His Kindred Spirit

by Sloan Johnson

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  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

  About the Author

  By Sloan Johnson

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  His Kindred Spirit

  By Sloan Johnson

  Dane has built his life around not relying on anyone but himself. When he travels from New York City to North Carolina at the request of his estranged, incarcerated father, he learns truths he’d rather not know… along with inheriting a share in his grandfather’s inn. But the place comes with complications, including a man he will have to walk away from—but can’t help falling for.

  Brook has only known romance through notes left in a mailbox at the end of the beach. When he’s tasked with showing his boss’s gorgeous nephew what makes Sunset Beach and Bird Island special, he’s compelled to take Dane to his favorite place.

  Dane never wanted the inn, but when it’s threatened, he steps up to defend it… and keep the man he’s coming to love by his side and in his life. But first they’ll have to clean up Dane’s uncle’s mess.

  States of Love: Stories of romance that span every corner of the United States.

  To everyone who’s felt there’s no one listening, know there’s a Kindred Spirit out there.

  Chapter 1

  (Dane)

  SOMEWHERE BENEATH layers of spit-up and other bodily fluids I’d prefer not to think about, I could still see traces of the first man I’d ever loved. Sadly the sentiment had never been reciprocated, but against all odds, Grady Walsh and I had become and remained best friends. He was the one who convinced me it wasn’t necessary to be in a committed relationship to enjoy sex. And now he sat across the living room from me, his infant son cradled in his arms, his beautiful wife in the kitchen working on dinner. Yes, the former self-professed lone wolf had become the picture-perfect family man.

  “Dane, I know Jen’s a good cook, but why are you really here?” Grady asked.

  I took a long draw from my beer, setting it carefully on a coaster. No water rings on Jen’s furniture. Just another way Grady’s life had shifted over the past year. I’d give my left nut for what they shared, but I wouldn’t because that meant trusting someone with both my secrets and my heart. Some risks in life weren’t worth the casualties.

  “Talked to my dad last weekend,” I said, as though that was enough explanation why I’d made the ninety-mile drive to see Grady.

  “And?” Grady shifted in his chair, little Pax nestling deeper into the safety of his father’s embrace. How pathetic was I that I was jealous of a tiny human incapable of voicing his needs beyond random grunts and cries? I longed for the innocence of believing everyone in the world lived to protect you, that they’d always be there for you. I prayed that little boy never knew the harsh realities of the world he’d been born into.

  “He’s getting out soon.” This wasn’t a shock to Grady. He’d been there the day my dad was sentenced to nine years in prison for his role in a Ponzi scheme. The same scheme, in fact, that’d robbed the Walsh family of a significant portion of their wealth. Like I said, our friendship was one that defied the odds.

  “And? Seriously, so far you haven’t given me the slightest hint as to why you’re here.”

  Pax squawked, and Jen snuck into the room to whisk him away.

  “Is he anxious to be a free man?”

  I shrugged, not wanting to admit to Grady that we were both worried about how he’d fare on the outside. It didn’t matter that he’d maintained his innocence the entire time he was behind bars; a jury of his peers had found him guilty of the crimes. The job prospects for someone in his shoes weren’t exactly great, which was why he’d made the request he had last weekend.

  “Apparently, Dad’s brother reached out to him after years of silence. He’s got it in his head he’s going to move down there once he’s released so he can have a fresh start. He’s already put in the request to have his parole transferred. He wants me to go down ahead of him to get to know my uncle.” There were few things I’d rather do less than meet the brother who hadn’t once reached out to my dad since his parents had shunned him for knocking up the whore from the wrong side of the tracks. They weren’t wrong to tell him she’d never amount to anything, but he’d busted his ass to prove them wrong about how she’d pull him under. The woman who’d given birth to me skipped out days before my sixth birthday, leaving Dad a single parent trying to work his way through school. He called on the help of his friends, bartered for babysitting services, and graduated with honors. Worked his way from the ground floor to a senior investment advisor position. Life was great—until the day it all went to shit.

  The man I’d put on a pedestal, the only person I relied on and trusted with my life, was ripped away from me, arrested for orchestrating a scheme to bilk investors out of millions of dollars. I sat helpless as everything he’d worked to provide for us was stripped away. Learned the shame of walking into the mall, having my credit card declined, and later finding out it was because the authorities had seized everything. I spent my sixteenth birthday in an even darker place than the one a decade earlier. I was completely alone, had recently come to understand trusting anyone to be there was a recipe for disaster, and had nothing to my name. From that moment on, I’d vowed to keep the world at a safe distance, but now Dad expected me to open myself up to family I’d never met. He was counting on me, and I wasn’t going to fail him the way I had when I hadn’t stopped the courts from taking the house, cars, and everything inside.

  “Probably not a bad plan,” Grady said, excusing himself to grab a beer now that he was off kid duty. He returned with two bottles dangling from his fingers, offering one to me before sitting in the leather chair and resting his heels on the coffee table. “Staying around here probably isn’t the best idea for him. Maybe a quiet life in the middle of nowhere is just what he needs.”

