Twisted Thorns: A Dark Mafia Romance Novel (Calder Brothers Duet Book 1)
Chapter 1
The laughter of my friends echo in the bustling coffee shop, a sound that once brought me joy but now caused a dull ache in my chest. Sitting in an overstuffed chair, I glance around at the exposed brick walls and the Edison lanterns that hang from the ceilings. This place may look cozy, with its mindfully curated nooks and crannies through artfully placed furniture, but a deeper look reveals everything here is expensive. Kingdale”s art gallery curated the artwork along the walls. The counters are sleek, dark marble, where you can get a designer cupcake with edible gold on it. And most of the customers are wearing luxury designer clothes, with a few couture standouts.
My hands run along the dark green velvet plush under my fingers. I”m trying to keep up with my friends” conversation about work, relationships, and the latest gossip, the latter of which Amanda is presently filling Claire and me in on. But when the topic veers towards something I can”t remember, I”m overwhelmed with feeling like an outsider wearing a mask.
”Did you hear about Jessica”s engagement? She”s getting married in Bali next year,” Amanda says, sipping on her iced latte and brushing her chestnut hair behind her.
”Wow, that”ll be incredible,” I reply, feigning enthusiasm as I pick at the foam on my cappuccino, battling the panic that inevitably reigns its head in moments like this. This is when I feel the most guilt for not being able to remember. I want to be happy for Jessica, but I don”t remember her or her boyfriend-now-fiancé.
Can you even be friends with someone you can”t remember? My heart says no, but then I recall how Jessica was by my side at the hospital. All my friends were there, bringing me delicious foods and glossy magazines, showing me pictures and video of the time before the accident that I couldn”t recall.
So now I feel like I owe it to my friends to play pretend, even if it feels like I”m swallowing rocks instead of my feelings. They”ve done so much for me over the past few months. Who am I to tell them it”s not enough? One day I”m afraid the feelings I”ve been shoving down will break through the fragile facade I”ve built since the day I woke up in the hospital.
”I know, I”m so excited! And you know we”ll all be bridesmaids.” Amanda squeals. Apparently, she and Jessica have already been talking about wedding colors and floral arrangements, which brings joy to Amanda”s event planning heart. Her eyes sparkle as she talks about the designer dresses she suggested to Jessica.
I swallow against the alarm crawling up my throat, letting my mind drift back to the serenity of the woods behind my apartment, the comforting embrace of nature that I”ve craved since the accident. I feel so out of place here, pretending to be interested in the same things as my friends to fit in. Pretending to remember.
While the girls around me chat about wedding cake flavors, I”m daydreaming about the way the violet ironweed shines in the early morning light, a memory that soothes my racing pulse. I can almost see the vibrant purple petals of the ironweed dancing gracefully in the gentle breeze, glistening with dewdrops in the golden sunlight.
”Earth to Avie. You there?” Claire asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. ”We were talking about planning a girls” trip to Miami.”
”Sorry, I just... I”m not sure if that”s really my thing anymore.” I hesitate, knowing my words will only widen the distance between us. ”Everything feels so different now.”
”Come on, Avie! You used to love our trips!” Amanda insists, her heart-shaped face filled with confusion as she looked at me.
Claire jumps in before I can respond. ”And I bet she”ll love this one! Right, Avie?”
”Of course, I”m sure I will.” My fingers nervously toy with my necklace, guilt thrumming through me like the plucked strings of a guitar. I can”t decide between going along with the plan like I suspect old Avalina would do, or admitting that I had no memory of our getaways and don”t want to take a trip.
Claire is always trying to play peacemaker these days between me and Amanda. I understand Amanda”s frustration with my lack of memories. I met her in the five years currently missing from my mind, so to her we are friends, but I still view her as a stranger.
Some days, the unspoken friction feels like a web I can”t unravel, and all my attempts just have me more tangled in the threads that used to hold our friendship together.
