Although… maybe she actually was a fan of AnyDayNow but had been thrown off my scent by the pelt on my face, as well as the habitat in which I was currently living. This was, after all, the very last place on earth anyone would expect to find a multi-millionaire pop star. And that was precisely why it made this apartment complex the perfect place to hunker down for the rest of my natural-born life.
What frustrated me about Dani, and maybe why I picked on her relentlessly, was because she viewed me through unbiased ‘Chad Woodcock’ eyes and had clearly found me wanting. Goddamn story of my life. Strip me of all the ladders I’d climbed and all the awards I’d won and you were left with that little boy who ate his dinner on a TV tray away from everyone else because there was no room at the four-person table. I was twenty pounds, soaking wet. They could have scooted the fuck over.
My fingers curled around the steering wheel, and I gripped it like two steel clamps. This was precisely why I avoided trips down memory lane. They never led anywhere good. But now that I was locked and loaded, I couldn’t get them out of my head. My neglectful mother. My resentful father. My two manipulative brothers, who’d thrilled in watching me be punished for the things that they would do themselves. Something as small as a misplaced candy wrapper could provoke my parents’ wrath. It didn’t matter how much I protested or tried to defend myself against the allegations—no one was listening.
And so I grew into an unruly kid who sought attention at every curve. I wanted to be heard, and if that meant bouncing off the walls with enough energy to light a city block, that was just what I’d do. A brat, I was called. Hyperactive, I was labeled. If I didn’t receive the loving attention I deserved, then I’d damn well get it anyway I possibly could—even if it came at a cost, like bent over Renato’s knee with his hand slapping me on the ass.
And yet, I preferred the corporal punishment over the mental abuse he and my uncaring mother doled out on a daily basis. She was more subtle in her distaste, slipping in small insults here and there—things that wouldn’t seem inflammatory on the surface but would burrow into my skin and slowly fester. But Renato, oh yeah, he never passed up a chance to laser me with his hateful eyes as he cursed my existence under his breath. If only those two had understood their spiteful seething hurt me more than if they’d just gotten it over with and lashed me with a belt.
I could have folded my hand and let them win, but that had never been my style. I had to prove my worth, make something so big out of myself that not even they could deny me. And so, I carved out my niche in the world—something that was uniquely my own in this family of underachieving duds. Music. I’d shown a propensity toward it from as early as my toddler years—able to carry a tune into the next county and back. Given that my brothers would be hard-pressed to sing the Meow Mix song, it was safe to assume my talent came from Gary or Greg or whatever the hell his name was.
But even as I made my talent known throughout the town and then the county, I still could not best my brothers.
Yes, RJ, you won the county-wide talent competition, but Luis here, he just farted the National Anthem. Can you get through ‘the rockets’ red glare’ without shitting your pants? I don’t think so.”
My brothers contributed nothing of value to the family unit, yet still they were the apples of my father’s eye. Me? Nothing I did impressed Renato. In his eyes, I was different. Musical. Artistic. Wild. Another man’s son.
And my mother? How dare she. I belonged to her and only her. She should have protected me. Loved me. But the day I was born, she picked a side. It was them or me…and she chose them.
Driving into the back alley, I parked my car in the small lot behind the gym. Technically this was employee parking, but I was given certain privileges because of my celebrity—a status that was quickly fading. I wondered how much longer these perks would last before I’d be forced to park out front with the rest of the washed-up boy banders who’d come before me.
I pulled on the handle and was about to step out of my car when the door forcefully swung open, shocking me.
“Outta the car!”
Two men with black ski masks covering their faces gripped my shirt and dragged me from the cab. My heart battered against my chest as self-preservation took over.
They just want the car, I told myself. Don’t fight them. You have eight more where this one came from.
“What do you want?” I managed to coax the words from my bone-dry throat.
“Don’t play dumb, Contreras, you know what we want.”
My name. He’d used my name! This was no car-jacking. Could it be a kidnapping for ransom? If so, who was going to pay up? I’d bought the house in Idaho for my family and provided to them the required living wage for keeping their mouths shut about our rickety family history, but I certainly wasn’t stupid enough to grant them access to my fortunes.
One of the men shoved me up against my car and twisted my arm behind my back. I turned my head to get a look at my assailants, but the other one palmed my head and shoved me down onto the hood. It was then I snapped out of the shock that had rendered me temporarily stunned. These fuckers had picked the wrong guy. I was already at the end of my rope, no way was I going to let someone else take the credit for hanging me.
Determination pumped through my veins, and with a forceful grunt, I flung my arms out to the sides, knocking both my assailants backward. They instantly released their grip, which allowed me to flip around and ready myself for battle. Neither one had expected my brute strength, that much was clear. During my boyband days, I’d been lean and sinewy—just what the girls had wanted. But months of regret all pounded into punching bags or lifted over my head with heavy weights had added a good thirty pounds of muscle to my frame.
Both accosters attempted to flee, but I grabbed the closer of the two and slammed my fist into his stomach.
“Mother dick, that hurts,” the man grunted on the way down to his knees. I cocked a brow, recognizing that voice. It couldn’t be. But then my eyes narrowed in on the dad bod of the other attacker. Now I knew exactly who I was dealing with: the Tweedledee and Tweedledum of former bandmates. Dane and fucking Shawn. And they were about to meet their maker.
Planting the sole of my shoe against Dane’s chest, I shoved him hard and watched as he tipped to his side and crumpled to the ground. Satisfied he was down for the count, I lunged for Shawn, but he’d been expecting my revenge and sprinted toward the door of the gym. Perhaps if he’d sprinted to the gym more often in his everyday life, I wouldn’t have been able to so easily catch up to him. I took Shawn down like the third-string quarterback he was.
We spent a moment wrestling on the ground before I trapped him beneath me and raised my fist in the air, ready to pummel him into the concrete.
“Uncle!” he scream-laughed, pulling the mask off his face. “Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!”
My fist shook. Just one punch. He deserved it. But instead, I lifted him up and then dropped him like a weight back to the ground.
Shawn held up his hands in surrender. “Jesus H. W. Bush, RJ! I called uncle!”
“And I heard your pathetic cries; hence the reason I’m not rearranging your face. But only because you’re ugly enough as is.”
“Tell that to my body count.”