Seaside Dances: A Sweet Romance (The Seaside Hunters Book 3)

by Stacy Claflin

  Jasmine and Kate each went with a different cop, and Jasmine told him everything from her mom showing up uninvited to the empty bottles. She explained how Kate had told her not to smoke, but that she had, anyway, after she'd gone to bed. Then she made sure to mention how the smoke alarm inside the condo hadn't gone off.

  The only thing she and Kate had done wrong was to try and help a desperate woman. Whether they wanted to charge her mom or the condo owner, it was up to them. The officer scribbled notes furiously on a pad of paper and then thanked Jasmine. Apparently, he didn't think they'd done anything wrong, either.

  Jasmine let out a silent sigh of relief.

  Once she and Kate were both done, one of the policemen explained how to get to the high school where cots and snacks were being set up.

  Kate thanked him and then dragged Jasmine over to her car. "Do you want to go there or to the hospital?"

  "I'm not hurt," Jasmine said. "Are you? Did you get burned dragging my mom off the couch?"

  Kate shook her head. "You know what I mean. I realize you two don't have the best relationship, but maybe this will be a wakeup call for her. She could even hear you out finally."

  "Like the last fire she started was a wakeup call? Or when my brother died?" Jasmine shook her head, more tears building. "Nothing is going to get through to her. Nothing. The only way she'll stop drinking is if she's dead. Or paralyzed and can't lift a bottle to her face. But even then, she'll probably find a way. She's creative when she can't get her vices."

  "Wait. Back up. Your brother…? I thought you were an only child."

  "I am now. Let's go to the high school. I'll deal with my mom tomorrow."

  Twelve

  Zachary closed the story in his Kindle and checked the time. Maybe Jasmine had lunch at a different time today. He pulled out his phone and sent her a quick text.

  Are we still on for lunch?

  While he waited for the reply, he moved over to a bench in the shade. He hadn't anticipated waiting this long in the sun. His skin felt a little too warm. He probably should have worn sunscreen but had been more interested in stretching so he wouldn't be sore again. The soreness was finally waning as his body adjusted to regular workouts.

  After five long minutes of no reply, he considered texting again. He didn't want to come off as pushy or needy, but he wanted to make sure everything was okay. What if something had happened?

  He vaguely recalled hearing something about a fire near the beach. At the time, he hadn't thought anything of it—though he really should have. What if it had been a massive fire? Hadn't she said her condo was near there?

  Zachary pulled out his phone and Googled the fire. Sure enough, it was a condo mostly rented by tourists and summer visitors like Jasmine. His pulse raced as he read the rest of the article. Someone who fell asleep with a cigarette had caused the blaze, destroying the unit as well as several others near it. All residents were sent to a high school where a temporary shelter was set up until the building was deemed livable or they could find somewhere else to stay.

  He didn't care if he scared her off. It was time for another text.

  Are you okay? Were you in the building that caught on fire?

  While waiting, he got off the bench and paced. After a few minutes with no response, he couldn't take it anymore. He went inside the gym and looked into the room where she taught her classes. It was empty, but if she was on lunch, it would be, anyway.

  I'm starting to worry. Can you just let me know if you're all right?

  A lady walked by wearing a shirt with the gym logo.

  "Excuse me," Zachary said.

  "Yes?" she asked, stopping.

  "Do you know where Jasmine Blackwell is? She teaches in that room."

  "I don't believe she came in today."

  He put his hands over his face and then looked back at her. "Is she okay?"

  "Some kind of family emergency. I think? I'm not sure. Did you try calling her?"

  "Never mind." Zachary stormed out of the building and pulled out his phone, tempted to text again. Obviously, if Jasmine could get back to him, she would. If her phone had burned up, then she wasn't getting the texts, anyway. It was pointless to keep texting. He would either annoy her or send them nowhere.

  His best bet was to go to the high school—although the question was which one. The new one that had just been built or the old one? They were miles apart and he'd left his car back at home, so he'd have to walk unless he wanted to go home first.

