Searching Hearts
~ The Prelude To The Hearts Series ~
© 2014 Sabrina Lacey
Published by Lacey Publications at Smashwords
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Cover Image © Julia Gurevich
Licensed through: Shutterstock.com
Published by Lacey Publications
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.
Copyright © 2014 Sabrina Lacey
All Rights Reserved
Description
Brendan Clark, just graduated college, receives the gift of a weekend in Mendocino to lick some romantic wounds, and discovers an older woman with a broken heart of her own. This is the prelude to the Hearts Series, the story of how a good guy becomes a “bad boy.
Dedication
For those who’ve had their hearts broken.
1
Brendan Clark
Twenty-five years old. The day after my balls got juiced for Steve, a jock at NYU. The person who nourished him with my sack: Sara Brighton. Sara, aka The First Total Bitch I Ever Loved. And the last.
______________________
Waves crashing. Turning everything they touch, inside out. And I’m not talking about the ones in the ocean through the window to my left. Those are nothing.
“Is this your first time in Mendocino?” The voice is sweet. Curious. Annoying.
I blink. Blurred mind snaps to focused faster than a turtle at lettuce after its owner left it for two weeks without feeding it. “What?”
The woman’s skin – pale and raisin-like – dimples in on itself. “Is this your first time to Mendocino?” Her voice makes the good witch in The Wizard of Oz sound butch.
I process her question. It would be a simple question if it were any day other than today. “Oh. Yeah. First time.”
“Wonderful. This is a magical place, you know.” Her head tilts sweetly and I instantly expect the lollipop crew to jump out and start humping my leg. “Are your parents coming later tonight?”
I stare at her long enough to make her uncomfortable. “Are you kidding me? I’m here to lick some wounds so give me the key and let’s be done with it.”
“Oh. It’s just that I saw their name on the reservation,” she stutters.
“Yeah. It was a gift. And no, it’s not my birthday, so wipe off the grin.”
She obliges but it’s obvious I’m not her favorite cup of tea. She probably prefers people tempered with milk and sugar. Not bitter like me. That’s what it’s come to. That’s who I am now. As in today. The day after she killed the me I used to be.
I blow out of the door and head to Cottage 2. I just want to sleep.
2
Rebecca Wells
Cottage 1. Same night. Same second. Ten Year Anniversary flowers upside down in the garbage. Empty, toppled-over bottle of Rodney Strong Cabernet. On floor: Me. Thirty-seven years old. Not on floor: My Husband.
______________________
I thought it would be forever. Jack was perfect for what I wanted. He wasn’t terribly handsome but he was driven with Successful Future stamped onto his four-finger forehead. He came from a good family. The sex was fine, passable, but I wasn’t looking for sex. I was looking for money and for a good father to my eventually-born, genius kids. I looked to his fair-to-mediumly happy parents’ continued partnership as a blueprint for what I could expect. I wanted stability. And I got it.
What I didn’t bargain for was the dead inside blah feeling that threatened to suck me into oblivion. The same one that made me scream what I screamed this morning, back in Arizona. He’d stared at me like the stupid kid in class when the teacher tells him it’s not a multiple choice test. “You don’t like my car?”
This is what I screamed: You don’t look at me anymore. What color are my eyes. When was the last time we had sex. I’m tired of pretending I’m not a carnivore. Your Prius dries my panties right up.
I do have to admit that it was a well-chosen turn of phrase in a heightened state, but that’s all he heard?
“Open godammit!! Are you fucking kidding me?!!” My head lifts to the sound coming from outside, not from my memory of this morning.
Standing in front of the door to the cottage next to mine is a tall, way too young for me, brooding ball of manhood jamming his reluctant key into a lock that must have been born under the sign Taurus. There’s a fallen suitcase on the porch like my bottle of sucked-up wine. His anger matches mine, though I doubt he knows my husband Jack. The jokes inside my head make me laugh outside my mouth. A mistake. Eyes of blue thunder slash to their right and land on me, nearly tearing my sweatpants right off. My heart stops after my breath. There’s no way I could have prepared for the feeling in my legs when this young kid stares at me like he wishes I’d die two times and then once more.
I duck my head inside and close the door. I need the skin to remain on my body.
3
Brendan
Cottage 2. Lock: jammed. Anger: unmanaged. Demons: assimilated.
______________________
I’m trying to get some R&R and this lock has her legs closed tight Unfuckingbelievable. This place is so cute, it’s annoying, and now the key doesn’t work so I’m trapped outside and will have to go back and ask for help. That’s not going to happen.
A door to my right opens. My neck nearly cracks with the speed of turning to see who’s staring at me.
Peering back is a wildcat, mid-thirties.
She sneers at me and vanishes.
Well well well. Looks like God just gave me a present.
