Julian: A Dark Angel Series Companion Novella (Dark Angel #3) Read Free Page A

It was my perverse way of justifying what I knew deep inside was just plain wrong.
    I hear the voice from outside the hall; it sounds vaguely familiar. I stumble to the door wearing only my boxers and a wife beater. As I peek through the peephole, I see the face. Scrawny looking, with an odd blemish here and there. I rub my eyes; no way—this can’t be who I think it is.
    “C’mon, Uncle Jools, open the fricken door!”
    You’ve got to be kidding me. Reluctantly, I open the door. It’s Tristan, my nephew.
    “Tristan? Why and what the hell are you doing here?”
    He barges in, throwing his duffle bag on the floor and placing a small bag that was draped over his shoulder gently on the coffee table. Oh fuck no …duffel bags are never a good sign. The sign of a drifter looking for a place to stay. He can’t stay with me, I’m a nomad. Born to wander the earth alone…I enjoy peace and quiet. I can’t have a kid living here.
    “Mom said you’ve gone off ya nut and needed some company.”
    He makes himself at home, sitting on the couch, placing his feet on the table with his hands behind his head.
    I run my hands through my hair in order to calm myself down, but of course it doesn’t work. “Tristan, you can’t stay here.”
    “Why not? Place is big enough for both of us.” He lifts a magazine from the table and cringes. I wasn’t wrong in thinking finance literature was not his taste.
    My place wasn’t huge. It was a one-bedroom apartment on top of some seedy massage place downstairs. It was all I could afford right now. I had blown so much money on coke that I had to downgrade luxuries, like a secure apartment. It wasn’t such a bad place, fairly modern inside but really cramped. He would have to sleep on the couch… what, now you’re thinking he can stay?
    “I don’t have time to take care of a minor, Tristan. I’m busy enough with work and… stuff.”
    He would get in the way of your night activities. Find him somewhere else to stay, the sadistic voices in my head yell at me.
    “Minor? I’m twenty-one. I’m old enough to drink, gamble and root. I’m in California, the babes here are bangin’ hot! Just outside there was this blonde…she wanted to invite me in for iced tea and shit but I swear…and I swear… she was going commando. Totally wanted to fuck me.” His Aussie accent wasn’t lost on me, although his slang was.
    “Tristan, why on Earth are you back in the States? Josie wouldn’t just send her firstborn to her incapable brother. Remember the last time I took care of you? I almost dropped you on your head.”
    “I was like a year old…that was so twenty years ago.” He rolls his eyes at me.
    I knew my sister well enough to know she loved her son, and the thought of shipping him off would have sent her into a depressive spiral for days.
    “Truth? Husband number four doesn’t like me.” There was a change of tone in his voice. His eyes shifted toward the window, my cue to change subjects and make sure I made that long-distance call to Josie to find out what the fuck happened. Fuck, that asshole better not have laid a finger on him.
    I let out a breath, not believing that I am allowing him to stay here. Where else would he go? I have been a lousy uncle; I guess I owe him at least this.
    As I continue to look at him, I notice how much he’s changed since Thanksgiving five years ago. Josie would constantly email me pictures of him when they moved to Australia because of husband number three. That ended like a bad train wreck and so she moved onto husband number four. Tristan has grown up into a man…well, okay, maybe a man-child. He’s slightly shorter than me; his physique hidden behind a baggy t-shirt with a green lantern symbol on it. His hair is scruffy and untidy; the bleach blond makes him look like an Aussie surfer. Probably why he’s sporting a tan as well.
    “Okay, listen, you can stay here, but only for a couple of weeks and I want to lay some ground rules.” Fuck,