Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Back in San Diego, Griffin did as he had for the past year. He sat on the beach. He walked the hills. Slept.
But after two days he’d had enough, even if he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly he’d had enough of. At least not until Brody eyed him over a bowl of cereal he’d mooched for the third morning in a row.
“You don’t get it, do you?” His brother pointed at him with a spoon dripping milk. “You were never a loner.”
“So?”
“So you’re done with moping, you’re done with brooding. I don’t know if you’ll ever be done grieving entirely but—”
“How can I be?”
Brody sighed. “You’ll never forget, I know that, but seriously, man, it’s time to forgive.”
“Who?”
“Who do you think? Yourself.”
Griffin closed his eyes. He had no trouble dredging up the memory of the tragedy. Hell, he’d dreamed it nearly every single night for a year.
But not the past two weeks. Nope, those nights had been filled with newer memories: Mexico, and a village of the bravest people he’d ever met.
And a woman unlike anyone he’d known before; a woman he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about, even if she wanted him to.
Just this morning he’d woken, reaching for her because his dreams had been so real.
“It’s time to give yourself permission to go on,” Brody said. “Because what happened wasn’t your fault and you know it.”
“Yeah. Logically I know that. I do.”
Brody set his spoon down and refilled his bowl to the brim. “Good. Because now that I found you, you’re done having breakfast by yourself. Besides, you buy good cereal.”
“Maybe what I’m done with is you mooching out of my fridge and sleeping on my couch—”
“Which is damned uncomfortable, by the way. You think you could get a futon? I’d sure sleep better—”
“Go home, Brody.”
“Funny, that’s what I was going to tell you.”
“What?”
“Go home, Griffin. You can’t just lounge the rest of your life away because you suffered some losses. It’s time to move on. Go home.”
He stared at his brother. “But I don’t know where home is.”
“Sure you do. It’s wherever makes you happy.”
But that was the problem. He really didn’t know where that was anymore—and, even worse, he had the feeling it wasn’t a “where” at all, but “who.”
Given that he’d walked away from anyone who’d ever cared about him—or had let her walk away from him—he felt pretty damn lost at the moment.
God, he was tired of missing people. His friends. Greg. His parents.
Lyndie. Shockingly enough, he missed her so much it was a physical ache, and not just of the lust variety. His chest hurt, his mind hurt. How had he done it for an entire year—remained alone and silent? And why did he suddenly need…more?
Maybe because for a couple of weeks now, he’d had it. He’d had a purpose, a job—and had been surrounded by people he cared about, and who cared about him in return.
Once again he’d been needed—wanted—and he’d thrived on that despite the guilt that came with it.
“Figure it out yet, Grif?”
He stood up. “I’m going for a run.”
Brody shook his head. “So you’re still the ambitious one. Well, go for it. See if you can outrun feeling guilty for starting to live again.”
“Brody—”
“Hey, no excuses, not for me. Just go.”
Griffin tried to do just that. He certainly ran hard enough to exhaust himself, but everything else—his memories, his hopes and dreams—unfortunately, as they had all year, they stuck with him.
When he got back to the small house he’d called his own for a year now, he stood on the deck, still huffing and puffing and sweating. Brody’s backpack sat alone on the table, but his brother wasn’t in sight.
No one was, and as he stretched his sore muscles, he cursed the very aloneness he’d sought out for so long.
He wondered what Lyndie was doing right now. Flying? Yeah, no doubt. South America this time? Hell, she could be anywhere, with anyone.
For so long he’d not allowed thoughts of anyone else to creep into his existence, but now that he’d gone out and been so alive for a few weeks, it’d become impossible to remain in a cocoon.
He’d never forget what he’d lost, never. But the harsh truth remained—they were dead.
And he was not.
Lyndie couldn’t be a replacement, but, God knew, he hadn’t been looking for one—hadn’t been looking for anything, and yet he’d found…something incredibly good, and incredibly special.
From inside Brody’s pack on the table, a cell phone rang, the one he’d given back to his brother the night they’d returned. Knowing that it was likely his parents calling, Griffin turned away. He still couldn’t talk to them, he didn’t know what to say, or how to say it—
The phone rang a second time. He could see his mother tapping her foot the way she did when waiting. For such a warm, loving woman, she had little to no patience, and certainly none for a cell phone.
That’s how Griffin knew they really had no idea where he’d gone, or they’d have been here, right here, demanding, bullying, coaxing him along.
The third ring shrilled into the day. His mom would be chewing on her lower lip now, her eyes filled with worry.
Shit. One quick peek at the display had his heart kicking into gear. He’d been right, it was one Mrs. Phyllis Moore, mother extraordinaire.
He stared down at his thumb resting on the answer button, wondering why all of his reasons for avoiding her for so long seemed so stupid now.
