Chasing Love's Wings Read online

  She closes the trunk and sits gingerly against the front of the car. “Come ’ere, you,” I say, and she slides effortlessly in between my legs and I wrap my arms around her, kissing the top of her forehead. A part of me wants to tell her she’s being irrational with her reaction and that I’ll be back in a couple of days, but I can’t because this is killing me too. “I love you,” I say into her hair, and she squeezes harder. I can feel a small wet spot forming on my shirt and I don’t care. I hold her tighter to me, and I don’t want to let go but I have to.

  “I love you too,” she says, standing, then stepping away from me, slow and hesitant, back toward her side of the car. I take her hands and I kiss each one as I slowly step away onto the curb. She doesn’t let go of my hands until I turn and one no longer touches hers, and then I take a slow, painful step forward, and another, before our hands fall away from each other. I turn back and I can see the tears in her eyes, which causes my own eyes to water. I give her a small smile and she smiles in return. I slide past the automatic doors and into the terminal. Turning back one last time, I see her wave to me and I wave back.

  I round a corner inside and she disappears from my line of sight. I want to run back, climb into her car and go back to her house, but I press on — up the escalator then on to security. Before I know it, my flight is called and I’m on my way to Los Angeles.

  TWO

  ******

  Cami

  ******

  I wipe the tears away from my eyes and climb back into my car. “This is so stupid, why am I so upset? He’ll be back on Friday.” I keep trying to talk myself into putting the car into first. Then finally I see a clearing in the traffic; without thinking, I throw the car into first and peel out.

  I decide to take a drive, out of the way, before heading back to my condo. It’s been so long since the Spyder and I have had a run on the freeway. Traffic leaving the airport is a bit of bitch, but I know once I get to the fifty-one, I can fly. I pop open the sunroof; it’s a hundred and twelve outside, and I know I can’t run the car like this for long, but I just want to open her up. When I finally clear the Camelback area, traffic evaporates in front of me.

  The Spyder hugs the curves of highway and the wind is whipping through the car, causing my hair to fly wildly behind me. It feels great, just shutting it all out while Tantric’s “Astounded” fills the car.

  It is nearly an hour later when I pull into the parking lot. I see Beau’s car parked in front of the garage, but it’s empty so I know they’re inside, though I’m surprised that they’re parked behind my SUV. They usually park behind the Spyder; I guess they must’ve known which car I’d take. I pull the R8 into the garage and walk into the condo. I’m on the second floor - technically - and it is empty down here. I haven’t decided what to do with the space, more specifically the basement below me.

  The condo is technically five stories tall. The bottom floor, the one below me now, is underground — at least on the west side of the house. The garage is elevated half a floor above ground; I have to drive up a small hill to get in and out of it. The bottom floor is pretty much open space. There is a bathroom — a good sized one — a bedroom and a wide-open area that would be perfect for an entertainment room with a bar. Which is what I think it will be, eventually.

  This floor, the second floor, has the garage, which is a wide, two-car width but could easily accommodate a small boat, camper or motorcycle, along with plenty of room for a tool bench and other manly things. Once inside the actual house, there is a large laundry room and a small section of servants’ quarters. The quarters contain two small rooms — more like closets — a small kitchen and a bathroom. A mini apartment, really. The servants’ quarters have their own separate entrance, which runs along the north side of the garage, as well as a door from inside the house. I guess if I ever wanted a roommate, it would be perfect, since I have no intention of having a fulltime house staff live here.

  I bypass the elevator. I still roll my eyes at the fact that my condo has an elevator, but due to the long, shallow staircase leading from floor to floor, the elevator might come in handy someday.

  I climb the stairs.

  This floor, the third, houses the kitchen and formal and informal dining rooms, along with a living room and a den or fourth bedroom. This floor has more furniture on it than the bottom floor, but it is still pretty bland. One thing that did get finished before I moved in was Beau’s mural paintings that adorn the walls, and I’m kind of excited to get real furniture in here. I think that I will be making the fourth bedroom into my office, and while I don’t see a reason for a formal dining room, I haven’t a clue what to turn it into, so it will likely be that: a formal dining room.

  I call out, “Beau? Where are you?”

  “In the kitchen,” she calls back, and I head that direction. Actually, I head straight for the fridge and the bottle of moscato hiding within it. As I come into the kitchen, Beau and Mick are sitting at the bar opposite the sink. Sitting in front of Mick is a big, thick, brown, accordion-style file folder.

  “Hi, guys, why the serious faces?” I open the fridge, grab the bottle, then turn, pulling a wineglass down from the overhead rack. “Want some?” I ask them both.

  Beau nods.

  “Have any beer?” asks Mick.

  I roll my eyes at him. “Of course,” I say, reaching for another glass from the rack. I pour Beau and myself a glass of wine, and when I return to fridge to put the bottle away, I grab a Sam Adams from the door. I pull the bottle opener off the fridge and pop the cap, tossing it into the hole in counter that leads to the trash can below. Their faces are pissing me off. I slide the beer to Mick. “All right, what is going on?”

