Sea Struck (Lupine Bay Book 3)

by Maribel Fox

  I wish I knew where this bone-deep terror came from. I remember enjoying the water when I was younger with my mom on the beach, but after she left, things are kind of fuzzy. Somewhere along the line, I became afraid, and I’ve never been able to shake it.

  Exposure therapy’s only proving so successful, especially when I’m trying to keep it all buried, and I’m exhausted.

  It’s not just the daily trips to the water that are wearing on me, though. It’s Miles. I’m a tense ball of nerves every moment I’m around him, everything clenched, my blood pressure high. After all these years, I still can’t forgive him for ghosting me the way he did. Even though I don’t feel the same boiling anger just looking at him that I did before, my body still reacts, my blood floods with stress hormones, and there’s not a prayer of me relaxing.

  So that’s my goal today: relaxing. Sleeping in, lounging in bed watching stupid baby animal gifs, and taking personality quizzes to my heart’s content.

  Without the distraction of something to actively focus on, my mind starts to wander. Surfing the internet isn’t enough to keep my thoughts from heading back to the ocean, to my weird irrational fear. Mom and I spent so much time on the beach together, hunting for treasures, building sandcastles, splashing in the water.

  I was so young, but I have memories. I’m not sure if they’re real, or something my brain’s created to help me cope with losing her, but I see her on the beach, her hair blown by the wind, shimmering like polished copper in the sunlight. In my memories she’s impossibly beautiful, like something out of a painting. It makes sense that my memory would make her gorgeous, but I know in reality she was probably an average-looking woman, my memories rose-tinted with time.

  I don’t know for sure, because Dad erased every trace of her after she left us. I think he was worried I’d do the same if he gave me a chance. If he made me think it was forgivable at all. He went off the deep end trying to protect me, not letting me out of his sight.

  As much as it always annoyed me how over the top he was, I couldn’t really blame Dad for erasing Mom from our lives. It sucked growing up, wanting to know about her, wanting to learn girl things, but there’s always been a part of me that’s just as angry as Dad. She didn’t just leave him — she left us. What kind of mom does that?

  If she’d really loved me, she wouldn’t have just disappeared into the night without warning, without telling anyone what happened, why she needed to go. She never tried to come back, and I think part of me has always known that she won’t. I’ve never hoped otherwise. I’ve wished she never left, but didn’t ever hope she’d come back. It could never be the same.

  I’ve been doing my best to avoid thinking about my parents or my childhood since I came back to Lupine Bay, but it’s not easy. Especially spending every day with the guy who pretty much symbolizes my entire childhood. Miles… Miles is a whole other can of worms. A tangle of memories and feelings I’ve been desperately trying to avoid.

  We were so close as kids, then nothing. I’ve never had any idea what caused him to ghost me like he did, and for years I dwelled on it, trying to solve the mystery of why I’d suddenly become a pariah to the one person I thought got me.

  Eventually I realized that solving the mystery wasn’t going to fix anything. Just like my mom suddenly appearing, it wouldn’t undo the damage, it would just add another layer of complication.

  So I let it go. I decided I was better off without knowing. Being here is making that a lot harder, especially with Miles being so… manly. All this time I’ve been pissed off at the lanky kid with too-long hair and a slight stoop in his shoulders. It’s a lot harder to attach that to the bearded, sea-weathered captain that makes my breath catch when he comes too close.

  Not that I’m interested in Miles. No. That ship sailed a long time ago. It’s just hard not to compare him to Trenton. There’s really no comparison. Trenton’s not a bad-looking guy, but he’s an academic, soft around the middle, with eyes that don’t hide the fact that they’re constantly looking for a way you can benefit him. He’s ambitious, driven, and completely self-centered. Took me a little too long to realize just how bad it was, but I had some quarter-life crisis blinders on, convinced I was running out of time to settle down, get married, maybe have kids…

  Running out of time or no, Trenton is not worth it.

