Not Alone (The Swarm #1)

Chapter 1

one

T oday was the three-year anniversary of Lane’s death. I hated this day. My fingers tightened around the cold, hard plastic of my cell phone. It was time to call Mom. My chest squeezed.

Standing in my new one-bedroom apartment, in my favorite long-sleeve Jefferson Airplane t-shirt and jeans, I looked out a sliding glass door at the Pacific Ocean, the waves rolling like angry giants to shore. Fog curled over the bluffs in whispered puffs. A set of wood Adirondack chairs with a round table between them filled the small patio, fenced in by dark gray slats.

I peeked at my reflection in the glass, my shoulder-length blond hair falling in gentle curves down the sides of my face with the hint of curl at the bottom and swept over my forehead to one side. My blue eyes stared back at me from under straight, dark brows. I bit my lower lip, plumper than the top.

I pivoted, gazing once more at the sea. Was I putting off this call? Probably. Faint shimmers appeared from silver hoops pierced in each of my earlobes and the ample silver chain hanging around my neck, resting over the t-shirt.

The waves looked so good. I couldn’t let them distract me, though. I’d get that surfboard and forget about today, but later. I already looked every bit the California surfer boy, so I had to try it. A smile tugged at my lips. This place suited me. I sighed. But first...

I punched in the contact information for my mother and hit the green call button on the phone. As I held it to my ear, a jumble of beaded bracelets fell to my sleeve. The phone rang twice.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft, barely audible.

I winced. “Hi, Mom.”

“Ashton. It’s so good to hear from you,” she said, her voice growing stronger.

“How are you doing?” I asked. She’d been crying. I could hear it in her voice. I paced in front of the glass.

“As good as expected.”

“How’s Dad?” Dad always handled this shitty day better than Mom. She was the one who needed to hear from me. I glanced over the contents of the apartment, resting my gaze on a blue sofa with those little buttons puckering the fabric, and then the round, white coffee, and end tables.

“He’s okay. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing pretty good, actually. Got moved into a new, furnished apartment in Pacifica.” I attempted a grin.

“So, the tour is over and you’ll be recording now?” She exhaled.

“Yeah. We’re taking a two-week break, then heading into the studio. I got a place on the beach. I’m looking at the ocean right now.”

“You always wanted to live on the ocean,” Mom said with an upbeat tone.

“I’ll take these two weeks and just chill. It was a hectic year on the road.” The fast pace, stuffy bus, and endless partying of the tour were not where my head was at, especially today. My gaze wandered to a black fireplace tucked into the wall opposite the couch and surrounded by worn, gray planks of wood. Didn’t they call that shiplap?

Memories of the summers in my true home filled my mind. “So, how’s the weather this summer in Minnesota? Raining much?”

She released a soft chuckle. “Not too much. It’s been pretty nice so far.”

“I guess it’s always foggy here in the summer. It’s true when they say that the coldest winter is a summer in San Francisco.” I laughed. Where had I heard that? The airport. Must have been there. Everything until now was a blur.

“Really? So much for sunny California. I guess that’s only the Southern half, huh?”

“No, it seems pretty nice inland. Just the coast is cool and foggy. I like it.” I focused on a small kitchen at the back of the apartment with cherry-wood, shaker cabinets, and dark, granite-tiled counters.

“Can you believe Lane would have been twenty-five by now?”

My heart lurched. I took a sharp breath. If Lane had lived, would he be sober now? I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yeah.”

“I still can’t believe he’s gone. Just when you two were getting close. Having you two years apart was never easy on any of us.” Her sad laugh carried through the phone.

“Yeah.” If I’d found Lane sooner, would he still be alive? As pain filled my chest, my vision clouded. The same old questions. What happened couldn’t be changed, and I had to be strong for Mom. I blinked at the wetness in my eyes. Lane was the best guitar player I’d ever seen. Too bad he had also turned into the rock cliché. “He would have enjoyed touring.” I clenched my teeth.

“So, is the whole band there now?”

“Not yet. Dilan and Justin are spending time in LA, shaking hands with the people who matter. I think Wells will be out here next week.” Thank God she’d changed the topic. It was useless to dwell on what couldn’t be changed. I paced back to the sliding glass door and peered outside, taking in the soothing, rolling waves.

“You never liked that political stuff,” she said. “Only liked to sing for people.”

I chuckled. “You got that right.” Singing and writing music cleared my head, allowed me to escape from it all. Especially now, with Lane gone. Music was my life, something I could pour myself into, body and soul. I glanced at the waves again. It was time to get into the water and forget all this. “Mom?”