  The old high school was almost in between the gym and his parents' house, so if Jasmine wasn't there, he could swing by to get his car and go to the other school.

  While he walked, he searched for more articles on the fire, trying to find out if anyone had been injured. The first one hadn't mentioned anything beyond the temporary shelter.

  About a block from the high school, his phone beeped. He had a text.

  Zachary closed the browser app and went to his text messages.

  I'm so sorry. I didn't hear my phone and I didn't realize how late it was. I won't be able to make it for lunch.

  Relief swept through him. At least she was well enough to text him. Are you okay?

  Yeah. Just at the hospital.

  What? His heart nearly stopped beating.

  I'm visiting my mom. Sorry. I'm not a patient.

  Zachary leaned against a nearby pole, trying to catch his breath.

  When you get a chance, you'll have to tell me everything. I was worried you were in the fire.

  I was, but I'm fine. Can I call you when I leave here?

  Yeah. Let me know what I can do.

  Thanks, Zachary. Really sorry about lunch.

  Don't worry about it.

  Zachary took a minute to steady his breathing. She was okay at least, and probably had an interesting story to tell. Once he'd recovered, he stopped at a coffee stand and used his last five dollar bill to order an iced mocha for the walk home. The sun beat down on him and thinking that Jasmine had been hurt and in the hospital had made his mouth go dry.

  He finished the drink before he'd made it a block, dumped the cup into a garbage can, and went back home. The house was quiet. He wanted to talk to someone to get everything off his chest, but it wasn't meant to be.

  Instead, he went to his room and turned on his laptop. With the wild emotions racing through him, it would be the perfect time to write. He had a scene coming up where Damion was going to be chased by mobsters, and writing about that would help him to release everything he felt.

  Zachary made himself comfortable on his bed and started typing as fast as his fingers would go. He made a lot of spelling errors, but he didn't bother to stop and fix anything. He was in the flow, and besides, that was what spell-check was for.

  By the time he stopped typing, he felt a lot better about everything—and he had three new chapters. He looked it over and realized that was the most he'd ever typed in one day. Checking the time, he realized he'd managed to do that in just under three hours. The most and the fastest in one day.

  He got up and went to the living room, surprised to find his parents and Rafael playing cards.

  "When did you guys get here?" Zachary asked.

  "We've been here a while," Rafael said, "but when Mom heard you typing a million words a minute, she said we needed to let you be."

  Zachary chuckled. "It wasn't that fast."

  "Sounded like you were going to set your keyboard on fire," said his mom.

  "Well, I did beat my previous record."

  "Finally found your muse?" asked his dad.

  "There's no such thing as a muse."

  "I wouldn't know." He turned back to the cards in his hand and then placed one on the table. "Rafael, your turn."

  Zachary sat down and watched them play a few rounds, checking his phone every so often.

  "Expecting a call?" asked his mom.

  "Or are we boring you?" Rafael joked.

  "Just hoping to hear from someone."

  "Wh
o?" asked his dad.

  There was no such thing as privacy when it came to his family. "I made friends with one of the people living in the building where that fire was."

  His mom looked up at him with concern in her eyes. "Is he okay?"

  Zachary felt heat creep into his cheeks. "Yeah. She's fine."

  Six eyes focused on him.

  "She?" asked his mom, looking excited. Her dream was for all the Hunter boys to get married and have a bunch of children running around.

  "I thought you were going to take a break after Monica," Rafael said, discarding half of his hand onto the table. "Your turn, Mom."

  "First, I want to hear more about this girl Zachary likes."

  He looked away. "I didn't say I liked her—I just said we're friends."

  "You're blushing," Rafael said, grinning. "What's her name? Is she a local? Does she—?"

  "What about your girlfriend?" Zachary asked, trying to turn the focus off himself.

  Rafael frowned. "If you don't want to talk about the girl, just say so. You don't need to bring up my love life."

  "What happened?" Zachary asked, taken aback by his brother's sudden change in mood.

