Promise Me Nothing (Hermosa Beach Book 1)

by Jillian Liota

  It’s slow-going as I try to peel off all my clothes, my socks, my shoes. Every muscles protests, my brain barely able to take control enough to get me up and into the shower.

  I soak there for a long time. A really long time. Lay on the tiled floor under cold water, under hot water, pull myself up onto the bench and examine my poor, battered feet. It looks like I might lose a toenail, a bruise forming underneath one already.

  Once I’ve cleaned, soaked, dried and changed, I crawl straight into bed, not worrying about anyone but myself. I don’t care if Lucas is right outside my door, worrying and waiting.

  He can wait forever.

  I’m gonna take a fucking nap.

  When I wake, it’s dark outside. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, but I know it isn’t long enough.

  My stomach revolts, though, promising evil retribution if I don’t put something inside of it. So I reluctantly attempt to get up, wincing and nearly crying with how tired I am.

  I make slow work of heading down to the kitchen, intent on grabbing some leftovers. But I’m stopped dead in my tracks when I see Lucas and Wyatt sitting at the dining room table, their eyes zipping to mine as I round a corner and come into their line of sight.

  “Hannah, please…” Wyatt starts, standing quickly, his chair scraping the floor.

  I put a hand up. “I can’t today. Whatever you have to say…” I shudder, a sob making its way through my body.

  But I tamp that bitch down.

  I will not be crying in front of these… assholes, who betrayed me in a way that I doubt can ever be undone.

  Surprisingly, they listen. Allow me to head into the kitchen and pull a leftover helping of chicken and rice out of the fridge to warm up in the microwave.

  But not saying anything isn’t the same as leaving me alone, and when I turn around, I see Wyatt hovering on the other side of the island.

  If I were more mature, I might pay attention to the worry on his face, the concern in his eyes, how pained he looks or even the fact that this is a moment when he looks so entirely unsure when he has always been a man of decisive action since the moment we met.

  That’s not where I am, though.

  I’m not more mature, and while I might notice those things, they don’t matter to me.

  Not right now.

  Not when I’m still trying to figure out how I feel, where I stand in all of this.

  “Tell me something,” I say to Wyatt, holding my plate of food.

  He perks up, like a dog desperate for any bit of attention.

  “What’s wrong with Ivy?”

  His head falls forward, his eyes searching the marble countertops as if they hold the answer to my question.

  “She has PNH. Paroxysmal Nocturnal Hemoglobinuria. It’s a disease in her blood. She needs a bone marrow transplant.”

  My heart pains for the sweet girl I know. To be so young and have so much at risk. She has her whole life ahead of her, a life that could contain so much pain or be shortened far too quickly.

  “Why do you want it from me?”

  He pauses, glances off to the side, almost as if he isn’t sure he wants to tell me. But then he swallows, looks back at me. “Bone marrow is more likely to be a match from siblings.”

  Another pause, while I’m trying to figure out how I would be involved. I feel like there’s something I’m not understanding. Something that…

  “Ivy’s dad is Henry Morrison.”

  My shoulders drop at Lucas’ words. My hands set my plate on the counter, and my eyes well with tears.

  I shake my head, though it isn’t in denial.

  It’s in disbelief.

  How can this be the reality of the world I live in?

  My parents die.

  My brother dies.

  I live in foster care.

  And then I find out that my dad had an affair that produced a half-brother.

  That’s enough. That’s all I can take.

  Because if that’s all there is, it means I can believe that my dad made a mistake one time.

  That he hurt my mom but they worked through it.

  Now, my dad is in question again. He had another affair. With Vivian Calloway. Years after the one that produced Lucas.

  I let out a long breath.

  “I know it’s hard to believe…”

  “I believe you.” I shake my head, the broken pieces inside of me accepting exactly what they are. I run a hand across my face, wiping away the tears that have traitorously broken free. “Did you get tested?” I ask, looking at Lucas. “To see if you were a match.”

  His shoulders drop and he nods, a sad expression on his face. “Yeah. Wyatt paid a private company to test me since Ivy doesn’t know about me.”

  There’s a beat of silence, a moment where all I want to do is curl into a ball and cry my eyes out.

  For me.

  For Ivy.

  For this stupid fucked up situation.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in,” Lucas says, stepping forward. “We’ve had a lot more time to absorb it than you have. It’s totally understandable if you need some time…”

  “I’ll do it,” I say, cutting off his little speech. I’m not interested in what Lucas has to say. I’m not interested in words that are meant to soothe when I feel like just a single touch will light up my every nerve with pain. “Whatever Ivy needs. Just tell me where to go.”

  When I look at Wyatt, I see he’s on the verge of tears himself, a small smile on his face. He takes a step towards me. Then another. And like the weak girl I am right now, I do nothing to dissuade him.

  He steps into me. Wraps his arms around me. Pulls me into his body.

  I can’t help but soak it in.

  One more time.

  Because I know this will be the last time I feel that safety that I once believed was possible. That bit of trust I now know isn’t true. The last time I’ll smell that bit of woodsy cologne he likes so much.