  Actually, he’s what I’m dreading most when it comes to going back to work. My sabbatical still has more than a month left, and I’m already growing anxious about heading back to the lab, facing my ex-fiancé who unabashedly laughed in my face when I told him about my trip.

  I should’ve seen the signs earlier. I know I should have, but honestly working in a field like mine, there’s not a lot of opportunity to meet people. Lab romances are more common than anyone would want you to believe — proximity plus shared interest, frequently mixed with long hours and lots of emotional highs and lows makes for the perfect breeding ground for relationships.

  That’s the thing, too. Trenton and I actually worked really well together initially. When we were at the same level. As soon as he got an open-ended grant that all went out the window and he started showing his true colors. Him mocking my dreams was the final straw. I made sure he knew we were through before I left for this trip, but I haven’t talked to him since.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never expected to find my soul mate or anything. I had a guy who called to me on that deep-down level, and he vanished from my life. I gave up on finding that again with someone else, but I figured Trenton was a nice enough guy to hit the requisite life milestones with.

  Now I’m just glad we never got that far. I’ve wasted enough time with him. I can’t imagine dragging this out with a divorce or custody battle.

  Guess I dodged a bullet at just the right time.

  I do hate that he seems to be right about one thing, though: I’m not finding anything here. Not anything significant. Nothing worth reporting back on or calling in reinforcements for.

  There’s a little voice in the back of my head constantly telling me that I’m making a fool of myself still trying. The voice sounds suspiciously like my ex, and I curse at myself internally. Even if I am wrong and I make a complete laughingstock of myself, at this point, do I care?

  I’m dreading going back to work so much that I don’t know. Maybe I should use this last month here to try to find a new assignment. This career just isn’t what I hoped it would be. There’s so much bureaucracy, so much standing in the way between me and doing the science I love.

  Wallowing’s not going to help a damn thing, Cal, I scold myself, trying to shake off the melancholy. I know this trip isn’t turning out exactly how I hoped it would, but it’s not the total bust I’m making it out to be.

  We’ve found those stones.

  I glance at the jar sitting on my dresser, heart rate picking up a tick. I know they’re probably nothing and I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but they feel like something.

  Turning the jar over in my hand, the shards glitter and sparkle, tumbling around in a mesmerizing disco ball kind of display. They are pretty rocks. Miles has got that much right, but that’s about all we know about these things. We’ve found a few more on different trips out to the bay, but they’re all relatively small. There’s something about these rocks that’s pressing at the back of my mind, and I can’t put my finger on it. It seems like they’re all smaller bits of a larger whole, but a larger whole what? Some kind of ancient sculpture from a material we don’t have any more? A natural byproduct of the ecosystem? Who knows.

  A larger sample would be a good start to figuring it out, but I can’t just make one appear by wanting it.

  …Or can I?

  The longer I watched the blue glittering rocks tumble in the jar, the closer I get to something clicking in my head. Finally, it snaps, and I’m pretty sure there was a rock like this in my collection of beach treasures when I was a kid.

  Assuming that collection still even exists, it would be in my father’s poss
ession. The father I’m trying to avoid talking to. I don’t know that any sparkly rock is worth going to those desperate measures.

  I groan, tossing the jar on the bed with an exaggerated huff. It’s going to bug me now that I’ve thought of it. I’m going to keep wondering if I’m remembering it correctly, and if I am, what secrets that rock could have. I know to look for things in specimens now that I never would have thought of as a kid.

  But seeing Dad again…?

  Ugh.

  I need breakfast. That much I know. Wasting the day away in bed isn’t working out for me — it never does, really, I’m not sure why I keep trying — and the fresh air will likely do me some good. It’s been a few days since I’ve been down to the Drowning Duck, and I’m craving some of Iseul’s fancycakes — that’s what he calls his signature pancakes with elaborate designs.

  As usual, it’s blustery and gray, sunlight struggling to pierce the thick blanket of storm clouds. There’s thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance, and the air is heavy with moisture, but it’s not raining just yet, it just has that feeling that at any moment the air may spontaneously erupt into rain.

