Rebel North by J.B. Salsbury

Thirty

Kingston

Life can change in the blink of an eye. I never would’ve believed it if I hadn’t lived it. It’s been four months since I signed the paperwork accepting the financial gift from my brothers to start my own interior design company, and here I am, doing it.

Jordan and I found a warehouse in Brooklyn with five thousand square feet of industrial space on the ground level and three thousand square feet of living space up top. Two apartments—the biggest I took for myself, and the other I plan to rent. I invested in some remodeling to bring the 1910 masonry building up to code, but it is still far from the luxury of Lenox Hill.

My kitchen is half the size of my last, and my closet doesn’t even hold all of my shoes, much less my clothes. But I find those things aren’t as important to me anymore. Sure, I refuse to go out in public looking like a slob, but I’ve been so busy that I’ve had to cut my getting-ready time down to under an hour, something I would’ve considered impossible months ago.

Alex accepted my proposal for the redecorating of all the lobby areas in his building, giving the space a more organic modern look rather than a sterile one. I’ve picked up several jobs from the Restaurant Digest exposure, so much that I’ve had to hire a small staff. We’re currently working on the proposal for the lobby areas of North Industries.

Turns out, I do have something valuable to offer.

Bee Inspired Designsis a success.

The name and location of my business are no coincidence. When I was looking for a building, it only made sense to be close to my own inspiration. Gabriella will always be the great beauty of my life. Whether or not she’s in my life doesn’t change that.

I’m sorting through fabric samples and putting together a vision board for my project at North Industries when my assistant Todd knocks on my door.

“Yo, K. You got a visitor.” His thick New York accent and tattooed bald head make him the most unlikely of professional choices, which is why I hired him. Bee Inspired Designs is a cesspool of talent, with individuals who represent their own unique style. I want my business to be a place where freedom of expression is our creed, and everyone has a seat at the table.

“Who is it?”

He shrugs. “Some suit.”

“Send him in.” I assume it’s one of my brothers coming to check on me. They’ve been annoyingly involved in my life like a pack of mother hens.

“I’ll be damned.” August saunters into my office, which resembles more art studio than traditional office. He studies the wall of fabric swatches, the corner of wood samples, and the table displaying stone slab countertops. “I didn’t believe them when they told me how well you were doing.” He flips through a book of paint colors.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” I push my work aside. This asshole kills all creativity when he’s in the room.

He pulls a stool out and sits across the table from me. He eyes the vision board for the North Industries lobby. “This your plan?” He tilts his head and studies the selection of cotton, linen, and bamboo fabrics mixed with reclaimed wood and recycled glass light fixtures.

“Everything is natural and sustainably produced.” I turn the board toward him so he can see it better. “Alex insisted.”

“Huh…” He pinches the fabric between his fingers. “I like it.”

A compliment? I narrow my eyes. “But?”

“No but.” He gives the vision board one more glance, then looks at me. “I like it.”

“Okay, what’s going on here? Do you need an organ or something?”

“Look, your brothers told me what they discovered about Ms. Coleman, and I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said about your… your, ah… learning issues.”

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the need to protect the organ behind my ribs. “And?”

“I’ve come to realize that you’ve overcome a lot, and I, uh…” He clears his throat. “I respect that. Says a lot about a man who can overcome his own shortcomings.”

“I suppose I should be honored by your compliment, but I find it insincere that you waited until I was running my own business without you that you finally acknowledge my worth.”

He frowns, and I see a flicker of anger in his eyes as if he wants to defend himself, but he keeps his mouth shut. “Fair enough.” He stands. “Why don’t you go ahead and tack my office onto this project. It could use an update.”

“I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to you.” Would be fun to reupholster all his furniture in flying dick-paisleys.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles at the ground before looking back at me. “If you ever want to merge your company with North Industries—”

“I’ll pass.”

His jaw tenses. “I see.”

“If you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.” I nod to the door.

“Sure, see you around, son.”

Son?

Not princess?

