Undercurrent (Sand Dollar Shoal Book 1)

by Pandora Pine

  UNDERCURRENT

  By

  Pandora Pine

  UNDERCURRENT

  Copyright © Pandora Pine 2017

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Digital Edition: January 2017

  PROLOGUE

  September

  It wasn’t brunch. It was a fucking intervention. Noble Killington was looking forward to mimosas and eggs Benedict at his favorite café in downtown Haverhill, Massachusetts, but instead, he got these Benedict Arnolds offering him what they called a gift of love.

  The Benedict Arnolds in question were the best friends he'd ever had in his life, all of them having met in high school. Noble's father, Nick, had spent his entire working life as the carpenter/plumber/electrician and all-around handyman at Phillip's Andover, an elite prep school in Massachusetts. Some of Andover's most famous alums were Presidents George H. W. Bush and his son, President George W. Bush.

  Nick had encouraged his son to shoot for the moon, promising that if Noble could earn the grades, he'd find a way to pay the tuition at Andover. Noble had tirelessly worked his ass off and Nick had been true to his word. Thanks to his years of service, Nick had the opportunity to pay a reduced rate and Noble had contributed by winning a scholarship from Andover.

  Gregor Allen, only son of Senator George Allen from South Carolina, was his roommate. Even back then, Gregor was a serious boy, with his grades being top priority A. Top priority B, was finding new and inventive ways to piss off his wealthy father.

  His family had been in the tobacco business since before the Civil War. Gregor hated the money, which had puzzled Noble, until one drunken night walking home from a keg party when Gregor explained the money was his father’s means of controlling him and his mother.

  Living across the hall from him and Gregor were Griffin Fox and Presley Forrester. Griff's father was a hotel baron, on par with the Hilton's. Presley's parents, aside from being huge Elvis fans, were the owners of Hound Dog Hooch, a popular brand of whiskey manufactured, where else, in Memphis, Tennessee.

  The boys had quickly become thick as thieves. Even in a place as liberal as Massachusetts, Noble knew having his own group of gay friends was crucial to his surviving high school, especially since he was the “charity case.”

  The school called it a scholarship, but Noble and everyone else in his class knew it for what it was: charity. Even though his friends were flush with cash, they’d never made him feel less than for coming from a hard-working blue collar family. They had always been there for him, just like they were doing for him today. Each of his friends had flown in from around the country to be here for this special day.

  “It really is an amazing opportunity for you,” Presley said, his blue eyes serious. “We love you so much, Noble.”

  Noble raked a hand through his sandy blond hair, his blue eyes scanning the restaurant for a waiter. If he was going to sit here and listen to this crock of shit, he was going to need a drink. Several of them, in fact. Fuck it! He’d just take the whole bottle.

  None of his friends really knew what the last two years of his life had been like since the accident. Noble and Vincent Amendola had been married for five years, but had known each other their whole lives, meeting on the first day of kindergarten. Vincent had gone to Haverhill High School and worked with Nick Killington after school and during the summer.

  They’d reconnected after high school and had been inseparable until the night of the accident. Noble and Vincent had driven into Boston to see a show. Fighting off a cold for a few days, Noble was exhausted and Vincent had offered to drive instead so Noble could rest.

  Halfway home, a drunk driver plowed into them, sending the truck spinning. Hitting a guardrail, the truck flipped over, landing hard on the driver’s side. Vincent had been killed on impact and Noble had been trapped in his crushed seatbelt, unable to reach his husband before the blackness closed in on him.

  Noble had spent several days in the hospital following the accident, slipping in and out of consciousness that first day. Every time he woke up, asking for Vincent, one of his friends or his father would have to break the news to him all over again that Vincent was dead.

  His beloved husband was dead when it should have been him.

  “Please go, Noble. Our band of brothers needs you,” Gregor pleaded, reaching out a hand to him.

  Gregor had been there for him from the moment he’d heard about the accident. Several of the times Noble had woken up, disoriented and confused, it had been Gregor holding his hand and telling him again and again that Vincent was gone. Noble never would have survived those first few weeks without Gregor and now here he was trying to save Noble’s life again.

  This is your last chance, Noble.” Griffin got up from his seat to pull his chair next to his friend. His blue eyes were serious and filled with hope.

  Noble had heard it all before. Each of his friends, his band of brothers, christened by Presley after taking a Shakespeare class, at one point or another over the last eighteen months had come to him with their concerns about his drinking.

  Once he was released from the hospital, he’d gone to stay with his father since the house he’d shared with Vincent was full of too many memories. He’d put the pretty little home on the market soon after and it had sold within a week.

  Noble had managed to hold himself together through the funeral and the painful chore of packing up their house, but once the ink was dry on the papers selling the property, he’d lost himself in the bottle. At first, all of his friends and his father sat and drank with him, but over time that had stopped.

  Initially, his friends had been mildly concerned with Noble’s drinking, but once it became his only full-time job, then they’d really pushed hard for Noble to see a shrink and cut down the booze. Noble hadn’t done either thing. There was no way he was going to pay someone to listen to how it should have been him that died instead of his husband.