I’ve never been the bad boy, which I’m done paying for. Enough Mr. Nice Schmuck. Sara’s last words to me were, “You’re just so nice, Brendan. I don’t want to hurt you.” Fuck that upside down and sideways. So what if I bought her flowers all the time we were together. Never cheated on her. Let her know she was loved. Stayed faithful to her after she left our apartment to study at NYU, mid-college. Wrote her letters which I actually snail-mailed. Bought her a ring that her eyes never got the chance to suck on and brag about and throw around like a gloating kitten lying in catnip.
At least I’ve got that.
At least she never knew how much I really loved her.
Doorknob finally gives way to my mood and I almost fall inside the cottage. Damn. It’s like the quaint fairies threw up in here. Mom – what do you think I am? A chick? Well, I have to admit, that’s how I’ve been acting my whole life – like a fucking pansy.
Tides have turned. There’s a new Brendan in town. Watch out lady in Cottage 1.
4
Rebecca
Cottage 1. Covers: on me. Curtains: open. Dark, neglected, empty wood-burning stove Night: black and lonely. Phone: ringing a-fucking-gain.
______________________
I slide my thumb across the device. “What, Jack.”
He sighs. “Where are you? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“What part of ‘It’s over and I’m out of here’ did you not understand?”
Silence, then, “Where are you, Bec?”
Silence, then, “I’m not telling you.”
Silence, then explosion.
“What the hell is going on! Ten years of my life and I don’t even get an explanation?”
I’m sporting the opposite of his energy level. “I told you. I screamed all my reasons, but you weren’t listening which is no surprise. You’d only have heard me if I started the conversation with ‘the Dow Jones is up three points; I’m leaving you.’ That’s the only way you would’ve heard me.”
I hang up before he has a chance for an unwitty comeback. This time I turn the phone completely off. Why torture myself? Best just to torture him. I’m done.
Staring at the stars outside my window, I wonder how he hasn’t figured out that I came to our anniversary spot alone. I guess he wouldn’t have expected me to fly without him. It’s a thing I’ve never done. We met when I was twenty-five. Married at twenty-seven. Separating at thirty-seven. Divorcing at thirty-eight, I guess. All of this sans genius kids. What happened to having children? What happened to that?
I let the wine do its magic of lulling me finally into a dreamless sleep. Better than nightmares, thanks.
5
Brendan
Cottage 2. Porch. 9 a.m. Clothing: Faded blue jeans. No shirt. No shoes. Service? Definitely.
______________________
Her door opens and I wait. A chain reaction happens in my body, beginning with my mind, moving to my gut, landing in my crotch. I rest my hand on the space on my leg just below and wait, eyes on where she’s about to be. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. What’s taking her so long? Stick your head out already.
Bam.
She steps outside and turns her head right. Looks right at me like she was hoping I’d be here. The same tigress I saw last night is peering out from her eyes. She gives hungry a whole new look and it’s got nothing to do with wanting donuts. I check her body out as she stands staring at me from the welcome mat. Nice rack held up by a bra that doesn’t need to push the already perky bounty up. Her sundress is tight around a womanly waist and it hangs to the floor so I can’t see her legs. That’s okay, I’ve got an imagination. I bet what’s under there is smooth and firm. Shaved. Flawless.
She scans my body too, but more quickly, like she thinks I won’t notice. Oh, I notice.
I just stare at her. No smile. Fuck smiling. I can’t be bothered.
“Hey.”
Her head tilts like an alien who doesn’t speak the language. “Hi.”
That’s the most reluctant greeting I’ve ever heard. Time to bring out the big guns. I slowly raise my hand and touch my abs like there’s an itch I need to scratch, moving as slow as a snail on Quaaludes in a snowstorm. Her eyes fixate on my hand and she backs away into the cottage and closes the door.
What the fuck.
Fine. I’ll go check out the ocean.
6
Rebecca
Cottage 1. Back: on front door. Chest: heaving. Panties: soaked.
______________________
Okay, somebody tell me that didn’t just happen. I’m pretty sure I just got undressed by a pair of the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. His abs have nooks and crannies I want to nibble on and his arms are just the right amount of muscular. The kid looks like Zeus and Angelina Jolie had a son who sprung out fully formed and ready.
But there’s no way he’s older than twenty-four. I’ve got a million years on him, easy. But those abs… when he touched them, I wished I were his fingertips. Why do I have to be so much older? Why did I waste my good years on a guy like Jack? It’s so unfair. It’s screwed up how society tells you marriage is the prize so much so that you choose the first ring that comes along thinking I won, I won!! And not thinking – wait, this guy for… my whole life?
I scan myself in the bathroom mirror and see newly embedded crows feet and a wedding ring. It takes gallons of soap and hot water to squeeze it off my atrophied finger. Finally I place it atop the tiny, hotel-sized soap where it can clean away my past and stay the hell out of my future.
