend to go into the building. I knew Ainsley would stick around and wait for me to approach.

And so, I did.

That was three weeks ago.

Gabriella has managed to slip away at every meeting since.

I won’t let her slip away tonight.

“I’ll be right back.”

Ainsley grabs my hand. “Wait. Where are you going? Want company?”

“The bathroom.” I lie. “So… no thank you.” I slip my hand from hers and head in the direction Gabriella went earlier.

As expected, I see her out front, her eyes on her phone, I assume waiting for an Uber.

“Sneaking out again, huh?”

She doesn’t look up from her phone, and I catch the roll of her eyes. “I was going to text Ainsley.”

I stand facing her, my hands in my pockets. I swear she gets more beautiful every time I see her. She probably thinks I’ve only seen her socially. She has no idea that I’ve gone to her performances and watched her dance. I always thought ballet was for old people. An antiquated art form that needed to die already. That was before I saw Gabriella in pointe shoes, twirling her graceful body across the stage. She’s breathtaking.

“I don’t care about Ainsley.”

Her narrow gaze lifts to mine.

I see the moment my unspoken meaning clicks, and her eyes widen.

She turns and looks behind herself as if being punked. A good sign, I think to myself. “You’re kidding.”

“Not even a little.”

“What about Ainsley?” she says harshly.

“Does everyone call you Gabriella?”

She seems thrown off by the question. “Most people call me Gabby.”

“Hm.” Good to know. “Before you write me off altogether—”

“Write you off? I never wrote you on.”

I chuckle uncomfortably and run my hand over the back of my neck. This woman is a hard nut to crack, but I’m not giving up. Not yet. “Let me rephrase. Give me one hour.”

“One hour for what?”

“To prove I’m worth getting to know better.”

She sighs, and her shoulders fall in what appears to be exhaustion. “Look, dude… I’m sure you’re awesome. Ainsley is interested and willing. Why not put your efforts into a sure deal.”

“You mean that?”

“So much. I do.”

I believe her. She doesn’t seem the least bit interested. “One hour.”

She stomps a foot. “You do not give up, do you?”

“No. It’s one hour out of your life, and you never know, you might enjoy yourself.”

She crosses her arms at her chest. “Okay, I’ll give you one hour under two conditions.”

“Name them.”

“Leave Ainsley alone after tonight. If you’re not interested in her, stop leading her on.”

“Done. And the second?”

“One hour as long as we do something other than sitting around a table drinking over disgusting frat boy stories.”

“Deal.” I offer her my hand.

She stares at it for several seconds, and I begin to wonder if she’s going to blow me off again. “Ugh. Fine.” She hits cancel on her Uber and shakes my hand.

“Come on.” I keep my hold on that hand and walk her toward the docks. “This’ll be fun.”

She pulls her hand from mine. “Oh, and one more thing.”

I stop and turn to her. “What.”

“No touching. No flirting. Strictly platonic.”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree to that.”

She shrugs. “Fine, then I have an Uber to meet.”

“Wait,” I say just as she turns to walk away. “I’ll agree to no touching. I’ll try hard not to flirt, but I can’t guarantee I won’t slip up. And I cannot agree to platonic because nothing I feel for you at this point would be considered friendly.”

Her head jerks around, and her mouth is open in shock. “You’re a piece of work.”

I grin. “Thank you.”

She groans, annoyed.

“Come on.” We walk down to the docks, and unfortunately, Ainsley and Remy see us from the patio and yell for us to wait up.

Gabriella stops to wait for them. I glare at the incoming twosome, wishing they’d just fucking disappear, but no such luck.

“Are we going on a boat ride?” Ainsley stands between Gabriella and me.

“Yes,” I say and lift a chin to Remy, who has been eyeing Ainsley all night. I throw my arm around him and step away from the group. “You’re into Ainsley, yeah?”

“Yeah, man, but I thought you two—”

“No, it’s not like that.” I look over my shoulder and see Ainsley but find Gabriella’s cold, blue eyes narrowed on Remy and me. “Go for it,” I say to Remy. “She’s a nice girl.”

“You sure?” he says.

I clasp him on the shoulder. “Totally.”

We head back to the group, and Remy steps up close to Ainsley. “You can swim, right?” he says to her playfully. “If not, I double as a floatation device.”

Ainsley doesn’t seem too flattered by his offer, and Gabriella checks the time on her phone.

One hour. I need to get a move on.

“This one here.” I motion to my Regal 42 Sport Coupe.

Remy climbs in, followed by Ainsley, but Gabriella remains on the dock. Her hands fisted at her sides, she shifts nervously from foot to foot.

“You coming?” I stand on the swim platform and offer her my hand.

Her gaze swings between my palm and the boat. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Taking my hand? Probably not. You might be in danger of falling in love with me.”

She cracks a smile. “You truly are a horrible person.”

Progress. “You’re safe with me. I promise.”

She chews that over and eventually joins me on the boat—without, I’ll add, taking my hand.

Remy has already helped himself to the fridge, and with a beer in hand, he offers me a cold one. I feel Gabriella’s eyes on me and, because of her nerves, refuse the beer.

“Shouldn’t we be wearing life vests?” She looks around for where they might be stashed.

“Don’t be such a wimp,” Ainsley says, a hint of poison in her voice. “Chill out. Have a drink.”

“Here.” I pull up a bench cushion and take out a life vest. “Put this on if it makes you feel better.”

She snags it from me and slips it on, snapping the closures together with mumblings that I’m sure are cursing me to hell.

I untie us from the dock and finally motor forward and out of the slip. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the USS Kingston.”

Ainsley holds her beer up and squeals like she’s on spring break, while Remy barks like a dog. Jesus, I need new friends.

Gabriella seems content to sit and watch the lights from the yacht club disappear into the distance.

“Dude, we should go to the open sea!”

“You’re an idiot.” I point the bow in the direction of Ellis and Governors Islands, thinking it’ll be enough to take a spin around and look at the city lights. “Hey, Bee!” I don’t know if Gabriella will respond to the nickname I’ve given her, so I’m surprised when her eyes come directly to me. “Come sit by me.”

I catch the nasty glare Ainsley sends her friend and immediately regret my plan to go through Ainsley to get to Gabriella. I need a way to get Gabriella closer and keep Ainsley occupied.

I put on A Tribe Called Quest, and once we clear the no-wake zone, I kick the motors into high gear. Gabriella grips her seat with white knuckles. I grin to myself. If she gets nervous enough, maybe she’ll want to hold on to me.

Quick turns make the boat roll to the side just enough to make Gabriella scream.

“You okay?” I call out over the sound of the eight-hundred-and-seventy horsepower engines and pounding bass from the speakers.

“Can you please slow down?” she yells back.

I speed up.

She shifts nervously. Ainsley sings along to the music, and Remy slams back his beer.

The bow lights illuminate the dark water ahead, and I take turns keeping my eyes forward while turning back to check on Gabriella.

We hit a wake, and she screams. Her hair blows in her face, but to move it away, she’d have to release the death grip she has on the seat.

“You sure you don’t want to come up here with me?”

She moves her head so the wind can push the hair from her eyes, but another long strand takes its place across her face.

I pull my eyes away from Gabriella.

A large buoy appears in the light. Oh shit. I pull the wheel, making a quick left turn, and hear everyone behind me screech.

Fuck, that was close.

Pulse racing, I drop the throttle back just as I hear Ainsley scream. “Stop! Gabby fell!”

Remi curses. They’re all looking back into the black abyss, and the only light comes from what’s left of the boat’s wake. My eyes can’t fathom what I’m seeing. Where there were once three people, two remain.

Gabriella is gone.