“Yes, honey.”

“I need to get going. I just wanted to call and, you know, check in.” As restlessness crawled over my skin, I slid a hand into the front pocket of my jeans.

“Okay, well, thanks for checking in. It means a lot.”

“I love you,” I said. “Say hi to Dad for me.”

“I will. Love you, too. Bye, honey.”

“Bye.”

I pressed the red button on the cell phone screen, hanging up the call, and stepped to the front door. Leaving my apartment, I grabbed my keys from a table by the door and stepped into the salty air. Finally, I was free.

Rustling sounded behind me. I twisted.

A hooded young man, baseball cap visor visible underneath, stood near the entryway of the door across from mine. Under the cap, the young man’s long, straight, black bangs peeked out, covering his eyes. Below the bangs was a smallish pointed nose, generous lips, and a nicely angled chin. Black jeans and sneakers hugged his thin frame. He struggled with the door lock. In a soft voice, he said, “Shit.”

I studied him. “Need some help?”

“No.” He fiddled with the door, then turned and stomped down a walkway nestled between a bed of bushes and lawn, toward the trail leading to the beach.

I watched him walk away, my hand toying with one of my hoop earrings, until I lost him to the bluff. Seems I had a neighbor about my age. Interesting.

* * *

After coming home from the surf shop in town, I tugged the zipper up my back from a long cord on the wetsuit I’d purchased. “Damn, these things are tight.” I peered at myself in the mirrored closet doors in my bedroom, my arm and shoulder muscles bulging through the neoprene. I gazed at a set of booties and gloves sitting on a deep-blue comforter over crisp, white sheets on my queen-sized bed. Would I really need those? How cold was it? I picked them up and walked over the beige carpet, headed for the main room. A baby-blue foamie surfboard waited for me, propped against the wall. I grabbed it along with my door key and headed to the beach.

I walked down the concrete path, over stairs and past my patio with my board under one arm. I stopped to take a quick peek at my two-story apartment building with light-gray siding, dark-gray accents around the windows, and a tapered roof line in shingles. Not a bad investment for a few months of downtime.

After striding across Esplanade Avenue, I headed down a dirt path with rope rails held up by thick wood poles. At each bend in the path, a metal park bench rested. At the end of the walkway, I met a set of concrete stairs lying sideways against the bluff. I jogged down and to the soft sand of the beach. I was finally here. After taking a deep breath of the salty ocean air, I sighed.

I scanned my surroundings. Several dogs ran unleashed with their owners in the surf. They sure were having fun. As I looked over the waves, the cool afternoon breeze rustled my hair back from my face and I smiled. Awesome.

I stepped over the sand, dropped my board, booties, and gloves, and dipped my toes in the water. Numbing cold flowed over my feet. “Holy shit.” Guess I need the booties and gloves . “Damn.” I stepped back to my board, sat in the sand, and picked up my booties to slide my feet inside them.

“What are you doing?” a male voice asked from behind me.

I twisted around.

The young man from the apartment next door sat in the sand at the bottom of the cement stairs, his knees drawn up and his arms hugging them, his eyes covered by black, flowing bangs under the cap and hood.

“Uh, surfing?” I studied him, trying to catch the flicker of his eyes behind the long bangs.

“You shouldn’t do that here. Rip tide.” He bit his ample lower lip.

“What’s a rip tide?” I asked, glancing at the rolling waves.

“You shouldn’t be surfing at all.” He scoffed.

What the fuck? “Really. Well, how am I supposed to learn? Do you know how to surf?” I grumbled, stood up, brushed the sand off my ass, and glared at him.

“I do, but I wouldn’t teach you.” He turned his profile to me.

“What an asshole,” I muttered under my breath and snatched my board, gloves, and booties. My new neighbor was weird and rude.

He hung his head and rocked, hugging his knees tightly. In a softer voice, he said, “Beginners surf down at San Pedro Beach, in Linda Mar.”

So, now he’s helpful? But should I trust him? I really knew nothing about the ocean. Probably best to be safe and go to the beginner’s beach. Clenching my jaw, I said, “Thanks.” What the hell was up with him? As I walked past, I gave him a once-over.

After trudging back to my apartment, I grabbed my shoes and wallet from my bedroom, then made my way to the side of the building and the covered parking area and my yellow Jeep Wrangler. Getting the old Jeep here from Minnesota had been a pain in the ass. But damn, I was happy to have it. I loved this old Jeep, and it belonged here just as much as I did.

