Losing You (Finding You Series Book 2)

by Amanda Mackey

  I wanted Jasmine to hurt. I’d tried the grateful, pleasant approach and it had brought me no favors, bar the dress. I was nothing more than a thorn in Jasmine’s side.

  “How dare you! We save your life! You die if it wasn’t for my husband and I! How can you leave bed, if you can’t walk?”

  Blah, blah blah! Not listening! Can’t hear you! My hands were over my ears. Her voice was annoying the hell out of me.

  It hadn’t dawned on me that leg pain was actually a great sign. It meant that the nerves weren’t permanently damaged and would heal over time. Still, each day felt like a hundred years. Each hour, a decade. It just wasn’t fair!

  Jasmine left abruptly.

  I hadn’t meant to sound so ungrateful and disrespectful but I just wanted my life back. I wouldn’t rest until Kyle was in my arms again. His handsome face manifested

  He must have heard about the crash by now. Everyone would have heard about it. It pains me to think he would be grieving and there’s nothing I can do to ease it until I find my way back to him. What a shock he’ll get when he finds out I’m alive and have been living on a tropical island. Tropical. That makes it sound like paradise. This jail with trees is far from that.

  My heart bled and emptied. It was so frustrating, not being able to inform anyone. It would be ages before contact could be made. Would that be too late? Would he have moved on? Found someone else? I couldn’t let my mind go there or it would kill me.

  A few days after my face in the sand incident, as the sun was slowly descending from the heavens, Jasmine came in to see how I was. Yes, she really did. Wonders will never cease.

  Not wanting to sound like a whiner again, I just shrugged my shoulders and managed, “Okay, I guess.”

  “Well, I have something that make you happy. Please shut your eyes.”

  What could she possibly bring me that would make me happy, apart from her broomstick to transport me out of here? Snide, I know, but she has no idea what it’s like for me. There was nothing on this island that could remotely tickle my fancy.

  I played the game though and shut my eyes, waiting for the big reveal.

  My hearing sharpened on the sounds nearby. Birds tweeting, leaves wafting, and a vibration as something was placed at the end of the bed. I couldn’t for the life of me figure it out, so I waited. And waited. It seemed like forever until Jasmine finally said, “Open your eyes.”

  As my eyes focused, I was blown away by what sat at the end of my bed. It was a pair of crutches that somebody had hand crafted, made of bamboo, sturdy as oxen, bound in twine. Fabric had been stuffed with moss to soften the cross section that would fit under my arms. I was moved beyond words. Someone cared.

  “Well, you like? Some people on island decide to make you them. They work day and night to finish them. Now you can get around on your own. You can eat with us at meals and see around the island. It make my job easier.”

  Whatever the reasons were behind the crutches being made, it didn’t matter. I was free to come and go at my own leisure. Independence had returned. No longer would the days tick by at a lethargic pace. There was so much exploring to do.

  I smiled at Jasmine, a little embarrassed for my fork tongue and spoilt brat attitude days since my arrival. I felt like an apology was in order.

  “I am eternally grateful to you for looking after me. I didn’t mean to get angry with you the other day. I was just so frustrated that my recovery has taken so long. Now that I’m feeling a lot better I need to get out in the open. The crutches are wonderful, thank you. I’d also like to visit Daniel, if I may.”

  Jasmine’s faced soured. “Daniel is too busy. You can’t visit him. Dinner is in one hour. I come and get you tonight and show you where we eat. You are on your own after that. We eat at certain times. If you late, you miss out.”

  Talk about mood swings. I should have known a zebra doesn’t change its spots. It was silly of me to think otherwise. Her trigger seems to be Daniel.

  Jasmine wasn’t going to relent on letting him visit but at least I would be able to see him at meal times and sneak in some English lessons at other times. Not that he needed any because he was so well spoken, but I got the impression he liked our lessons regardless as to whether he was learning anything new. Some rules were meant to be broken.

