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Jesus. Rachel freaking Lawson. She was the very last person on earth I expected to see on the beach tonight.
Fuck. It’s been a long time. A lifetime ago. But her ghostly memories still dance around my mind nearly every day.
There’s a stinging pinch in my chest—those sure feel like pins sticking in my heart. Maybe she has a voodoo doll or some crap like that.
Rachel always had a sass to her, but tonight, I tasted vengeance on her lips. She wants blood. The fire in her eyes tonight made me want one thing—to kiss her until she forgot what I did.
I sigh as I shove the key into the ignition. The truck makes a loud dinging sound to remind me to put on my seatbelt.
I was the one that fucked things up back then. I have had to own that shit.
Guilt has a bitter taste. Even to this day.
I ghosted her—but they didn’t even call it ghosting back then. I split town and barely looked back.
Rachel knew it wasn’t forever. We talked about it a lot. But her tear-filled eyes still haunt me to this day. She knew I was leaving, but it was obvious she held onto the idea that maybe there was something more.
But I was a cold-hearted dick.
My summer lifeguarding job in Pismo Beach ended, and I hit the road off to my next destination—teaching skiing in Utah. Sure, I spoke by phone to her a few times back then—between parties and hookups and generally being a playboy derelict ski bum.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and toss it on the seat next to me. Right as it lands, the phone rings. Weird coincidence.
I grab it. The photo that pops up on the screen makes my heart squeeze. I eye it for a second, then answer, “Hey, buddy.”
Marcus’s voice is starting to change. It creaks when he says, “Hey, Hunter.” Surprised the hell out of me when, at age eleven, he started to sound like a frog warming up for a duet.
“How was your day?”
He’s chewing his fingernails, I can tell.
“Fine. Practice was fun.”
I’m surprised he said so many words. He’s not much of a phone talker. Comes with being an eleven-year-old, so my friends who have kids tell me. “That’s good. I’m glad. Your Nan took you?”
“Yeah.”
I grin. “Did she take you to get something to eat after?”
“I met friends from school for pizza. Nan said to thank you for pizza money.”
“You’re welcome. So, you going to do homework now?” I glance at the clock, it’s 8:30. Kind of late, but Marcus needed some time with friends today.
Marcus groans, “I guess. But you’re the one who’s good at helping with math homework. Nan gets stressed out.”
“We could FaceTime and I can help.”
His voice brightens, “You’d do that?”
“Of course, buddy. I’d be glad to.” I fight to take a breath, the emotion in my chest is like a vice. Ryan would have loved nothing more than doing homework with his son. As much as I suck at it, I’ll keep doing my best. “Let me get back to the hotel and I’ll call you. It might take fifteen minutes.”
Memories of Ryan showing me a photo of his boy playing baseball flash into my head. I swallow hard. Marcus was nine. Not two weeks later, Ryan died in a police chase. I’ll never forget the call from our commander.
How fucking unfair for the kid to lose his dad at that age. At nine, he should be thinking about ball games, cooking marshmallows, and riding bikes. Instead, Marcus was faced with losing his only parent and being forced into living with an elderly grandmother. It wasn’t long before Sheila knew she couldn’t give a young boy the life he needed. That’s when she called me.
Three months later, we were signing adoption papers and Marcus and I began the work of blending our lives together. I never thought I’d be a father. And here I am, father to a precocious eleven-year-old.
So far, we managed not to kill one another or drive each other mad. Completely, anyway. We’ve sure butted heads but I can tell he doesn’t push too hard, and I dance the same dance with him. Like we’re both unsure of how to proceed.
