Looking For Love (Semper Fi, The Forever Faithful Series Book 2)

by Stella Starling

  “Yeah, Mom, it’s me. Did you know John Pearce died last month?”

  “I did, and good riddance,” she said with a brittle laugh. “That cheap bastard. Do you know he stopped taking my calls? He’s been pawning me off to that helper of his lately, and that man—” she snorted, “—it’s like talking to a brick wall. You have no idea how much it costs a woman to maintain herself after a certain age, Zach, and your father…”

  Zach tuned her out, pouring himself another shot. His mother had never stopped bugging his father for money, even though, as far as Zach knew, John Pearce had never wavered about cutting her off once Zach had turned eighteen.

  “So, you knew he’d died, but you didn’t bother to tell me?” he interrupted, swirling the dark amber liquid in the little glass. Drinking it probably wouldn’t be a good idea on his empty stomach—he was already feeling the warmth from the beer and the first shot—but damn if it wasn’t tempting.

  He set it down without drinking, walking back into his living room instead and picking up the green rock he’d taken from the beach where he’d taught Micah to surf. He ran his fingers over it as his mother squawked in his ear, going on about how hard John Pearce had made her life all these years while not once acknowledging that Zach had asked a question.

  “I would have liked to have known, Mom,” he said when she paused for breath, setting the rock back down and closing his eyes when they started to sting. “You could have done that much for me.”

  “But why on earth would you care, Zach?” she asked, sounding genuinely baffled. Then, in a more calculating voice, “Did he cut you off? He’d always assured me he’d take care of you, but if he’s left you out of his will, too, then maybe we should hire an attorney to look into it, honey.”

  Honey? Zach snorted at her audacity. “No.”

  “So… he didn’t cut you off? Because Zach, if he’s left you with anything, I want you to remember who raised you. He was never around, but I had to put my whole life on hold when you were born. I gave up my career, my prospects, my figure…”

  Her breath hitched, and he had no idea if it was for effect, or if the loss of those things in trade for the burden of having a child she’d never wanted really choked her up.

  Probably both.

  “There are things I need, now, Zach,” she said, getting a hold of herself and switching to a more businesslike tone. “We should talk about—”

  Zach had never hung up on anyone in his life before, but there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there?

  His phone buzzed immediately, his mother’s number appearing on screen. Zach ignored it, heading back into the kitchen to stare hard at the full shot glass he’d left on the counter.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. There’d been a time when being swamped with negative emotions had driven him to do stupid things. Self-destructive things. In the end, they hadn’t really helped, though. He’d long ago figured out that it was far healthier to burn off feelings he couldn’t control with a good burst of adrenaline than by trying to drown them in a bottle.

  But right now, it was tempting to forget that he knew better.

  A whole host of feelings he hadn’t been prepared for were rising inside him like the tide. Unstoppable and out of his control, and even if he wasn’t sure what they were, exactly, they already reminded him far too much of how he’d felt when he had been so self-destructive.

  How he’d felt as a child.

  A little bit lost.

  Always alone.

  Angry, with no one to direct it at. At least, no one who would care… or notice… or be around to help him deal with it.

  He hadn’t felt this way in years, and he didn’t want to now. And getting to the bottom of the almost full bottle of Stagg? It might not be the right thing to do, and it would definitely be reverting to the self-destructive behavior he’d thought he’d put behind him… but it would probably also mean he didn’t have to feel those things. At least, not for a while.

  His phone buzzed in his hand, and he almost didn’t look. He honestly didn’t think he’d be able to avoid saying things he’d regret if he spoke to his mother again. At least, not at the moment. Not until, as Laura Williams had said—Ms. Williams, who hadn’t even known he was his father’s son because of course there was no indication of that fact in his file—he’d had time to “process the news.”

  His phone buzzed again, though, and he gritted his teeth, swiping to open it and just get it over with. If he burned bridges, so be it.

  It was a text from Micah. The first message, a cheerful anecdote about his day, followed by a second:

  Can’t wait to see you tonight!

  Zach’s hand tightened on the phone, a pang of longing shooting through him. If Micah were with him right now, maybe the news wouldn’t hurt so much.

  Hurt when it had no right to.

  He took a breath, letting it out slowly. As strong as his feelings for Micah were, what they had was still new. It felt real, and strong, and lasting… but what if he was wrong? What if it was actually fragile?

  Zach had never had something real, and strong, and lasting, and if what he’d found with Micah could be those things, he didn’t want to break it before it had a chance to grow.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, then sent back the safest reply:

  I’m sorry, Micah. I’m not going to be good company tonight, after all. Raincheck, babe?

  Zach liked taking care of people… liked to be needed… liked to be there for those he cared about. But reversing those roles? Relying on someone else for the kind of emotional support he’d learned at an early age wasn’t there for him, and was too painful to keep hoping for? He couldn’t assume Micah was up for that, just because they had a spark. Didn’t want to risk reaching for it, only to be disappointed. Not now. Not when he felt so raw. Blind-sided. A little bit out of control and a whole lot of other things he couldn’t put a name on yet, but that felt like he was going to drown in them.

