Return To Us (Sand & Fog Series Book 6)

by Susan Ward

  If anyone had ever told me that someday I’d be begging for a room at a third-tier hotel I’d have laughed myself into a coma. I’d never even been inside a place like this before this year, but what just went down isn’t right.

  Pushing hard against the double glass doors, I step out into the icy night air to find Hank waiting where I’d left him.

  “Crash and burn, huh? Could have told you—wait, I did—that we wouldn’t be able to get a room here.”

  “It’s wrong.”

  “Maybe it is. But it’s how the world works. Those who have never have a problem.”

  “It’s not right,” I grumble again. Running a hand through my hair, I stare out at the dark street, trying to plot my next move. We’re miles from the park and it doesn’t look as if my camping partner can make the hike back there. Maybe trying to get him indoors for the night wasn’t a great idea.

  As though he can read my mind, Hank sighs and says, “It was a nice thought, EJ, wanting to get a hotel room for me because of my bronchitis, but I don’t think I can keep walking until someone finds it in their heart to rent us a room.”

  My narrowed gaze fixes on him, finding the truth of that etched on his face. Fuck, I was trying to help the dude and now he seems damn near dropping.

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  Hank smiles. “Don’t be. You’re a good friend, EJ. That’s something you don’t find in rehab. I oughta know. Four rehabs, remember?”

  “Yeah. But I struck out.” I hold out my hand to him, then help him up from sitting on the bench in the entryway.

  He juts his chin. “There’s a Bargain 8 over there if you’re determined to keep up with this madness. They’ll rent to anyone. Trust me, I know.”

  My glance moves to the building Hank is studying with a look of exhausted longing. It’s two steps lower than a bottom-end motor lodge. Christ, it might even rent rooms by the hour.

  “No. Not staying there. You need heat tonight and I need warm water.”

  “They got heat. They got water. Four walls and a bed, dude. That’s what we need.”

  He’s clutching his jacket around him in trembling fingers, shaking. One look at him confirms no way can Hank continue to be dragged through Seattle by my failing, dumb ass.

  As we cut across the parking lot toward the main drag I rack my brain trying to think of a better solution. We’re moving toward the Bargain 8, though I’ve crossed it off the options’ list.

  There’s no fucking way I’m spending the night there, but I’ve gotta find someplace. Hank’s cough sounds like it’s moved deeper in his chest, and it’s growing colder outside by the minute.

  Christ, where am I going to get what we need in the middle of the night without ID and my platinum Visa? Maybe I should phone home or phone a friend…phone a friend?

  Oh fuck.

  Why didn’t I think of this after my first front-desk rejection? I know people, places in Seattle. There are doors here always open for me if I want them to be.

  I tap Hank on the arm. “Hold up. I know where we can go.”

  “Let’s just go to the Bargain 8. I don’t think I can make the walk back to the park to camp.”

  “You don’t have to, brother.” I’m waving my arm for a taxi.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “Don’t ask questions, Hank. I can get us a room. We’re hailing a cab and you’ll be asleep in a warm bed and I’ll be relaxing in a hot tub before you know it.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. There are places in Seattle where you can get a room without a license or a major credit card. But not in our hood. Not in Capitol Hill.”

  It takes much longer than it should to get a cab willing to stop for us, but twenty minutes later Hank and I are in the drop-off loop at the El Encanto Hotel, a posh five-star resort tucked inconspicuously into the downtown.

  His gaze narrows as he stares through the car window while I pay the driver. “What is this place?”

  “A little-known secret. The best hotel in Seattle.”

  His brows hitch up. “And you know that because?”

  “Because I do.”

  “Looks like a place where they’re not only going to refuse to rent us a room but toss you out of the lobby then call the police.”

  I laugh. “No, man. It’s cool. I’ll have us what we need in less than thirty minutes.”

  “If you say so.” Hank’s skepticism is on his face and in his voice. But then Hank doesn’t know who I really am.

  A valet rushes toward the cab to open our door, and I give Hank a nudge on the bicep to climb out. “Get moving if you want a bed anytime soon.”

