“So,” he clears his throat. “Are you done with that soul-searching mission?”
“What are you talking about, Harry?”
“I’m still hoping that this move is just a phase and you’ll come home soon.”
“Don’t you have someone to save?” I stare at the phone, ignoring his question.
“We’re going to need to set up a security system in the Waterfront properties,” Scott diverts the conversation. “Can you have your guys call me, Harrison?”
“You got it, Scott,” he replies. “Call me tonight, I want to run a few things by you before going off the grid.”
My heart sinks, knowing Luna and Harrison are going off grid. He owns a high-intelligence security company. He and his wife, dedicate their time to fight human trafficking. And sometimes, they have to go into dangerous places and be out of reach from their family and friends. I’m aware that they’re good at what they do, but every time they are off the grid, Harry leaves a new will and instructions in case he doesn’t come back home.
Scott swallows. “I’ll text you.”
“Bye, Harry.” My voice deflates when Scott ends the call.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” I ask casually, but my stomach drops thinking about the worse.
“You should be used to this,” he replies, reaching for my hand and squeezing it.
That simple gesture calms my nerves. “I am, but I kind of like him better when he’s alive.”
“It’s almost five,” Scott announces, ignoring my poor joke. “Why don’t we continue this later?”
He releases my hand. “We’ve been working all day. I propose we go for a walk before we have dinner.”
Chapter Ten
“Love is the bridge between you and everything.” —Rumi
Scott
Harrison’s call left us a little shaken. It’s procedure that we talk before a dangerous mission. I should be used to it, but the conversation always leaves a bad taste in my mouth and a pain in my stomach. Hazel knows about it and when she heard ‘off the grid,’ her body tensed. I proposed taking a walk, knowing it’d keep her mind away from the conversation with my brother.
“This is something I’ll never understand.” She stops for a second, takes her water out of the hiking backpack, and drinks it. “Your love for bridges.”
“They’re beautiful structures,” I respond.
That’s one side of the story. Bridges connect places. Cities, countries, and people come together because of them. I was the peacemaker of the four. The one who made sure we didn’t fight—unless I wasn’t in the mood, and then I’d be the one starting the fights. Dad used the analogy of bridges to explain my place in the family.
Then, we built bridges with blocks. One day, we recreated the Brooklyn Bridge. It was terrible, so we went to visit it and tried again. After that, it became our thing. To go to a bridge and replicate it with blocks. Walking, driving or just visiting them makes me feel closer to my father. I want to tell her that, but I choose not to talk about it when Fitz is next to us. The questions will follow. She’s always eager to learn about my parents. Our family is her favorite subject. However, at some point, she triggers a memory that will either make us laugh or cry.
“When are we going surfing?” Fitz asks, getting ahead of us.
“Over the weekend?” Hazel chews her lip; her gaze moves toward the water. “First we have to go to the house in Santa Cruz.”
She inhales and exhales. “After that, we can plan.”
I take her hand, squeezing it lightly. She doesn’t fight my hold. Actually, her face relaxes slightly. I lean close to her and whisper. “We’ll go together. It’ll be fine.”
“Sorry, I’m…” She tries to take her hand back.
“Tell me what you need,” I beg her because I can feel her slipping further away from us and into the sadness.
“Race you to the end of the bridge?” She smiles and takes off without waiting for me to agree.
Fitz stops, turns around and tilts his head. “She’s not okay.”
“She’s trying hard to stay afloat.” I shrug. We both know how she deals with depression. “If she wants to buy you a new wardrobe—”
Fitz chuckles. “I’ll let her. She can manage my agenda for the next ten years.” Then he takes a deep breath. “Ready?”
We both nod and run to catch up with her. This might not be New York, but I can see us making a home here, having a family. I believe just like Fitz, my other brothers will come and visit us.
✰ ✰ ✰ ✰
The nights in San Francisco are unpredictable. Yesterday it was damp. Today it’s clear and inviting. Hazel wanted to order pitas and spend the evening gazing at the city from the rooftop. Fitz left after ten. She sits next to me, her feet rest on top of the metal chair. Her eyes are glued to her e-reader. Though, when Edwin McCain’s song ‘I’ll Be’ starts, I rise from my seat and take her hand.
“Do you want to dance?”
She serves me a guarded glare.
“We’ve done it for years, even before…” I stop myself from discussing our failed relationship.
She arches an eyebrow. “Some days I want to erase everything that happened between us, so we can go back to the way we used to be.”
I want to ask her if she regrets what we had for the last two years. But I stop myself because I have no idea what’s her real mood. If her depression has taken over, whatever she says is magnified.
I bow to her like a noble gentleman, holding my hand up. “One dance, please.”
She finally takes it, joining me, and leaving the tablet on top of her chair. “It’s been a long time,” she mumbles.
Too long to remember when we last danced. But I never forget the feeling of her body pressed against mine. The only way I come alive is when she’s close to me. I enjoy what she’s giving me. For as long as it’s necessary, I’ll steal these moments, cherish them as if they might be the last ones. We dance, slowly to the rhythm of the music.
