Always In: The Shore Series Book 2 (3 page)

B. Go get totally shit faced in my apartment and cry like a bitch after I drink a fifth of Jack.

C. Go walk the streets of Sandy Cove in front of Jax, back and forth, all night long wishing and hoping I get to run into her.

I think I want to go with C. Even though I'll most likely do some of B. Plan A never seems to be an option for me though.

***

So I shower, not really knowing what the point is. The air-conditioning in this shit hole I call an apartment doesn't really work and my nerves are making me sweat. I wander down the main drag where all the popular bars are. I wear my baseball cap to try and go a little incognito. It may work, but the goal is to see her and actually talk to her. That's the whole reason why I went with plan C.

Hands in my pockets, my head down, I walk. Inching closer and closer to Jax, I see people I know. Stopping to talk with them, but not really paying attention to the small talk that takes place. I have one eye on them and one eye on the door of Jax. I have no intention on following her in if I see her in there or if I see her go in, I just need to see her face. I need to know she's happy and I will if I see her eyes sparkle, if I see that glow she always has around her. I'll know it. If I just happen to cross the street when I do see, it will be by accident. Everyone will see through that plan, so my course of action has changed. I’m a chicken.

I run into the drugstore to grab a pack of gum. The line in here is long, too long for my liking, and I’m freaking out that if I wait here much longer I'll miss my chance to see her. Oh, fuck it. I throw a few bucks on the counter and tell the kid who works the register that I’m in a hurry. He knows I’m a cop here so he doesn't give me shit. I take off out the door in a mad rush and run right into...Willow.

"Cruz?" It's a question and a warning. Of all the people in this damn town to run into. Why? Please, God,
why
?

"Willow, I was...um just stopping at the store for some gum. That's it."

She grabs my arm and pinches it, dragging me towards a brick wall near the drug store. Her voice surprisingly calm after she just shredded my arm.

"Cruz, I know what you're doing, but you can't. You promised Craw. Please, if you love her, let her have her space. Give her time to heal everywhere she needs to." She smiles at me sadly like she understands, or attempts to.

Where'd this Willow come from?

I lower my head, shaking it and re-depositing my hands in my pockets. I can't look up at her because I know she's right, and if I keep my focus on the ground beneath me, I won't cry. Yep. Big pussy. I cry...all the time.

"I...I just want to see her face, Willow. It's been so long. A photograph is nothing compared to the real thing. Can you understand that?"

She takes my face in both her hands and raises it up to look at her. Her smile is genuine and I know she gets it. I like this Willow. She should stay.

"Yes, Cruz, I do. But she doesn't remember. It's not that she's trying to forget because believe me, and I told you this after she came out of the fucking coma, if she knew the truth, if she knew what her grandmother said to you and what she made you do, she would have never allowed it to happen. I know that girl and she did love you, with all her heart, but she is a different person now. I...I can't explain it, but she is."

Craw told me she is different. She's not hiding from her problems like she used to. She's not allowing the old, dark thoughts or memories to overtake her. Things that used to make her insane, she allows to roll off her back. I’m glad for that part.

"And I’m different too, Willow, but it sure as hell doesn't allow me to stop loving her."

She let's go of my face and looks defeated. She shouldn't because I’m the one who is directionless.

"I know. I know, just try and be patient. She's still got a long way to go mentally and physically, Cruz. Please if you love her, let her go. Just let her go."

Willow walks away and I'm left standing alone again with my thoughts. No actions, just alone in a place where I’m lost. I feel so lost, that's until I see her. I see her hair whip around the corner without even seeing her face ’cause when I see her face, I'll know. I'll know she's happy, I'll know I can walk away and let her go on and live her life.

But that's not what I see.

Even though I see her shiny, bright-as-the-glowing-sun hair, it’s her walking with crutches, hobbling along the sidewalk that I see. Craw on one side and Thea on the other. I duck under the awning of the drugstore to hide, but I stare at her. I’m mesmerized by her. Not only her beauty that is now making my heart thump out of my chest, but to see her wounded, limping, and easing her way on those damn wooden sticks. Her head is down still and I can't see her face. I just want to see her face.

