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Lachlan
The brilliant sunreflected on the ocean waves about a hundred yards from my current perch, which happened to be a bench at the rear of the beachfront property I’d called home during my high school years.
It wasn’t as massive as some of the other houses along the shore. When my father died and my mother decided to return home, she wanted to live on the beach. After I permanently relocated to the mainland, Claire still following herself, we still held onto this place, if for no other reason than the memories contained within the four walls of the charming two-bedroom house.
But now that I was back for the first time in five years, those memories were suffocating, the guilt over what happened to Claire tormenting me.
“So it’s true then.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, I tore my attention to the right as a man with an intimidating physique approached from the beach. His black hair was slicked back, sunglasses covering what I knew to be dark eyes, tribal tattoos on his naturally tanned skin peeking out from under the sleeves of his polo shirt. Couple that with the neatly pressed khaki pants, detective shield around his neck, and gun holstered to his belt, it was evident he was about to head to the precinct.
“Yes, Nikko. It’s true.” I stood, pulling him in for a quick hug, our foreheads touching briefly.
“Pohili has returned,” he bellowed as he patted my back with his free hand, the other one holding a tray containing two coffees.
“Pohili has returned,” I repeated, using the nickname he’d called me for as long as I could remember, the Hawaiian term for baseball.
Even though I was born in Australia, my mum was born and raised right here on Oahu. Despite moving away from the island after she fell in love with my father, an Australian, she made it a point to bring us here every year during summer and winter breaks from school, which was when I discovered baseball. Once we permanently moved here when I was thirteen, it was all baseball, all the time.
Now here I was, fulfilling my childhood dream of being a professional player.
“How did you find out?” I asked.
He shrugged and removed one of the cups from the tray, handing it to me. “It’s a small island.”
I brought the cup to my lips, savoring that first sip of authentic Kona coffee from the restaurant his family owned just up the beach.
“Word travels fast. You know how it is.”
“That I do.”
We may have been just a quick drive from Honolulu and the crazy, city nightlife, but away from the tourist area, life was different. Slower. Easier.
Still, I had no doubt my return to the old neighborhood would be front-page news in the local newsletter…if anyone ever cared enough to put one together. But no one did. People here may have been nosy, but they also tended to mind their own business. To an outsider, the dichotomy was probably peculiar. That was just the way of life here. We watched out for each other, yet also gave each other space.
“Plus, Mrs. Young called the station earlier this morning. Said she saw some hot rod pull into the driveway. Was worried some drug dealers had broken in and were having an orgy.”
I arched my brows. “Really?”
He held up a hand. “Honest to God, bruh. She actually said that. You haven’t lived until you try to keep a straight face listening to an eighty-year-old woman voice her concerns that an orgy may be taking place in her neighborhood.”
I barked out a laugh. The sad thing was I could picture Mrs. Young being genuinely concerned about drug dealers having orgies overrunning her neighborhood. I was surprised she didn’t come over and knock on the door herself, shotgun in hand. She was well known for sitting in her recliner, TV tuned to true crime documentaries, cigarette hanging out of her mouth, shotgun lying across her lap.
The fact she wasn’t quite five feet tall and probably only weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet made the image even more amusing.
“Glad it was you and not me.”
He nodded, pausing before he spoke again.
“How are you?”
Judging by his tone of voice, I sensed he wasn’t simply asking to find out how I was on a superficial level. His question went deeper. It always did.
I shrugged. “How do you think?”
He blew out a breath, lowering himself onto the bench, shifting his attention to the crashing waves. I joined him, my gaze focused forward, as well.
“Is it true you punched a detective?” He rested his forearms on his knees, then glanced at me. “I never know what to believe when it comes to celebrity gossip.”
