Return To Us (Sand & Fog Series Book 6) Read online

  The color creeps from my face down my neck. “I don’t need a handout, Boomer. I’m doing fine.”

  “Don’t get all prideful,” he admonishes, reaching for my order. “In this part of town, we still help each other out. Give me a drink later on the house if you must to feel better about this. But I’m not taking your money. Not again until you’re in the black with that broken-down pit you’re trying to turn into a viable enterprise. It wasn’t easy for your dad to make ends meet with the bar, and it can’t be easy for you.”

  I shove my wallet back into my tote. “Fine. I’ll swap you a drink for my breakfast. And Boomer?”

  “Yes?”

  The edges of my mouth lift. “Thank you.”

  “Any time you want to run some ideas by me on how to improve the bottom line on the bar, I’ll listen.”

  He sets down my cup and bag.

  “I will. Once I’ve got a handle on what changes I want to make. I’m not one hundred percent clear what I’ve gotten myself into.”

  “Hard. Back-breaking. Work.” He says each word staccato with a tilt of his head. “That’s what owning a business is, but I’d rather work hard for me than work hard for someone else to do nothing.”

  “You’re right on that one, Boomer. Even as hard as it is, it’s better than it was working at the law firm as an assistant.”

  “You’re a smart girl, Willow. You’ll figure it out and turn the bar into a success. And try to remember it’s all right to ask for help from a friend when you need it.”

  I’ve almost got my fingers closed around the bag when his people in this part of town still help each other line bites me in the butt.

  Every morning I walk past my flirty street musician and never give him more than a handful of change. Hearing him sing outside while I tally the prior night’s receipts and eat my breakfast is one of the bright spots during my work hours.

  First thing in the morning for weeks he’s been there. I realize I look forward to it and have never so much as asked him how he is. It’s gotta be cold sitting on the street, playing music. He’s probably hungry as well.

  “Boomer, can you get me another coffee and breakfast sandwich?”

  His salt and pepper brows hitch up. “You want two today?”

  I nod. “I thought it would be nice to do something nice for a”—I pause for a moment, not sure what to call the handsome guitarist parked outside my front door every day— “a friend.”

  Eric

  The present…

  I JERK AWAKE, BREATHING heavily, with gray sky overhead and the sound of Hank’s coughing beside me.

  Turning over in my bag, I find my buddy packed up and ready to leave Volunteer Park. “Christ, what time is it?”

  “After eight.” His gaze grows amused. “That’s some dream you were having. Wasn’t sure if it was bad or good, so I didn’t wake you. You got just sweat in your bag or jizz, too?”

  If he knew what kind of dreams I have he wouldn’t have asked me if it made me ejaculate. “Just sweat, asshole.”

  He’s claimed by a worrisome blend of laughing and hard coughing. I brush the hair from my face and try to shake my grogginess.

  “We doing a meeting today?”

  “I am. You’re not.” I unzip and drag myself from the warmth of my bedding. From my bag, I pull out one of my extra portable phone chargers and hold it out to him. “You’re going to the free clinic to get that cough checked. It opens at nine. Stay in the park but get there right when the doors open otherwise you’ll be there all day. Hopefully, they’ll put you in the hospital. But if they don’t, get in line for a room in a shelter early. That cough is getting worse.”

  Rolling his eyes, he takes the battery from me. “You’re like having a nanny. Do you know that?”

  “What’s the goal the first year clean? No serious relationships. Get a pet or a plant and try to keep it alive. You’re my plant. I’m motivated to keep you breathing the next eight days until my one-year chip. You auger in and I can’t get laid for another year.”

  “Fuck you. Not funny. I’m not your plant.”

  I shrug as I continue to pack up my stuff. “Keep your phone charged. Text me when you’re done with the doctor. But no matter what, I don’t want to find you camping here when I’m done with work today.”

  “Where you off to in such a rush?”

  “The morning meeting at the Capitol Hill Rec Center. Don’t have time to go to the church across town.”

