Found
Claudia Burgoa
Contents
Untitled
Dedication
Untitled
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
…Four months later.
Letter from The Author
Fervent
Flawed
Acknowledgments
Also By Claudia Burgoa
About the Author
Copyright © 2018 by Claudia Burgoa
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands, media, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and-or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, of which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover by Hang Le
Editors:
Becca Hensley Mysoor from Evident Ink
Paulina Burgoa
Ellie McLove
Robyn Crawford
Dedication
To All the amazing people who became a part of this book. For those brave souls who take life as a journey to find themselves and always stand up when they fall—gracefully.
“My heart might be bruised, but it will recover and become capable of seeing the beauty of life once more. It's happened before, it will happen again, I'm sure. When someone leaves, it's because someone else is about to arrive—I'll find love again.”
― Paulo Coelho, The Zahir
Chapter One
“All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.” ― Abraham Lincoln
Scott
“What are the three words that best describe you?” the reporter on the other side of the line asks after I disclose the projected revenues for the next quarter.
I stare at my phone and pinch the bridge of my nose, thinking. There are more than three. Committed, resilient, stubborn, impatient, quiet, reserved … I drum my fingers on top of my desk searching for the best words to use in this case.
As a businessman, I’m … “Persistent, fearless and adaptable,” I respond promptly, checking the time. This interview is taking longer than I anticipated.
My brothers would say I’m logical, disciplined, and heartless. They have given me a few nicknames like The Tinman and Ironman.
“Adaptable?” The reporter’s voice carries a hint of curiosity. “I like that word. Would you mind expanding, Mr. Everhart?”
“Well, it’s my policy that our company adapts to the economic, social, and political changes our world experiences, just like we all try to.”
“Would you say that your philosophy is to adapt or die?”
“Isn’t it everyone’s?” I ask, not caring how she responds, only how long she takes.
I frown. Adaptation is a verb I use often when asked what's the key to my success. The truth is that I have continued the legacy that my father left behind. But I never say that out loud. I avoid mentioning my parents, hating the intrusive questions about their deaths. They are officially off limits. I still remember the pity looks and sad, morbid stories printed about the orphan raising his younger siblings.
Everyone remembers September 11th. But the date holds a different significance for me, because that morning I lost my parents. I press a fist against my chest, pushing away the sad memories. Their voices, their directives, continuously play in my head. Their last words, their requests and the need to remind me that no matter where they are, they were still right next to me.
The call came through in the middle of class. Although I barely used my cell phone, I answered it when it rang. My parents only called me when there was an emergency.
“Scott, I need you to come back home.” Mom used the calmest voice she could fathom, but I sensed the edgy tone of desperation.
Something was wrong. My stomach dropped, but I didn’t ask any questions. I rose from my seat grabbing my things and left the classroom.
“Talk to me, Mom. What’s going on?” I asked, rushing toward the dorm.
“Harrison will explain everything,” she said, her voice breaking.
My limbs tingled as the anxiety in her voice spiked.
“I want you to remember that we love you,” she sobbed. “I love you so much, Scotty. You're my strong, sensitive boy. Please remember everything I taught you. I’ll be watching you from the moon and I’ll love you forever.”
I froze. Shocked by the finality of her words. My pulse slowed down as she repeated the words she said when she tucked us in when we were younger. A phrase that she made up from two of the books she used to read us when we were little.
“Mom, wait.” I felt sick to my stomach. “What do you mean?”
My limbs tingled. Fear rushed through me as I waited for an answer. For some reassurance that they’re going on a long trip, but I’d see them soon. Panic buzzed in my ears, every second that passed felt like a year.
“I need you to be the glue of our family, keep everyone together.” I heard her cry, and my father murmuring in the background.
“I can’t, Chris,” she wailed, calling Dad.
“Mom?”
My father answered. “It’s time for us to leave, Scott. I’ll take care of her. You help Harrison take care of your brothers.” I could still hear Mom in the background, crying.
His voice was dry, sad… desperate. He didn’t break as he reminded me of their will. The lawyers, the safe, all the essential details.
I remained mute, trembling.
Still.
Unable to understand what’s happening.
“I love you, son,” he said. “Be the bridge. Stay strong.”
My parents used to say that I was the link between my brothers. I was the one who kept the peace—or started the biggest fights.
