by J. L. Mac
“I do—I do want you, but I can’t,” I admit sheepishly, hanging my head and worrying my laced fingers. He looks back up at me with a wry smile.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“Okay.”
I close my eyes for a second, fighting off the guilt that I know will come crashing down on me when I’m back in my room later. I’ll ignore that guilt just for now. “Zander, I should go. Um, I have to go,” I say, nervously looking around for my abandoned flats.
“What? Wait.” Zander’s handsome face looks like he’s lost in confusion and I feel even guiltier. “What’s wrong?”
“No. Nothing’s wrong. I just have to go. I—I have to go,” I say with growing panic in my voice. I can’t believe I was just so close to him. So intimate with him.
What have I done?
“Um, okay,” he says, lifting his eyebrows and running his hand through his sloppy light brown locks. “I’ll take you.”
“No. No. I’m just going to walk. Thank you, though.” I hurry past him without looking him in the eye like the coward that I am.
“Bye.”
“Bye. I guess.”
I hurry down the wide staircase then to the boardwalk that stretches over the dune to the beach. Despite knowing better, I chance a look back at the handsome, confused, sweet man that I’ve spent the entire day with. I shouldn’t have looked back. His face is stricken with worry and confusion and my first instinct is to go back to him and make it better. My first instinct is to stay with him. To be near him. To listen to him and talk to him and bask in the calm that being with him brings me. Instead of going back, I let my feet carry me as quickly as they can down the beach and into the dusky horizon. Out of sight.
I let the weighted door of my motel room shut itself as I walk past the bed and straight into the bathroom. I can’t get to the shower faucet quick enough. A litany of emotions have consumed my body and mind but the most consuming of them all is how dirty I feel. I feel so fucking dirty. I want to wash it all away. I feel like I’ve done something awful. I have done something awful. The water comes rushing out of the faucet at the same time that a tortured sob bursts from my mouth. I cover my mouth with both hands, leaving my nostrils flaring to take in enough breath to sustain me. My cheeks burn, my pulse pounds in my ears. My stomach churns and it’s all my fault. It’s Zander’s fault too.
I pull and tug at my clothes, fighting to get out of them and under the water. I can smell him on me. I want to smell him and forget ever seeing him at the same time. With my clothes still on, I step under the spray before it has even warmed up. I sink down at the back of the shower and pull my knees to my chest, hoping that if I sit here long enough, it may just wash away what happened at Zander’s house today. I hope it washes away what I felt at Zander’s house. He made me feel so much. I remember the way I felt when Jake had his arms around me. I remember what it felt like to feel safe and wanted. Zander made me want him. He made my body wake up and take notice of the desire that he elicits from me. When I’m so close to him, my stomach flutters and my center pulses, begging for him to touch me there. It all feels so wrong and right at the same time.
***
“Jake, wait!” I call out to him as he jogs backward up the beach wearing a playful smile that always meant mischief. He rights himself, giving me his back as he jogs away with ease. My feet seem sluggish in the sand and I fight to take longer strides. “Jake, dammit, Jake! Wait!” I cry out, hoping that he’ll take pity on me and come back to where I am.
His pace slows and for a moment I think he may come back. He jogs backward again, bringing his hands to his mouth. “I’m around even when I’m not, Sade! You know that!” he shouts with his hands cupped around his mouth, amplifying his deep voice. He turns away from me again and continues his jog into the horizon.
The distance between us grows, his form getting smaller on the horizon. Panic springs up in me and I devote all of me to catching up to him. I fill my lungs with breath after big breath and hurl myself forward, determined to catch him. “Jake!” I cry out, all playfulness in my voice replaced with alarm. His figure grows smaller yet and he doesn’t turn around again to see that the sand seems to be swallowing me up. I can’t move fast enough. He’s too quick. I will my legs to work through the cramps that strike my achy muscles.
My lungs are burning. My legs are on fire. I stop where I am, giving up on catching him. I bend at the waist, bracing my palms on my knees, and work at catching my breath. I plop down on the sand and look out at the water converging with the sand one sluggish wave at a time.
I look in the direction that he took off running again, but he’s out of sight, the sand where his feet dug down, stride after stride, the only proof that I wasn’t chasing a ghost.
I hear the subtle slip of sand beneath someone’s feet and turn in place, expecting to see Jake. He’s come back!
Zander’s lips tilt up in a grin. His eyes crinkle a little at their edges and I sigh heavily, taking his outstretched hand to help me up.
My eyes drift open easily, like waking up after a full night of peaceful sleep. Except I haven’t slept peacefully and it hasn’t been a full night. The clock on the nightstand reads 3:17 and I groan, burying my face into the pillow. What the fuck kind of dream was that? I’d never give up on catching up with Jake. I would have kept running. I shake my head, adjust my pillow, fluffing it here and there, then flop back down into the bed ready to sleep another couple of hours, hopefully dreamlessly.
***
I open my door at a reasonable morning hour (7:45 as opposed to 3:17), ready to go visit with Dawn. I need to talk to her. I want to talk to her. She’s so easy to talk to and the only person that I feel I can relate to. I don’t feel so alone when I talk to her and I need advice. I look down, checking my pocket for my cell phone and room key before the door shuts when I see a package at my feet. My heart stops in my chest and I glance around for him. I know I’m looking for Zander. As much as I hate it, I know that’s what I’m doing.