  It was time to get mobile with a little help. Surely I could master the art of the primitive crutches in a few minutes and be on my way down the beaten track in no time.

  It turned out to be easier said than done!

  Getting out of bed and shuffling down to the end was no problem. Since my mishap after trying to walk, I’d been cocky enough to sit on the edge of the bed just to stretch muscles and get the blood circulating again.

  Jasmine appeared to have no intention of helping, as she stood in the corner waiting for me to do it myself. I would show her! I’d show all of them!

  The most awkward part of the whole tirade was getting the left crutch under my armpit and actually standing up. They were so long. It was virtually impossible. So, the craftsmen hadn’t known my height. How could they when they’d never laid eyes on me?

  I changed tactics and positioned a crutch under each arm and used both as leverage to pull myself up, careful not to put pressure on my right leg. My body wibbled and wobbled unsteadily.

  It was all quiet from left field, and I refused to make eye contact and spy Jasmine’s fatuous sneer. The crutches groaned like a century-old timber bridge about to plunge into an icy river. Any minute now my face would be eating sand again.

  At a snail’s pace, I balanced on one leg and shifted my circus stilts forward just enough to have moved. Halfway there! With all the strength I could find, praying my new bamboo legs would hold, I gained what felt like a mile, but in reality it was about a foot. Adrenaline pumped through me.

  I can do this! I can do this! Take that, Jasmine! I’ll be doing laps of this island before you know it and then it will be a case of “Catch me if you can.”

  Determined to cruise past Jasmine without so much as a glance sideways, I felt my cheesy smirk grow. It was a painfully slow journey but one I was determined to make. It didn’t matter what direction I faced or where I was going. The crutches were as good as a get out of jail free card and I intended to use it. My underarms were sore already, not used to the full force of my body weight, but considering the pain I’d already endured and conquered, it was pale in comparison.

  I inched forward past Jasmine, letting the palm fronds swallow her whole, ecstatic to be out of the hut. The smile couldn’t be wiped from my face. Discoveries awaited.

  Chapter Eight

  John

  Holed up in a dank, rat-infested halfway house, I planned my next move. I’d taken care of Dakota’s old man ’cause he’d gotten in the way and now I was stuck hiding out in some sleazy, skanky whore-house while I waited on my new passport and ID. That had been an unexpected snag, the coppers on my tail. Just a small setback in the whole scheme of things, but still, I didn’t like it here at all. Getting fake identification took time, that’s what Wazza had told me. A week, maybe two. Well, it was four now and still no word. I was getting jittery. Sure, I’d had all the sex I could handle, which took the edge off somewhat, but hell, I had work to do. Tracking down that bitch of a wife for one. If she wanted to play games, then bring it on!

  My dear, sweet wife! Oh, how I want you. You’ve managed to elude me once again.

  “Power to you, darling. Bravo!”

  I began to fondle myself, thinking of her while I lay on a camp stretcher, listening through the paper thin walls to some stressed out business executive ramming his rod like a frigging freight train into a fake-breasted, bleached blonde hooker who was counting down the minutes until the overweight, balding high-flyer would collapse on top of her in a shuddering climax and she could stuff the wad of money into her lacy, too tight G-string and vanish.

  It didn’t take long for relief to come, as I imagined the two noisy fuckers next door were my tight-a
ssed wife and I going at it like rabbits.

  “Damn you, woman! When I get my hands on you you’re going to be sore for a month.”

  It was another three days of debauchery before Wazza came to light with the goods. Dan Watson was the new alias. Not bad! That name was believable. Nice mug shot, too.

  As I walked away from the hovel I’d called home for over a month, I couldn’t help saying, “Ready or not, Dakota, the hunt for you has started.”

  Chapter Nine

  Kyle

  My bedroom was now my cave. Putting in an appearance at meal times and making a quick exit to go to the bathroom was the extent of my day. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave the house.