  "It didn't work out. That's all."

  "Why not?" asked their mom.

  Rafael glared at Zachary, and then turned to his mom. "I'm not ready to talk about it. It just didn't work out. Can you guys let it be?"

  She reached over and patted his arm. "Sure, but know you can always talk to us."

  "I know." He shot another look at Zachary.

  "Anyone want a snack?" Zachary asked, squirming. "I can grab something."

  "Sure," said his dad. "I could use something to drink."

  "Me, too," said his mom. "Rafael?"

  "No. I'm fine." He kept his attention on his cards.

  "You sure?" Zachary asked.

  Rafael shot him an irritated look. "Yes."

  "Okay." Zachary went into the kitchen and got some chips, putting them into a bowl, and then he got drinks for his parents. He balanced them all and went back into the living room. He set the stuff around them and the game, and then checked his phone again. Still, no more texts. "I'm going outside for some air."

  He went outside and leaned against the house, feeling a headache coming on. Pressure built all around his head, centering on his forehead and sinuses. It was amazing the stress family could bring at times. He understood Rafael not wanting to talk about his breakup, but at the same time, Zachary himself didn't feel like opening up about Jasmine yet, either.

  A little while later, he heard the front door open and then shut.

  "What was that about?" came a familiar voice.

  Rafael appeared in front of him, arms folded. His slicked back hair didn't move in the breeze that had picked up over the last few minutes, but his silk shirt blew around.

  "I don't want to talk about her," Zachary said. "It's too soon to say anything. I'm just getting to know her."

  "So, you thought I wanted to talk about my breakup with Kristine?" Rafael narrowed his eyes.

  "You seemed to want to talk about relationships. And I didn't know you broke up. I'm sorry. Really."

  "Look. If you don't want to talk about the girl, just say so. Don't bring me into it." He stepped closer, still glaring at Zachary.

  "Back off, Raf."

  Rafael stepped closer. "I said don't do it again. I'm not talking about what happened. Maybe I never will—I don't care how tight we are—or used to be, at least."

  "Whatever," Zachary said. "Just give me some space."

  "I want to make sure you understand."

  Zachary felt anger building. "Got it. Now get outta my face."

  Rafael took a couple steps back. "Thank you. I know you guys are family and would do anything for me—I'd do anything for all of you—but this… this is different, and I don't want to talk about Kristine. And it's not just a matter of needing to wait to talk about it. I don't know if I'll ever be able to discuss it."

  Zachary's anger dissipated. "Sounds like it was really rough, whatever it was. Sorry it happened. I'm sure you didn't deserve it."

  "No, I didn't." He leaned against the house next to Zachary. "I wish I could say I came here out of altruistic love from my heart, but it isn't the case. My entire life imploded on me—all within about a week. It's too much, and I want to forget everything that happened in LA. Once I buy my house, I'm shipping everything up and never going back again."

  "Well, if you need any help getting settled in or anything, let me know. We used to be close, and like you said, we're family. I'd do anything for you, too."

  Rafael looked at him. "Thanks, Zachary."

  Zachary turned to look at him and froze. His brother had tears shining in his eyes—and Zachary had never once seen that side of Rafael. Not in all their years.

  Thirteen

  Jasmine stared at the clock on the wall in the hospital cafeteria. She'd been at the hospital all day, waiting for her mom to wake. She'd been out from some pain medication, but they were supposed to reduce the dose to see how she did with it. That meant she would wake up, and she might even be awake by now.

  Sighing, Jasmine finished the salad languishing front of her and then the juice. If she gave it a little more time, her mom would hopefully be awake enough to have a conversation. She just had to give the hospital staff time to do their thing first.

  They were borderline ready to send her to the burn unit, but needed to talk to her about her pain levels. The nurses had spoken to Jasmine at length about the benefits of the burn unit, but it was reserved for the most severe burns. Jasmine's mom would have scars for the rest of her life once her skin healed, but they didn't think specialized care was necessary—unless she was in more pain than they thought, and that was impossible to know with her sleeping and on meds.