I stoop down and pick up a small white box with the Apple logo on the front. “What the hell?” I mutter as I pull the top lid off and peer inside. I’m surprised and elated when I see a lone sand dollar inside along with a small sticky note with scribbled man handwriting on it.
I didn’t have another box.
I’m sorry if I did something wrong.
Please stay.
-Zander
I smile and roll my eyes at Mr. Short and Sweet. He got me a sand dollar. He was listening to me last night. He listened. He must have gone and found this one at dawn. It would have been too dark to comb the beach last night. Unless he just happens to have sand dollars around the house. I inhale deeply and turn around to go back into my room. His email included his phone number. I think I’ll skip a chat with Dawn this morning and take my own advice—he’s nice. Be nice back.
Flopping down on my bed, I pull my cell phone out and open the emails in search of his phone number. It takes me all of thirty seconds to copy his number and open a new text message.
You should get little sand dollar boxes. Doesn’t everyone have those? Thank you.
-Sadie
You’re welcome. I can find more.
-A.M.
You didn’t do anything wrong, Zander. It’s just me.
-Sadie
Have you left?
-A.M.
No. Still here.
-Sadie
Me too…
-A.M
I know that his response means so much more than what it really says. He told me that he’d be “here” when I was ready. I just…I can’t. I want so badly to spend time with him, to just talk to him, but my ability to resist his touch and the lure from his dark blue eyes practically vanishes when I’m with him.
There’s a tangible companionship between the two of us. He’s lonely like I am. It’s so painfully obvious that Zander isolates himself from the world. I do too and I know my reasons. I just wish I knew Zander’s.
If we spend more time together, I plan on finding out who Alexander McBride really is. Something tells me that Alexander McBride and Zander McBride are two entirely different people. I want to know them both.
Chapter Thirteen
Black Sheep
Zander
April 24, 2013
I didn’t know what to say other than to ask her to join me for lunch. Relief like I haven’t felt in a long time consumed me when she agreed. I told her that I had some fresh catch to toss on the grill for lunch and she texted back after a few minutes saying that she’d walk to my place. I offered her a ride but she declined; it’s clear to me that she loves the walk between here and there. I can understand that. I may not like it, at all—in fact, I fucking hate the idea of her walking alone—but I have no real claim over her. I can’t insist that she ride in the safety of my Jeep to and from the motel no more than I can insist she keep the mace in her purse. I could probably persuade her if I explained why she needs to be careful, but then again, if I told her that, I’d have to tell her everything and that worries me. I want to tell her things, but she’d take off if she knew the drama that’s attached to me and my family. Sadie’s the last person that needs any of that bullshit. I don’t like the thought of letting her go, but I know I’d lose any chance of remaining in her life is she knew. It’s a lose-lose situation for me. It’s just one more reason why I hate that I’m associated with Daniel McBride.
My dad’s name carries weight and all but guarantees that anyone associated with him gets thrust into the public eye. Being a part of Daniel McBride’s camp means you have to be on your best behavior, incidentally yet another reason why I don’t fit into my own family.
I’m a little hot headed, I always have been. I admit it. I’ve partied way too hard and made an ass of myself in public. I’ve been in fights that were caught on some asshole’s smartphone then loaded to the web. I’ve had more than one woman who I didn’t actually recall sleeping with show up claiming to be carrying the new heir to the McBride empire.
Fucking ridiculous.
The woman in question was always paid off. Whether her allegations were true or not was irrelevant. They were never true. Paternity tests proved that, but just the possibility of it being true is considered scandal enough to turn a negative light on our family and in turn, shove me further aside. The more I was in the spotlight, the more my family tried to keep me in the shadows.
It doesn’t look good when the Governor of Georgia has a son who’s known to fuck and philander nonstop. It didn’t matter that I was born and bred to please and for the most part I did just that. I was a goddamn puppet.
I started golfing before I could even swing a club because, as Dad said, “it’s a gentlemen’s sport,” and therefore it was shoved on me whether I actually enjoyed it or not. Thankfully, I was good at it. I went to the best private schools and did just about anything as long as my dad gave his signature nod of approval. It wasn’t until I’d graduated high school and had begun my freshmen year at the University of Georgia that shit hit the fan.
I guess it had been assumed that I would major in political science. I had no interest in that. I did everything they wanted my entire life, even at the expense of my childhood and my happiness, and the first time I refused, I was made out to be some kind of treasonous abomination who shouldn’t be seen or heard from until I was willing to comply. The more they pushed, the harder I fought, and the slow spiral kicked up a gear or two and I found myself in the fast lane to perpetual trouble.
Daniel McBride, my father, got his start in legislation but always had his sights set on holding office as the Governor of the state of Georgia. I was groomed from birth to make him look like the wholesome family man who would be a political asset to Georgians. My refusal to major in political science was the start of the rebellion that had our name splashed all over the news and firmly planted the ever-growing wedge between me and him. His rumored candidacy for the Republican Party at the time that I dropped out was just that, a rumor. He was elected into office only months before I got bad news about my heart.
