Jeremy (Broken Angel #4)

by L. G. Castillo

  “Jeremy.” He looked around the beach to see if anyone would claim the little boy. He couldn’t have been more than five. The beach was fairly empty, with only a few people sunbathing and a couple of men paddling out to the ocean on their surfboards.

  “Uh, what about your parents? Won’t they be worried about you?” Jeremy asked as they headed to a grove of palm trees. A worn path was barely visible through thick tropical foliage.

  “Why? They’re in there.”

  Jeremy pushed aside a low-hanging branch from a plumeria tree. Sitting in the middle of a clearing was a rundown shack. Colorful surfboards were lined up outside the wall. A hand-painted sign hung over the door.

  Sammy’s Taco Shack.

  “See, that’s me—Sammy. I told you I had a taco shack.” He dashed inside.

  Jeremy hesitated at the door. He didn’t have a shirt or shoes on. Three large ceiling fans swirled slowly, the palm leaf blades sending delicious smells toward him. His stomach rumbled. He didn’t realize how hungry he was.

  “Mom!” Sammy dashed across the floor, weaving in and out of the tables in the crowded dining room.

  Jeremy let out a breath of relief when he saw that almost everyone inside looked like they had just come off the beach. There were mostly guys.

  The moment he stepped inside, the room stilled. He swallowed nervously. What was going on? Why were they looking at him like he was an outsider?

  His eyes scanned over the tables. All the guys had a deep tan. Some had what looked like tribal tattoos on their shoulders and down their arms. And they were so big. They reminded him of Sal and his brothers. He eyed them carefully, wondering. They stared back at him with the same suspicious expression.

  “Mom, I brought back a tourist!”

  Jeremy chuckled when he realized that was probably why everyone was staring at him. The shack was obviously a hangout for the locals. He gave them a nod and a friendly smile. He let out a breath when they turned back to their food.

  Tough room. He’d never experienced anything like that before. Most people warmed up to him quickly.

  “Mom! Mom! This is my new friend,” Sammy said, yanking on a woman’s apron.

  The woman moved gracefully between the tables while carrying a tray full of food. Her dark hair was tucked back behind her ears.

  “He’s a haol—”

  “Sammy! I told you not to use that word. I don’t like it. It’s rude,” she scolded as she placed plates of food on a nearby table. When she was done, she turned to Jeremy. Her dark eyes crinkled at the corners when she gave him a warm smile. “Please excuse him. He just learned that word from his school friends, and now he’s calling every tourist he meets that word. I’m Lani Hunter. And you’ve obviously met my son—”

  “Samuel Hunter the Third, because I was named after my daddy, and he was named after his daddy. That’s this many, right, Mom?” Sammy held up his fingers.

  “That’s right,” she replied, folding down one of them.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Hunter,” Jeremy said.

  “Please, call me Lani. There’s a seat in the corner table over there. Take a seat. I’ll have someone help you in a minute.”

  “Mom, can I have a Sammywich?”

  “You haven’t had lunch yet.”

  “But, Mom,” Sammy whined.

  Jeremy made his way to the back corner as Sammy trailed after his mother. When he neared the corner, three guys pushed away from their table getting ready to leave. As they stood, the busboy zoomed in out of nowhere with a black plastic bus tub. The lanky boy was lost in a sea of fabric from an oversized t-shirt with the words “Sammy’s Taco Shack” written on the back. His damp hair was slicked back. It looked like it had been gelled to death in desperation to get it to lie down flat into submission. Despite that, a couple of stray hairs spiked out.

  Jeremy staggered back, nearly missing crashing into one of the locals. His elbow bumped into the busboy’s soft chest.

  “Sorry, dude,” he said.

  “Who are you calling a dude?”

  Jeremy blinked as he gazed down at the boy’s brown eyes, eyes that were framed by long lashes. His eyes drifted down to the boy’s slender throat to the top of his shirt. Pink strings from a bikini top peaked out from the t-shirt’s neck.

  “You’re a girl!”

  11

  Brown eyes glared at him, unblinking.

  “Uh, I mean, I didn’t notice with your . . . sorry, miss.” Damn! He must’ve really been out of it.

