by C. M. Marin
NATE
The Chaos Chasers Series
By
C.M Marin
Text copyright © 2018 C.M. Marin
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 publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, places and events in this book are fictitious and derived from the author’s imagination. Any similarity to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of contents
Chapter 1 Camryn
Chapter 2 Nate
Chapter 3 Camryn
Chapter 4 Nate
Chapter 5 Camryn
Chapter 6 Nate
Chapter 7 Camryn
Chapter 8 Nate
Chapter 9 Camryn
Chapter 10 Nate
Chapter 11 Camryn
Chapter 12 Nate
Chapter 13 Camryn
Chapter 14 Nate
Chapter 15 Camryn
Chapter 16 Nate
Chapter 17 Camryn
Chapter 18 Nate
Chapter 19 Camryn
Chapter 20 Nate
Chapter 21 Camryn
Chapter 22 Nate
Chapter 23 Camryn
Chapter 24 Nate
Chapter 25 Camryn
Chapter 26 Nate
Chapter 27 Camryn
Chapter 28 Nate
Chapter 29 Camryn
Chapter 30 Camryn
Chapter 31 Nate
Chapter 32 Camryn
Chapter 33 Nate
Chapter 34 Camryn
Chapter 35 Nate
Epilogue Camryn
Author’s note
Chapter 1
Camryn
I should have come back sooner. The fear of being engulfed in a crushing wave of grief the moment I would drive into town kept me away from home for too long.
It’s been two and a half years since I last followed these sunny, quiet, flowery streets, but as I steer my car to slowly drive up the familiar small street that witnessed me growing up, nostalgia is what assaults my heart with a subtle pinch. Surprising as it is, it’s not unbearable to approach that house I crossed the threshold daily from the time I was seven years old to the day I left for college. Then, I’d only come back to spend the holidays with my parents, but like today, it never felt anything but like home to be back here.
My eyes roam around the neighbors’ houses as I pass them, only to find them looking just the way they looked the day I last drove away from here, not knowing I would stay away for almost three years. I wonder whether the neighbors are still the same, too. Some were friends with my parents, some were just nice people we’d run into occasionally, and some were the cliché nosy neighbors who would discreetly―or so they thought―peer out the window to spy on everyone in hopes of discovering juicy tidbits of gossip about whoever.
Typical residential neighborhood, all in all.
I blow out a breath full of relief when I finally park my small, red car in front of the closed garage, just where my parents’ car used to be until the day they both died in it, never coming back home. Never coming back to me.
Grabbing my purse, I get out of the car and take out of the trunk the only suitcase I brought with me, holding the bare necessities I chose among everything I’ve piled up during the six years I’ve lived in Los Angeles. I ran out of that apartment and city on such an impulse, I didn’t do anything more than shove some clothes and my toiletries into a suitcase before driving back home.
When I push open the dark blue door, the silence screaming inside my childhood home is depressing. I am an only child, so it had only ever been my parents and me, but never had this house held the sad silence it does now. It was quiet sometimes, when my mom didn’t hum while cooking, and my dad wasn’t fixing up his clients’ orders, loudly slamming boxes onto the desk now sitting empty in the living room. But this place was never sad. It was filled with serenity and happiness. With love.
My smile spreads on its own when my phone vibrates in the front pocket of my jeans. I know who it is before I even have it clasped in my hand. Colleen always has the best timing. Besides, she’s all I have left. Pathetic as it sounds, there’s no one else left in my life to call me anymore.
Picking up, I say, “I knew you’d call me around the time I arrived, making sure I hadn’t broken down in tears in the middle of the street and given the nosiest neighbors the show of their boring lives, but this is your best timing yet,” I praise her.
“You didn’t even drop your suitcase yet?” she asks, skipping proper greetings, too.
“I did, but barely. Five seconds ago, tops,” I tell her, leaning against the wooden cabinet with a content sigh.
At some point, maybe after about eight hours of nonstop driving, I thought that trip would never end. Just thinking about taking on those boundless miles once again, even weeks from now, tires me already.
“What have you got planned today? Sleeping? You seriously should have flown out there. It’s a miracle you haven’t fallen asleep driving.”
My eyes roll at my best friend’s admonishing tone.
She moved to New York roughly a year and a half ago, and about a year ago, she became this overprotective mother getting in a sweat every time I didn’t pick up the phone or answer her texts within minutes. She still acts like one, and she has valid reasons for it―good ones, if I’m being honest―, which is why I never complain. Not with too much insistence anyway.
“And spend hundreds of dollars to rent a car so I’m not stuck home for two months? No, thanks. Besides, you know I don’t like driving a car that’s not mine. Now, how’s work?”
The sound mimicking nausea she generously lets out says it all.
“If the publishing career doesn’t work, every coffee shop across the country will kill to have me. Daily use of a top-notch coffee machine for a seriously long time; I’ll put that in bold letters at the top of my resume.”
I wince. “Sorry about your shitty job.”
