True Abandon

by Jeannine Colette

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Abler. We’re ready to bring you in.”

  I step aside as the doctor explains to Jax where his bones are broken and what the surgery will entail. I gather my belongings to leave.

  “Trish,” Jax calls from the bed. I turn around to face him, his eyes full of worry. “You’ll be here when I wake up, right?”

  I nod.

  He lets out a shaky breath and swallows. “Okay,” he says to the doctor as they roll him out of the room.

  And just like that I'm standing alone again in the dusty, stale room where the man who haunts my dreams is being cared for. If you told me twenty-four hours ago, I’d be sitting by his side, I would have laughed and said you were crazy. Perhaps I’m the crazy one.

  How can someone who hasn't seen me in so many years know my dreams and fears as if we’ve spoken everyday? He was right about so many things but he was wrong about one: No matter what I do for the rest of my life, his memory will always be at the forefront. When someone impacts your life with such an intensity, that fire will forever simmer deep inside you.

  Jax Davis is my past. And if I want a future I have to get out of here before he sparks that flame even more.

  PART II

  KAUAI, HAWAII

  chapter FIVE

  “Thank you for visiting the Kauai Princess. I hope you enjoyed your stay.”

  “Trish, you have made this a magical honeymoon. Thank you for everything,” the newly branded Mrs. Fitzgerald says as she slides into the back seat of the limo I booked to take her, and her husband, to Lihue Airport.

  She adjusts the skirt of her skintight, white day-dress as I close the door.

  Mr. Fitzgerald taps me on the shoulder, summoning me to turn around.

  “This is a little something for you,” he says, handing me an envelope which I push back his way.

  “No, please. The concierge service was already billed to your card. I couldn’t accept anything extra,” I say, which is a lie. I’m allowed to accept tips, but I feel so awkward taking cash when I already receive a paycheck from the hotel.

  He places the envelope in my hand, then walks around the back of the car and gets into the limo.

  I wave off the lovely couple who I had the privilege of entertaining this week.

  When the car is up the long driveway, lined with pink oleander and bright-red lehua blossoms, I thumb open the envelope and look inside to see five hundred bucks. I shouldn’t be surprised. Over the past seven months of working as a Personal Concierge at the Kauai Princess in Hawaii, I’ve made more money than I did at any other job in New York City. Between my salary, and the cash tips the guests give as they depart, I can’t believe I didn’t go into the hotel and entertainment business sooner.

  I head through the large glass doors of the hotel and into the main lobby. My Dr. Martens sandals don’t make a sound as I walk onto the cream-colored marble.

  Four large columns outline the room, and in the center, is a gorgeous koi pond with a trickling water fountain. Large, palm-leafed plants grow from the sides accented with the beautiful fragrance of Polynesian foliage.

  I look up into the glass dome ceiling and the bright blue Hawaiian sky.

  Today is a good day.

  The evening check-in rush is in effect as most flights from the East Coast get in around this time.

  My friend and colleague, Lani, is behind the check-in counter. I give her a wave as I walk past.

  Her silky, black hair is tied in a low ponytail, and she’s wearing her pink button down with a navy-blue blazer. It’s the Kauai Princess uniform. One I, as the hotel’s personal concierge, do not have to wear.

  The Kauai Princess has two Presidential rooms—the Maui and the Pele suites—that both come with the personal concierge service. For a minor fee of three thousand dollars a night, guests get an elite suite with fourteen hundred square feet of luxury including a two king size bedrooms, marble bathrooms, a lanai looking onto the Pacific Ocean, and twenty-four hours of me.

  For the duration of the guests’ stay, I am at their beckon call. If they want an in-room massage, I have a masseuse there in fifteen minutes.

  Want a bathtub filled with chocolate syrup? It’s messy, but I can do it.

  Charter a plane to take you to the big island for a surf lesson? No problem.

  I’ll even help you secure a bag of weed, although that’s not in my job description.