No words are exchanged for a while, but after the seventh song, she sighs. “I want to pause time.”
“Where would you want to be?” I kiss Hazel’s beautiful forehead, then rest my chin on top of her head.
“Maldives a year ago, celebrating the New Year.”
“Close your eyes,” I suggest, she angles her head, giving me an inquisitive glare. “Trust me, gorgeous.”
She does, and leans her head on my chest. “We are by the beach, dancing while watching the fireworks.” I hold her tight, swallowing the desire to take her to bed.
“That was the best trip,” she mumbles. “Even Grandpa came along.”
“You miss our family, don’t you?”
“Yes and no,” she responds. “Being here allows me to give myself room to make more mistakes. It allows me to think about what I need.”
“They love you the way you are, maybe you should stop trying to please everyone.”
“That’s a tall order.”
I nuzzle her hair, resigned to take one step at a time. We’re starting this relationship from zero. Slowly, I have to win her over and make her fall in love with me. But I want her to trust me with her pain.
Give me your sadness, baby.
“Remember when you taught me how to dance?” she asks.
Those big eyes shine with the reflection of the moon. “I love when you teach me. It doesn’t matter if it’s math, economy, dancing or …” She flushes, and though her eyes look as innocent and eager as they were back when I taught her how to dance.
But her mind isn’t thinking about our first waltz. She’s thinking about sex.
“There was a lot to teach you before your first big event,” I recall, diverting my mind from the images of Hazel naked, sweaty and screaming my name. “You couldn’t believe there’re over two types of forks.”
“Salad and entrée,” she huffs.
“A lot more,” I emphasize just to tease her.
“Hey, my parents tried to avoid using utensils. Th
ey preferred to eat finger food.” She rolls her eyes. “Without you, I couldn’t have survived my first gala. Now, I could teach you a thing or two.”
“You’ve taught me a lot,” I whisper in her ear, burying my nose in her hair and suckling her aroma. “I learned that mistakes are just lessons. To fall gracefully, but stand right back up. That if you don’t know it, you learn it.”
“Nobody knows that half of the time I have no idea what I’m doing—only you.”
“But you study, you master, and conquer.”
“Am I crazy for doing this?”
I think she means the move and I don’t have an answer. It’ll be safer for us to go back home, l and continue living the same way we’ve done it for the next ten years. Her bravery is shifting our lives. The destination is uncertain, but I’ll hold her hand while we enjoy the journey and we find our path.
“You’re brave for believing in the possibilities.”
“If I fail?”
“Fail what? Why are you here?” I press a kiss to her temple and continue dancing.
She shakes her head, leaning against my chest.
“I’ll catch you, whatever happens, I’ll never leave you.”
Unless you want me to go.
Chapter Eleven
“Memories are timeless treasures of the heart.” —Anonymous
Hazel
It took me an entire week to gather enough strength to drive to Santa Cruz. That and we had a lot of work. Handling the two companies, plus auditing Waterfront is more than we imagined. Scott stayed during the weekend, so we could finish restructuring the management company.
“Are you ready?” Scott kisses my temple.
No, I’m not ready. My heart is withering as I realize how much time has passed since I was here last. The area has a different feel. Almost every house on the block has changed. I barely recognized the McFee’s house. Instead of the old green panels, the outside has a nice stucco finish. Both houses remind me of everything I’ve missed. It’s hard to realize that the world continued spinning in Santa Cruz too.
“Needs a lot of work,” he says, wiggling the handle and pushing the door open.
My pulse quickens. I close my eyes for a few beats before I enter my old house. My stomach hurts as the dreadful days when my parents left us behind for months become fresh memories. He takes my hand as I walk through the house, squeezing it, and grounding me. It only takes one gesture to get over the shortness of breath. The sadness lingers inside my heart. I tilt my head finding his eyes. And it’s there, the reassurance that even if it’s too scary, he’s right beside me.
We walk down the hall toward the room. My parents’ room is right in front of me. I never opened this door, afraid that when Mom came back, she’d notice I was in there.
“She used to be in her room all the time,” I say, staring at the closed door at the end of the hallway.
“Willow?” Scott frowns.
“No, Mom,” I admit, staring at the floor. “She barely left her room. And when she did, we didn't know what to expect. She’d be crying, yelling or laughing, making no sense. We weren’t allowed to go in there though.”
“I’m sorry, Bee.” He squeezes my hand. “For everything that happened with them.”
“Sometimes, I wonder why Dad didn’t help her.” I lean against the filthy couch, wondering what I should do with the furniture. “He never answered my questions.”
When I discovered that my mother had an undiagnosed and unattended mental illness, I made my peace with her and her actions. Willow and I think Mom had BPD, like my sister.
“My father always chose my mother above everyone in the world. Even his children,” I say out loud. “I bet he discovered that traveling soothed her. That it was some kind of medication or therapy.”
“They could’ve handled everything differently,” Scott says, his jaw clenches.
He’s not a fan of my father. None of the Everhart brothers are.
“I get it. Personally, traveling helps me gain perspective and liberates my mind.”