I loaded the surfboard through the back window, lowering the rear seats. Approaching the driver’s door, I entered and started the car. It rumbled to life, and I backed out into the parking area and onto the main road, headed for Linda Mar.

* * *

Later that night, I looked over a plate of Chinese takeout noodles sitting on one of the two coffee tables in front of my couch. I’d warmed up in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans after being in the cold water all afternoon. My bottle of beer rested on the table next to the noodles, and beyond that, a television droned on with a random action movie.

My cell phone lit up next to my plate, displaying Wells across the top, along with an image of him with his shoulder-length black wavy hair, chiseled features, and captivating blue eyes. He was shirtless, one arm propped up around his head, like he was posing for a Playgirl cover.

I smirked. Wells hated that image. I’d taken it after an awesome gig in Phoenix, opening for REM at an outdoor venue. The band had gelled perfectly that night. Wells had been hot as hell onstage in black leather pants and no shirt. The after-party flirting with him had me so damn horny, the sex blew my mind. How many times did we both come? Still smirking, I shook my head and picked up the phone. “Hey, man.”

“Hey, Ash. How’s it going?” Wells’ soft, deep voice came through the phone.

“Good. When are you going to be here?” I took a sip of beer.

“Not until the middle of next week, turns out,” he said with a sigh.

“What happened?” I furrowed my brows.

“I had to get my black bass fixed up, and I’m not going to just leave it. You know I only let Bobby fix my basses, and that’s my favorite one.” His voice had a whiny edge.

“Okay, okay. I just thought, you know...” Being in bed with Wells had become my favorite pastime. I was so looking forward to it. As desire crept up my spine, I flicked my tongue over my lower lip.

“I know. Don’t worry, we’ll still have plenty of time together when I get there.” He huffed. “Don’t be so needy. It’s not like you.”

“Needy? Are you kidding me?” I snorted. “I just wanted a good fuck before we head into the studio.”

He freed a hearty chuckle. “Maybe you can find a nice surfer girl before I get there.”

“I sort of prefer our friends-with-benefits arrangement, but I suppose I can settle for that.” I liked girls enough, even fell in love with one once, but Wells knew me best.

The tone in his voice softened. “Seriously though, I wanted to call you today because I know...I know that it’s the day?—”

“Yeah.” Damn. Wells better not make me cry. I glanced out the patio doors at the setting sun, taking a deep breath.

“We all miss him, man. He was like an older brother to me, too, growing up.” His voice cracked.

“I know.” Lane had schooled him on the finer points of the bass guitar, the way it gave melody to the bass drum. Always play a note when the bass drum hits. That’s what Lane would say. Fuck. I took another deep breath, shutting my eyes tight.

“Did you call your mom?”

“Yeah.” I gulped my beer down, blinking back stubborn tears.

“How’s she doing? Any better with it this year?”

“I suppose. I mean, it’s got to get better at some point.” What else could we talk about? I didn’t need to lose myself in these memories. They were better left buried. Sniffling, I took a swift inhale and straightened my spine. “Hey, I went surfing today.”

“Are you shitting me?” He snickered.

“No, and I did...all right. I didn’t stand on the board, but I caught a few waves from my belly.” I laughed, releasing the earlier emotion.

“Well, I know you really wanted to try it,” Wells said. “I guess you’ll be alone out there for a little while.”

“That’s okay.” I thought about the day. “Hey, I met my neighbor.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, he’s our age, but he’s an asshole.” I sniggered.

“Why do you say that?”

With a shrug, I said, “Ah, he’s just...” I glanced at the television. “Weird and maybe rude.”

“Maybe you can use the time to write some songs.” Sarcasm leaked through Wells’ voice.

“Of course. I do my best work alone.” All I needed was peace and quiet. Then the music flowed out of me. Good thing we got a lot of it on the road, between sound checks and gigs. After the last tour, we had plenty of songs to work with. I took another sip of beer and gazed at my food. “Anyway, my dinner’s getting cold. Gotta go.”

“Okay. Take care, man. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, see you.”

I hung up the phone and set it on the coffee table with a happy grunt. Fucking Wells .

* * *

The next day, I drove my Jeep into the parking area at San Pedro Beach, my wetsuit already clinging to my slender but muscular body. My hand rested over my full belly. I hadn’t cooked in forever, so it was sort of fun making bacon, eggs, and toast this morning.

Today, I’d stand up on the damn surfboard if it killed me. I left the Jeep, then jogged to the tailgate and retrieved my surfboard. I tucked it under my arm, opened the gate, and grabbed my towel, gloves, booties, and a small backpack. Pausing, I soaked in the morning sun. The fog bank still hovered offshore, not yet creeping inland.

