Rio

"This can't be my fucking life," I muttered as I lay in the center of my canopy bed, wrapped in my duvet. It felt like the walls were closing in on me. I tried telling myself that what I was feeling wasn't depression; today was just one of those days, that's all. There was a house full of people, yet I felt alone. I was a Duncan. Royalty. I had all that money could buy plus some, but I was still unhappy. Unfulfilled. It seemed as if everyone in the family had a solid position in the family business except me. Not only that, but I felt like I was the outcast of the family, the loner, the gay one.

I know I was loved, but I didn't feel as if my family truly appreciated what I brought to the table. Granted, I wasn't a brilliant businessman like my father or my older brother Vegas, and I didn't have the book smarts like Orlando or London. I definitely didn't have the muscle power or physical strength of my oldest brother, Junior. And I didn't have the sensual prowess of my twin sister, Paris, or our cousin Sasha. No, I was more like our mother; I had not only inherited her amazing fashion sense, but her uncanny intuition and ability to detect when people were lying. Not only that, but my reputation in the gay community as being one of the best people to party with gave me an all access pass to the happenings in the club scene. I was valuable; it's just that my family couldn't see my true value, and sometimes I felt like they didn't even try. It didn't seem to matter if I was around or not. The only time they noticed my presence was when we were in the middle of a family crisis, which there'd been quite a lot of over the past few years. We'd endured everything from my niece being kidnapped, my father being shot, to my murderous uncle escaping a mental hospital and declaring war on us. We'd survived it all — as a family. But now that there was no drama to deal with, my presence wasn't needed.

My mother said she loved me often. My father was a different story. Our relationship had always been "different," and I had come to accept it for what it was. After all, he was LC Duncan, one of the most powerful black businessmen in America. Having a gay son, especially one as open as I was, wasn't an easy pill for him to swallow. He'd made his own sort of peace with it, especially after I put my life on the line during a recent family crisis, but I still felt like there was a distance between us that didn't exist between him and my brothers. It would've been nice to feel like their equal every now and then, even though I knew deep down Pop would never accept my lifestyle.

A lack of real friends only added to my sense of isolation. Other than my sister Paris, I wasn't really close to anyone. I had people I partied with, but there wasn't anyone I connected with beyond face value. No one I could really talk to about men, sex, fashion — about anything, really — from a man-to-man perspective. Not only that, but it had been a long time since I had someone special in my life. The last person I even thought about as a potential mate was brutally snatched from me before we even had a chance. His death contributed to the funk I'd been in the past few months.

Lately, I'd felt myself slipping deeper and deeper into a dense fog, and it was becoming harder to fight it. I needed to do something and do it quick. I made my way into the bathroom and took a long, steamy shower, hoping it would revive my spirits. It didn't. Even after I pampered my skin with the finest products and put on a fly Gucci outfit, I felt no different. My mood sucked, and it didn't look like there was anything I could do to change it.

It was about eleven on a Saturday morning, and I could hear the chatter coming from the dining room, so I went downstairs. London and her kids were seated at the table, along with Junior and his wife, Sonja, and Nevada, my sixteen-year-old nephew.

"Good morning, everyone." I greeted the room with the most cheerful voice I could muster. Their responses were all cordial, but as usual, I felt like I had interrupted their conversation.

I walked over to the breakfast food spread out on the buffet and made myself a plate, then sat in the empty seat beside Nevada. Like a typical teenager, he was too engrossed in whatever was happening on his phone to look up. The food didn't taste bad, but I still wasn't satisfied. It was the typical brunch we had every weekend: pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit. It was good, but it was the same — just like everything else in my life lately. I realized that I wanted something different. I needed something different. I was tired of feeling this way.

"Where's the parentals?" I tried making small talk.

No one answered for a minute.

Just as I was about to have an attitude, Nevada looked up and said, "You say something, Uncle Rio?"

I turned and repeated my question. "I asked, where are the parentals?"

"Oh, my dad is down in the gym with Uncle Daryl and —"

I shook my head. "Uh, I wasn't talking about your parentals, nephew. I was talking about mine."

"Oh, my bad." Nevada shrugged.

"It's okay, Nevada. It's not like he specified whose parents he was referring to," London said.

I glanced up at my sister and asked, "Why the hell would I be asking about his parents?"

"Anyway, to answer your question, Momma and Daddy went out for a drive this morning," London said then went back to talking to Sonya.

As tempting as it was to respond with a snide comment, I decided to finish my breakfast without saying another word. Showing a serenity I really didn't feel, I walked out of the dining room and didn't stop until I was out the front door. When I hopped into my car, I knew exactly where I was headed.

Forty-five minutes later, I was at my spot. All the Duncan children had their own secret hideouts, including me. Mine was located in a country setting, surrounded by trees and a huge iron gate, all on a quarter acre of land. I pressed the password into the keypad, put my fingerprint on the sensor, and the gate to my small but adequate getaway opened and allowed me access. I drove up to the front of the small, two-story bachelor pad and bypassed the three-car garage, deciding to park in the driveway instead.

I entered the house and looked around at the décor I had meticulously selected. There were huge mirrors on all the living room walls, making it feel bigger than it really was. The color scheme of burnt orange, brown, and red gave the place a warm atmosphere. Mostly everything came from Pier One, my favorite go-to place for home décor because their pieces were unique, just like me. The focal point of the dining room was a huge glass table surrounded by cast iron chairs, with an elaborate olive-green dish setting at each seat. Everything matched perfectly:...