“I love you both,” I mumbled as the line went dead.
My oldest brother, Harrison, called me almost immediately. “I have no idea what’s going on, Scott. Two planes crashed into the towers. There’s a rumor that we’re under attack. Maybe this is war.”
I huffed, pushing away the sadness. Keeping my shit together while we spoke. “Not another one of your conspiracy theories, Harrison. You need to stop making up shit.”
“This isn’t a joke. The World Trade Center is burning down.” He stopped, exhaling several times. “Raging fire is consuming the steel and glass along with all the people who are trapped. Mom and Dad included. We need you back.”
I reached my room, opening the door I began searching for my duffle bag.
“Dad mentioned it; I’m already packing.” I used my cool voice. If I wanted him to treat me as his equal, I had to show him that I was strong.
“Good. Jensen is locating a car service for you. From this point forward, we are in charge. You can’t lose your shit. I’m picking up Hunter from school.”
Harrison was planning, making decisions and pushing away all his feelings. I had to do the same and be ready for what would happen next. For a couple of hours, I allowed myself to cry. I cried until my eyes dried. Until I felt strong enough to help Harrison and care for Hunter and Fitz.
I adjusted, as everyone expected. Harry’s rage was so intense that he chose to enlist in the army. Leaving the company to me. I didn't mind taking over, even when he had the experience. Everything I do in regard to Everhart Industries is with my brothers in mind.
“They warned me that you’d be cryptic.”
I arch an eyebrow toward the phone. Who is she talking about? I’m curious, but I resist asking. I want this interview to be over soon. I text my brother, Fitz while I wait for her next question.
Scott: Fitz do you have the contracts ready?
“I think I got most of my answers,” she sighs on the other line. “For my last question, I’ll be quick.”
“What fulfills you?” she asks. “I’m sure there’s more underneath. CEO suits you, but what makes you…you. What makes you want to be a better Scott Everhart?”
I turn to my computer screen, holding the phone with one hand and clicking the mouse with the free one until it wakes. The home screen is the snapshot of the one person who fulfills my dreams, my fantasies, and my life. She’s the one who makes me want to be a better person.
Hazel Beesley
Her long brown locks draped over her bare shoulders. Those mesmerizing hazel eyes stare at the camera, and her smile is wide and bright. Of all the unforeseeable curveballs thrown my way, she’s the biggest, brightest and best I’ve had to confront in my entire life. She’s the most terrifying challenge, and the most amazing reward. My heart aches with her absence, just like my skin withers without her touch. She makes me want to be a better Scott Everhart.
“My family,” I don't elaborate any further. “If that’s everything, Miss Krauss, I have a plane to catch.”
“Your relationship status is on the do-not-ask list, but is it true that you’ll be merging your company with Beesley Enterprises?”
My pulse accelerates as she’s about to ask about Hazel. She’s not up for discussion. I dislike when people try to pry into my personal life, but I hate more when they drag her along.
“Is there some insider information you’d like to share, Miss Krauss?” I counter. “The last time I checked, Grant Beesley isn’t planning on retiring.”
“Well, no, I assumed since Miss Beesley, his granddaughter, and you—”
“I think you have all you needed, Ms. Krauss,” I grind my teeth, keeping my temper under control. I exhale, trying to relax my shoulders as I massage my temple, calming my tone. “Turn the draft into my public relations department for review, have a nice day.”
I punch the speaker button ending the call before she has a chance to respond and dial my younger brother’s number.
“You’ve reached Fitzhenry Everhart, you know what to do…beep,” his voicemail picks up on the fourth ring.
Fuck!
I grab my cellphone and try a couple more times. Each call does nothing but add to my anger.
“I swear … Scott,” Fitz yawns. “What do you want?”
“The contracts for the acquisition,” I say, refreshing my inbox. “You haven’t sent anything yet.”
“It’s three in the freaking morning.”
“In California,” I protest, checking my watch. I have a flight to catch in less than two hours. “I have to review them and signed them before noon.”
“I have plenty of time—”
“The contracts, Fitzhenry.”
“You can’t expect me to have everything ready every time you snap your fingers.”
I exhale, rubbing my face. He’s got to be fucking kidding me. He’s not just my brother, he’s my lawyer. I should’ve sent them to Hunter.