  While there is nothing I can’t do, there are a few things I won’t do, like get a hooker. Luckily, the clientele has enough money they usually come with their own women. Whether it’s partygoers, celebrity entourages, or honeymooners, one thing is for sure: I get worked to the bone. These people pay a lot of money, and they expect to get every penny’s worth.

  I dip around the reception counter and through a door that leads to a back room where we keep hotel files for upcoming guests, a break room, and lockers for the workers. I walk over to mine and place my tip envelope inside.

  When I took the job last year, it was on a whim. After seeing Jackson for the first time in years, I started to question everything: where I was living, working, dating. I may have had a little bit of a nervous breakdown, but I quit everything—from my lease to my job, and my relationship with Kevin—to move across the continental United States to the island of Kauai.

  It may seem a bit brash to some, but I couldn’t stand to be in the city any longer. It’s like Jax came and tarnished everything about it. Kelli gave me the opportunity to run, so I bolted.

  Turns out, my former boss, Alexander Asher, has a small stake in the hotel. I did a little name-dropping in my interview, embellished the closeness of our relationship—made it seem as though I was more of his personal assistant than one for the entire office—and was hired the next day. Kelli works at a salon in another hotel on the island. If she saw the tips I got, she’d fume with jealousy.

  I close my locker door and then check my appearance in the break room mirror. My bright-red hair is tied neatly in a fishtail braid, and I’m wearing a beige, linen jumper, that is now slightly wrinkled around the waist from sitting earlier, with a white t-shirt underneath. The clasp on my necklace is in the front under the charm, so I adjust it to the back, and then place the charm to rest neatly on my chest.

  I don’t wear a lot of makeup, which works out great in Hawaii. Despite my daily sousing of sunblock, my skin is still lightly tanned with a healthy glow. All I need is some mascara to accentuate my pale lashes, and I’m good to go.

  Back in the lobby, the line has shortened. I walk over to a free computer and log in to check my email. I’m not expecting any new clients for a few days which gives me a chance to work on some of the requests I have for guests checking in over the next few weeks and plan my parents’ epic vacation.

  “I’ve been thinking about your suggestion, and I’m going to try it,” Lani says from her computer next to me. She’s in the middle of checking in a nice couple who are standing so close to one another, you may question whether they’re actually conjoined.

  Tilting my head to the side, I squint my eyes trying to remember what I suggested.

  “Ben Wa Balls,” she reminds me, and the husband of the couple she’s assisting coughs uncontrollably.

  “Lani,” I whisper-yell, “wrong time, wrong place.”

  “It’s okay,” the wife says. She’s wearing a turquoise tank top with the word “bride” in bedazzled rhinestones across the chest, and she leans into the man and starts nuzzling her nose against his neck. “We’re newlyweds. Isn’t that right, shmoopy?”

  He turns his face to her. And they begin to make-out—right here in the lobby. The dark purple leis they received when they arrived at the hotel are being smashed by their oral attack.

  Lani doesn’t seem fazed. “Guest services are available in the lobby if you’d like to plan any excursions during your stay.”

  The man turns to his bride and smiles. “That’s up to my petal blossom over here. Anything special you’d like to do, sweets?”
>
  Sweets…or petal blossom, whatever her name is, looks up at shmoopy and says with a sigh, “As long as I’m with you, I’m a happy woman.”

  I try to contain the vomit rolling up my esophagus.

  With a smile, Lani hands the couple an envelope with a key card sticking out. “Here you go, Mr. And Mrs. Waimer. You’re all set. This is a map of the property and a schedule of all activities and events. You’re in room two-thirteen. Just follow the hallway down to the first set of elevators and take that to the second floor. Aloha.”

  The Waimer’s take off, looking as if they’re high on acid and totally unaffected by the fact the girl at the counter brought up sex toys while checking them in.

  Lani turns to me and leans into the counter. “I ordered them on the internet. I was so confused. It seems too weird to place brass balls up my—”

  “You got the brass ones?” I lean in and whisper despite not wanting to have this conversation here in any way.