  We go to the trunk of the taxi, grab our camping gear, and set it on the spotless bronze cart beside the waiting bellhop.

  Visibly uncertain about this, Hank follows behind me as I march toward the entrance. If the front doorman thinks anything of spying two grungy backpackers arriving late at night, it doesn’t show on his face. The staff here knows better than to make surface judgments about their guests.

  The door’s immediately opened for me. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Yes, it is. Is Simone here?”

  I feel his surprise rather than see it visibly. “Yes, he is.”

  I smile. “Can you tell him EJ’s here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Without waiting around to see if he does it, I pass into the high-ceilinged foyer. Hank taps my shoulder. “Simone, huh? Sounds like you know a few peeps here.”

  “I know peeps everywhere.” I say that without bravado because it’s truth. I do know people everywhere. Some powerful and wealthy. Some good, some bad, some useful, and some dangerous to my sobriety.

  It’s a big reason why I committed to hiking and camping with Hank until I earned my one-year chip and was sure I could manage every part of the life I’d been born into.

  The lobby has the staid charm and timeworn elegance of a long-past era, with dark bold colors like a Picasso and heavy carved wood furniture and fixtures. From the street it doesn’t look like much, but that’s deliberate. It’s the kind of place that caters to the uberwealthy, the eccentric, and the famous.

  The cheapest room rate is over five hundred dollars per night and the suites are as luxurious as any you could find anywhere. The restaurant serves gourmet food 24/7, and the concierge of twenty years is known for his discretion.

  That last part is why I know this place. Pop values discretion and prefers never to be bothered by the bullshit of his celebrity.

  As a kid, when my dad had a concert in Seattle, we’d stay here and Alan would rent out an entire floor for the family and the bodyguards.

  Being here again, my thoughts blur together in a tangled tapestry of Willow. The last time I was in this hotel was with her. Our date on the rooftop. She was the first girl I’d ever shared the private parts of me with. Wispy images of how she looked lying nude beneath the awning tease both my heart and other regions. She was the only girl I’d ever made love to in the Japanese Garden. And she’s the only girl I’ve ever wanted more with than just sex.

  She’s all my firsts, different, and still is. I wonder if it’s a sign that tonight’s events ended with me here. A sign that I shouldn’t fight against my feelings for her but go for winning her back.

  It’s what I want.

  Could I ever be what she wants after what I did?

  A loud whistle pierces the air, and I glance over my shoulder to find Hank gaping. “Oh, EJ boy, we’re not in Kansas anymore. You ever going to tell me how it is you know places like this?”

  I shrug, taking a moment to chase away my thoughts. “My family used to stay here when I was a kid. My dad likes this hotel. It appeals to his Britishness.”

  “British?” Surprise flashes on his face. “You never told me your dad wasn’t American. That’s a first. Something personal about EJ. Your dad must be a millionaire or something if this is the kind of joints he took a kid to becaus
e of his Britishness.”

  I can tell by his expression I’m about to be subjected to a Hank inquisition and shut it down with a grin. “My dad did all right for a self-employed guy who never graduated college.”

  “I would say so.”

  I point at a sofa near the front desk. “Why don’t you wait there while I check us in? You’re not looking steady. It’s been a long night.”

  The stare he fixes on me is probing. I can tell he wants to argue and that he knows my suggestion that he rest while I take care of getting us a room is about him not hearing my business.

  “As his liege orders,” Hank jeers before he drops down heavily on a sofa, “but mark my words, I’m going to get your full story out of you before we part ways once we pass the one-year healthy living line.”

  “If we both pass that mark, brother, you got it.” I make an expression that says I mean it. And I do.

  Once he’s occupied with a magazine, I continue across the polished tile floor. At the front desk, the girl looks up as I near. “Good evening, sir.”

  I flash my Manzone megawatt smile at her, but I can tell she doesn’t recognize me with my beard and tattered appearance. “I’d like the Emerald Suite, if it’s available—” That I ask for that specific room with a hefty price tag of ten grand a night brings instant alertness to her face. But hell, I’m here on memory lane and I might as well get the full treatment while I’m helping out my friend. “—and the valet should have called Simone for me.”

