Island Side

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Island Side Page 1

by Michelle Mankin




  Copyright © 2019 Michelle Mankin

  All rights reserved

  All rights reserved except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a data base or retrieval system without prior written permission from the owner/publisher of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Edited by Pam Berehulke

  Photo by Wander Aguiar of Wander Photography

  Cover design by Michelle Preast at Indie Book Covers

  Formatting by Elaine York at Allusion Graphics

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  We know what we are, but know not what we may be.

  Hamlet, Act VI, Scene V by William Shakespeare

  Hollie

  “You need to sit down and stop pacing.” My agent, Olivia, peered over the top of her reading glasses at me from her seat on the sectional in my condo.

  “I can’t sit.”

  If I did, the despair would catch up to me. It would crash over me like a wave, flooding my lungs with remorse, and suffocating my mind with regrets like the saltwater had done to Max.

  “I can’t do this.”

  Hugging my arms tighter around myself, I turned away from her and returned my focus to the window, aware that her concerned gaze lingered on me. My chest tight with pain, I stared out at the valley. The darkness of it seemed to mirror the blackness inside me.

  Max couldn’t be gone.

  He just couldn’t.

  And yet, he was.

  I thought back to earlier on the boardwalk in Santa Monica. After I’d regained my feet, I’d raced across the sand, stumbling and falling a few times before I reached him. I’d yanked back the blanket that had covered his face while Olivia explained to the paramedics who I was.

  It had been the wrong thing for me to do.

  Witnessing death firsthand made everything so real. So final. So undeniable. At least with my mother, there had been some separation from the horror of it. I was able to remember her alive. Now I was afraid I would always remember Max the way I’d last seen him on the beach.

  I shivered, recalling the vacancy in his once-beautiful eyes, and how cold his body had been, absent the vibrant warmth of his spirit.

  Stupid me, throwing myself on top of him, hoping it was a terrible lie, but instead I’d been confronted with the irrefutable.

  Max was gone. And I was by myself again.

  I should be accustomed to my lot in life by now, but a tiny seed had bloomed into hope because of him. Now it was gone, clawed out of my chest, yanked up by the roots, shredded, and destroyed. Only a dark void remained in its place.

  No more of Max’s affirming affection.

  No more of his passion.

  No more of his love.

  He’d died thinking he’d failed me, but it had been me. I’d failed him.

  A knock on the door jolted me.

  It wasn’t him. I knew it couldn’t be him. But my heart desperately wanted it to be Max, returning to tell me this had all been a cruel lie.

  “Hollie, it’s me. Open up.”

  Tears blurring my vision, I dashed to the door and threw it open.

  “Oh, Hols.” Fanny’s gray eyes filled with storm clouds as she looked at me. “Come here.”

  She stepped inside the condo, and I stumbled inelegantly into her open arms.

  “He’s gone.” I sobbed into her shoulder, vaguely registering her boyfriend, Ash, standing behind her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, following her as she led me farther inside. His warm hand landed on my shoulder for a quick squeeze, his way of comforting me.

  I clung to my sister. “I can’t believe he’s gone. It’s all wrong.”

  “Shhh.” Fanny hugged me. “Let’s sit down on the couch and get a blanket around you. Your skin’s ice cold, and you’re shivering.”

  “I’ve been trying to get her to settle for the past hour,” Olivia said as my sister moved to the couch and pulled me down beside her.

  “Here.” Ash returned from my bedroom with a blanket and draped it around both of us.

  “I’m so sorry.” Fanny scooted forward to look at me, her expression full of compassion as she used the edge of the blanket to blot at the waterfall running down my cheeks.

  “Probably best to just let her get it all out, little one,” Ash told Fanny as he took a seat on the other side of her.

  “It’ll never be all out,” I whispered.

  “No, it won’t,” my sister said. “We both know the pain will always be there.” She and I had experience with grief, the wound that never healed. “You have to work your way through it. I’ll be here to help you. You won’t be alone.”

  “I love you,” I told her as she plucked at the wet strands of my hair, peeling them off my cheeks where they’d stuck to my skin.

  “I’m so sorry this happened.”

  Fanny tucked the platinum strands behind my ears, searching my gaze and silently communicating sister-to-sister her tenderness and concern, just like she had after we lost our mother.

  “I’m here. Ash is here, and the others will be along shortly. We’re all going to be here for you as long as you need us.”

  Diesel

  I paddled farther out, ducking my head into the wave that broke over me, and shook the water free from the coils of my hair. Clearing my eyes, I narrowed my gaze on the growing swell in the distance. A big wave was forming, and I wanted it. The bigger and more challenging the waves were, the more my heart pounded with eagerness to conquer them.