Between ages twenty and twenty-four, I tore through the state like a tornado, kicking up dust and debris everywhere I went. The more I humiliated my father, the more I enjoyed acting like an asshole. As it turned out, a rebellious semi-pro, then pro, golfer brings a lot of new attention to the sport. I teed off still drunk from the night before more times than I can count, but it paid my bills and covered my partying quite generously. It’s the only thing I can thank my dad for and even that isn’t entirely true. It was my grandfather who taught me almost everything I knew about golf. My grandfather was the only one who didn’t give a shit about campaigns, or fundraisers, or any other political shit that was commonplace at the dinner table. He loved me and secretly, I think he hated that Dad turned out the way he did. He died when I was twenty-two, and that’s when shit got really out of hand. I was arrested twice. Both times were nothing serious, really, but crimes nonetheless. I’d sober up in jail for a night then get bailed out. Rinse and repeat until things got weird. I never saw heart disease coming my way. It showed up in a hurry and put a swift end to all my fucking and philandering.
It gave me my first glimpse of a father who seemed like he cared more for me than he cared for his fucking career and reputation. Drug therapy was what they tried first. Multiple rounds of it, actually. A lot of people with Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy respond well to medication. That wasn’t the case for me. My heart had begun to harden and there was little that the doctors could do to prevent my eventual death. I remember hearing them explain that HCM was the thickening and hardening of the heart muscle and I thought that was as ironic as things could get. My heart had been hardening for years and now it was physically hardening, making it impossible for blood to flow properly. I became weak and unable to keep from getting winded. I felt faint all the time. I was tired. My heart would sometimes feel like it was going to burst in my chest and other times I’d have sharp, stabbing pain streak right through me. Golfing was out of the question. It was just one more thing that I’d have to be fine going on without.
I was scared. I can’t bullshit and say that I was fearless. I wasn’t. I was only twenty-seven years old and was right on death’s door unless I received a heart transplant. We were told that it could take months to find a heart that would be the perfect match for me, that many people die while they wait for a transplant. You can imagine my surprise when the doctors were wheeling me into the OR after only a few weeks on the waiting list. I thought it to be both extremely odd and unbelievably good luck. I discovered a couple months after the transplant surgery that there was no luck to it. My heart had been purchased. That’s right. Governor Daniel McBride discretely threw around his weight and a wad of cash and voila! I rocketed to the top of a very long list and had a heart soon after. I would have been better off without it. He’s now more than halfway through his first four-year term as Governor of the great state of Georgia. He’s running again. I’m sure he’ll win.
His indirect backhandedness was the last straw for me. Living with an odd sense of guilt because you know that someone died and you get to live is bad enough. Finding out that said heart and position on the waiting list were purchased? That fucked me up ten ways from Sunday. It scared me, knowing that he was able to accomplish what he did. I wondered what else he was capable of. I wondered and still do wonder if Jacob Parker’s death was a tragic coincidence at all. The thought made a chill run up my spine and I couldn’t get away from Atlanta quick enough. Now that I’ve met Sadie, I know that if she knew the whole truth, she’d wonder the same thing and hate me for it. She can never know about what my father did. For the first time ever, I may want to keep the sins of the father concealed more than the father does. I think—no, I know—I have far more to lose than he ever could. I just met Sadie. I don’t want to lose her now.
All of this makes me hate him even more.
I had a lot of down time while I recovered from the transplant. I
began shopping online for a home in Tybee and did the smart thing by investing every dime I had to spare. I hired smart people to do smart things with my money and it turned out to be the first wise decision I’d made in a long time. I started avoiding the press at every turn. I got a hold on my temper. I follow a strict lifestyle set by the cardiologist that I see on a frequent basis. I keep to myself. I’ve stayed out of the public eye and, much to my parents’ chagrin, I permanently ditched my on again/off again relationship with Allison Forsythe, the debutante from a prominent Atlanta family who had been handpicked just for me by dear old Dad.
Fuckin’ douchebag.
The Forsythes are from old money and an old (very conservative) Republican background. Allison and her whole stuck up family are a Republican’s wet dream. Me? Not even close. Allison wasn’t too hung up on my disappearance into reclusiveness, though. She put up a good front all these years looking like Daddy’s sweet and innocent darling, but she was a viper at heart. I was bred to do well and she was bred to marry well and provide two-point-five offspring to the sucker who said “I do.” There was no way in hell that I was going to marry that snob. She acted all prude, but that was all for show. I knew she’d been fucking their pool boy since she was seventeen. I didn’t give a shit though. I was just glad that I managed to skate that disaster.
***
I stop my stewing about the past to check the time. Sadie said she’d be here at noon. It’s ten after the hour and my paranoia seems to be getting the best of me. I slip on my flip flops and grab my keys.
Chapter Fourteen
So Scared
Sadie
“What did you say your name was again?” the handsome black man with short dreadlocks asks, flashing his charismatic smile again.
“Um. I didn’t. Sadie Parker,” I say, looking down as he holds out his hand expectantly.