  The clerk’s scrutiny intensifies, and though she fails in her mental search trying to figure out if I’m someone important or not, her stunning green eyes do register appreciation for my handsomeness. Yep, some dudes can rock a beard and a wool beanie. I’m one of them.

  I’m smirking now. “Simone,” I remind her, and she flusters.

  “One moment while I get him. You can wait in the lounge and I can have someone bring you—”

  “No. I’m good. I’ll wait here.” That’s said in a way that conveys I’m trying not to be recognized, and she perks up even more. Though I can tell it’s bugging her that she can’t place my face.

  “I’ll be right back,” she assures me with brisk efficiency.

  I check her name tag, then move my gaze slowly to hers and make my eyes shimmer. “Thank you, Heather. I can see you understand what I’m trying not to have happen, and I appreciate your help.”

  With eyes open wide, she nods conspiratorially, and when she’s almost into the office behind the counter, she glances back at me and her cheeks are covered with a cute pink.

  As I wait, my thoughts wander back to Willow. She’s one hell of a woman, but my life and my daughter are rooted in Pacific Palisades. I can’t let myself get sidetracked by my rekindled attraction to her. But the thought of leaving Willow now that I’ve found her again feels like a wrong move…

  “Eric!” booms an exited voice, and I turn to find the owner of the hotel, Simone Duggar, hustling toward me. He lives on the penthouse floor, and by the looks of him he was already in for the night. While he’s wearing a pressed shirt and slacks, I’m pretty sure he put them on when he heard I was in his lobby because his hair’s mussed and he’s without his customary bling.

  “I couldn’t believe it when Mika phoned up that EJ was in the lobby asking for me. How long has it been? Nine years? You’ve been gone from Seattle too long.”

  “I don’t know for sure, but you’re right, I have been gone too long, Simone,” I answer as he enthusiastically pumps my hand. “You got a room for me?”

  He laughs. “For you, always. Is more of the family en route? Haven’t seen your parents for a long time either.”

  “Only me and my friend.”

  Simone’s gaze shifts in the direction I jut my chin, and his lids flare wide. I’m not sure if it’s surprise that it isn’t a woman or how Hank looks.

  “We’ve been backpacking around the Northwest for the past year,” I explain. “Couldn’t tap into the music. Nothing was working in California. Life in LA has a way of getting you scrambled. But, hell, man, you know how it is. Sometimes you’ve just got to unplug and live off the grid.”

  He nods in understanding. “I hear you, Eric. We all need to check out to tap in again. How long will you be staying?”

  “A few days. Not long. Sort of moving without a plan these days. Trying to focus on my songwriting until I go back to So Cal to record.”

  His smile spreads wide. “Whatever you need, Eric.” He retrieves a card from the desk clerk. “Let’s get you settled into your suite tonight.”

  That I am being shown to my accommodations by the owner of the El Encanto is how things go when you’re a Manzone. But it reminds me of other things that come with the name as well.

  My eyes drill into his. “Can you do me a favor, Simone? Can you bill my business manager after I’m out of here and let me be only EJ during my stay? I don’t want anyone knowing I’m here. Get it?”

  Simone’s face is suddenly serious and he waves a hand in the air. “It’ll be like you’re a ghost. I’ll fire the first member of my staff who breathes a word to anyone that you’re staying at the hotel. I don’t want the press or the tabloids in my lobby either, EJ.”

  When I go back to Hank I notice he’s nodded off while waiting for me. I tap him on the shoulder, and he startles awake. “Grab your stuff, buddy. We’ve got a room for the night.”

  Chapter Seven

  Eric

  I WAKE, BREATHING HEAVILY, unsure what bothered my subconscious. I check my surroundings. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m in my plush bedroom at the El Encanto. It’s the quiet and being in a real bed that disturbed my sleep.

  I roll onto my side to catch a few more z’s. Nothing. Zilch. I’m wide awake. I reach for my cell on the bedside table. Only 2:00 a.m.