While I’ve been blessed with my teaching job, Colleen crossed the whole country for a position that’s more of a barista job than the beginning of a career in the publishing world. My love life, on the other hand, left me heartbroken. Well, Colleen hasn’t been lucky in that department either, but still less unlucky than I’ve been, though.
“It’s okay, really,” she assures, but a sigh of despair sends a wave of crackling between us anyway. “A friend from my English class can’t even get anything other than an internship, so I consider myself lucky. Anyway, five-minute coffee break over. I was just checking on you. I can’t even stand the smell of coffee anymore, so the coffee break is sort of useless.”
I laugh at her ranting hinting once more at her deep annoyance.
“I miss you,” I tell her.
“Miss you too. I should have chosen to become a teacher, just like you. Can you imagine? We could have spent the whole damn summer doing nothing. Or better yet, traveling the world. Paris, London, Madrid, Prague, Rome―”
“Doing nothing, yes. Traveling every European capital?” I pause briefly after cutting off her disproportionate daydream. “You’re aware a teacher isn’t a billionaire, right?”
“Be nice and don’t kill my dreams, please. I need them,” she berates.
“Okay, then I’ll get to unpacking instead, and you should get back to work before your boss decides to go find some other awesome barista,” I tease, and she laughs.
“Love you. Call me tonight.”
“Okay. Love you too.”
Hanging up, I squint at the suitcase beside me, very clo
se to congratulating myself for not having filled up a second one. It’s not like I needed more stuff anyway. Assuming that my parents’ washing machine still works after years of inactivity, one large suitcase of clothes is plenty enough for two months.
Once I discarded my purse onto the cabinet, I drag the suitcase all the way to the bottom of the stairs, then I lift it up to carry it upstairs, releasing a strong breath both times I pause before I finally reach the top of the stairs. But the suitcase is forgotten when I enter the bedroom that saw me playing dolls as well as sending countless ridiculous texts to my first teenage crush. The walls are still painted in a light silver gray, except for the one behind my bed, that has a beautiful lavender shade. A now rather outdated computer still occupies the left side of a large white wooden desk matching my bed, closet and chest of drawers.
I sit on my bed, running a hand over the lacy white bedspread that would probably need a trip to the dry cleaner, and I look around. Remorse for not having come back sooner slams into me. It’s incredible how close to my parents I feel inside these walls. It’s just incredible. I keep their memory close to my heart no matter where I am, but the vibe of love and happiness flowing in here is unrivaled. My mom’s voice even seems to echo clearly in the room.
She and I had always been more than mother and daughter. We had been best friends during my entire life. My mom had been my first confidant from the time I was crying over boys lifting my skirt in kindergarten to the time I was complaining about a boy not looking my way when I would have killed for just a glance from them in high school.
My eyes lock on a picture of the three of us set on my desk. It was taken at the lake where we were going to most Sundays. My dad used to fish while my mom and I were relaxing, a book in our hands. It was nothing fancy, but we were together and happy.
I used to wonder if my fusional relationship with my mom was the cause of me not having a best friend through high school like most of my classmates. Not that I ever felt having missed out on something, but sometimes I felt as though I wasn’t exactly like everyone else. But when they passed away so abruptly, I could only be happy for what my relationship with them had been. There’re no regrets whatsoever.
My gaze flicking from the picture to my suitcase, then back to the picture, I suddenly decide that my not so appealing unpacking task will wait a little longer. Even the sleep my head begs me for after driving close to twenty hours can wait.
Pushing back up to my feet and leaving my bedroom behind, I walk down the stairs, grab my purse and close the front door behind me as I already go back out.
There’s a place I should have stopped at on my way here, which would have spared me a thirty-minute return drive right now. I chose to drive directly here because I was aware that if a break down in front of my house with neighbors prying behind their windows would be embarrassing, breaking apart in an actual public place would be downright mortifying. But now that my tears have been able to stay quiet during my rather short pilgrimage in my childhood home, I think it’s safe to go and tame my rumbling stomach and have the breakfast I enjoyed every Saturday with my parents. Today is Tuesday, but I’ll just pretend it’s Saturday. The best pancakes in the area sound amazing. Since I haven’t eaten much more than a few snacks on the road since yesterday’s lunch, I’m starving.
The air is suffocating inside the car, reminding me of how barely breathable it can get here during the summer. Despite that, I open the window instead of turning on the air conditioning, appreciating the stream of warm air flowing on my skin.
As I drive out of town, the desert replaces the houses around me, looking silent and bright. I’ve always loved the quiet of it, just like I’ve always loved the quiet of the lake. Life made me stay in LA after I graduated, but I’ve never been a city girl at heart. The sensation of calmness that has settled in me reminds me of that.
Before I know it, I’m reaching my goal, and Dona’s square shape appears in the distance, lost between houses and local shops.
A smile forms on my lips as I note that the small diner hasn’t changed at all. The white façade still shines under the bright sunrays, and a blackboard is still welcoming potential clients with Dona’s specialties written on it with a piece of chalk.
The parking lot is quite full, which isn’t surprising in the least, but I find an empty spot at the end of it.