  “There’s one more thing,” Griffin said carefully.

  Noble sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I know. If I don’t agree to go to rehab, you’ll all cut me out of your lives.” He’d watched enough episodes of Intervention to know that was always the final stop loved ones of the addict would pull out in order to force the addict’s hand.

  Griffin shook his head. “No, that’s not it. What I have to say is for all four of us. I’ve got three little words that are going to change everything for us.”

  “Free mimosas….” Noble threw his hands up in the air, searching for a third word. “Free mimosas now!” he crowed, looking around the table at his friends.

  Griffin raised an eyebrow at Noble. No one else was smiling either. “Sand Dollar Shoal.”

  “Great words, Griff, thanks.” Noble shot Presley a look that said he thought Griff had lost his marbles. Gregor was wearing a concerned look as well.

  “Let me explain.” Griff smiled at his friends. “The one thing we’ve all been looking for is a way out from under our parents’ thumbs. Gregor, I know you’re not happy towing the family line back down in South Carolina working at that posh restaurant.”

  Gregor’s full lips curled into a snarl. “I fucking hate it there. The head chef is a total dick who won’t let me try out any of my recipes.”

  Griff nodded, turning to Presley. “How’s it going working for your parents at Hound Dog Hooch back in Tennessee?
”

  “You know how much it sucks being the boss’s kid trying to play manager. I bitch two or three times a week about how soul-sucking it is.” Gregor wore a sour look on his face.

  “True.” Griff shook his head, his longish blond hair falling forward to cover his face. “Your constant bitching plus my own situation with my father wanting me to take a more active role in running his hotels in Central America got me thinking about a way out for all of us. That way out is Sand Dollar Shoal.”

  “My bitching wasn’t constant…” Gregor trailed off while everyone but Noble laughed.

  Listening to Griff lay out everyone’s situations, Noble realized he knew nothing about what his friends were going through. He had no idea things were that bad for Pres or that Griff’s father was pushing him to run the Central American branch of the business. Had his drinking taken him that far out of his friends’ lives?

  “This is Sand Dollar Shoal.” Griff held up his tablet to show everyone a picture.

  Griff’s words had broken Noble out of his pity party for one. He looked up at the tablet to see a rundown hotel looking like it was about to collapse into the ocean. The building was four stories high with six large windows on each floor. The most unique feature of the building was the widow’s walk with a red lighthouse tower on the roof.

  “So, you’re gonna knock down that monstrosity and build a new hotel on the grounds?” Gregor’s eyes glowed. “With the property right on the ocean like that you could charge a fortune and people would pay it. Where is it?”

  Griffin started to laugh. “The structure was built in 1876 by a sea captain. It’s in Hyannis, Massachusetts. The captain knew full well that a lighthouse was needed in that area to keep ships from wrecking against the shoal and the U.S. government was slow-moving in getting the paperwork through to approve it. When Captain Benson built his dream house for his new bride, he added a lighthouse tower to the widow’s walk.”

  “How romantic,” Presley sighed, resting his chin in the cup of his hands.

  “It would be more romantic if the captain had built the house for his husband.” Noble rolled his eyes. “How did it end up becoming a hotel?”

  Griff smiled warmly at Noble, looking pleased at the question. “Captain Benson was lost at sea about ten years after construction was completed. His wife and the keeper of the light stayed in the house together until their deaths in the early 1930s. With the country sunk into the depths of the Great Depression, the house ended up being sold for a song at auction and the buyers, the, I shit you not, Carrington family, turned the house into a hotel. The third generation of the family wasn’t interested in running the hotel and the business foundered. It was put up for sale over a year ago.”

  Noble scowled, unable to understand how they could let their family legacy run to ruin like that. “What does the sea captain’s house have to do with the four of us?”

  “I was wondering when someone was gonna ask.” Griff’s face bloomed into a smile that lit up the room. “You’re a master builder, Pres has his MBA, Gregor’s a Le Cordon Bleu accredited chef and I have an MBA in hospitality and hotel management. Together,” Griff looked around the table at each of his friends, his eyes stopping on Noble, “we’re gonna bring this old girl back to her former glory and run it ourselves with no outside help from our families.” Griff sighed. “The only exception to that rule being my trust fund money which was left to me by my grandfather. I get the money on my thirtieth birthday which is in two weeks.”

  “You want to hire all of us to come work for you?” Gregor looked stunned.

  “Almost, but not exactly.” Griff wore a mysterious look on his face. “We’re all gonna have a stake in the hotel. It’s something we can work the details out about later. When it’s all said and done, we’ll each own one quarter of the hotel.”

  The table erupted. Gregor slapped his hand down on the table and shook Noble’s shoulders while Pres hugged Griff. Noble sat watching all of his friends celebrate and couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be a part of this with his friends.

  “But…” Griff said loudly. “It all depends on Noble.”

  Noble sucked in a harsh breath. Oh, fuck, no! No! He couldn’t be responsible for ruining this dream for his friends.