Walking into the bedroom, I look out the window. The ocean waves at me from across the two-lane road. There’s a cliff.
Maybe I could throw myself off it. It’s worth a shot.
When I get to the edge, I’m surprised and happy to find I’m not alone. Zeus Jolie turns at the sound of my footsteps. His dreamy eyes flicker and he scans me again, gaze resting on my breasts like there’s a NY Steak resting on them, complete with a bottle of A1 sauce.
“My eyes are up here.”
He doesn’t stop eating my skin with his mind. I feel dizzy at the way this kid looks at me. He’s about 6’1” and has forsaken a shirt so that the morning sun shines down on his skin like a spotlight on a party I can’t miss. Most guys would look embarrassed if I called them on what he’s doing. Not this guy. It’s like he isn’t interested in my objections. My breath comes shorter and my chest rises to his call. I want to cross my arms and turn away but that want is only a habit of thinking I’m taken and therefore off-limits. But there’s another part of me that is on limits. Very, very, very on. So I get up the nerve to be a little naughty. “You like the view?”
Those blue eyes finally slide up to meet my eyes. Without blinking, he nods. “Better than the waves or the sunlit sky.”
Is this guy a poet or was he just born that smooth. Oh my.
7
Brendan
Ocean Cliff. Not alone.
Slope difficulty: just went from black diamond to solo green circle.
Go.
______________________
“You here alone?” I ask Wildcat. She turns to the ocean and gives me a great view of her profile, her dark hair blowing back to just below her shoulder blades. Her back is straight and dignified. She’s a thoroughbred, this one. She’d win the trophy and ride the jockey all the way home. But she’s angry. It’s in her eyes. You spot it, you got it – that’s what they say. I’m spotting it all over the place. I see what I see when I look in the mirror… detachment.
“I am. You?”
I nod, but I’m thinking about that wall of hers, how high up around her it is. There’s something wild about looking at a person who’s in the same mental place you’re in. It’s like I know her more than I should. I look away… because suddenly it feels too intimate. “Yeah. I just finished college.”
“Shouldn’t you be partying in Cancun or somewhere with your buddies?”
I stare at the ocean, thinking of Mark, Tommy and Ross in Hawaii. I didn’t go with them because I was supposed to be in New York celebrating with my girl. I’m supposed to be there now. By the time she broke it off, my friends were already gone.
Mark had ribbed me about not going. For four years he’s been trying to get me to join him for mayhem and parties. He and I both started school late – after a couple years of working to save for it, and that gave us an instant bond when we met. We both weren’t from rich families. My parents made me earn it, which was good. I’m better with money now. I know its worth.
Do I wish I was with him and the guys now? Now that I think on it, no. The sanctuary of this secluded place, bereft of tourists, feels perfect. I don’t want to party. I want to ache. The crashing water down below this cliff feels right. I feel in sync with the darkness of it. I can’t see the bottom, just like I can’t see the bottom of the pain of losing Sara.
Wildcat’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Hey…I’m sorry. You want me to leave you alone?”
“What?” I ask her, turning and drawn in by her stare. Those brown eyes are smoking. We say nothing until her thick, dark eyelashes shyly flutter to the ground. Something just happened inside her and I don’t know what it is – but somehow I got past that wall to where the vulnerability lies hiding. To see it is exposed like that is intoxicating.
“Don’t go. Stay with me awhile.” It’s the hurt in me that’s asking. “To answer your question, I didn’t want to go with them. I needed to be alone for the weekend. But not that alone. Please.” It’s the truth, just not all the truth.
She looks back up
at me and holds my eyes. Her bottom lip gets a tiny nibble and she frowns. But after a second of thought, she nods. In silent agreement, we turn to the water again, the wind blowing through our hair. We stare at the ocean, spread out before us, so big and forever. It will go on with or without us, and will be here long after we’re gone. That makes our problems seem small, and we love it for that.
8
Rebecca
Suicide: put off. Eyes: misty.
Mind: slowing like a terrifying carnival ride finally coming to a stop.
______________________
There’s something about the ocean that gets me. I feel small around it, which means my problems are small, too. Is this why I came here alone when I’ve never flown without Jack in my entire life?
I was raised in Arizona and my parents were Think Inside The Box types. To be fair, Sedona is a beautiful space if you’re going to live in a box. It’s surrounded by red rocks, and inhabited by mystics, the supposed psychic epicenter that it is. But there’s no ocean.
With the gentle sunlight heating up my skin and the saltwater infused wind whipping back my sundress, I turn my head and look at the person who just ebbed my uncertainty about the future by saying, stay with me awhile. I’d wanted to crawl into his arms when he’d looked at me like he did; like he’d lost something precious to him, something he couldn’t explain to me, a stranger.
Searching Hearts Page 1