I shake my head and get back to the vision board. “He’s definitely asking for an organ.”

“Who was the stiff?” Angelica, one of the designers on my team, slips in past August. Her white Docs squeak against the polished concrete floor.

“My sperm donor.” I point to the book of paint colors. “Can you hand me that?”

“Sure thing,” she says and puts the book in my hands. “I wanted to show you my idea for the windows.” She lays out her sketchbook in front of me. “The glass is great, but in the areas the sun hits, we should do a green wall. Indoor plant walls help productivity and increase oxygen, which is good for the brain, and look how badass they’d look in these spaces.” She runs a hand over her pink mohawk. “Here.”

“I love that. I’ll add it to the proposal.”

She throws up a fist pump. “Yes!”

“Great job.”

“Thanks, boss!” She skips out of the room and closes the door behind her.

“Boss?” I feel my lips tick up. “I’m a boss.”

Gabriella

After ballet, I find myself in Central Park, walking the paths and enjoying the cool breeze as fall blows the leaves from their branches. The weather is changing rapidly, and soon we will give up cool breezes for snow and ice.

Ballet is coming back much quicker than I expected. Mrs. Gould said there’s a cosmic connection between the heart and the body and that they communicate all the time without the interference of our brains. She says it’s that connection that is enabling me to dance again.

I’ve found healing in the power of my body. I’m beginning to feel hope that I can regain what’s been lost. Not that I’ll ever become a prima ballerina. That dream was my parents’ more than my own, anyway.

But it feels good to reclaim something of my old self.

To put back one of the pieces that has been missing for so long.

I head to the Jamaican jerk food truck to grab dinner. After all these months, this is the first time I’ve been able to even consider hitting one of the spots Kingston and I visited together.

The ache is there as I approach, but it hurts a little less than it did yesterday. I wait in the short line and place my order. I find a bench nearby and eat while watching people pass, walking their dogs or chasing after their kids.

A peace washes over me. A contentment I haven’t felt in a long time.

And that’s when I see him.

His tall frame is clad in midnight-blue velvet slacks and a black peacoat. He has a Styrofoam bowl of jerk chicken resting in one big hand as he searches out a place to sit and enjoy his dinner.

His eyes scan the area, and as if drawn by my thoughts, his gaze lands on me. His expression falls slack, and his lips part, like he can’t trust his own eyes to believe what he’s seeing.

I smile—it’s small, nervous—and my stomach turns over on itself. I give a little wave. He lurches forward as if someone gave him a nudge from behind and heads toward me.

“You couldn’t stay away, huh?” I nod toward the jerk chicken truck as he approaches.

He stops a foot away from the bench, and he seems ten feet tall from where I’m sitting. “Gabriella?”

Does he still not believe it’s me?

“Yes,” I say and shift nervously in my seat. “Oh, my hair.” I finger the ends of the short bob. “I cut it.”

Three weeks ago, I decided it was time to stop hiding and using my hair as a shield, so I had it cut to my chin. I can’t expect people to accept me for who I am if I, myself, don’t learn to love who I am. I’m getting there. Scars and all.

He swallows, and his hazel gaze flutters around my face. “You look incredible.”

My cheeks heat. “Thank you. What are you doing over here?”

He blinks as if my question zapped him back to the present. “I just had a meeting with a new client.”

“Client?”

He motions toward the bench where I’m sitting. “May I?”

I scoot to the far end, fearing what I might feel if he brushes against me. “Of course.”

He settles in at the opposite end of the bench and faces his body forward as though he, too, is worried about touching me. “I opened my own interior design business.” The pride in his expression is undeniable.

“That’s amazing. Congratulations.”

“It’s been…” He blows out a breath and grins. His smile is so captivating, so endearing, I could cry at the look of it. “A really cool experience. I’m working harder than I have in all my life.”

“That’s great, Kingston. I’m so happy for you.”

He eyes my ballet shoes. “Are you…?”

“Dancing again. Yes. It’s a slow process, but it has been healing for me.”