”Oh! I almost forgot!” Amanda”s face lit up as she leaned across the table. ”There”s a new nightclub opening up next week. We should go. Maybe we can find someone for Avie,” she chuckles as her shoulder bumps into mine. ”You haven”t dated anyone since Jake and that was, what, two years ago?”
I smile and try to play along, but deep inside, my stomach is twisting up in knots. I don”t even remember who Jake is. Maybe I used to have a better poker face, but Amanda sees right through me.
”You don”t want to go?” Amanda pouts. ”It”s no fun if we all don”t go.”
I struggle to find the right words. To explain that my life feels like an old sweater. Something loved, but full of holes and threadbare. It doesn”t quite fit me anymore. ”Things have changed ever since the accident, and I guess that used to be something I”d like, but now I”m not so sure.”
”But we always go together.” Amanda begins, and the dam is bursting before I even have time to register my fists are clinching and anger is bubbling in my veins.
”I don”t want to go!” I yell, my skin suddenly hot and tight, and I”m not sure if it”s from my anger or embarrassment.
Silence falls over the table, and I can feel the confusion settling in like fog on a lake. The gap between my friends and I feel like an abyss, filled with all the memories we share I can no longer access. Panic swoops in at the thought of disappointing my friends, taking my ability to think along with it. My thoughts scatter like shards of glass, leaving me grasping for words to explain what I mean.
”I need some air,” I murmur, excusing myself from the table as I rush outside, eager to escape the suffocating silence after my declaration. But I know I can”t escape it for long. I can”t take back the words I said. Not when it means speaking up for the first time in months.
The tinkling bell of the coffee shop door has me turning to see my best friend walking my way. ”We”re just worried about you, Avalina. We want you to be happy,” Claire says as she approaches my side. I look into her furrowed blue eyes, seeing the concern etched in the crinkled corners.
”I know you do, and I appreciate it. But I”m not the same person I was before the accident. Five years of memories are gone. Five years of myself are gone. I need to figure out who I am now, even if it means leaving some things behind.”
”Even us?” she asks, her voice wavering, and she wraps her arms around herself against the chilly autumn air.
”No, of course not,” I reassure her. ”But our friendship might change, and we”ll have to navigate that together. It”s hard watching you talk about things that I can”t remember. Things that I may never remember.”
Claire sighs, and her forehead burrows in sadness, but I know she understands me.
Of all my friends, Claire is the only one I remember. She”s my childhood best friend, and I”ve been following her infectious smile and carefree spirit into trouble since we were both toddlers.
Before the accident, I worked with Claire at the art gallery. It seems like we”ve done everything together in life, including going to the same college and getting art history degrees.
Apparently, college is where we met Amanda and Jessica, who both studied fashion design.
Claire has been my lifeline through these interactions with Amanda and Jessica, who I only remember through stories I”m told. But in moments like this, Claire feels further apart than ever.
In a lot of ways, Claire feels like the opposite of me now - her with her light blonde hair and baby blue eyes, always cheerful and outgoing. Meanwhile, I feel like a wallflower. I wonder if I felt like this before the accident. I wonder if I just hid my feelings then better than I do now.
”Okay,” Claire says gently, pulling me into a hug. ”Just promise you won”t totally disappear on us.”
”I promise.” I hug her back, grateful for her understanding but knowing that my journey to rediscover myself will be a solitary one. After all, I”m the only one who can”t remember the past five years. Even though my friends have shown me pictures and videos, it still doesn”t piece together the gaps in my mind.
Everyone else may not want to admit it, but having that chunk of time lost did more than make it impossible to remember things. It changed who I am. From what I can piece together, I don”t have the same interest as I did before the accident, and it”s driving a wedge between who I am and who everyone expects me to be.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I type out a text to the girls letting them know I”m headed home, walking to my car as I send it. I know it”s cowardly, but I just don”t have it in me to face their disappointment again. I want to be the Avalina they remember, but I just don”t know who that is anymore.