  “No good?”

  “Well, they’re harder to, you know, keep in. Plastic is better for beginners.”

  She smiles brightly. “How do you know so much about this?”

  I shake my head, kicking myself for having this conversation after too many Mai Tai’s last week. What I failed to tell her was why I have a penchant for sex toys.

  I shoo her away. “Check in your guests, will you?”

  “Fine.” She turns back to her station. “Looks like it’s going to be a busy week.”

  “Wedding season is in full effect.” I look at the computer screen in front of me and log in. “A bunch of us are going to Duke’s tonight for a drink. Wanna come?”

  “You know me. I’ll drink to just about anything.” Lani looks straight on and, with a vibrant smile, greets the next guest. “Welcome to The Kauai Princess.”

  I giggle to myself loving how she can turn on the charm. With her creamy skin, jet-black features, and delicate frame, she’s exotic with a softness to her. And while she’s friendly and sweet as honey, she can get feisty and knows how to have a good time. Lani is my favorite person I’ve met in Hawaii, hands down.

  Looking at my calendar, I see a hot-pink icon next to one of the presidential suites that wasn’t there last night.

  “When did the Pele suite get booked? I didn’t have anyone coming until next week. I have one suite booked for Tuesday, but I didn’t have anyone in the other room when I checked last night.” I’m speaking out loud, not necessarily to anyone.

  Lani overhears and answers, “There shouldn’t be anyone in there.”

  “That’s so weird. No one books a suite same day.” Especially since they usually come with a list of demands, restaurant reservations, excursions, you name it. There is always legwork to be done before the guests arrive. For someone to just walk in and book a room like that is unheard of—at least as long as I’ve been here.

  It’s also extra unheard of for the room to be in the name of “Olivia Benson,” my favorite character on Law & Order.

  “This is so bizarre.” I back away from the computer and walk into the back-office area and look for the hotel manager. “Has anyone seen Rafael?”

  “He’s in the convention room,” someone replies.

  I turn back to the lobby and out the side door toward the open-air corridors toward the convention wing.

  Despite the setting sun, the air is still hot—that’s April in the Pacific. A gecko runs past me, nearly missing my foot.

  “Trish!” My name is called out.

  I turn to see Kal, one of the waiters at the Birds of Paradise restaurant, running toward me.

  I stop to wait for him to approach. “On your way to work?”

  He smiles a crooked grin and runs a hand along the back of his neck. His dark hair is styled back, and he’s looking at me with black eyes so dark the sun reflects off of them.

  “I’m running late. Not all of us get the luxury of making our own schedule.” There’s teasing in his voice.

  “I wish. I was up at four in the morning getting my honeymooners on a helicopter ride to view the sunrise. I’m beat.”

  Kal rubs his hands together, twisting his fingers. “Oh, well, then I guess you’re not going to Duke’s tonight.”

  “I’ll be there. I need to unwind. Plus, I don’t have any guests tomorrow so I won’t have to be up with the birds again.”

  His eyes light up. “That’s great! I mean, well, I thought we could go together.”

  “I’m hoping to be done for the day as soon as I talk to Raf.” I thumb over at the convention center. “I’ll probably be gone by the time you get off work.”

  “What about tomorrow? We could grab a bite to eat.” There’s something about the way he’s fumbling with his pockets and half looking at me, half looking at the ground that lets me know he’s asking for more than two friends getting together to share some food.

  “You mean like a date?”

  Kal stands up straighter. He’s about my height, so we’re practically eye to eye. “Yes.”

  I let out a long breath and bite my lower lip. This is ten kinds of awkward. I tap my fingers along my hip. “Listen, Kal, I just got out of a long-term relationship.”

  “You’ve been dating someone here?” Confusion is pinched into his eyebrows.

  “No, back in New York.” Yes, I know how silly that sounds. I’ve been in Hawaii for months. That hardly counts as just getting out of a long relationship.

