The Triangle (Shape of Love Book 1) Read online

  “Oh,” I say. “Yeah, then. OK. That’s what we are. The kind you choose.”

  “I love you two.”

  I smile. Kinda huff out some air through my nose. “We love you back.”

  “I’ll always love you two. It’s a done deal, yeah?”

  I huff again. “Sure. Done deal.”

  “No matter what happens, we’re the only three who matter.”

  “What about Lars?”

  “He can come along if he wants. One day, maybe. When he’s old enough to understand what this is. But he’s not part of us, is he? He’s part of me, sure. But he’s not part of us.”

  I nod, pretending to understand what it means to be us. Not quite getting it, but not wanting to break the moment and ask more questions, either.

  Christine is suddenly under the palapa with us. She sinks to her knees, dropping into the sand. Picks up two handfuls, lets it flow through her fingers like an hourglass ticking off time. “I love it here.”

  I beam at her. And when I look over at Alec, he’s beaming too.

  It kinda hits me then. What he meant.

  Alec. Christine. Danny.

  “I wish we could stay like this forever,” she whispers, picking up more sand so she can grab more time.

  “Nothing lasts forever, nunu. Must enjoy things when they happen. That’s all you can do.”

  I think about life before Alec and feel OK with it. It was hard, and we were scared, but… it was OK.

  Then I think about life without Alec and find myself suddenly sad. Not for the loss of things he gave us, but for the loss of him. The loss of us.

  I would probably be fine if we’d never met. Because you can’t miss something you never had. But losing him… I mean, he gets on my nerves quite a bit. We argue plenty. And every now and then we even box until we’re bloody. But I meant it. We love him.

  I love him.

  The thought of losing him feels like the end of something.

  Something I’ll never get back.

  It feels like the loss of everything.

  Something I’ll never get over.

  It feels like defeat.

  Because there is no us without Alec.

  RIGHT NOW

  Did they die?

  We ask ourselves that question every day. Or at least I do. I think Christine has moved on. It’s been three months since she squeezed her trigger and blasted bullets at Alec and Lars.

  Three months since we got up off the ground, walked over to the edge of the river, bent down to rub our fingers through the drops of blood on the rocks.

  Three months since we looked at the water rushing over the waterfall.

  Since I called his name, over and over and over.

  “Alec!”

  “Alec!”

  “Alec?”

  We made our way down to the pool at the bottom. It took hours to get there so we knew, even if we did find bodies, they’d be dead. We had to make ourselves leave the river first. And that was harder than it sounds. Leaving without him. Leaving him behind.

  Then we found the house, got the Range Rover, found a road that took us close to the falls, then hiked back into the forest.

  Christine didn’t say a word the whole time. Not one word.

  I talked to myself, mostly. “This way,” and, “That way,” and, “Over there.”

  But we didn’t find bodies. We found nothing.

  Alec once said, “Our love transcends everything.”

  Except betrayal, I guess. Because there’s no love left now. Not in me, anyway.

  I don’t blame Christine. It’s not her fault. It’s my fault.

  My fault for taking her out of the foster system.

  My fault for pretending I could care for her.

  My fault for introducing her to Alec.

  My fault for letting her grow into a killer.

  My fault for walking away and my fault for coming back.

  Every bit of this is all my fault.

  So why am I taking it out on her? When three months ago she was all I wanted?

  I guess it’s because… that’s not all I want now.

  There’s three of us, not two.

  There is no her without him. No me without them.

  “I have to go somewhere.”

  I understand that this is the second time she’s said that and there have been many minutes in between the two statements. But I’m sitting on a sand bar on the inside part of the Aitutaki atoll, looking over at One Foot Island where we left the boat, and all I can think about is that day back in paradise. “We should’ve just… stayed here,” I say. “Stopped time and stayed here.”

  She says nothing.

  So neither do I. More minutes go by. I can practically see her back then. Like she’s right in front of me again. Picking up fistfuls of sand. Letting time slip through her fingers. I want to get up out of my chair, go to her. Make her keep that sand in her fists.

  Make her stop.

  But of course, she is right in front of me. Right now.

  Except she’s not her and I’m not him, and Alec is gone. Or dead. Does it matter?

  “I have to—”

  “I heard you,” I say. Quietly.

  She sighs. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Still, I feel… I know that, but… I’m… just sorry.”

  I asked her once what Alec did. What was it that sent her over to Lars.

  She slapped me. “I wasn’t with Lars! Everything he said was a lie!”

  “I love you,” she says now.

  “I love you back,” I say. Because I do. I don’t feel it in this moment, but I love her. And if I lose her, well, I’ll just die if I lose her.

  “I think I should go. I have somewhere to be. And something to do and maybe…”

  “Maybe what? Maybe you won’t come back?”

  “I’m coming back.”

  “Then why are you leaving?”