  The wind shoves me in through the diner door, jangling the bell as I stumble on the rubber mat. Is looks up at the bell and breaks into a wide grin, waving his spatula at me.

  “Long time no see!” he teases as I slide onto a stool at the breakfast bar.

  “Hard to turn down the complimentary breakfast at Brigid’s,” I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee so he doesn’t have to leave the griddle.

  “Micah,” he grumbles, shaking a fist. “He offers convenience, but does he offer the sparkling companionship?” Is asks, flashing a grin over his shoulder.

  “I plead the fifth. I’m not letting you make me pick sides. It’s already hard enough picking breakfast.”

  To be honest, I’m not sure what a guy like Is is doing in a place like Lupine Bay. He seems way too vibrant, too energetic for a sleepy place like this. He belongs in a bustling metropolis, not in a seaside village.

  Maybe I’m misjudging him. Maybe he likes the quiet life. I really don’t know anything about him other than his amazing pancake-making abilities and constant aims to impress anyone who’s paying attention. He’s a showman, through and through.

  “Nice one,” I say, nodding as he plates a very attractive-looking dragon pancake, ringing the bell for Judy to grab it.

  “Kind of a specialty,” he says, chuckling like he made a joke even though I don’t really get it. I give an awkward laugh anyway to be polite.

  “What’re you in the mood for today?” he asks, griddle now cleared.

  I shrug. “Surprise me?”

  He nods, and I swear his eyes flash a bright yellow when he grins. “I know just the thing.”

  If he was up to anything more important than making pancakes, I might be concerned. Iseul has this way of sounding mischievous about the most innocent things.

  As he’s setting up his colored bottles of pancake batter along the side of the griddle, the door opens again. I tense before I turn, hoping it’s not Miles — or worse, my dad. The diner’s pretty empty in this time between breakfast and lunch, and I was already relieved to not see Nora or her little friend sitting at the bar.

  It’s not anyone that’s going to ruin my day, though. It’s a guy I don’t recognize, brooding and mysterious looking. He’s got black hair, and dark, Latin-looking features, but it’s the way the shadows cling to him that’s weird. Like he’s in a much darker room than the rest of us. It’s got to be a trick of the cloudy day, but it’s enough to make me stare for a moment longer than I normally would before I feel like I need to look away.

  Is perks up at the sight of the new guy — more than is normal even for Is, which is saying something — and I’m starting to put together a theory about the two of them just from a couple of shared looks.

  “What’s up?” Is asks as the guy approaches the bar where it’s closest to the griddle. Their body language screams that they want to be closer to each other, like they’re trying to keep it professional because Is is at work. I’ve seen that look before in the lab so many times.

  “I spent some time with the court today,” the other guy says under his breath, glancing around, clearly not wanting to be heard.

  Point taken. I wouldn’t want strangers eavesdropping on my tales of trying to wade through our complicated legal system. I try to focus on my coffee, drumming my fingers absently to distract myself from listening in, but even so, I can’t help but hear some things — something about an attack? That’s alarming, but maybe I’m misunderstanding. I’m sure if there was a wild animal on the loose attacking people there would be warnings.

  “Now’s not the time, Ocho,” Is says abruptly, cutting off the other guy with a sharp look my way.

  I try to look as innocent and unassuming as possible. I’m not trying to be nosy, but I am wondering what this Ocho guy heard about at the courthouse, if there are attacks happening.

  Just when I thought the ocean was scary enough.

  Ocho clams up and leans forward, saying something too low for me to hear, but I see the way Iseul’s body reacts, the subtle shift in his stance, and there’s a little pang of jealousy in the pit of my stomach.

  They’re clearly so into each other, even without any overt displays of affection. I’ve never really had that, and there’s always been a part of me that thought it was made up. For books and movies and shit. But seeing it right in front of me shatters that illusion and just makes me wonder why I’m not worth it.

  Through no fault of their own, Iseul’s fancycakes are entirely unappetizing by the time the plate’s in front of me.