  The analogy could be drawn to include an exasperating but sexy-as-fuck
platinum blonde, if I did that deeper, inside-your-head kind of thinking, which I sure as shit did not.

  I was in my element, which meant being in the moment and wringing from it every bit of pleasure I could. Paddling faster, my heart beginning to race, I turned sharply. As soon as I felt the swell of power beneath me, I popped up into my stance.

  This was it. The perfection I’d been waiting for all fucking day.

  Switching my feet from left to right and back again, I dove down the rising wall of the crystalline curtain. When it was just me and the ocean, everything else receded—the voices of the past, the endless clamor inside me, even the pain. In the blissful silence, all that remained was the thump of my heartbeats, and the whoosh of the water as it curled over me.

  I stretched out my left arm and reached for it, my fingertips skimming the cool beauty of the barreling glass. Like silk, it was softer than any woman I’d ever caressed. I cruised through the center of the tunnel, becoming one with my watery universe until I reached the end. Expelled in a spray of foam, I shook the mist from my hair, raised my fist in the air, and let out a whoop.

  A yay, me moment.

  A solitary celebration.

  A temporary victory.

  As I sank back into the water on my board, reality crept back in, that persistent bitch. I had a love/hate relationship with her. Most of the time—aside from surfing, my dad, and the occasional jam session with the guys in the band—she kicked my ass. There were too many moments between those activities when I remembered all that I’d lost.

  Rather than paddle back in, I let the current carry me back to shore, an eventual surrender to the inevitable. Although I wanted to, I couldn’t remain in the water 24/7.

  When my toes touched the sand, I unfastened my leash and straightened. Setting my gaze on where I had to go, I lifted one foot in the appropriate direction and then the other. The trick to survival wasn’t finding the right path, it was summoning the inner strength to take it.

  At the outdoor shower, I rinsed the salt off my body. I didn’t bother with soap or shampoo. Today, I needed to take my element with me. On land, I might pretend to continue living, but my heart, the shards of it that functioned as one, belonged in the sea.

  I snagged an old tank from the hook and pulled it on, then followed the worn uphill path to the carport, dipping my head to avoid the sagging aluminum roof. My dad had built the carport for our boards, mainly. He was a good foot shorter than my six-foot-six and seemed shorter than that lately, hunched over with his arthritis.

  The ocean a too-distant roar behind me, I slipped my feet into a pair of stretched-out high-tops and whipped the tarp off my bike. The Kawasaki Ninja was a looker that also delivered with speed. But mounting her didn’t give me a thrill. Not today. The dread I carried was too heavy, and I knew from years of experience that it would only grow heavier before I reached my destination.

  I rolled the bike out of the enclosure and cranked the engine. Lifting my legs and placing my feet into the foot pegs, I gripped the bars and kicked up a little gravel before my front tire popped up onto the asphalt.

  On the main road, I let out the throttle and gave the turbo engine some gas. The wind whipped moisture from my eyes, moisture that I didn’t try to hide. I didn’t hide shit today. All that was real and terrible, no matter how raw and painful, was allowed to break free today. Until I allowed myself the one beer at the bar later, today was all of me for all of him.

  One stop sign. One turn. A little turbo speed on the straightaway, then I slowed.

  At the cemetery, I turned into the empty parking lot. Claiming the spot closest to his marker, I shut off the engine and gazed at the top of the rise where he lay resting. Somewhere on the other side of the falls, in a land of perpetual bliss where the living could not go, he was at peace. I believed that, but he was beyond my ability to reach anymore.

  I dismounted slowly. Loss and grief made my legs feel like they weighed a ton. My strides and breaths were labored as I trudged up the hill. But the burden of life without him was infinitely heavier.

  KELLAN LE, BELOVED SON

  In front of his marker, I dropped to my knees. Every year, saying good-bye to my son again was so agonizing, I could never manage it standing.

  • • •

  An hour later, feeling cold and alone, I grabbed the hem of my shirt and swiped it across my wet face. Numb, I didn’t even remember the quick drive into Hilo. There were a couple of stop signs. Barely an opportunity to go fast within the city limits, even if I’d wanted to.

  When I arrived at Manoa’s Paradise, I parked the Ninja underneath a banyan tree and packed away all the emotions until next year. My saunter was fully engaged before I reached the front steps. I’d have my fuck-the-world mask back in place after a beer, but there’d be no fucking anyone tonight. Nothing would dull the pain. Not on the anniversary of Kellan’s death.