  Jasmine pretended to be the caring, loving daughter but really, she thought her mom had it coming. She's been smoking while drinking and then fell asleep, ruining the lives of easily more than a hundred people. And it wasn't even the first time this had happened.

  She crinkled up the juice box and put it on the tray before throwing all the garbage away. On her way out of the cafeteria, she passed a doctor and noticed his tag said Dr. Hunter. Jasmine did a double take at his tag.

  "Can I help you?" asked the tall, handsome doctor.

  Embarrassed, Jasmine shook her head. "I know someone named Hunter, and your tag caught my attention. Sorry to bother you."

  He smiled, putting her at ease. "I'm related to most of the Hunters in the area. Who do you know?"

  Heat crept into her cheeks. "His name is Zachary."

  The doctor smiled wider. "Ah, my younger brother and work out buddy."

  "So, you're the one he's been working out with," Jasmine said, forgetting about her mom for a minute. She smiled.

  "Are you the one he's had some meals with?" The doctor appeared curious.

  She nodded. "My name is Jasmine."

  "Brayden." He held out his hand, and they shook. "Nice to meet you, Jasmine. Hopefully, I'll see you around."

  "I hope so, too."

  Brayden tilted his head and then joined some other doctors, discussing medical stuff.

  Jasmine's heart picked up speed thinking about Zachary. Did he and Brayden talk about her when they worked out?

  She pulled out her phone from her pocket and texted him.

  Hopefully I won't be much longer here. Are you available to meet when I'm done?

  Name the time and place, and I'll be there.

  Jasmine grinned. Perfect. I'll let you know when I'm ready.

  I can't wait.

  Butterflies danced in her stomach. He couldn't wait to see her. She couldn't wait to see him, either. In fact, she was tempted to skip seeing her mom and just meet Zachary. He was by far the more pleasant company of the two.

  But she really needed to talk to her mom, and from the sounds of it, there would be less privacy in the burn unit—if her mom was admitted there—to say what ne
eded to be said. Her mood souring, Jasmine made her way to her mom's room and found her sitting up, watching TV. She came in, not saying anything and then sat on the chair closest to the door. Farthest from her mom.

  Jasmine cleared her throat. "You're awake."

  Her mom turned to her. "Never could get anything by you."

  Jasmine bit her tongue. "How's your arm feel?"

  "Not half as bad as it looks."

  Because of the meds, but Jasmine wasn't going to say that.

  "Are they going to move you to the burn unit?" Jasmine asked.

  "Doesn't sound like it. Someone from there just left, and after ripping the bandages off, gave directions to the doctors here."

  Jasmine forced a smile. "That's certainly good news. When are they supposed to send you back home?"

  "Not soon enough. They won't let me smoke or drink."

  "You still want to smoke? After causing another fire?" Jasmine's voice was shrill.

  "It would sure help this damn headache." Her mom rubbed her temple with her good arm.

  "They have you on painkillers. It would be a lot worse without them."

  "Guess we know what my first purchases is going to be when I get out of here."

  Jasmine shook her head. Her time would have been much better spent with Zachary.

  "Don't you judge me, girl," her mom snapped, her voice especially raspy.

  "Judge you?" Jasmine exclaimed. "I don't have to. Your life speaks for itself."

  They stared each other down.

  Jasmine finally spoke. "Why did you show up at my place? I never even got the chance to find out what's going on—because you set it on fire and put a ton of people out with nowhere to stay."

  Her mom narrowed her eyes. "I can't live with your dad anymore. I just can't do it."

  "Then get your own trailer." Jasmine folded her arms.

  "With what money?" demanded her mom.

  "You're a grown woman," Jasmine said. "I'm sure you can figure it out."

  "I don't got a job."

  "Then get one." Jasmine narrowed her eyes.

  They stared at each other for a minute before her mom spoke. "I don't have the benefits you do, Jas. You're young and energetic. No one wants to hire an old lady."