  I gaped at my friend, wondering how in the hell I’d gotten so lucky. He’d approached me following the sentencing, and I’d squared my shoulders as I stalked away from him. I knew who he was, knew that I was the piece-of-shit kid whose father was nothing more than a thief. I’d heard it all before and wasn’t interested in hearing it from him too. When he’d invited me to a diner around the corner, I convinced myself he was smart enough to kick my ass away from the reporters waiting outside the courthouse. When he told me nothing my father did changed who I was, I tripped over my own feet. It took some time, but he eventually agreed with my insistence that Dad hadn’t done the things he’d been accused of.

  “Yeah, but this guy is a stranger,” I argued. “I’ve never met him, and as far as I know, Dad hasn’t really had a relationship with him for over twenty years. But now, when it’s getting close to the end of Dad’s sentence, the long-lost brother is suddenly interested in rekindling a relationship with him. Sounds fishy to me.”

  “That’s because you’ve learned to expect the worst in everyone.” Grady cocked his head to the side, silently daring me to dispute his accusation. I couldn’t, because it was 100 percent the truth. “If your dad’s willing to put the past in the past, maybe you need to, too. You don’t know why your uncle didn’t contact him. I say you s
hould take some of the vacation time you never use and see if the Carolina countryside could be a good change of scenery for both of you.”

  “He lives at the beach,” I corrected. And why in the hell did he think I’d move down there if Dad did? I liked my life in the city. My studio apartment was modest, but mine. I was within walking distance to most things and a quick train ride from the rest. No way was I moving. If Dad felt like he needed to go down there to rekindle whatever with his brother, that was on him. We could keep in touch by phone, text, and the occasional visit.

  “Even better!” Grady had always loved the beach. He used to say he was going to move to Florida someday, someplace like Miami, where he could spend the days on the beach and his nights split between the clubs and over a warm, willing body. “Seriously, what’s the harm in you going down there to check the guy out?”

  “Let’s start with the fact I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me other than what Dad’s told him in their letters. What if I get down there and he kicks my ass when he finds out his brother’s bastard child is queer?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Grady scoffed. “Look, I know it’s been a shit time for you while your old man’s been locked up, but do you honestly think he’d ask you to do this if he thought his brother would hurt you in any way?”

  “No.”

  “And do you think he’d ask you to do him this favor if he thought it was a lost cause?” Why did Grady have to be the smart one? I hated it when he had logical arguments for my petulant nature.

  “No.”

  “And do you think, just maybe, your dad’s hoping this could be a fresh start for both of you?” Grady tipped back his beer, giving me the perfect opportunity to ogle the long lines of his neck, that spot just beneath his Adam’s apple where I used to nibble when we were in bed together. The juncture between neck and jaw where I used to—stop it.

  Grady’s the past. If you’re that horny, you need to get your ass back to the city and get laid, because you know better than to think anything will ever happen with him again.

  “Dude, were you checking me out?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.” Grady smirked and winked. Fuck, if only Grady and Jen hadn’t locked down their relationship when she moved in. No one knew how to press my buttons the way Grady did.

  With my mind firmly on the I-want-Grady’s-dick train, I decided he might have a point. Maybe Dad wasn’t the only one who needed a second chance at life. Maybe I needed a change of scenery as well, because my mind was a jumbled mess and I was tired of constantly being at war with my own thoughts. I sat up straighter on the couch, twisting my head to one side and then the other, chuckling at Grady’s gagging noises. He’d always hated the way I cracked my neck as if it was punctuation at the end of a deep thought.

  “Maybe you’re right. I’m going to do it.” In six short weeks, Dad would be released from prison, and he needed a place to land, needed a direction in his life before the depression could drag him under. He refused to entertain thoughts of what he’d do if his transfer was denied, and as much as I’d hate moving, I wouldn’t send him off to live with someone I didn’t know.

  “That’s more like it.” Grady stood, motioning for me to follow him through the house. Dinner was served.

  A pit formed in my stomach as I realized that if I did follow Dad to North Carolina, it’d mean the end of tortured weekends spent with the Walsh family. Even though our dynamic had changed over the years, they were my chosen family and I wasn’t ready to let them go.

  Chapter 2

  (Brook)

  THE WEEKS leading up to Memorial Day were the calm before the storm. Except the inn where I worked was swirling in chaos created by Hurricane James. Not a literal hurricane, but one created by its namesake, James Montgomery, and his frenetic nature.

  “Have the new linens arrived? Where is the art for room seven? When will the new tables for the dining room be delivered?” James’s rapid-fire questions made my head spin. He’d taken over the inn from his parents two years ago and used the off-season to give the business a complete facelift. Unfortunately the man had champagne taste and a beer budget, which meant everything was running behind schedule. I glanced at the checklist on the clipboard that might as well have been glued to my hand at this point.