  I get it. I mean know why. I’m not a whole lot of fun these days. And I don’t really know what’s bugging me. I just know it’s something. Something I don’t understand. Something that makes me want to sleep all day. Something that hates, something that wants to give up.

  “I’m coming back.”

  Circles. I’m going in circles, not triangles.

  “What did he do, Christine? Tell me.” I whisper that last part.

  And then I look at her. For the first time in days, I think. She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “I can’t,” she whispers back.

  “Why?”

  “Because it doesn’t matter.”

  “It did that day.”

  That’s what we call it now. That day.

  “I’m leaving. I have to go but I’ll be back. Please be here.”

  “Where would I go?” It’s an honest question. Brasil is still looking for me. My fucking garage went up in flames that night we left. Oh, yeah, that was fun. Driving back to the city. To my home. Finding it gone. But then again, what did I expect? We left half a dozen dead bodies behind. Of course whoever sent that hit torched the place when they did the cleanup.

  I don’t know if that attack was Brasil or not. Probably was. Because we now know when Lars sends mercs in to kill you, he does it right.

  Did, I guess. Past tense. Did it right.

  I went to the other warehouse, packed up some things, grabbed the important contacts, a new burner phone for each of us. Money to get fake passports.

  We picked up more money once we got to the Caribbean. And a boat. A big catamaran. One that can cross oceans. We didn’t stop in South Africa. Went to Madagascar instead. Then off to the Seychelles, the Maldives, passed a bunch of fucking places in Indonesia, skipped Australia and kept going. New Caledonia, Fiji, and then… the Cook Islands. The only place we had left.

  Two and half months we were on that yacht.

  But time is so funny. Feels like yesterday we were standing in those woods looking at that river.

  “I�
�ll be back soon,” Christine says, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. “Please be here.”

  The next time I look up the sun is setting behind me, burning my back.

  For a second I think, Holy shit. Did she take the boat?

  But no. I see it. Across the lagoon where it’s supposed to be.

  So I swim back. Go inside. Turn on the lights, and make some ramen. Live, without really living.

  Two days go by and I think she’ll come back. Probably by morning.

  Seven days and I’m a little less sure.

  Ten days and I’ve got the GPS spooled up, food in hand as I scan the map. They have this little hut place on One Foot Island. Right next to the post office. Like a fucking snack bar if you were on a beach in the US. They mostly sell fish and crab, so that’s what I’m eating. Fish taco. I ran out of ramen four days ago and I’m just not in the mood to take this boat out by myself and go to the market over in Aitutaki. I’ll have to walk by the fishing club to get there and then I’ll think of her yellow dress and the whole sad state of things will finally sink in.

  She’s not coming back.

  Alec is dead.

  There is no triangle, there is no us.

  I am alone on the wrong side of the world.

  So I look at the GPS map and eat my stupid fish. Try to decide where I can go that won’t feel like death is calling me home.

  I decide that place doesn’t exist.

  So I decide northwest.

  I decide I’d like to kill Brasil. Take back what’s mine. What’s left, anyway.

  And I come to terms with it. The loss, the sadness, the two holes inside my heart.

  Because there’s no way to fix this. There’s no way to put that sand back in Christine’s fist or those bullets back in her gun.

  It’s over.

  I can either stay here and die. Or leave and fight to live another day.

  If I quit… if I quit, Alec would never respect me again. I’d never get his voice out of my head.

  So I stay up all night and plot the trip. And by the time dawn comes, I’m OK, I think.

  I’m alone, but I’m OK.

  It’s taken a while, but I’ve come to terms with my new normal.

  And that’s when the boat tips slightly. And for a second I think, Waves. Just waves.

  “Hey,” she says.

  But it’s not waves.

  I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. Hold it. Then let it out and say, “Hey.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I don’t turn around and look at her. I can’t do it. I just accepted things. Just started to feel whole again. And seeing her now. I don’t know. I don’t think I can do it.

  She comes up behind me. She leans into my neck and she smells like wind. Like salt, and sea, and life. She kisses me and whispers, “I can fix this.”

  I just shake my head. She can’t.

  “He’s alive, Danny.”

  “Lars?” I ask, unable to even consider—

  “He’s alive and I know where he is.” She slips around and sits in my lap, her arms draped casually around my shoulders. A moment later she’s kissing me on the mouth. “He’s with Brasil. I can fix this, OK? Let me fix this.”

  Everything comes rushing back to me now.

  Everything.

  The hate. The love. The fear. The courage.

  I picture this new life she’s offering. One filled with many familiar things. Mostly guns, and death, and probably lots of fucking.

  I sigh. Pull her into me. Wrap my arms tightly around her body.

  She sinks into me.

  I don’t want her, I want us. I want the triangle. It’s still true, what I told Alec when he asked me if I’d always need her to have him. That hasn’t changed.

  There is no her without him. No me without them.

  This is the shape of our love.

  For the first time since that day, I smile.