  He shifted uncomfortably. This was a first. He’d never been at a loss for words with anyone, particularly women, or in this case, a girl.

  He smiled, flashing his dimple, hoping to make up for his obvious mistake. She looked at him, and for a moment her eyes appeared to glaze over. She had that same dazed look most girls had when they met him. Her breath hitched as she gazed at him.

  Now this is more like it. This was much more familiar territory.

  “That’s not a miss. That’s my sister, Leilani. Come on, Jeremy. Mom’s gonna bring us ham tacos,” Sammy said, carrying two large glasses of soda as he headed to the table. They sloshed over his hands and onto the floor.

  Leilani blinked as if coming out of a daze. Then she took a step back, narrowing her eyes at him again. She turned and snatched empty plates from the table, tossing them into the plastic tub.

  “Oh my God, Sammy. You can’t feed the tourist that. You’ll send him screaming back to LA. You’re from LA, aren’t you?”

  He took the sodas from Sammy and placed them on the table. “Nope. And I think I can handle ham in a taco.”

  “It’s not really ham. It’s made from that,” she whispered, pointing to the luncheon meat cans stacked along the wall-length counter across the room.

  He balked at the blue cans. “You put that in a taco?”

  “Boy, you really are a haole.”

  “Leilani!” Sammy’s mother cried. Her head poked out of the pass through window above the counter.

  “I’m trying to get Sammy to stop using that word, and you’re not helping,” she said, placing a tray full of food on the ledge. “Come over here and take these plates to our guest.”

  Leilani scowled. She let out an overdramatic sigh and dropped the dish-filled tub with a loud clatter. She trudged to the pass window, mumbling, “This is slave labor.”

  “Are you sure you’re not from LA?” Sammy asked.

  He shook his head, answering Sammy’s questions while he listened to Sammy’s mother and Leilani arguing in hushed whispers. The boy was an endless chatterbox, asking one question after another, like why did he have such big feet, did all people from LA have white teeth, and did the kids call him the “H-word” when he was in school.

  “We’ve talked about this before, Leilani,” her mother whispered from the window.

  Leilani shoved a hand into her pocket and pulled out what looked like gum. Taking off the wrapper, she popped it into her mouth. “Come on, Mom. Sammy’s a smart kid. He knows when he’s being picked on. He needs to toughen up.”

  “I seem recall a little girl in pigtails running home crying, too, when someone made fun of her hula performance in the first grade.”

  Leilani slapped a stack of napkins onto the tray, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, well, I got over that fast.”

  “Whacking Kai with your uli uli rattle was not a solution.”

  “Worked for me.”

  Jeremy chuckled at Leilani’s defiant tone.

  Leilani lifted her head and looked in his direction. He gave her a wink. Her cheeks flushed a bright pink. She busied herself wrapping the napkins around a set of utensils and mumbling under her breath as she chewed her gum. “Stupid tourist with his stupid hot body.”

  “Listen, Leilani. You know your brother will have a tough time fitting in. You need to watch him. We take care of family.”

  “I know. I know.”

  The chair squeaked as Sammy climbed up and sat his knees on the chair. He leaned over the
table. He curled his little finger, gesturing for Jeremy to get closer. Taking a swig of his soda, Jeremy moved forward, tilting his head so Sammy could whisper in his ear.

  “Dad says Leilani’s going through the change.”

  Jeremy spewed out his soda. Coughing and laughing at the same time, he sputtered, “She’s a little young to be going through the change.”

  “No she’s not. She’s old,” Sammy said, taking a sip of his soda. “She had her birthday and everything already. She’s like this old.” He flashed all ten of his fingers twice.

  Jeremy watched Leilani as she chewed on her gum. She blew out a big pink bubble and sucked it in fast with a snap. There was no way Leilani was twenty.

  “How old is she?”

  “I told you already . . . fifteen. Can’t you count?” He flashed his fingers again. “See? Fifteen.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, right, fifteen.”

  “Shh, here she comes.”

  Sammy scrambled back to his seat just as Leilani placed a plate full of food in front of him.