  Griff sat back down, taking Noble’s hand. “You’re the cog that sets things in motion, Noble. As you saw from the pictures, our old girl needs a lot of TLC before we can open our doors to visitors on Memorial Day weekend next year. If you go to rehab, you’ll be back home by Christmas and can start work after the first of the year. I know you can do it, Noble. I know you can kick rehab’s ass. I know you can restore this hotel to her former glory.”

  “We all know you can do it,” Gregor added, setting a hand on Noble’s right shoulder.

  Presley got up from his seat and walked around to Noble, pulling him out of his chair and into his arms. “No one’s gonna do rehab like you, man. Once you set your mind to something, you’re unstoppable. Those counselors won’t know what hit them.”

  “Guys, I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Noble pulled away from Presley, running a hand through his greasy hair. Fuck! When was the last time he showered? “I need a drink. I’m confused. I just don’t know.”

  “Come with us.” Gregor grabbed Noble’s arm, steering him toward the restaurant’s front door.

  This was it. This was when his friends were going to turn their backs on him and tell him they didn’t want anything more to do with him until he agreed to go to rehab. The bright September sun blinded Noble. He shut his eyes and let Gregor’s steady hand guide him.

  “You look like shit, son.”

  Noble opened his eyes to see his father standing in the parking lot. Jesus fucking Christ! His friends were using his father as the ultimate guilt trip. He could never refuse his father anything. Not after all the sacrifices he’d made to give Noble a better life. “Are you here to order me to rehab, Dad?”

  Nick Killington shook his head. Aside from the grey hair and a few character-building wrinkles, he was a dead ringer for his son. “Nope. You’ve always been a head-strong boy. You’re gonna make the decision to go or not to go all on your own. Your entire heart has to be in it, son, in order for it to work. I know you miss Vincent, but it would kill him to see you like this.”

  Noble felt his knees buckle. Gregor wasn’t quick enough to catch him before he hit the pavement. Tears that he thought he’d long ago cried out flowed down his face to drip onto his dirty tee shirt. Even though his life had sunk to this level because he’d lost his husband, he’d never once given a thought to what his husband would say about his present life. His father was right, it would kill Vincent a second time to see him this way.

  “I’ve got one last inducement to get you to go.” Gregor squatted down so he was at eye level with Noble. “Okay, Nick!” he shouted.

  There was an excited bark and before Noble knew what was happening, his lap was filled with an excited German Shepherd puppy who was doing its best to lick his face off.

  Gregor set a hand on the back of Noble’s neck. “This is Charlie. An old Navy buddy of mine went into dog breeding when he got back stateside and I asked him to send me one of his pups. Charlie was the runt of her litter. She was the only girl with five brothers, so she literally had to fight for every scrap of food. This girl is a fighter, Noble. Are you gonna fight for her?”

  “It’s like she already knows I’m her person.” Noble looked up at Gregor who was grinning at him.

  “She knows your scent, boy. I gave Gregor some of your old tee shirts so the pup would know you. If you agree to go to rehab, Charlie will live with me while you’re gone. I promise we’ll write and send lots of pictures and videos to you.” Nick took a shaky breath. “Please, son. It nearly killed me to lose your mother and then Vincent. Losing you would kill me for sure.”

  Noble glanced around at his friends, no, his family. Every single one of these men would give their life for him. His eyes landed back on the ba
ll of fur who already loved him unconditionally. Running his hands through her silky fur, he knew what he needed to do. “Okay, I’ll go.”

  1

  New Year’s Day

  “Landon, just send me anything you have. The roughest rough draft is fine.”

  Landon Fairchild stopped picking at the cuticle on his left thumb long enough to look at his rough draft. The cursor was blinking at the top of a stark white page. Blink. Blink. Blink. It reminded Landon of a sadistic Morse code. “It’s not good enough to show you, Frank.”

  The rough draft was due to his publisher three weeks ago. The blinking cursor at the top of a blank page was all he had to show for the last three months he’d spent sitting as his desk.

  “God damn it, Landon! This is no time to polish words, that’s what the editors are for. I’m your agent. Your friend. I was the one who re-negotiated your publishing contract when Killer Cure became an international best seller. It’s my ass on the line if this next book isn’t even more successful.”

  All Landon had ever wanted to be was a writer. No one had been more shocked than he was when his first novel, a medical crime thriller, shot to the top of the New York Times Best Seller list. From there it had been a whirlwind of television appearances and book signings all culminating in a return to his tidy cottage on Plum Island in Newbury, Massachusetts to write his second novel featuring microbiologist Marcus Pike. “Frank, I don’t have anything to send you.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ! You haven’t finished the rough draft? What the hell have you been doing up there in East Butt Fuck, Massachusetts for the last three months? Tipping cows?”

  “I’ve had a bit of trouble getting started.” The sound of Frank sighing heavily into the phone echoed across the miles separating them. Shame flooded his face. His ears burned with it.

  “Getting started? Getting-?” Frank sputtered.

  There was nothing worse than writers block. Landon had suffered brief bouts of it throughout his life. It usually lasted no more than a day or two at the most, but this had lasted months. The longer he sat and stared at the blinking cursor, the more depressed he got.