  He turned his back on the whiskey and leaned against the counter, waiting for Micah’s reply. After what felt like forever, his phone finally pinged again:

  Are you ok? Is there anything I can do?

  Zach closed his eyes, wondering how to answer that. He honestly didn’t know the answer to either question. John Pearce hadn’t wanted anything from him in life, and he certainly didn’t deserve anything from him in death. And yet, there was no denying the surge of… grief? Anger? Loss? Zach had no idea what to call it, much less what Micah could do about it.

  But it was still tempting to say yes, to run to him and lean on him… so little in body, but so big in heart.

  It was even more tempting than the Stagg.

  Zach forced himself to take a deep breath. And then another. What he needed was to get a hold of himself before he did something stupid, either to his relationship with Micah, or to himself.

  He left the kitchen, grabbing his gear bag out of the coat closet before tapping out a quick reply to Micah and then shoving his phone inside so he wouldn’t change his mind.

  Not right now, Micah. Thank you. I’ll call you tomorrow.

  He plucked his keys off the hook, then, after a brief hesitation, he headed back to the kitchen and tucked the bottle of Stagg inside his bag, too. Hopefully, the waves at the Lower Trestles would be big enough to clear his head and sort out the jumble of emotions inside him, but if not, maybe numbing the pain wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, either.

  He slung the bag over his shoulder and grabbed his surfboard, heading out.

  Zach stared out at the ocean blindly, the strain in his eyes finally reminding him to blink. The light was starting to go, and the waves were only getting higher. He wasn’t sure how long he’d actually been at the beach, but so far, he hadn’t managed anything more than to change into his wetsuit and plant his ass in the sand.

  Once he’d arrived, surfing had seemed like a risky proposition instead of the release he’d been looking for. He felt too wobbly on the insi
de, like his world had been unfairly shaken with the loss of a father who had never been a part of it to begin with, and a rational part of his mind that wasn’t yet clouded by the emotions he couldn’t seem to get a handle on had insisted that surfing while wobbly might be a bad idea.

  His stomach rumbled—still empty save for the beer and the single shot of whiskey sloshing around in it from earlier—but he hadn’t brought any food and wasn’t up to leaving, so he ignored his hunger in favor of rooting through his memories to try to figure out why his father’s death was hitting him so hard.

  So far, he hadn’t had a lot of luck with that.

  When his phone buzzed, it almost didn’t register, but as soon as it did, he pulled it out and felt a wave of relief at the message:

  Where are you? I really need you.

  The chat app automatically inserted a location marker, and Zach tapped the key to send his map coordinates, some of the tightness finally easing in his chest.

  No, he hadn’t wanted to burden Micah with the weight of his confusion, but if Micah needed him, that was different. It was a relief.

  But then Zach frowned when he noticed the message-thread header.

  Shit.

  He hadn’t been paying attention, and the message hadn’t been from Micah, after all. This message had been from Janis, the ex who didn’t know when to quit. She’d been messaging him with requests to get together for the last few weeks, and couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that he wasn’t interested in doing that.

  Zach tossed the phone down next to him, huffing out a frustrated breath.

  He was irritated at Janis for her relentless pursuit.

  He was disappointed that the message hadn’t been what he’d thought—an excuse he could justify to himself, a reason to see Micah.

  He was torn between wanting to reach out to him anyway and knowing that he should do what he’d come here to do first: get himself sorted out before he sprung heavy emotions that he couldn’t seem to get control of on his brand-new boyfriend.

  And he was also still… whatever it was that he was feeling. Hurt-mad-sad-adrift. Young again, and not in a good way.

  There’d been a time when he’d romanticized the idea of who John Pearce was, back when Karen Hunter’s consistent disinterest in being a mother had left Zach feeling hollow and alone. Then, the idea of there being someone else out there who he belonged to had been a lifeline that he’d clung to like salvation.

  His mother had constantly complained about his father even then, not bothering to censor any of her bitterness just because Zach was young. But instead of turning Zach against the man who had “failed to do right by her” and “left her carrying all the weight” and “stolen her future,” Karen Hunter’s relentless resentment had had the opposite effect.

  Zach had known how his mother felt about him, so with childish logic, he’d decided that the person she blamed for having burdened her with him must be her opposite. That, somewhere out in the world, someone existed who Zach would matter to. Who would want him.

  His father.

  Zach grimaced, rubbing his chest absently as the memories boiled up inside him. Memories he’d thought he was long since over being affected by.

  When he’d been young, he’d been convinced that his mother was keeping him and his father apart on purpose… which, in a way, had been true. Keeping Zach out of his life had been one of John Pearce’s requirements if his mother expected financial support, and it was a condition that Karen Hunter had taken very seriously.

  Zach had resented her for constantly thwarting his efforts to find out more about his father. For denying him the chance to meet the man. It wasn’t until he’d been nine and finally decided to take matters into his own hands that he’d had his illusions about his father shattered.

  Finding out the truth had meant he’d stopped resenting his mother’s efforts to keep him away from his father.