  “I can bring you something else if you want,” she said when Jeremy reached for a taco.

  Sammy grabbed a taco and bit into it. His eyes rolled back as if it were the best thing he’d ever tasted. “What for? This is soooo good.”

  “If my new friend Sammy boy here likes it, I’ll give it a try,” Jeremy said.

  She shrugged. “Your taste buds, dude.”

  Grabbing a chair, she twirled it around, placing the back of it against the table. She straddled it and sat down, her lips curled into a smirk as she watched him.

  He looked at the taco curiously. It didn’t look unusual, and it smelled really good. His mouth watered, and his stomach rumbled, demanding to be fed. Shrugging, he took a bite. Something soft and squishy mixed with pineapples filled his mouth. It was not what he was expecting. He forced himself to chew.

  Leilani’s lips twitched.

  Sammy licked his fingers with relish before taking another bite of his taco.

  Jeremy’s eyes darted from Sammy to Leilani and the napkin on his table.

  Spit or swallow? Spit or swallow?

  Sammy looked at him with a big smile on his face.

  “It’s good, right?”

  Aw, man. Why did Sammy have to look at him like he was his best friend? Slowly, Jeremy rolled his tongue, pushing the food toward the back of his throat and swallowed.

  “Yeah, buddy,” he gasped. “Great.”

  Leilani burst out laughing. “Told ya.”

  “Did not. He liked it,” Sammy said.

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Everyone likes my tacos,” he said.

  “Everyone who comes in here is a local,” she pointed out.

  “Oh right, Jeremy’s from LA.”

  “I’m not . . . yeah, I’m from LA.” He took another swig of his soda, swishing the sweet flavor in his mouth. He couldn’t tell them he was from Heaven, so there was no use correcting them.

  “I think you’ll find this a bit more appetizing.” Lani placed a plate with a burger and fries in front of him and handed a glass of soda to Leilani.

  “Thanks.” He looked at her appreciatively.

  “Leilani, stop laughing,” she said, ruffling her hair.

  “Who, me? I’m not laughing.” Her eyes twinkled devilishly from above the glass as she sipped her drink.

  “Mom, can I have a Sammywich now? I’m finished.” Jeremy gazed in awe at Sammy’s empty plate. The kid had literally inhaled his food.

  “What’s a Sammywich?” he asked, biting into the juicy burger.

  “Oh, you’ll love it. It has peanut butter-and-hazelnut spread and banana. Mom throws it into the deep fryer.”

  “And Sammy drowns it in chocolate syrup and powdered sugar,” Leilani added. “Actually, it is pretty good.”

  “Would you like some, Jeremy?” Lani asked as she picked up Sammy’s empty plate.

  He shook his head. “You’ve been too kind already. This is great.” He gestured to the hamburger.

  “Anytime.” She smiled.

  “Can I have his Sammywich, then?” Sammy asked as he followed his mom.

  When they disappeared into the kitchen, Jeremy turned to Leilani. “Okay, I have to know, what’s a haole?”

  She looked back to make sure her mother was out of earshot. “It’s what the locals call people who aren’t from around here. It’s meant to be an insult.”

  “Oh, really.” He arched an eyebrow.

  Her lashes fluttered when she realized what she’d called him. “I . . . I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you a haole. It just slipped out. I was being stupid.”

  He looked into sincere eyes. He knew exactly how she was feeling. He messed up too. Who was he to judge?

  “Don’t sweat it.”

  “Sammy doesn’t mean anything by it when he calls you that. He doesn’t know any better. The kids in school call him haole because his father isn’t from around here.” She frowned as she tapped her fingers on the glass.

  Jeremy waited for her to say more. There was something about the sad expression on her face that drew him to her. It was like he was looking at a reflection of himself. She seemed lost—like him.

  “Stepfamily?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said softly.

  “Stepfamilies can be hard.”

  Soulful brown eyes flicked to his. “Do you come from a broken home too?”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” he said.

  “Really? I thought you were a golden boy.”

  He let out a laugh. “Golden boy? What do you mean by that?”