  The small, neat room now resembled a shrine, with photos of Dakota on every piece of available desk and bookcase space. A beautiful snap of us together that I’d had my mother get blown up and mounted in a nice frame sat grandly beside my bed. Most of the other photos were ones she’d let me take of her. I stared at each one for hours, imagining she was tangible and not just a dwindling memory. I touched each photo, outlining her features with my fingers, imagining the feel of her warm skin.

  I failed to hear my mother stop at the doorway and poke her head in.

  “Would you like to come and visit your cousins with us? They haven’t seen you in so long. It might make you feel better,” invited my mom, hopeful that today would be the day I changed my mind.

  “No thanks, I don’t feel like it yet.”

  It was always the same. Would I ever feel like it? I had become a hermit. It was so unlike me. I was normally a very sociable person but now I couldn’t stand the thought of being around others and seeing the pity in their eyes.

  A week later, Dad tried.

  “Come on, son, your mother and I are going out and want you to come with us. You’ve been cooped up in this house ever since you came home. I think it’s time you got on with your life. Dakota would have wanted it.”

  Hearing her name, I looked up at my father for the first real time since I’d been home.

  “I don’t want to leave her. She needs me,” I mumbled. All I knew was that if I walked out of this room for any great length of time it would feel like I was starting to let her go and I didn’t want to. While I was surrounded by images of her, I felt like she was still with me. Her photo was clutched to my heart. “I never should have let her get on that plane. I should have insisted that she stay with me. Deep down I think she wanted me to beg her to stay. God, I feel so responsible.”

  Dad shuffled over to my bed and sat down on the edge.

  “You aren’t to blame for her death, son. You couldn’t have prevented what happened. She would have gone anyway. It was fate. You have to loosen your grip a bit. You’re holding on too tightly. Let her rest in peace so you can get on with things. I know it’s hard but you’ve got a career and friends and family who care about you. People are calling and asking for you but I keep giving them the brush off like you asked. It’s time to put her to rest.”

  “I’m so afraid, Dad. How can I possibly get on with my life when she’s dead? It feels like a betrayal for me to be happy when she doesn’t have that privilege anymore. I’m afraid that if I go out, I’ll meet someone else that will replace her. I don’t want that. I don’t ever want anyone to replace her.” Tears came. I didn’t try to stop them. Why fight the sadness that was eating away at me?

  “You’ll never replace her and will always have a special place in your heart for her. If you do meet someone else, which I’m sure you will in time, then she will take a different place in your heart. That doesn’t mean you’ll ever forget Dakota.”

  “No, I know that. It’s just so hard. I’ve never had to go through anything like this before. I thought we’d be together forever. I guess forever is too long.” I dried my eyes and pulled myself together a little. I hated my father seeing me like this.

  “Look, why don’t you just come with us to dinner. It’ll only be the three of us. If you start feeling uncomfortable we can leave,” Dad suggested, clearly hoping I would relent.

  “I don’t think I can. I’m sorry.” I ran both hands through my hair in frustration. I knew I was letting him down and that part sucked.

  “It’s just dinner, son. You don’t have to talk to anyone or do anything. Just be there for your mother and me. We haven’t spent much time with you since to left to film the movie. How about it? Please? For me?”

  I looked at his tired face and pleading eyes. It pained me to see him begging.

  I knew I couldn’t stay cooped up forever, that was the truth. God, I didn’t want to go but against my better judgment, I didn’t want to let my father down.

  “If I come tonight will you stop asking me?”

  “Yes. I promise.”

  “Fine. But I must tell you I’m doing it under protest. I don’t want to go but I’ll do it for you and Mom.”

  “Great! We’ll have a good time, you’ll see. It’ll be like old times.” He patted me on the back, his mood improving at my response.

  It would never be like old times. How could it be? The fire in my belly had been snuffed out. My future had been cut into pieces and I didn’t know how to put it back together.

  Not giving me a chance to change my mind, Dad took charge. “I’ll come back to get you in thirty minutes.”