  “Yo, Le.” Manoa Bartman, the bartender-owner of Paradise and a lifelong friend of my dad, raised his towel in greeting. “Longboard for you?”

  “Yeah, Mano. How’s it going?” I played it casual, but he knew what today was. Everyone in Hilo knew my business, and practically everyone in town seemed to be packed into the popular open-air bar tonight.

  “No one’s drinking for shit. They’re all glued to the television on account of that actress and her boyfriend who drowned.” He pointed with his chin.

  “What . . .” I glanced the way he’d pointed and saw her image on the flat screen.

  My reality stalled like the ocean did with no wind to lift the waves. I well-recognized the trappings. Hollie was at a funeral, his funeral, the bodyguard I’d repeatedly disparaged for acting like a pussy. Although, before my life had taken the twists and that final horrific turn, I might have acted just as dumb as he did if it would have gotten me the privileged shot he’d had with Hollie.

  Fuck, she was beautiful.

  The black dress she wore started beneath her delicate chin and flowed to her slender ankles, but it didn’t diminish her beauty. Her moonbeam hair was pulled back, showcasing every miraculous contour of her angelic face. The devastation in her expression slayed me, sliced me in half right down the middle.

  Too familiar. Too tragic. Too much. Even for the one I thought of as Tūtū Pele, the goddess of fire.

  The bar noise faded. Static like too much feedback on a speaker fried my brain as I watched her struggle to hold herself together while everyone inside the bar and probably everywhere across the planet witnessed it.

  Staggering toward the nearest empty bar stool, I dove my hand into my pocket and withdrew my cell. The ringer was off. Disengaged from the world, I processed my grief at this time every year the only way I knew how.

  I’d missed a lot of calls. My display was full of notifications from my bandmates. They hadn’t kept me out of the loop, though I probably deserved to be left out because of all the shit I’d pulled with Hollie over the past year.

  I lifted my gaze to the television screen again.

  They were there . . . Ash, Ramon, Linc—my brothers, though I kept them at arm’s length—and their women too. The Ocean Beach crew were several paces behind Hollie as she departed the graveside, her hands over her head, ducking through a swarm of photographers, alone without her knight anymore to shield her from the barrage. A shadow of her former self, she seemed numb, like me, the flashes from the cameras lending sparks of animation to her otherwise vacant eyes and somber frame.

  Death was a ruthless fucker. He slammed into you and took away what you held most dear.

  No one was immune.

  Not me.

  Not even a goddess.

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one grieving today.

  Hollie

  “Holliewood!”

  “Why the tears?”

  “Holliewood, look over here.”

  “Stop. Answer a question.”

  Outside the cemetery gate, photographers and media reps swarmed around me. My sister was somewhere behind me,
along with Ash. I hoped he had his arm protectively around her, and that she wasn’t getting jostled around as badly. I was going to have bruises all over from camera lenses banging into me.

  Making my way through the crowd, I put my arms over my head while being photographed. Through an opening up ahead, I saw the limo, and the intimidating man who was the president of the vetted and re-vetted security firm Olivia had hired.

  Plunging into the frenzy, he swept his sunglass-shaded gaze left and right, barking orders at his team, who rushed into the craziness with him to push the media back. I was trembling by the time he got close enough to wrap his arm around me.

  “Sorry, Miss Wood.”

  “My fault, Mr. Simon.” I clung to the granite-solid arm he’d offered me. “I’m the one who told you to wait outside the gate.”

  At the limo, he helped me inside.

  “Oh, Hollie.” Olivia scooted over to make room on the seat and clucked her tongue at me. “I’m sorry. I should have ordered more security.”

  “It’s okay.” My cheeks wet, I turned toward the door as Fanny ducked inside and took the remaining seat beside me. When I turned to her, she wrapped her arms around me.

  “They’re vicious.” Her anger was palpable in her tense frame. “I hate that.”

  “They’re parasites.” Ash looked like the pissed-off god of thunder as he folded into the seat opposite us and crossed his arms over his chest. He glanced out the window. “Most of them are taking off now.”

  “They’re not really interested in the Dogs.” Ramon got in next, his dark brown eyes fixed on the blonde with the French braid as she settled in beside him. “You okay, mi cielo?”

  “I am. Thank you.” Karen Grayson, the wife he called my heaven, patted his knee and then swiveled to face me. “I can’t believe the questions they’re asking you. Who are you sleeping with? Why are you crying at your boyfriend’s funeral? Idiots. You did good ignoring them.”

  “Proud of you.” Linc ducked inside the limo and gave me a chin lift of approval. “You held yourself together and didn’t blink an eye at their bullshit. You made them look bad.”

 

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