The drive home is a blur, as my warring emotions have me on autopilot during the short drive to the edge of town where my apartment is. Parking my car in its numbered spot, I look up at the building my apartment is in. The lower half of the building is encased in red brick, while the second and third floors are accented with siding in cream and robin egg blue as you go up. Balconies peek out from various apartments, with large windows overlooking the manicured walking trails and playgrounds. Most would say these luxury apartments are prized for their designer kitchens and bathrooms, or the resort-style pool. I just wanted my apartment to be on the first floor, as close to the forest behind the complex as possible.
I visit the woods almost daily now, and a part of me wants to visit them now, but the darkening gray sky promises rain. Grabbing my purse, I slide out of my car and drag myself towards my door, sighing as I step into the welcoming space, breathing in the scent of jasmine and sandalwood. All I want to do is relax, but my muscles feel tense, like they”re bracing for the next disaster. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, I can feel my mind slipping into old habits, wanting to berate myself for not being able to go along with what my friends want.
I step into my kitchen to make some tea when a knock sounds at my door. Opening it, I find the familiar face of my younger sister, Iris. Iris and I look similar, both with copper colored hair and green eyes, but Iris shines with an optimism that lights up any room.
A smile spread across her face as she catches sight of me, her hair cut in a pixie cut that frames her delicate features.
”Hey, Avie,” she greets me, stepping inside and enveloping me in a hug. ”How are you holding up?”
”Surviving,” I sigh, feeling the weight of my recent conversation with Claire. I have a hunch that conversation is why Iris is here, but I decide to wait it out, at least for now. ”I was just going to make some tea. Do you want some?”
Iris makes a shooing motion, moving me away from the kitchen and into the small living room. ”You sit down. I”ll make the tea.”
I know my sister is up to something, but I let her take over as a mother hen, curling up on the couch under my favorite purple throw. Being only a couple of years younger than me, Iris and I share a lot of the same friends, something that annoyed me when we were younger, but now I”m grateful for. Iris helps fill in the gaps in my memory and often makes suggestions for how I can try to reconnect with my friends again. While our parents love us, they are out of town a lot, going on elaborate vacations now that they are retired. Without them around recently, Iris has taken on the role of big sister and mother hen all in one.
Conan, my brown tabby cat, meows at me before he leaps up and begins kneading the soft blanket. Petting Conan, I look around the small space. It isn”t much, but it”s all mine and that”s what matters to me. It”s a one-bedroom apartment with a kitchen just big enough to cook in that opens to the living area. Everything is light wood and soft pillows and blankets, all in the muted hues of a spring sunrise. Pale sky blue walls are accented with buttery lace curtains, a lilac knitted throw tossed over a cream couch dotted with creamsicle and rose floral pillows.
But the best part? The floor to ceiling bookshelves I had installed on the longest wall in the living room, overflowing with novels. A stack of books on Celtic mythology and fables sits on the coffee table, dried flowers and leaves acting as bookmarks.
I watch my sister boil water and rummage around my tea cabinet, pulling down my favorite mug. ”Let me guess, Claire called you?”
”Listen,” she says, pulling away from her task, her eyes shining with determination. ”I”ve been thinking about how we can help you reconnect with the girls. What if we plan a getaway? Just us and them, spending some quality time together.”
I inwardly groan. I wasn”t ready to have this conversation. Perhaps I wouldn”t ever be ready to have this conversation. I feel like a broken doll everyone is trying to mend. I pick at the threads of the blanket, my hands eager to do something.
”Maybe,” I hesitate, the thought of facing my friends” expectations again makes my stomach churn.
But I know that Iris only has my best interests at heart, and the idea of escaping the city for a while holds a certain appeal. And Iris has been my rock since the accident, helping me feel comfortable being just where I am at.
”I think it will be good for you, Avie.” she insists, bringing over two steaming mugs of tea. ”Some time away from all the things that remind you of the accident. Think of it like a fresh start with your friends.”
”Okay,” I reluctantly agree, knowing that if anyone could help me bridge the gap between my old life and my new reality, it”s Iris. While I appreciate her help, I know I”ll have to fly on my own soon.