  I feel… not whole. Not yet. As long as we’re apart we’re nothing but broken lines.

  But I feel hope.

  So I say, “Let’s fix this.”

  **********

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  END OF BOOK SHIT

  Welcome to the End of Book Shit where we get to say anything we want about the book. Sometimes they’re long and wordy, sometimes they’re short and pithy. You never know. But they are never edited, so excuse our typos. And they are always last minute. Like… right before we upload. So don’t mind us if we ramble.

  Also - if you enjoyed this book please do us a favor and leave a review where you purchased it. It helps us more than you realize. We’d really appreciate that. TY!

  It has been thirteen months since JA Huss asked me to write books with her. (It was the 3rd of August 2017, to be precise.) And this last (slightly more than a) year has been the most remarkable one of my career.

  As I write this, I am in Las Cruces, New Mexico, shooting a movie, having just wrapped production on the first season of a Netflix series I’m thrilled to have been on.

  I am also starting a new book with Julie while continuing to work on the TV adaptation of THE COMPANY, based on the world of Julie’s books.

  I am also talking with our audiobook publisher about multiple books I am working on with them both as an author and a narrator.

  For those keeping score, that represents three full-time careers.

  And I’ve never been happier.

  (I’m not naturally given over to happiness, so it’s not some impossibly high benchmark, but nonetheless — for me — I’ve never been happier.)

  Here’s why I bring it up: I don’t know if there’s some synergistic universal force at play that is creating a personal metaphor at this moment, or if I’m just forcing one, or a little of both, but here’s what I do know: I’ve had the most abundant and gratifying year of my career because I seem to have triangulated my purpose in that regard. Before, there were pieces missing. And that disallowed the discovery of my fullest creative self. And now ... all the lines connect.

  This happened in my personal world sometime back. I met my wife, who is very much the strong, unbending line that anchors my life, and concurrently, I met the friends I have (friends like Julie — true, steadfast, unwavering allies and champions) who keep me balanced and at peace as well. Me; Laura; Julie, et. al. That’s my strength. I need all of those elements to truly occupy my best version of me. Because for a long time, I felt adrift. Like a single, unmatched line in search of something. And the universe was kind to me and painted onto my life my companion parts.

  That feeling of completion and fulfillment is what this last year has been for my life in art. I am privileged to be constantly engaged and in the process of creating. And it is the greatest gift I could hope for. I don’t know what next year will hold, but I’m not really thinking about it all that much at present because — right now — I feel whole.

  Oh, I still find plenty to complain about. That’s just who I am. That’s part of the line that makes me me. But the previously missing parts coming together has ameliorated the carping voice in my mind to a greater degree than I’ve ever had happen before.

  The trick to happiness, it seems to me, is to find the places where you and your loves, ideas, passions, and people all intersect and then join with them. Just touch them at the connection points and allow the power to flow back and forth between.

  And, by the way, I don’t know that I’m done adding elements. None of us are. There’s nothing to suggest that the shape of my love isn’t a myriagon. Or some other impossible-to-name polygon. I hope I’m able to just keep adding lines and re-shaping my life more and more and more and...

  And I h
ope that for you as well. Both because you are you and you deserve happiness, and because ... I owe you. I am in your debt. You are the line that makes this all possible. That makes the work I do, and the work Julie and I do together, necessary.

  There is no call for what we create if you aren’t there to share in it. You are our third angle. Our completion.

  Without you, there is no us.

  So ... I hope that the discovery of new passions, new loves, new opportunities, and new discoveries leave their mark on you and allow the shape of the world you occupy to keep shifting and growing as you do.

  Because, for all of us, every last one, no story is ever really over. The shape of the narrative just keeps changing as it moves along.

  Alec, Christine, and Danny will be back.

  And so will we.

  We hope you will continue to join us.

  -JM

  19 September 2018

  When Johnathan and I finished The Sexpert it was June. We had a serious deadline because we were taking ARC copies of the book to the Book Bonanza signing in July, which meant that we needed the book done very early so we could format and upload the paperback and get our physical copies to my house in time. I had just finished Play Dirty and there was so much going on with the signing, I just stopped writing. For like… weeks.

  I have never done that before. Not since I first started writing non-fiction in 2008. I mean, I have literally been writing pretty much non-stop for the last ten years. It was kinda weird, to be honest. I kept asking myself… is this burn-out? Is this what that feels like?

  But it’s not that I didn’t have ideas. I seriously had a new idea every single day. I’d write it down and say, “There. That’s the next book.” But then I’d get a new idea and that became the next book. I think I did this like eight times and pretty soon I started wondering if I’d ever be able to settle on another idea again. It was strange.

  But The Shape of Love Series was in my head for a while. My problem was it started out as a run-of-the-mill ménage. My problem was… it was boring because I was thinking about following the “rules”. My problem was I didn’t want to write it. I loved the series title and the book title but the story I had plotted for it just… wasn’t good enough.