  “Yes. In the storage room. And Thursday morning.”

  “Good, good. We’re booked solid after next weekend, and everything needs to be pristine,” he reminded me as if we hadn’t had this exact conversation every morning for the past month.

  “And it will be, James. By the time we open the doors for the grand opening, I assure you everything will be in order.”

  “That’s why I keep you around.” James chuckled as though he’d just made a witty joke. I scowled because I knew at least half the reason he kept me on board was because I didn’t demand the pay I was worth. I’d started working at the Bird Island Inn when James was off trying to find himself, hiking through Europe while his parents struggled to keep the business running without hiring any additional staff. It wouldn’t have been daunting for a younger couple, but they were both pushing seventy at the time and quickly realized even a dozen rooms was a handful if you were too damn cheap to hire help.

  Enter me, an ambitious sixteen-year-old willing to do just about anything to earn some spending money. Like James, I’d originally planned to get off the island someday, but here I was, a dozen years later, still waiting for that day to come. I stayed in Sunset Beach because it was where my grandfather lived, where he would eventually die, and I refused to let his final days be lived alone. And being the cantankerous ass he’d always been, his final days had dragged on for well over a decade at this point.

  But I couldn’t complain too much. The job was interesting, at least during the tourist season, and James wasn’t always this much of a pain in my ass. I couldn’t really blame him for being so high-strung; he’d literally put everything he had into this renovation. If the inn didn’t start turning a profit, he’d have nothing.

  “How is room six looking? I want that room finished first.”

  This was news to me. I checked my clipboard again, cringing when I noticed how much still needed to be done in there.

  James must have noticed because he was quick with his demands. “I don’t care what it takes, Brook, get it done. It needs to be polished by Saturday morning.”

  “Yes, sir.” I opened my mouth to ask why, but James wasn’t a fan of anyone questioning his whims. For all I knew, he wanted to bask in the glow of his brilliance and had decided the seaside room nearest the beach was the perfect setting.

  “Oh, before I forget, my nephew is coming to visit. I’d appreciate if you could show him around. He and his father are considering a move this direction, but I have a feeling it’ll be my nephew calling the shots. If he doesn’t agree, my brother will stay wherever his son is.”

  Lovely. As if the renovation wasn’t enough of a pain in my ass, now I got to add tour guide to a pretentious shit too. It might not have been a fair judgment, but if he was coming down here to be convinced and he was expected to override whatever his father wanted to do, it seemed likely I was going to be dealing with a spoiled little rich kid.

  “Yes, sir,” I answered, earning me a smug grin from the boss. God, I was starting to hate this job.

  “Good. Now, tell the contractors to stop whatever they’re doing if you need them to help prepare six. I want it perfect by the time Dane gets here.”

  Oh yeah, this guy was definitely going to be a pain in my ass.

  SATURDAY MORNING, I woke before the sun, hoping to get a run in before heading to work. On my way back from the jetty, I’d stop by the mailbox to see if any of the notebooks needed to be replaced yet. I felt like a voyeur, but reading the thoughts of anonymous visitors had long ago become an addiction. Every day I’d stop by and read, snap pictures of notes that didn’t seem overly personal, and post them to the inn’s social media accounts.

  We were the
closest business to the fabled Kindred Spirits Mailbox, and after it’d been featured on the news, it became an out-of-the-way tourist destination. Some people turned back, unwilling to walk two miles down the beach just to see a decrepit mailbox filled with random notes, but most people were eager to make the trek, hoping to feel a connection to people they’d never met and likely never would. During the summer it wasn’t uncommon for a notebook to be filled almost daily.

  My phone pinged with a text message as I got out of the car. It was James, asking for the fifth time if everything was set for his nephew’s arrival. I assured him, yet again, that it was ready for the pages of a magazine, tossed my phone on the passenger seat, and walked away. This was my time of the day, and no one was going to disrupt it.

  Waves crashing along the shore and gulls flying overhead were the soundtrack to my morning run. Sometimes, I carried an old iPod with playlists to help me keep pace, but today, I just wanted to chill, find my place in the world, and relax before grand-opening week. I met one person walking back toward the parking lot, nodded, and kept jogging. When I glanced over my shoulder, I noticed that he was watching me. Probably knew where I was headed, since there was nothing this far out other than the mailbox, and worried I’d know it was he who left whatever the newest note happened to be. I understood the anxiety and made sure not to open the notebook on top of the stack.

  Instead I pulled out one of the older notebooks. The edges of the cover had softened in the hands of writers and readers. The pages curled slightly, but the paper hadn’t yellowed at all yet. I flipped to a random page and read the words left by a stranger. From the jerky stops and starts of letters, I guessed the person was older or perhaps their health was failing. I did this often—closing my eyes, trying to imagine the writers sitting on the wooden bench at the top of the dune as they composed their notes to the universe.