  “You don’t want to date, or you just don’t want to date me?”

  Both, I think to myself. “I’m not looking to date anyone. It’s complicated. We’re still friends, though. I’ll stick around tonight and buy you a beer when you get off your shift.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He gently hits me in the arm. “Make that two Longboards.”

  I laugh and then start walking backward. “Deal. I’ll see you later.”

  He stands there with a wave as I turn around and start down the path. God, that was uncomfortable. As nice as Kal is, I’m just not in the right place to get into a relationship.

  Jax really messed with my head last year.

  Not because he was wrong.

  It’s because he was right.

  About everything.

  I find Raf in the convention room where workers are setting up for n event. He turns his suit-clad body toward me, his gold nameplate shining under the lighting of the room. Rafael Dalorez, Hotel Manager.

  “Is there a guest in the Pele suite?” I ask as I approach.

  “It’s in the system,” he answers looking down at a leather binder he has in his hands.

  I cross my arms. “Olivia Benson?”

  He looks back at me as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.

  I wave off my question and continue, “Do they need anything? Any special requests? I’ve never had a guest check in same day. Usually, I call in advance, set up an itinerary, pre-order food, set the room up with rose petals, or champagne or fruit. I am completely unprepared—”

  “Call and introduce yourself.” Again, he answers with his eyes buried in his notes. “Or knock on the door. You are capable of doing that, no?” The condescending tone in his voice does not go unnoticed. It’s not that Raf is a dick…he’s just…yeah, he’s a dick.

  I was really hoping to go home early tonight. What if Olivia Benson wants dinner on the beach? Is there a Mr. Benson? Do they have a dog? Kids? Travel companions? Raf isn’t forthcoming with information, and from the looks of it, won’t be anytime soon. I turn around and walk back toward the hotel lobby.

  My plan is to go to the front desk and call, but on my way, I pass the private elevator leading to the suits. Deciding this will be easier, I push the call button and ride the elevator up to the top floor. The doors slide open, so I step into the foyer and walk up to the bamboo double doors of the Pele suite.

  Knocking three times and wait.

  No one answers, so I knock again.

  “Come in,” A deep voice echoes from the other side.


  “Hello?” I open the door and head, tentatively, into the living room, leaving the door open behind me. To the left is the master bedroom. To the right is the dining room, which has the lights set to dim.

  And straight ahead, in front of the floor to ceiling windows with the vibrant reds, pinks, and yellows of the setting Hawaiian sun, is Jackson Davis.

  chapter SIX

  “Hello, Triciana.”

  I fall back a step and blink a few times.

  Jax is standing with his shoulders back and his hands in his pockets. His jean-clad legs are spread wide. The long-sleeve, black shirt he’s wearing is rolled up three-quarters, showcasing the tattoos I only had the minor privilege of viewing many months ago. Where they were bruised and covered by bandages, they are now on display showcasing strong, lean muscles. His biceps bulged with every flex of his arms.

  And his face.

  Still the same gorgeous face I encountered in the hospital. Except, this time he’s tanned. That silken skin radiates against the backdrop of the setting Hawaiian sun behind him.

  “You dyed your hair,” is the first thing I say.

  He raises a hand over his light-brown hair that’s combed back and to the side. He raises one brow, the pierced one, and his eyes glisten with a dare. “Yeah, someone told me I looked ridiculous.”

  His smile is unnerving. I don’t understand why he’s here. Part of me wonders if he’s really here at all or if I’ve officially gone crazy and my mind is playing tricks on me.

  I dig my nail into my palm to make sure I’m not hallucinating. I flinch at the pain.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, my hands clutched in front of my body.

  His broad shoulders remain strong as he raises his chin. “I came to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we weren’t finished.”

  I swallow a breath and look down. The white marble floor is tinted pink as the red hues of the sunset shine through the window.

  “You left,” he says, forcing me to look back at him.

  For a second, I swear I see a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, but like lightning, it’s gone. “Come again?”