Harlow. Look up, Turnip. Look at me, baby.

And as though she heard me, she peers up and I see what I’ve been waiting to see for weeks and weeks. Her face, those eyes. I long to see happiness in them, but I don't. I don't see it. The one thing I wanted to see was her blue eyes radiating happiness but that's not what I see. I know her so well. I can tell that's not what she's feeling.

Does it make it any better for me to walk away knowing she's hurting? No. It makes it worse. Even if she were happy, my feelings wouldn’t alter. I'd feel the same way. I think I really would. My heart and my world would crash down again no matter which outcome.

She doesn't see me. I make sure of that as she disappears into Jax. With every step I take toward my apartment, I become numb. Pained.

***

I play with the few dollars worth of quarters on the bar in front of me. I allow them to hit the bar from in between my fingers. Listening to them clank as they hit the wood. And I sing along with the words to the song. Not sure I’m using the right words or if they're coherent, but fuck it.

How do you mend this broken man, how does a loser ever win... blah blah blah... Wah, wah wah...

I feel a hand on my shoulder and a voice in my ear but I’m so drunk I’m not sure at first who it is.

"I didn't take you for a Bee Gees’ fan there my friend." I spin on my stool in my drunken stupor to try and gage who the messenger of the words is. It's Max.

"Max! Max a million, thanks a million. My friend of friends. What the hell you doin’ here?"

I notice Porter or who I think is Porter behind him. I squint my eyes to try and focus.

"P? Is that you?" He nods, well all three of him nod.
I think.

"It is you. Come 'ere and hug me, man. I missed you. What you all doin’ here?"

The song of the night comes to an end and I stumble off my seat to play it again. I leave Porter and Max at the bar and stick my quarters in the jukebox.

When I start to hear the soulful sounds of the three, British men in white leisure suits coming out of the magic box, I tap my fingers on it and sing along again. I hear someone tell me to shut the fuck up and I don't get angry, I just laugh. Max comes over to me and leads me back to my stool.

"Cruz, buddy. How long have you been here? And how many times have you played this fucking song?"

I giggle at Max. I think I giggle, no, no I giggle. I’m pretty sure I giggle. Fucking pussy.

"Oh, I have no idea. Ask my friend here? Phil the bartender, how long have I been here for?" I hear him answer to Max, long enough. I gotta laugh at that. I’m giving him money and he's telling me basically I’ve had enough. But I’m not fully numb yet.

In my haze I think, how'd they know I was even here?

"How'd you two even know where I was? This place is a little far off the Sandy Cove map."

They take their seats next to me, ordering themselves a few cold ones. They keep eyeing each while I sing along who are best described as the three most prolific musical geniuses in all of history. Those three brothers could really write some good lyrics. It's like they're telling my story. Our story. Harlow's and my story. Well, we no longer have a story. I guess...

Max takes a long, drawn out sip of his beer, glancing up on whatever is on the TV behind the bar.

"Willow told us she ran into you on the street near Jax. She said you promised you wouldn't follow Harlow."

Porter interrupts. "We figured you'd know better or best not to go to any of the places on the strip. This is the place we used to come to when we just wanted to get good and drunk. No strings attached."

I know what he means by no strings attached. That's code for: No Women.

I motion for the bartender to line up some shots for my pals and me. Porter's my pal again. Thank God. After all that shit went down and he knew that what I did, why I did what I did to break it off with Harlow—that it was for her own good—he understood. He told me I should've gone to him, that he knew how to handle that part of the Hannum family, and maybe I should have. At least that’s what I think happened. It’s hard to tell right now.

Oh, well.

I slam back my shot of whatever was the bartender’s choice while Max and Porter's shots still remain in front of them.

"What's the deal with you two? C'mon. Do those shots. Let's get fucked up."

As I reach for my whiskey and water Max pulls it away from me.

"I'll go with the old cliché, my friend; I think you've had enough."

I give him a warning look and kindly ask for my drink back.

"I’m not done with that, little man. Give it here."

When he doesn't, I begin to feel the blood starting to pump through my drunken veins.

"I said I wasn't finished with that. Actually, I’m not close to being done anytime soon, so my suggestion is for you to give me that glass back so I don't have to hurt you."