God, I wish I could go back in time and be that little girl holding my dad and mom’s hand as the three of us walk in the diner, instead of me alone. But for the first time in so long, I know I’m strong enough to do this. I’m strong enough to remember them without pain slicing my heart repeatedly.
Once I’m inside, my first reflex is to send a glance toward the booth near the back of the diner and at the window, hoping that despite the busy morning, the place that used to be reserved for my parents and me every Saturday morning is free today.
As soon as I see that it is, I forget about finding Dona first, and I rush to the table, afraid someone would come in and beat me to it.
I drop my purse onto the seat and only then turn around to let my gaze wander across the place in search for Dona, but it looks like she found me first.
Walking hurriedly toward me, she beams at me with an affection that is almost motherly. One nobody looks at me with anymore.
She hasn’t changed during the years that have passed since I last saw her. Her blonde hair is still gathered on the top of her head in a thick bun, and her smiling lips are still painted with this bright red lipstick. She’s always made me think of a pinup coming straight from the sixties.
“I was coming to see you first, but then I saw the table was free,” I smile at her as she reaches me. “I wondered if you’d recognize me.”
“It’s been a long time, I agree, but it’s not like I hadn’t seen you since you were a kid,” she points out with her thick southern lilt before engulfing me in a tight embrace. When she releases me, she adds, “How are you doing, Camryn?”
Deep concern mars her features as sadness clogs her eyes. I’m not sure why, but Dona has always had a soft spot for me. It’s touching that after all this time, my parents’ death is still affecting her and my well-being still matters to her.
“I’m good,” I say, leaving aside the fact I’m not only mourning my parents anymore.
There are things I’m not ready to talk about, and more importantly, I’m not here for that.
She doesn’t look convinced by my answer, but I ignore it.
“I’m on vacation, and I decided it was time I come back.”
I feel relieved when a smile tugs back at her lips.
“It was. Go ahead, sit, and I’ll be back in a second. Pancakes and hot chocolate? Or is it coffee now?”
“Well, now it’s tea in the morning, but hot chocolate it is today.”
“Good choice. I’ll be right back,” she rushes away.
Once again, this was easier than I thought it would be. I now believe that spending the summer here will be easier than I thought. It’s already easier to breathe than it was when I left LA. Back there, I felt like I was holding my breath ever since I made the decision of returning home, afraid it would make the pain worse. What made me take the risk is the realization that I wasn’t sure the pain I was wrapped in could actually get any worse. Besides, it’s not so much my parents’ death that was pulling me down anymore. Another one was.
“Here, Camryn,” Dona cuts through my thoughts as she places a large plate of pancakes and a large cup of hot chocolate in front of me.
“I see I still qualify for extra pancakes despite my old age,” I allude to the small mountain she brought me.
“Of course. And I remember you with fuller cheeks, young lady. Now eat, and I’ll be back in a bit to chat a little, alright?”
“Okay,” I say, though I doubt I’ll be able to eat all that.
“I’m really happy to see you back, Camryn,” she adds, reaching for my hand and squeezing it briefly.
“Thanks, Dona. I’m happ
y, too.”
Happy is not a word I’ve used to describe myself in a very long time, but if I start to feign I am, it may become true. It’s worth a try, at least. And my newfound positivism will begin with a tasty breakfast that among other things, I’ve missed.
An appreciative moan threatens to escape me the moment I bite into the warm pancake. My memory of their taste didn’t hold a candle to how delicious they actually are. So delicious that I’m still chewing my first bite when I bring the pancake back to my mouth, eager for another taste. A taste I won’t enjoy, in the end, pausing when Dona sits heavily across from me already.
At least I think it’s Dona until my attention moves up and ahead.
My hand freezes midway as my eyes freeze on a guy who’s now sitting in front of me.
Okay.
His head is bowed as he sets a helmet beside him on the booth, and I wonder if he didn’t see me, or if he did but doesn’t really care. If it’s the latter, I better not argue his decision considering he could easily crush me with one of his large hands and probably without using the whole strength packed in these huge biceps only. Pretty sure ten percent of the strength of one bicep would be able to knock me out.
I almost jump on my seat when he finally looks up, not expecting him to startle at the sight of me.
That answers my inner question. He didn’t see me.
“Fuck!” he curses, tensing before sagging into the booth, a palm scratching his stubble.
Amused by his reaction, I smile and raise my hands up despite one of them still holding the pancake. “I promise I’m harmless.”
Chapter 2
Nate
“Fuck!”
Fucking Christ.
Hell, who’s that girl?
My gaze travels around me as I believe for a fleeting second that I sat at the wrong table. I did not. It’s just that for the first time in two long years, my table is occupied. Not that I’m proud of it, but Dona’s mostly turns because of regulars, and they’re all aware of who I am, meaning they’re sort of scared of me. Again, I’m not proud of it, but after I sat at that table three times in a row, for the mere reason it was free, they all apparently decided it was mine, leaving it free every Tuesday morning since then.