  “Look at you. You are all”—she waved her hand—“with the hair and the teeth and the hot bod.” She flushed. “You know what I mean. You’re like . . . perfect.”

  “I’m far from it,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. What about your stepfather?”

  She let out a breath. “It’s not that bad. Samuel’s nice. It’s just we get stared at whenever we go out as a family.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s obvious he’s not from around here. He’s pale with red hair and freckles all over his face. He’s the total opposite of my father. My dad was a champion fire dancer.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, it’s in our blood,” she said, her face beaming with pride. “It’s a Keahi thing.”

  “Keahi?”

  “My last name.”

  “Oh.”

  “It means the fire. You’d think my mom would let me try. Nope. She freaked out after my dad . . . well, that’s over now.”

  “What happened to him?”

  She paused, and glistening eyes stared down at the table. She bit down on her lip for a moment before looking up at him. Then she cleared her throat and scooted her chair back.

  “I have to get back to work, and you look like you could use a refill.”

  12

  Jeremy walked through the crowd of lei-wearing tourists surrounding the dozens of tented booths. The farmers market was alive with bright colors, delicious smells, and live music. The happy laughter and the welcoming smiles were contagious, and he found himself smiling too. This was so much better than wallowing around, walking mindlessly up and down the beach. He was so glad Bob and Susan had told him about it.

  He rubbed his face, feeling the roughness of his cheek. He hadn’t shaved or washed in days. He could only imagine how raunchy he’d looked when he’d first met Bob and Susan. He’d always been meticulous about what he wore and how he looked. It was a miracle the young couple hadn’t called the cops on him when he’d approached them with the For Rent sign in his hand. He’d passed by the sign sitting in front of the tiny cottage a number of times. It was adjacent to a larger home connected by a breezeway. The best part was that the place was only a few yards from the beach.

  He approached a table filled wit
h an assortment of hand-carved wooden bowls. He rubbed his finger over one of the larger bowls’ smooth surface, thinking it would make a great gift for Bob and Susan. He motioned to the woman, letting her know he wanted to purchase it.

  He’d had no intention of finding a place to live. He’d been content with sleeping under a palm tree. It wasn’t until he’d spotted the For Sale sign sitting on a used Triumph motorcycle that he’d marched up to the yard, snatched both signs, and knocked on the couple’s door.

  He’d been itching to ride again since he’d had a taste of what it was like when he’d driven Naomi’s bike. Money wasn’t a problem, and he didn’t blink an eye when Bob told him the price to rent the cottage. There was a bank account for angel use. It was meant to assist the angels with their duties and only be used in an emergency.

  Eyeing the sleek motorcycle, Jeremy considered it an emergency. He had to have the bike. And, he admitted, sleeping on the sand was starting to get annoying. Despite how romantic lying on the beach appeared on the movie screen, the sand itched and it got everywhere—his hair, under his nails, his mouth, even between his butt cheeks. He wouldn’t wish the crazy itch he had south of the border on his worst enemy.

  Taking his purchase, he moved from one booth to another. At one booth, there was a young girl playing the ukulele. CDs were spread out over her table. Sitting on a stool, she swayed slightly as she played. Dark bangs hung over pretty brown eyes. She seemed lost in the music as she sang of having a sleepless night because she didn’t want the day she’d spent with the love of her life to end.

  A dull ache crept into his chest as the girl sang. Was this what he was doing on the island—living a sleepless night and holding on to something that was bound to end?

  He shook his head. Nope, he wasn’t going to go there. He had to make an effort and get his shit together. It was just a song. He continued his way through the market, leaving the girl’s pretty voice and song behind when he spotted a booth filled with leather belts, purses, shoes, and, to his delight, a pair of crocodile boots.

  “I can’t believe it.” He never thought he’d be so excited about shopping for shoes. He really hoped none of the archangels would take this moment to check in on him. They might decide to take away his man card if they saw how he squealed when he dashed to the booth. Yep, not manly or archangel-like at all. He didn’t care. He paid the cashier and, with a huge grin on his face, walked away with his boots safely tucked in a shopping bag. He couldn’t wait to put them on and take a ride around the island on his bike.