  “Thank you,” he whispers, his arms tightening around me. “Thank you so much.”

  My hands come up between our bodies and I slowly push away, taking a step back, putting necessary distance between us.

  “I’m not doing it for you,” I say, my words caustic and bitter. “I’m doing it for Ivy.”

  He nods a few times, his face slightly confused. “Of course.”

  “And I want to make this clear right now, so there won’t be any misunderstandings later…”

  He freezes, then starts shaking his head.

  “… I don’t care what you have to say to me. What excuses you could possibly come up with for why…” my voice cracks. I bat away the tears on my cheeks. “… why you had to use me like that, to get what you want. I will never care. So I’m only going to say this once. And you better listen.”

  I pause, grit my teeth and let every ounce of pain pour out in my words, so he understands exactly how I feel. “I never, ever want to see you again.”

  His hand reaches out and grips the island, like he has to hold himself up.

  And then I pick up my plate and leave the room, never looking his way, or Lucas’, again.

  Wyatt surprisingly respects my wishes. I don’t know if I like it or hate it or some distorted amalgamation of both.

  If he leaves me alone, does that mean he didn’t ever really care for me as much as I did him?

  I alternate between feeling this uncomfortable, painful lance straight through my chest, and missing him.

  Missing what we were.

  No.

  Not missing what we were.

  Missing what I thought we were.

  Lucas, on the other hand, has become an annoying gnat I can’t seem to get rid of. A gnat with big puppy dog eyes that seems to follow me everywhere.

  He gets drinks and sits in my section at Bennie’s. He’s always home, which is new. And he even started going on runs with me, even though I never invite him and he always poops out after the first two miles, stopping at a bench to take a bre
ak while I continue down The Strand.

  I’ve always been the one to talk about things, as awkward as they may be. But there’s something about this that still feels too raw for me to really pull apart and dissect.

  So the silent treatment has worked best for me, my only responses to things monosyllabic. Yes. No. Thanks. Hi. Bye.

  Maybe it’s childish.

  But that’s okay with me.

  Part of me feels like I should just leave. Right now. Go back to Phoenix.

  The cruelest part about all of this is that I literally have nowhere else to go.

  I have no life anywhere.

  I know Sienna would welcome me in an instant if I needed somewhere to stay for a few weeks while I get back on my feet. But I also know she and Jerome are finally moving in together and the last thing you need is a homeless best friend when you’re just shacking up together.

  And I haven’t heard from Melanie in a while, though I’m not sure I would ever want to move out to New Mexico just so I have a couch to sleep on.

  So I plug along, picking up every shift that I can, socking away as much money as possible.

  The plan hasn’t changed, just the circumstances.

  But what I don’t understand is what Lucas gets out of all of this. And finally, ten days after I found out that I’d been manipulated to come to California for a reason, I ask him.

  Kind of.

  “Why do you keep following me around?” I ask him as I eat my free meal from Bennie’s in a to-go container at the kitchen table.

  Lucas is reading on the couch. Which is weird enough, since I never see him read.

  “That’s what I don’t understand. You did what you needed to do. You got me here. Pretended to be my friend and had all your friends do the same.”

  His face contorts into a grimace.

  “Why not just let it go, now? You got what you wanted. There’s no need to keep up the charade that you care about me at all.”

  There’s a pause.

  Maybe he’s absorbing my words because it’s the most I’ve said to him at one time in over a week. Maybe he’s figuring out what to say. Maybe he doesn’t really know.

  When he just continues to look at me, a pained look on his face, I shake my head. “Forget I asked,” I say, my words laced with bitterness.

  No longer hungry, I close my to-go container, pop it in the fridge, and head upstairs to my room. I close and lock my bedroom door and grab a blanket, then head out to the balcony, and up the stairs to the rooftop.

  I’ve been coming up here a lot in my free time, but not to float in the Jacuzzi, or to sit on the loungers. Both of those things are tainted.

  Instead, I crawl up on to the actual roof, tiptoe to the edge, and then sit down with my blanket wrapped around me.

  This spot is my favorite because I can see the ocean, the entire beach stretched out in front of me, all of the bikers and skaters and dog walkers on The Strand. If I look to the left I can see all the way down to the Hermosa pier, and to the right, the Manhattan pier, way off in the distance.

  I like this spot because I can sit up here and watch everyone live their lives. These rich, full, exciting lives with friends and family and trips to the ocean. Laughter and drinking and playing in the sand. I like this spot because it feels like the only true place I belong in this city.

  On the outside, looking in. Observing as everyone else builds and grows and learns and loves and becomes loved by others.

  It’s a beautiful and tragic place to feel the most comfortable.

  When I hear footsteps behind me, I know it’s Lucas. Who else would be able to unlock my bedroom door and come up here?

  “I locked my door for a reason,” I say without looking in his direction, my eyes following a group of friends bringing in their chairs and towels as the sun sets in the distance.

  “Well, what would a bedroom lock be without a brother to break it open?”

  I can’t help the tiny smile that appears, but I’m careful to hide it from him.