He thumbs the edge of his bowl nervously. “Are you still at the hospice center?”

“No. I’m working at the children’s hospital now. I do therapy with kids who have been burned or scarred. It was time to get a real job, and investing in the future and lives of kids is more life-giving than at hospice, where the investment was in death. I finally feel like I’m taking parts of my life back instead of floating around without any grounding.”

He frowns and turns away.

“I want you to know I don’t blame you for what happened that night. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Jesus, Bee.” He sets his food down as if he’s lost his appetite. “You wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for me.”

“I do have a functioning brain. I made the decision to be there that night.” I lean forward to catch his eyes. “I talked to Ainsley.”

He blows out a breath and slumps back against the bench. “Never thought I’d hear that name again.”

“She told me what you did. How you saved me.”

“Anyone would’ve done the same—”

“You refused to leave my side?”

He side-eyes me and shakes his head. “I would’ve held your hand through surgery if they’d let me.”

I angle my body toward him and bring my knees dangerously close to his. “I want you to hear me when I say this. I do not blame you. Do you understand? What happened was not your fault.”

He shrugs. “I hear you. I’m just not as convinced.”

“Can I ask you something?”

He looks at me, those hazel eyes open with vulnerability. “Anything.”

“Why did you let me believe you were gay?”

He chuckles, and the sound is a warm bath to my frazzled nerves. “Out of all the questions you could ask, that’s the one you choose.”

“What other questions could I ask?”

“I don’t know, maybe how did I find you at the hospice center? Why did I pass out on your doorway?” He runs a hand through his hair. “Why let our relationship go so far knowing what I know?”

“Okay, tell me.”

“I’ve been thinking, and you know…” He scratches his jaw as if what he’s about to say makes him itchy. “I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you.”

“That’s impossible. You couldn’t know what kind of person I was.”

“You hated me. You pushed me away every chance you got. Not that I blame you, I was obnoxious.” He dips his head and chuckles to himself. “It didn’t matter. I was so into you. You were smart and funny, and I loved how you didn’t take any shit from anyone. I was determined to win you over that night.” He frowns and stares blindly across the park. “When you showed up at North Industries to return my wallet, and you seemed happy to see me. You smiled, and I… I couldn’t let you go. I knew it was wrong to keep you, to let you think I was gay, but you genuinely seemed to like me, and I couldn’t let you go.”

“Did you know I didn’t remember you? When you woke up in that hospice room, did you know I wouldn’t remember?”

“No,” he says. “It was pretty obvious when I woke up that you had no clue who I was. I planned to walk away and leave you alone. Showing up drunk like that was a stupid risk, but I was weak. For three years, I never stopped thinking about you.”

“Did you have someone following me?”

He recoils. “No. I hired a PI just to check in on you. I had to know you were getting your life back. The plan was to stay away, but in a moment of drunken weakness, I fucked up. I saw you, spent time with you. And all those feelings came rushing back, made me desperate for another minute, another day, another night. And you should know, if you hadn’t figured it out, I’d still be lying to you today because just like the night of your accident, I didn’t want to leave you.”

I give myself a minute to let the weight of his words sink in. His honesty is refreshing, even if what he’s saying hurts. He had no plans to tell me the truth.

“Eventually, you would’ve met my family. They would’ve exposed you.”

He nods. “Maybe.”

“Remy almost exposed you. Ainsley could have. We were doomed from the start.”

He sniffs and swipes at his eye. “We were.”

“So I guess that leaves us… friends?”

He smiles sadly. “I’d like that.”

My heart splinters, and emotion swells. How did things go so wrong? Kingston is in love with me, and I might be in love with him, but the history and the lies between us create an obstacle too vast to overcome.

“I should go.” I gather my trash and things. My eyes fill with tears. “It was nice seeing you again.”

He jumps to his feet as if considering chasing after me, but his boots stay rooted when I walk away to the sound of his whispered, “Goodbye, Bee.”