  I feel like I’m being watched the whole time I pick my way through the stack of flower-shaped pancakes. It’s a beautiful bouquet, and with my preferred topping of powdered sugar, it looks like a late spring snow-flurry on a plate.

  It’s pretty, but I’m too busy thinking about that damn rock and going to visit my stupid dad. There’s no way I’m not going to do it. I don’t know who I’m kidding. I might as well get it over with while I’ve got the day off from Miles and time to decompress after what’s undoubtedly going to be a shitshow of a reunion.

  “Thanks for breakfast,” I call, leaving the money on the counter as I head toward the door, still feeling like there are eyes on me.

  I thought he left, but when I look back through the window, I see Ocho back at Iseul’s side. Guess whatever Is didn’t want him talking about in front of me is pretty important.

  I’ve got important things of my own to tend to. I sure hope Iseul’s are a little more pleasant, though if his pal’s dealing with our so-called justice system, I’m not very hopeful for his sake.

  By the time I get to the beach there’s a light drizzle coming down, the waves churning against the shore, battering the rocks and massive downed trees that sprinkle the shoreline, washed up after huge storms. Through the misty haze the lighthouse shines, glinting off the deadly rocks in shallow waters.

  Just like ripping off a band-aid, I tell myself, taking a deep breath before I start the endless trudge up the hill.

  My insides are slippery and tangled, a mass of seaweed getting heavier the closer I get to the lighthouse. This is a terrible idea. Nothing good is going to come out of this and I know that.

  …But deep down, there’s still a little girl that hopes she can patch things over with her dad. It’s ridiculous; I just hope this will put those hopes to bed once and for all.

  One final deep breath, then I ring the bell.

  From fifty feet above my head, Dad leans over the upper-deck railing, squinting down to see who dares ring his bell, and if they’re worth the trouble of coming all the way down nearly six-flights worth of spiral staircase.

  His squint narrows, jaw going slack, and I just look up, shielding my eyes from the silvery glare of the sun.

  I wave silently, and neither of us says anything. He disappears, and I don’t know if he’s coming down
or if he just walked away, but I wait on the other side of the door nonetheless.

  After what feels like forever, I hear his heavy footfall on the metal steps, clanging closer until there’s the dull thud of hitting solid ground, a shuffle over to the door, then a creak as Dad wrestles with hinges that perpetually need oiling thanks to the salty sea air.

  “It is you,” he says, bushy brows pushed down over his eyes, so narrow I can’t even see them under the wrinkles. There are a lot more wrinkles on his face than I remember.

  “Yep.”

  For a long moment, he stands there staring at me, and I can’t tell what his expression — or emotion — is.

  “You gonna let me in?”

  Without a word, he grunts, then steps back from the door, already going toward the stairs.

  The door slams with a creak that echoes around the room. This part of the lighthouse is all storage, maintenance stuff, paper products, it’s further up that there’s living quarters, and the space in between is mostly stairs and empty, echoing space. Other lighthouse keepers might’ve filled all this with family photos, but not Dad. Wouldn’t even know he’s got a family looking at the place.

  Guess he doesn’t, really.

  God, these stairs look so much longer than I remember. Standing at the bottom, it seems like it goes on forever. I remember running up and down these things a million times a day when I was a kid, even sneaking out somehow with these impossibly creaky steps.

  How did I ever do that?

  The joys of youth, I suppose.

  Then again, Dad seems to weather the trek just fine. At the top, he’s not out of breath at all, but I’m struggling to make mine seem normal and not pant-y. I didn’t think I was out of shape, but I guess I’m not in lighthouse-keeper shape.

  “What’re you doing here?” he asks, not looking at me as he goes to the kitchen and turns on one of the burners, setting a kettle down on it.

  Despite how it sounds, I know he’s not asking what I’m doing here exactly. He’s asking why I’m back in town. What I’m doing in Lupine Bay when I made it very clear that there’s nothing here for me.