  “Also, you may have locked your bedroom, but you didn’t lock the other one. And that one also leads out to the balcony.” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug and takes a seat next to me, his long legs stretching out in front of him, then bending slightly as he rests his arms on his knees.

  I’ve seen photos of his mom. She’s really short, which means he got those legs from our dad.

  Maybe Ivy will grow into a pair of long legs, too.

  I still haven’t processed that part. That I not only have a half-brother, but also a half-sister. An adorable little girl who has done nothing wrong, and yet I can’t help but resent just a little bit.

  Just a smidge.

  But if I’m honest, my care for her outweighs the upset, ten to one.

  “I found out about you the day before my fifteenth birthday,” he says. “I’d been searching for my dad, trying to find out where he was, why he disappeared years before. So I hired a P.I., and I found out what happened.”

  My heart pinches, remembering what it was like when I lost them both. My father with his loud laugh and my mother with her quiet smiles and mess of curly hair.

  “The P.I. also said there was information about you in that file. A sister. And at first, I was shocked. Until I remembered the one time I met you when we were kids.”

  My eyes fly to his, an argument on my lips. There’s no way we met when we were kids.

  But then I see what Lucas has in his hands.

  “I looked through this once right after you first moved in. You left it on the dining room table for some reason, and I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see Joshua, wanted to see Henry. So I looked through it all.”

  He hands the picture book over to me, one of the only possessions I’ve managed to keep throughout all the years of moving from home to home. Photos of me and Joshua and my parents. It’s the most important thing I own.

  He sets it into my hands and flips it open, and I can’t help but let out a gasp.

  It’s a picture of me, and Joshua… and Lucas. Sitting on a wall at the pier. A shop I now recognized in the background. We’re smiling, our arms around each other.

  It never stood out to me because there’s no beach in the background. But there it is.

  I put a hand over my mouth, the emotions in my chest welling up until they’re on the verge of spilling over.

  “It makes sense that you wouldn’t remember. You were only a toddler.”

  “I remember,” I whisper. My hand drops down to trace over our childhood faces, astonishment surging through my veins. “I kept telling dad that the air smelled like fish. And he took us all to that kid’s arcade with the ball pit.”

  I look over at Lucas, my eyes wide.

  “When the investigator gave me all of the information, all I could focus on was the fact I’d never get to know my dad. That all the ideas I had about some fictional relationship we might be able to have someday… that those weren’t ever going to come true.”

  He pauses, and something painful comes over his face. “And then when I did start to think about you, I wondered if the only thing you’d care about was that I had money.”

  I rear back. “I would never…”

  “I know that. I know that. Now. But Hannah, I was a kid. A teenager. Growing in the surfing circuit. Starting to get fame and interest from other people. And I couldn’t help but worry that you wouldn’t want to know me, but you’d want what I could provide for you.” He sighs. “So I was selfish and cowardly, and I handed that file over to Wyatt and told him to just let me know if anything happened that I needed to know about.”

  “So you told your friend to stalk me.”

  But he shakes his head. “No, I know it sounds that way. But mostly it was supposed to be just keeping tabs in case… I don’t know. I could do anything? But we both pushed the knowledge of you to the side, moved on with our lives. Not realizing what you were going through all by yourself.”

  A tear trickles down my face but I bat it a
way. “It’s not your fault that I was in foster care. I’d never set that guilt on you. Ever. I’m not upset you knew about me and didn’t contact me until later in life. I am so emotional about this, Lucas, because you literally brought me here and exploited my biggest weaknesses. My biggest fears.”

  I pause, allowing myself the chance to wipe my tears into my blanket.

  “I’m alone in the world. It’s just me. And people have used me for most of my life to get something they want for themselves. Have made me feel like my only worth is what they can take from me. To find out that you brought me here and then purposefully pretended to be my friend so you could…”

  “I didn’t though. I swear it. None of this was pretend. I am so glad I know about you, that you agreed to come here and spend time getting to know me. I want you to be my sister. My friend. The stuff with Ivy was the excuse I used to finally do what I’d been too scared to do.

  “Every minute of time we’ve spent together has been important to me. Maybe it started off the wrong way. But please don’t cut me out forever. I just got used to having a sister that I love and want around, and I don’t want to lose you because I was too cowardly to be honest.”

  I don’t know how I feel about what he’s said, though it does feel like a small weight has lifted off my chest. Even if that doesn’t solve the problem.

  “I love you, Hannah. I truly do. And if you hate me forever, I’ll completely understand. But I want to make sure you know that I love you. And it has nothing to do with Ivy, or anything you can give to anyone. It’s just because of who you are.”

  Another tear trickles down my face.

  I feel exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. All of my resources have been spent, and all I want to do is curl up and sleep this all away.

  But I look at Lucas, who is so focused on me, his expression so earnest, and I feel that tiny little hope fairy in my heart begin to stir.

  “I’ll think about it,” I whisper, tucking myself further into my blanket.

  He puts an arm around my shoulders and presses a kiss to my temple. “That’s all I can ask.”