  I kissed the photo I’d been grasping tightly and apologized. “I’m sorry, Dakota. I don’t want to leave you but I’m becoming a recluse. Maybe a night out will do me a world of good. I haven’t smiled since I saw you last. Your beautiful, smiling face! I love you so much and I’ll keep on loving you forever.”

  I rose to take a shower. Catching my reflection in the mirror, a face of grief stared back. Unshaven chin, dark circles silhouetting my blood red eyes, wiry, neglected hair, pale skin crying out for a glimpse of sunshine. Hollywood’s golden boy was not so golden. It might actually work in my favor tonight. The prowling media would simply walk past me, unable to recognize the A-lister that I was. That alone helped me relax. Being able to blend into society incognito was what I needed.

  Spending weeks hiding out inside had lowered my confidence. Either that or my mindset was altering. Celebrity didn’t matter. It was something I used to chase but no longer wanted or needed. It was all just a pretense, an illusion. Bright lights. Big city. Dig away underneath all the glamor and real people emerged, hidden behind a fancy lifestyle and status. Some folks were real. Others were riding the wave, unable to get off. I just wanted to be me like I had been with…

  I didn’t let myself go there. Instead I walked to the closet and focused on choosing a nice shirt and long pants to wear before moving to the bathroom, locking the door.

  The shower did the trick. I took another look in the mirror and was surprised to find that I had scrubbed up somewhat better. Color had returned to my pale cheeks, although a shave was just too much effort and my hair had livened up slightly.

  “How are you doing in there? Are you ready yet?” called Mom.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Coming! Just putting my shoes on,” I hollered, sitting on the bed to pull on a pair of shoes and socks.

  The three of us got into the family car and headed north to our favorite restaurant, called Jumbalayah. It was an Indian Restaurant with a nice, quiet atmosphere. The staff all knew us by name and thought of us as their most valued customers. So much so that Dad didn’t even need to call and make a booking. Our personal table was kept reserved for the same night each week. That’s how often my parents dined here.

  The city lights flickered in the distance as we merged onto the freeway, tackling the Friday night crawl. The sky was besieged with stars, reminding me of Dakota’s eyes. The way they used to twinkle at me in a mischievous way. So many things reminded me of her. Try as I might to not think about her passing, it was so damn hard when everything I seemed to look at evoked some sort of memory connected to her. Or was it more my brain’s way of holding on
to her? Either way, I felt consumed by my grief.

  A police car honed in on its target, lights flashing, siren blaring, weaving in and out of the traffic, urgently trying to nab a felon. They’d have more luck canoeing against a deluge of rapids in a river than trying to squeeze through impatient, bumper-to-bumper SUVs, trucks, and cars. A couple of minutes later backup sounded in the distance.

  Not entirely comfortable with living in the city anymore, it would be my goal to sell my apartment and buy a house near the ocean. A place I could really call home that was more isolated and less suffocating. I was beginning to review my life and get rid of all the things that weren’t working for me anymore. It was as if I was seeing the world through different eyes.

  Forty minutes later, after a trip that should only take twenty, we came to a stop in the valet area of Jumbalayah. The restaurant was up-market on the ground level of a twenty-seven tower residential and holiday apartment building. It also housed retail outlets, a Japanese teppanyaki bar, and coffee house.

  A parking valet came around to Dad’s window.

  “Good evening, sir! Nice to see you again!”

  “Hello, Jeremy. Nice to see you, too. Please park her in the usual spot.”

  Dad handed Jeremy ten dollars. The valet beamed proudly and took the keys.

  Dad then got out and raced around to Mom’s side and opened the door for her in a show of old-fashioned chivalry. I marveled at how much of a gentleman my father still was. He’d always opened doors for Mom. It didn’t matter where they were. Shopping, dining, or even at home, it was customary. I loved that side of Dad. It showed me how much he adored my mother.

  The doorman greeted us with a nod and a smile.

  “Good evening to you all. Good to see you again.”

  It was as if we were royalty. The staff knew everyone by name and always went out of their way to make our evening enjoyable. Most of the high-tipping customers were treated this way.