After locking the Jeep with my key fob, I slipped it into the pack. I’d have to leave my stuff on the beach while I surfed. There was no way around it.

Just before hitting the shoreline, I slid on the booties and gloves. My feet sank into the sand with each step, my calves working harder than usual. As I looked over the surf, a hooded figure sitting with his arms around his knees caught my attention. “No way.”

I walked over to my weird and rude neighbor and stopped.

The baseball cap covered his face. He didn’t move.

“Hey.”

He kept facing the sea. “What do you want?”

Weird and rude . “Jesus, man”. I scoffed, stepped away, then looked back. If he’d be sitting there anyway, I should put him to work. “Watch my stuff, okay?” I threw my backpack on the sand in front of him.

“Why would I do that?” He pursed his plump lips.

I stepped closer and cocked my head. “Because it’s a nice thing to do.” Turning back toward the surf, I added, “Don’t have to be such a dick.”

“I’m not a dick,” he called out.

My hand twitched, ready to flip him the bird, but I resisted. Instead, I strolled over the wet sand to the beckoning waves. As the water got deeper, I tossed the board into it and paddled on my belly, watching the rolling waves and other surfers. I studied their form for a while, then turned the board and tried to catch a few waves to shore.

After an hour, I paddled out farther.

I glanced back at my neighbor, still sitting on the shore. What was he doing here, anyway? And what the hell was his problem? Was everyone out here that rude?

Focusing on the waves, I scanned for one that would give me a good ride. A large wave rose, taller than the rest. That was the one. I turned the board and paddled like hell. As the wave lifted my board, I slapped my hands to the sides and got up on my knees. I rode it most of the way onto shore, a rush of sea foam following me. “Yes.” Pumping my fist, I grinned. Just like with music, if I kept at it, I’d get it.

Picking up the board, I tucked it under my arm and strode to my backpack. Setting the board down, I glanced at my neighbor and flipped my hair over to one side, the long ends splashing against the top of my wetsuit.

He was still hugging his knees, his head lowered.

“Hey, you sleeping?” I bent over my backpack, my hair dripping into the dry sand.

He lifted his head.

A gust of wind blasted over us, so strong it shoved me forward.

The brim of his baseball hat fluttered and flew off, yanking the hood back with it. His long, black bangs swirled around his head like a storm. Then his gaze locked on me, large, brown eyes framed by thick lashes under straight brows. Vulnerable, but intense. His face lifted, every feature perfectly sculpted, his cheeks holding a faint flush over porcelain skin.

Gorgeous.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, staring. I couldn’t move. My breath stuck in my throat, my heart pounding against my ribs.

He jerked around in the sand, snapping me out of it.

I blinked hard and scrambled for his hat, snatching it. When I turned back, his perfect face was right there, this time closer, too close.

I plopped into the sand, leaning on one hand, still gaping at him.

He sat next to me, his lips slightly parted, his dark, expressive eyes wide. “Uh, thank you,” he mumbled.

“Wh-what’s your name?” I croaked, my voice shaky as my gaze stayed glued to him. My heart thumped loud and fast, drowning out every other sound. Jesus, I needed to pull it together.

“Micah.” He held out his hand.

I stared at it for a second before placing mine in his. His grip was firm but warm.

“Um, my hat.” Micah yanked his hand away. “Please.” He scooted back slightly. “Can you give it to me?” His head dipped, the dark bangs falling over those expressive eyes.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” I flinched as I handed the hat over. I was behaving like a complete idiot. My other hand still tingled from his touch. I swallowed hard and looked around, scrambling for something to say, for anything to calm the pounding in my chest. “Um...”

“You don’t want to be friends with me.” His voice was quiet, almost flat, as he slid the hat on and pulled the hood over it. He looked away, gaze fixed upon the waves.

“Wh-why wouldn’t I?” Did I hear him right? I stared at the back of his head, my mouth gaping. Why the sudden shift in him?

“You just don’t.” His voice cracked.

And just like that, the rudeness was back . “Then why the fuck aren’t you back at the beach in front of our apartments instead of out here?” With my chest heating, I glared at the back of his hooded sweatshirt. “You’re the one who told me to come here.” What the hell was wrong with this guy?

“If you think I came here to watch your sorry ass surf, you’re mistaken,” he said, his voice wavering.

“Fine.” I growled under my breath. I didn’t need this shit from him. If he wanted to act like that, then fuck him.

I shoved myself up, stomped to my board and backpack, grabbed them both, and trudged to my Jeep.