  “Are you all right?” Beau asks me, and I can see the pity in her eyes and it drives me nuts.

  “Yes, I’m fine, but my well-being is not at all why the two of you are here. So spill it.” I look at Mick, since the package is in front of him.

  “This came to my office while we were in Tarah. I didn’t know how you’d react or feel about it if I brought it up in front of Tristan.” Mick has a somber look in his eyes and I can’t quite understand why.

  “An unnecessary worry, but okay.” I shrug. “What is it?” I take a long sip of my wine. I have the feeling that the moscato is going to be nowhere near strong enough for whatever this is. I debate momentarily about the bottle of Crown sitting on the pantry shelf behind me, then decide it is probably better to wait until I find out what is going on first.

  “It’s from your father.”

  I down the glass of wine in what feels like one big swallow, then turn around for the pantry. I grab the Crown Royal bottle, pulling it roughly off the shelf. I open the bottle and pour it into my empty wine glass. I bring it to my lips, hesitate momentarily, and then I take a big long swig. Oh, the burn. I feel the Crown slide down my throat and into my stomach. When I place the glass on the counter, I just stand there - staring at no one in particular, but Mick is in my line of sight.

  “Or rather it is from your father’s estate.”

  “Will this ever end?” I groan in frustration at the two of them. I watch as neither one of them flinches; they’ve braced themselves for this. Good.

  “I contacted the estate attorney and asked him the same question. He said that they have nothing further in regards to his estate, but he also informed me that this was delivered to them the Wednesday before your birthday, with specific instructions that it be sent to his next of kin, care of me.” Mick takes a couple of long, large drinks from his own beer, and I can see Beau is uncertain of what to say. That’s a first.

  “What’s in it?” I ask, though I’m certain Mick hasn’t opened it.

  “I’m not sure. It looks like some CDs, a couple of jump drives and some papers.”

  I take another long drink of my Crown and reach for the package.

  Mick slides it over to me and Beau has managed to find her voice. “Are you sure you want to open it now?” I look at her with an
‘Are you kidding me right now?’ look, and she raises her hands in mock defense. “I just thought you’d want to do it in private.”

  “Fuck that.” I shake my head at her and begin to unwind the string from the cheap button on the outside. As soon as pressure from the flap lets up, the string unwinds itself and the flap falls open with an audible flop. The movement is jarring to the contents inside, and six jewel cases fall out. Each one of them are hand-numbered: 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 8...

  ”Jesus Christ, what the hell is all this stuff?” I blurt out, trying to wrap my head around what all of this could be.

  I pull back the top and look inside. Sitting on top of everything are a couple pieces of paper, and I pull them out. On top is an inventory list of all the things inside. It’s not long.

  1. CD #1 - containing documentation 1970 to 1975

  2. CD #2 - containing documentation 1975 to 1980

  3. CD #3 - containing documentation 1980 to 1983

  4. CD #4 - containing documentation 1983 to 1986

  5. CD #5 - containing documentation 1987

  6. CD #6 - containing documentation 1988 to 1990

  7. CD #7 - containing documentation 1991 to 1999

  8. CD #8 - containing documentation 2000 to 2006

  9, CD #9 - containing documentation 2006 to May 2011

  10. CD #10

  I can’t keep reading the list of contents, but I can see there is more stuff about papers and a journal. I’m surprised by the fact that there is one whole disc pertaining to 1987, the year I was born. Also by the fact that the 1980s have four discs, when the other decades take up a lot less. But I can’t stop the small tear that escapes; I’m already an emotional mess from Tristan leaving, so it doesn’t take much to make me lose it again. May 2012 is when Bobby died and the discs’ descriptions stop, though there is one more disc on this list.

  I flip the page and there, on that page, is a letter. A letter addressed to me. On Bold letterhead, dated May 15, 2011. I can’t stop my eyes from scanning to the bottom of the page and seeing that it was signed by none other than my father.

  My Dearest Cami,

  If you are reading this letter, one of two things has happened. Either I am dead or you’ve turned 25. I am hoping for the latter, but in this day and age, you can never tell.

  Enclosed in this package, you will find various documents pertaining to, but not limited to:

  Your birth

  Your school records

  Your mother’s death

  And Bold International’s deepest secrets, dating back to its inception.

  Not everything within this package is Bold-related, though the jump drives contained herein are all Bold business, and on the discs you will find videos and other scanned documents directly from me. Including the reason why you were sent away to England.

  I know that this is something that has weighed heavily on your mind, at the very least since your mother passed away. If that is most important to you, then grab disc number 7 and go into the folder dated 1993.

  I hope one day we can discuss this package, even if it involves yelling and screaming.

  All my love-

  Bobby

  I can barely breathe by the time I am done reading the letter, and Mick and Beau are staring at me expectantly, wondering and waiting to either see my reaction or for me to share the information with them.

  Before I do, I turn to the next page in the package, and there is a much more detailed list regarding what each disc contains.