“But when they took off, he never thought about the little ones he left behind.” Scott’s gaze is soft, tender. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against his strong body.
I bite my lip because once Willow and I discovered that Mom needed help, we tried to persuade her to come back to us. Mom and Dad were in Costa Rica when she jumped off a balcony.
“Dad will always blame me for what happened to her. He insists that it was my idea to give her help that drove her to her grave.”
“But you know better,” Scott groans. “Let’s check the house, see what we can do with it.”
Dad’s accusations are unfounded, but they still sting. I take a deep breath, and open the door to their room. There is only a bed. Some clothes hanging in the closet. There are no pictures, furniture or anything special.
I shake my head. “He was never coming back,” I mumble, swallowing the golf ball size lump that’s stuck in my throat. For a few seconds, I wish I could hate them as easily as Willow does.
“I wish he had chosen me,” I say, snapping myself from the crappy mood.
“My parents’ chapter closed once he signed the deed of this house.”
I hold the tears at bay. “I’m an adult, but I still wanted Dad to pick us.”
“Look forward,” Scott says, bringing my attention back to him. “We could call HGTV and have a show. Something like, Abandoned Houses: Dusty Edition.”
I snort, looking at the flaking paint. The old furniture is dirty. The entire house is filled with dust, filth and smells like rotten trash. “Stop watching reality TV.” I glare at him.
“You should tear it down and rebuild it.” Scott releases my hand, moving toward the walls.
“Or just to restore it,” I insist.
Staring at my old bedroom’s door, I try to control my heart. It’s beating fast at the thought of tearing this place down.
My eyes settle on my feet for a few seconds as I bite my lip while trying to process his, ‘I’d destroy it,’ assessment.
“Tear it down?” I repeat, my voice barely a whisper.
His soft gaze finds mine, and he smiles. “That’s an option. The foundation might be solid.” He walks toward the kitchen. “I think you can do either. What would you want to do?”
I follow right behind him.
“Of course, your backyard is a beach.”
“What?” I run to the kitchen, trying to understand what he’s talking about but he’s already on his way to the back door.
“Scott!”
The backyard is a complete mess. The trees are either dead or overgrown. There are branches all over the sand, and if my mother were alive, she’d be complaining that her flowers had died.
Then, I turn to the house that harbored me when I was younger. The place where I met the most beautiful boy. Elliot, who promised always to choose me. And just as I wonder about his current life, he’s making his way toward me.
“Hazel,” Elliot greets me.
Scott mumbles something under his breath. He angles his head down, and walks toward the house.
“I’ll be inside,” Scott groans, glaring at Elliot.
These two shouldn’t share the same space—ever. I move my gaze toward the ocean. The place where we shared everything. I remember part of our daily routine. Early in the morning we met at the edge of the sea with our surfboards and catch the waves. When his mother called us, we’d go back home and get ready for school. Unless it was a weekend. Then we spent a couple of hours surfing.
What we had was precious, beautiful. But we broke it into a billion pieces. And we both deserve to close the chapter on a happy note. I clutch my arms to my chest, pressing my lips together and taking a deep breath.
“Hi.” I take a deep breath, remembering how to balance myself while surfing. “Do you live here?”
“Nah,” he chuckles. “I came to visit Mom. While I was in the kitchen, I saw some movement over and came to check.”
<
br /> He tilts his head toward my house. “Are you planning on selling it?”
Twisting my lips, I shake my head. “No. I can’t see myself parting from it. At least not yet.”
He crosses his arms, and says, “Is it too soon to ask about the contract?”
I deflate. We haven’t decided, yet.
“I’m hoping to have an answer soon, I respond. Though…” I trace circles in the sand, and finally lift my gaze. “Look, I’m not sure who we’ll hire to work on the projects, but I want to clear the air.”
“What air?”
“Between us. Things ended pretty bad.” I lift my chin, looking at the blue sky. “I blamed you. But I never took responsibility for my actions. I should’ve listened to you. Close the chapter, instead of leaving things up in the air for years.”
His brows draw closer. He stuffs his hands inside his pockets and stares at the floor. “Why did you? You left me in limbo for a long time.”
I bite my cheek. My left foot drawing b’s in the sand. “Because you had moved on without me. I didn’t want to hear that I wasn’t enough. That you had found someone much better than me.”
A chuckle escapes me. “Now that I say it out loud, it sounds childish.” I stare at my feet for a few seconds. “In my defense I was barely twenty-one. A child.”
He rolls his eyes and I laugh.
“Honestly,” I continue. “I’m glad you’re happy and moved on with your life.”
“Thank you?” he huffs, touching the base of his neck. “Just to clarify. My explanation didn’t include you not being enough or having someone else. You’re my everything, Hazel.”
“It didn’t feel that way,” I disclose. “Not when I caught you dancing almost naked with a bunch of women touching you.”
“It wasn’t what it looked like,” he says, as if my mind had played tricks with me.
I crook an eyebrow, crossing my eyes waiting for another shitty excuse. This time, I don’t yell. “It’s over. There’s no point in rehashing the story, Elliot.”
“Is it over?” His question is simple, yet it carries so much weight.
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