The fourth ring started, but his thumb cut it off. With a deep breath, he spoke. “Hello.”
A brief, shocked silence. Then his mother’s shaky voice, “Griffin? Oh, my God, Griffin, is that you?”
A huge weight seemed to lift off his chest. “Yeah.” His voice was gruff as she burst into tears. “It’s me, Mom.”
Brody hung out. He did that well. In fact, he’d made quite the hobby out of making sure life came as easy as it could, but nothing seemed to come easy these past two days.
He felt bored with his own company and, even worse, disgusted with himself and his lack of direction.
Sitting on Ocean Beach, he stared out at the waves, the tide hitting his toes.
The foggy morning had tendrils of long, low clouds skimming over the water and a chill in the air.
The ocean pounded the sand in tune to a headache brewing in his head.
A headache. That was what he’d come to, he was actually stressing enough to get a headache.
An older couple walked past him hand in hand, their golden retriever running eagerly ahead of them, a stick in its mouth. They’d probably been together forever, the way his parents had, helping each other along the way, working hard for what they had, nurturing it, loving it.
Brody had never nurtured a soul, except his own.
The sun peeked its way out from behind a cloud, lighting up the ocean, the sand, everything around him. God, it was so beautiful here. Griffin had really found a place worthy of home status to hang out at all year, presumably doing so on his savings.
Brody couldn’t have done that. In lieu of his own hard-earned savings, he’d mooched off his wealthy family’s trust fund instead, when he was perfectly capable of making his own way.
For the first time in his life, he felt ashamed of himself, sitting on his degree, letting it go to waste when there were others, like Nina, who would do anything to be in his position.
He had dreamed about it last night, about Nina and her hopes for the future, then woke up on a couch, in Griffin’s house, where he could have a private shower, all the hot water he could ever want, and even drink right from the tap if he chose.
And still, he wished he was in Mexico, with Nina.
In his dream he’d stood in a rushing stream, somewhere alone in Copper Canyon, surrounded by ancient rock formations and enough wild, open wilderness that he could go forever without seeing another soul if he chose.
But he didn’t choose. Even in his dreams he turned to a woman, one woman, with dark, melting brown eyes and a smile that could light his heart.
Nina.
The next morning, he crawled out of bed and picked up the phone. He dialed Hope International and woke up Sam Logan, a man so dedicated he didn’t seem to realize he shouldn’t sleep with his business phone right by his head. “Sam, I need the number of Tom Farrell in San Robledo.”
“Why, did you forget something?” Sam’s voice sounded a little hoarse, and through the receiver, Brody heard the soft murmur of a woman.
He winced, hoping he hadn’t caught the guy in the act. “Yeah, I did.”
“Why don’t I have one of my pilots grab it for you next time they’re there?”
“Because to be honest, it’s not a thing I forgot at all, but a person. A woman, actually.”
“Tom’s daughter,” Sam said. “Nina.”
“How did you—”
“Look, I am not getting involved in this one, not with a ten-foot pole. But here’s the number.”
Brody scribbled it down, wondering what the hell Sam meant, and then dialed the number for Rio Vista Inn as fast as he could.
Tom answered. “Nina?”
“No, but I’m looking to talk to her. It’s Brody Moore. Griffin’s brother—”
“I know who the hell you are,” Tom growled.
“Where’s Nina?”
There was a long silence. “I take it by the question that she’s not with you. I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing.”
Brody’s heart took off. “Why would she be with me? Are you telling me she’s—”
“Gone,” Tom said flatly. “And has been ever since Lyndie’s plane left.”
Brody sank onto a chair as his thoughts raced. She’d told him she wanted to go to the States, and he hadn’t taken her seriously enough. “Has she called?”
“She left me a text telling me not to worry. A goddamn text.”
Guilt swamped Brody. If he’d only—
“You paying attention, boy?”
He hadn’t been, a lifelong problem. “I am now.”
“Good, because I just decided I’m going to count on you to help me find her. You filled her head with thoughts of all she could do there, and now you’re going to fix this.”
No, he hadn’t filled her head with hopes and dreams, she’d already had those all on her own. He’d simply enjoyed her, assuming she’d never really act on those dreams, because how many people really did that?
He should have known Nina was different from most; that she’d said what she’d meant, and now she’d found a way to make them happen.
He closed his eyes, tormented by that. He hadn’t taken her seriously enough, and as a result, she’d turned to someone else for help. Lyndie?
Maybe, maybe not. Pride ran through Nina like blood. She might think she could do this on her own, which meant she was out there, looking for a place to stay, a way to make a living, all on her own.
Anything could happen to her, anything. “I’ll fix this,” he promised rashly.
“See that you do.”