  My eyes immediately scan to 1987.

  Cameron’s Birth/Birthday/Coming home.

  “They’re videos,” I blurt out, looking up at them. “Well, not all of them, but—” I grab disc number five and head into the living room, wine glass in hand. While putting the disc into the Xbox, I shout back toward the kitchen, “Get in here.” I’m trying to be playful, but it’s hard. I have no idea what it is that I’m about to watch and it scares the hell out of me, but they are here, and I know Beau will stop me if she senses that it is too much for me.

  My phone starts ringing with “Livin’ On A Prayer” and I know immediately that it’s Tristan. It’s the song he sang to me the night of my birthday party in Bora Bora, and I dash to my purse, which I’d dropped on the table at the top of the steps. I take a deep breath as I pull the phone from my purse and answer it, trying to compose myself. I don’t need him freaking out because of what’s going on here.

  “Hi, you,” I breathe into the phone.

  “Hi.” I can tell instantly that something is wrong and panic races through me.

  “What’s wrong?” I say a little too sharply, and I hear some semblance of a chuckle on the other end of the line.

  “Nothing is wrong. I just miss you like crazy. I haven’t even gotten off the plane and I wanted to call you.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Will Tyson be there waiting for you?”

  “He texted right before I took off, letting me know that they were on their way to the airport and that they would meet me in the first class lounge. You know, that one I saw you in for the first time.”

  My heart beats a little faster as I think about all of our misses that led to us actually finding each other on the same remote island. “I know the one.” I smile again.

  “Can I call you again once I’m settled?” he asks.

  “Absolutely.”

  “‘Kay.” His voice is sweet, and he sounds like a teenager.

  “Love you.”

  “More,” he says, and then I hear the click of the line going dead.

  I go back toward the couch, and Beau is sitting there while Mick is in the oversized chair, the one similar to the chair in the penthouse in Tarah. I know why he’s over there and not with Beau. He knows this is going to be bad, and he knows I will want someone to lean on.

  I sit next to Beau, pick up the Xbox remote and scroll through the options. I find June 1987 and open it. Inside, there are a couple of random documents, then “Cameron - Birth.” I click it.

  THREE

  The birth video is uneventful, except for the way my mother acts. I know immediately by her reaction and lack of caring what led to my being sent to boarding school. We watch the next few videos, and it becomes clearer and clearer to me that Evelyn was nothing more than a gold digger, tagging along for whatever Bobby wanted just so she could get hers in the end.

  After watching those videos, if she’d been alive when Bobby died, I would’ve begun to question whether or not she killed him.

  We jump to 1993 and the year I was sent to boarding school. The video comes on and Bobby is in his office in the old house; I can tell by the decor in the room. Though I never spent much time in that room, the browns, tans and blacks give it away.

  Walking around the desk is Bobby, and it takes a minute before I see me walking over to his desk. It’s disturbing because I don’t remember any of this. You would think that at five or six I would have.

  “Daddy.”

  “Hi, Cameron.” His voice is warm as I climb onto his lap; a warm, glowing smile spreads across his lips. “What can I do for you?”

  “I want to go—” My voice is cut off by the sound of a slamming door, and Bobby and I both look toward the source of the noise.

  “What is it, Evelyn?”

  “Cameron, get out of here,” she says very rudely toward me. I watch as the younger me looks to Bobby with a terrified look on her face, but Bobby nods reassuringly and I climb down. I watch as I retreat toward the camera and give my mother a wide berth before I hear the door click closed on the video.

  “You fucking whore,” Evelyn spats and throws something. It flies with such speed that I can’t make it out before it shatters against the wall just over Bobby’s head. “All you had to do was fucking keep your dick in your pants, and you couldn’t even do that, could you, you...you bastard.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Evelyn?”

  “Who gives a flying fuck. I want a divorce, I’m taking the kids and leav
ing.”

  “Like fucking hell you are.” Bobby is raging pissed; I can see it in his face. He stands and comes around his desk. “If you think for one damn minute I will let any judge award you custody of those kids, you have another thing coming.” Bobby stalks toward my mother as he says this. She meets him and slaps him across the face.

  I commend him for not striking her back, but suddenly the video is cut off.

  The next video is of Bobby, back in his office, this time sitting on a chair or stool directly in front of the camera. I can tell he’s been crying. His eyes are all red and puffy. My heart clamps tight at the sight in front of me.

  “Cameron, I’m sorry. I am so very sorry. I did what I had to do to keep you safe and out of her hands. It is my hope and my wish that you will one day understand, but it was all I could do to keep her away from you. You deserve so much better.” By the end of his speech the tears are visibly streaking down his cheeks and mine.

  Beau and Mick leave a little while after that. I can’t quite bring myself to watch many of the other videos, but something about the one dated 2000-2006 is nagging at me. When I put the disc in and the folders pop up, there are two that capture my attention. One titled “Coming Home” and the other is called “Amazing Discovery 2004.”

  I go to the one titled “Coming Home,” and inside the folder is only one video. I select it.