He shakes his head, obviously not afraid of the threat of me knocking that damn mohawk off his head. Fine. I'll play it cool for now. I stroll over to the jukebox again and replay my new theme song. When I hear the eruption of “fuck you’s” and “knock it off's”, I think I’ve played the frigging song a dozen times. The next thing I know, as I turn to begin my rant—a loud one at that—punches are being swung, and my ass is being dragged out the door because no one can appreciate good music these days.

Max has his one arm around one of mine and Porter around the other. I struggle to get out of their grip, but all that whiskey has made all my muscles feel like jelly and the strength I felt earlier has dissipated. Whiskey will do that to ya.

They finally let go once we are way out of sight from the dive bar and I sit at a bench near the inlet. Hanging my head between my knees and rubbing at my eyes trying to regain some kind of focus.

Max yells at me, "That was totally unnecessary, dude! Tell ’em, P. This is all getting way out of hand."

I don't even answer him. I can't. I know what I’m becoming but it's all I can do to stop the pain. Yes, I said pain. I’m in it. I’m in hell.

"Cruz, you getting shit faced like this every chance you get isn't going to change a thing."

I know this already but if I don't feel anything I’m fine. At least I can talk myself into thinking that.

I get up off the bench, frustrated and bleary eyed, and again, pissed off at the world. Walking over to the edge of the bridge over looking the inlet, I stop and close my eyes. My thoughts immediately going to her and the memory of seeing her tonight. It's not like I don't see her in my mind a thousand times a day, but I was in such close proximity to her today. It's a little harder that I actually saw her in the flesh. I saw the way she carried herself on her crutches. She didn't look like she was in a lot of pain, just struggling with getting around. I wanted to go to her, hold her, help her. I wanted to remind her just how much I love her.

"Don't you think I know that, Porter. Tomorrow morning when I’m dealing with my hangover, the pain will come back in full force. At least when I’m fucking drinking like a sailor it's a temporary fix."

"But it's not a temporary fix, Cruz. You're lucky you haven't lost your job. You're getting the rep of a drunk around here and whether you want to hear it or not it's the damn truth."

Porter yells at me and I know it's for my own good, but I can't help it. Sometimes I just want to run away from it all. I pray—which I have been doing since Harlow was in the accident—I pray that I forget it all happened, that I didn't fall in love with her, that what we shared didn't happen, but it did. My prayers mean shit.

My stomach churns and I want to throw up. I swallow and hope I don't puke in front of these guys. I ask the question I don't want to ask, but if I don't the question will spin in my head and takeover any other thought I will have until I fall asleep.

"Did she...ask about me tonight? Did she ask where I was? You can tell me the truth."

They look at each other as I turn from the water to look at them. I look at all of them, all six of them. I really should stop drinking so much. Maybe they're right.

Max comes over and firmly grasps my shoulder. "Yea, she did. She asked about you, but I won't sugar coat it for you. That's all she said."

"And what was your response?"

"We didn't want her to worry because she has enough on her plate so we told her you were getting by."

I have to laugh at that. Getting by. Seriously?

I pace around the asphalt, the sea air invading my lungs as I breathe in deep, almost hyperventilating. Because I'm not getting by.

"That was a good lie to tell, Max, ’cause I’m not getting by, I’m hardly moving. I’m hardly functioning. Do you know what that was like when she finally opened her eyes and I was kissing her face and crying telling her how happy I was that she was awake and...and calling her baby...and telling her how much I loved her and that I would always protect her and never let her out of my sight again?”

Then the vomit comes up and I spew on the ground below. I swipe at my mouth and sink to my knees, crying like a bitch. Porter and Max fall beside me.

They rub my back and for some reason I welcome it. I feel their hands, and I feel their concern through my sweat-soaked shirt.

I still feel things. Who knew?

"Do you...have you any idea what it was like to hear her try and scream for help when I was doing that? She hardly had a voice. But the fear was in her eyes. The eyes I fucking fell in fucking love with. Do you have any idea what it was like to be dragged out of that room by three large orderlies? Then not be allowed to see her for days and days?"