  But without resentment there had just been… hopelessness.

  It had been the first time Zach had ever skipped school, and he’d made his way all the way from their home in the suburb of Belleville to the headquarters of Pearce Investments in the heart of downtown Madison by a combination of public transportation and rides accepted from strangers that he still cringed to think about. Somehow, he’d bluffed his way past all the gate keepers in the intimidating glass-and-steel office building, and had been within inches of finally meeting the man he’d had such high hopes for.

  But, in the end, John Pearce’s door had stayed closed.

  It had been Ben Washington who’d turned Zach away. Not unkindly, but his father’s assistant was first and foremost dedicated to his job, and John Pearce had made it clear that that job included making sure he wasn’t bothered by things that didn’t interest him.

  Zach grimaced at the memory, closing his eyes as a gust of wind sent the fresh, clean scent of the sea past him. It failed to clear his head, but the sound of a car door closing somewhere behind him jolted him out of the trip down memory lane.

  Not out of the feelings it had brought up, though.

  Feelings that still didn’t explain why he gave a shit that his father was finally gone.

  Feelings that he was starting to suspect he might not have the strength to deal with at the moment.

  In fact, he was starting to feel like he was drowning in them, and—even though he’d meant it as a last resort—he tugged his gear bag closer and took out the bottle of Stagg, deciding that maybe finding a little relief this way wouldn’t be so much self-destructive as self-preservative. A little numbness would be welcome at the moment, and then he could sleep it off in his truck, go home in the morning, and formally respond to Laura Williams’ request for information about his account without feeling like the words strangled him.

  He could close the door on being John Pearce’s son, once and for all.

  He twisted off the cap and drank straight from the bottle. It burned on the way down, hitting his empty stomach fast and hot, and a fuzzy warmth spread through him immediately. It didn’t really help—all the ugliness that had been threatening to swamp him was still there, right under the surface—but at least it was something.

  He took another drink, vaguely aware of footsteps behind him. And then a hand on his shoulder. A low, feminine laugh… one that he recognized.

  Janis.

  Zach squeezed his eyes closed, willing her presence to be a bad dream.

  Nope.

  “This is what you’re doing at the beach, Zach? Drinking on your own?” she asked, brushing the sand off Zach’s gear bag before settling down on it carefully. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. Please tell me it’s not because you’ve turned into a drunk.”

  She laughed as if she’d just made the funniest joke on the planet, and he turned his head to look at her, wondering what sin he’d committed to deserve her company now, of all times. Janis wasn’t a bad person—he could even remember enjoying her company once, if he made an effort—but dealing with her was the last thing he needed right now.

  She’d always had a blind spot when it came to other people’s needs—especially when they got in the way of her own—and even without knowing what she wanted from him, he knew for sure that he just didn’t have it in him to give it to her at the moment.

  “What are you doing here, Janis?” he asked, even though what he really wanted to say was please leave.

  He blinked, surprised at how much effort it had taken to get the words out. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

  Shit, maybe he did need to slow down?

  He looked down at the bottle in his hands. It was still mostly full, though, so maybe he was okay.

  He took another drink.

  “You invited me, remember?” Janis asked, holding up her phone as evidence and giving him a look that he supposed was meant to be flirtatious.

  He looked away. He’d been attracted to her once, but nothing about her appealed to him anymore. She’d always been a little bit spoiled, coasting t
hrough life on her looks and her ability to have a good time, and even though there’d always been hints of compassion and caring under her party-girl personality, she’d never seemed all that interested in digging too deeply into that part of herself.

  “No, I didn’t.” He took another drink, ignoring the tiny voice in his head that suggested he slow down. “And it’s really not a good time.”

  “It’s never a good time for you lately,” she said, her voice going hard for a second. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the past month. Have you ever considered what I need?”

  He snorted into the bottle, reminded vividly of exactly why he wasn’t attracted to her anymore. Regardless of how she looked on the outside, the thoughtless self-absorption that came out when things didn’t go her way was ugly from the inside out, and it colored everything. Like Micah said about touching Zach’s face, seeing that part of her brought her into focus… and in Janis’s case, the picture definitely wasn’t what Zach was looking for.

  She tugged on his arm until he turned his head to look at her again.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just that I really need your help, Zach. Remember how you used to take such good care of me, baby? You were always so good to me, and I… I want to try again. Things have changed. I’ve changed, and you’re the only one who—”

  His bark of laughter cut her off… which made her eyes narrow… which made him laugh even harder. So hard that tears started to come to his eyes.

  Jesus.

  He put the bottle of Stagg down, pressing the heels of his hands against them, but the tears kept leaking out anyway. It had hurt when she’d cheated on him, but if he was honest, more as a blow to his pride than anything else. He’d never felt anything for her like what he felt for Micah, and she didn’t deserve his tears any more than his father did.

  But he still couldn’t seem to make them stop.

  “Oh my God,” Janis said after a minute, sounding genuinely shocked. “Are you really crying? What’s wrong? Zach, did something happen?”