My fingers are already typing the message before Fitz has a chance to respond.
Scott: Can you check your email, I sent you a couple of contracts. They need to be signed today. I need you to read my notes and amend them.
Hunter: As I told you the last time, we restructured the law firm. Fitz oversees the business, entertainment, and International cases. Not me.
Scott: But you are a lawyer, Everhart Industries is also yours, and I need them today.
Hunter: Do you ever sleep?
“Why the fuck are you sending them to Hunter?”
“Because the acquisition of Byrne and Murray Consultants closes tomorrow. They need the contract today—by noon. You should’ve sent them over to me before you left for San Francisco,” I reprimand him.
“I was busy helping Hazel get her shit together. Do you remember Hazel?” He uses a sarcastic tone. “Not that you’ve paid much attention to her, but she moved out of New York.”
Of course, I remember her. I remember everything about her. I remember the first day I met her the summer she came to live with her grandfather, Grant Beesley. He has been my mentor and a huge supporter since my parents died.
“Your point?” I feign disinterest, he doesn’t have to know that the distance between Hazel and me is killing me. Being without her causes pains in my chest so deep I didn’t know I could feel. She’s not mine anymore.
“You’re an insensitive asshole,” he declares.
“Look, I have a company to run, a plane to catch, and you haven’t finished the one thing I asked you to do days ago.”
The sound of tussling of sheets and movement comes from the other side of the line. “Fine, I’ll get them ready. Give me an hour. Anything else?”
“Yes, I’ll send you a list.”
After hanging up, I email him the list of what I needed to be done ASAP. Then send another to Hunter.
Scott: The company isn’t just mine, you have to put a little more work into it, Hunter.
Turning off my laptop, I stuff it in my backpack and make sure I don’t forget anything before heading to my room. Once I check my bag, I close it and roll it into the living room. The grandfather clock next to the glass doors indicates it is fifteen minutes past six. I have a couple more minutes before the service car arrives to take me to the airport.
Fitz: I sent you the first one, email me any changes or the signed copy.
I move toward the terrace, where my mother used to spend most mornings. The sky is dark gray, and the ground has a thin layer of snow from last night’s flurries. The place looks dead during the winter. I don’t know if Mom would approve of it if she were alive. The child in me believes that my parents’ spirits are around the house—watching me, protecting me.
“Would you be okay with what I’m about to do?” I glance around the house, asking no one—yet waiting for their approval. I believe they would. My parents always told me to fight for what I loved, to never give up unless someone is getting hurt by my actions.
I regret not being open to the possibilities of more when we were together. I let Hazel slip away from me. Now, I’m missing the best part of myself and wondering how I’ll manage to regain her trust. Worst of all, I pushed her closer to the one person who can take her away from me.
“I’m going to fight for her. Wish me luck,” I whisper before heading out the door.
Chapter Two
"Begin with the most terrifying of all things, a clean slate. Then look, every day, at the choices you are maki
ng, and when you ask yourself why you are making them, find this answer: 'For me, for me.'" ― Anna Quindlen
Hazel
Finally.
I’m exactly where I want to be, San Francisco.
My heartbeat races with excitement. This is a new step, a clean slate and the possibilities of what’s coming make me all jittery inside. I slow down my pace as the traffic light changes, stopping at the corner of Marina and Fillmore St. I take a deep breath delighted with the view. To my left is the Golden Gate Bridge hiding behind an early morning fog. For a few beats, I close my eyes, filling my lungs with the salty breeze.
I didn’t know how much I missed being on this side of the country until I came back. I’ve longed for the sight of the Pacific Ocean in the mornings. I remember my old routine: surfing before I going to school and finishing the day at the beach, watching the sun go down right where the ocean meets the sky.
It’s time to start the life I planned when I was growing up—live in San Francisco, marry my high school sweetheart and have five children.
Well, not everything. We married. He ruined everything.
Now, it’s only me and the future I’m about to write.
“Future,” I mumble, pushing my head away from the dark thoughts.
The chimes of the traffic signal make me open my eyes, and I continue my way to the park. Before starting my daily jog, I adjust my earbuds, press play and stretch before I begin to run. My chest loosens. My entire body awakens as my feet touch the asphalt. I go at the speed of the catchy bass line. The madness inside my head disappears, giving me time to forget about what everyone thinks and move forward.
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