  I turn over and lie flat, staring at the ceiling. I’d love to see Willow in this bed beside me. The room suits her. Dramatic of color, the furnishings bold, but everything comfortable and inviting.

  This was where I planned to take her if I’d flown back to Seattle seven years ago. I frown, recalling the romantic thoughts I’d had of her. But they’d amounted to nothing, even though I had wanted more with Willow back then.

  I wanted her then.

  I want her now.

  Can I get her back?

  Can I prove to her I’ve changed?

  That this time I can be as good for her as she was for me?

  Exhaling, frequent-fantasy Willow covers my hungry body. The smell of her, the feel of her, the taste, and the sound of her voice. My imaginary Willow does a number on me as strong as a carnal dream can do.

  All regions of my body are wide awake and restless now. I close my eyes, savoring a memory of fucking her, then I tell my cock to simmer down.

  Whacking one off tonight isn’t going to do it for me. Not anymore because the days in Seattle have shredded the notion that the infatuation with her is only physical.

  My desire for Willow is so much more than a sexual thing. It always has been. Not that her in this bed with me right now wouldn’t be fucking wonderful, but my wants encompass more than sex.

  I want to lie with her and laugh, breathe in the sweet essence of her hair and skin, see her smile in the morning, and even see the tight knit in her brow when she used to give me shit because I was such a slacker.

  It’s time I stop lying to myself. All along, it was more than an amends that brought me to Capitol Hill. I came back for her, like I wanted to seven years ago.

  There’s only one thing I want to do right now and sleep isn’t one of them. I get up, rummage through my backpack for clean clothes, and pull on my running gear.

  It’s farther from the El Encanto than I thought it would be, but an hour later I’m turning down the street Mel’s Tavern is on. It’s quiet except for the delivery truck parked in front of the Java Hut. Willow’s building is dark. Boomer starts work early at Capitol Hill’s favorite coffeehouse. There’ll
be no one inside her building to notice what I’m doing or ask questions.

  I use the spare key Ivy gave me to let myself in the security entrance for the stairs. It was a long run here, but my muscles feel like they could be fueled off my new-found sense of purpose indefinitely, and I trot up the flight of steps to the second floor.

  I unlock the door to her dad’s apartment and flip on the light. There’s no time like the present to start taking care of her the way I want to.

  My gaze roams what seems like endless junk atop the carpet and furnishings in the living room. I feel no apprehension about sorting through the stuff for Willow since I’m positive it’s painful for her to do this and pretty sure my eye for what’s valuable is better than hers.

  Ivy said divide it into trash, recyclables, donations, and things to sell. That’s simple enough.

  Now, where do I start?

  SOFT MORNING SUNLIGHT FLOATS into the room. I don’t need a clock to know that it’s just after dawn and around 6:00 a.m. Scanning what I’ve accomplished in only a few hours, the satisfaction I feel gives me confidence I’m on the right track.

  This will mean more to Willow than repaying the money she laid out for me to save my grandfather’s watch. This is the amends she deserves. It says more than I’m sorry; it says I love you.

  Now that the great room is near empty, I can see what I’ve got to work with. It’s a nice space, and the bank of mid-century windows is a dramatic focal point. They need to be refinished but, oh, they are worth preserving.

  I snap pictures, then go to the wood floor I exposed after pulling back the carpet. They don’t look that bad. How hard could refinishing them be? I take more photos.

  Both the windows and the wood floors require expert advice. I don’t want to fuck this up and I’m not leaving it to a YouTube video to learn how to do this.

  I email them to my brother-in-law Jake and ask his opinion of keeping them and the best way to restore them. He owns a construction company that specializes in restoration of historic buildings and multimillion-dollar custom homes.

  He used to be a bodyguard when he married my sister Krystal. She didn’t want him putting himself in danger after they had their daughter, Lena, but Jake’s a work-for-a-living, take-care-of-his-own-family kind of man. No way was he going to have his family supported by my sister’s trust fund. Getting his contractor’s license was their happy compromise.