  “You and your freaking schedules.”

  I stand up. “It works for me, OK?”

  “Whatever rocks your sobriety, brother.”

  “Don’t forget to text me.”

  “Hourly updates as ordered.”

  I give him the finger and take off while he’s still laughing at me. Don’t care what anyone thinks, I can’t do this year any other way than I am. The amends list in my pocket won’t let me.

  It’s a fast two-mile walk to the rec center. The doors are closed when I get there, the meeting’s under way, but I trot up the stairs.

  The room’s packed. This neighborhood has more than its fair share of recovering addicts. Unfortunately, a few are familiar faces for me. It’s why Hank and I don’t come here together. There are things about me I’m not ready to let my camping buddy know.

  I take a chair in the back and listen to the guy at the dais while my gaze fixes on the cloud of bleached blond hair in the front row. She’s the only person in the room who knows who I really am.

  “Anyone want to share?”

  I stand up and the guy calls on me. I make my way to the front of the crowd, breathing steadily to keep my nerves at bay. It’s time I do this. I’m certain it’s why I’m stuck and not moving forward with why I’m living here.

  I stare out at the crowd.

  Time to test the rule that what happens in rehab stays in rehab. One thing I’ve learned this past year, you can’t move forward in recovery without trust.

  Still, this is fucking difficult.

  I clear my throat and hold steady the icy blue gaze drilling into me. “Hi. Most of you know me as EJ, the homeless street musician. But recovery is about letting go and trusting a higher power. Right? So I need to be honest with you before I can be honest with me. I’m Eric Manzone. I’m an addict and an alcoholic. I’ve been clean and sober 357 days. Which isn’t easy because there’s a hell of a lot of people out there looking for me.”

  “KEEP COMING BACK, IT works!”

  I hurry from my chair, grab a cup of coffee, and exit the building quickly. My heart is beating rapidly. I’m not sure if that was a good move or a bad one. Only time will tell.

  I sit on the top step and wait.

  People start trotting down the steps beside me.

  Not the legs I’m looking for.

  There’s quiet as I continue sipping my coffee.

  Then the door opens.

  Something hits the back of my head and I turn to see an empty cup fly away from me to land next to a pair of white Keds.

  “That little speech in there didn’t change anything,” announces a harsh voice. “You’re still an asshole.”

  I grin. “Still a man-hater, I see.”

  “Fuck you, Eric.”

  We both laugh as Ivy drops down to sit next to me. After running into her two months ago, I’d have never thought we’d be friends, but somehow we are. Probably because we both share addiction and recovery.

  “357 days. Congrats,” Ivy says.

  “You’re up to two years, aren’t you?”

  She nods and lifts my coffee from my hand. “How many days is it now that you’ve been in front of Mel’s playing?”

  I pretend I have to think about it as she polishes off the last of my coffee. “Yesterday was day sixty-three.”

  “Not as slick on your feet as you used to be, are you?”

  I chuckle. “No. Smarter. Timing matters.”

  “In sixty-three days you co
uldn’t find the right time to start your amends to Willow? Sounds more cowardly than smart to me.”

  That criticism has bite. “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s not complicated at all,” Ivy says.

  Oh, but she’s wrong.

  When I first located Willow, it wouldn’t have worked out well to launch into why I looked her up after all this time. Willow was so wary and tight-lipped when she spotted me singing in front of the bar. She was very different from the kind, confident, fun-loving girl I remember.

  She was as skittish as the dog in the park—that part of how she’d changed I hated seeing and prayed to fuck my amends might undo what I’d done to her—though it did confirm it was good that I’d put her on my amends list.

  How closed up the years since I’d known her had made her told me it wouldn’t be easy making amends for what I did when I was twenty or even telling her who I am and apologizing.

  It became painfully clear I’d hurt Willow badly. How she holds back even now when we’ve got a nice ongoing banter between us tells me she’s not completely over it. One thing for sure: she doesn’t trust men anymore.

  It’s taken sixty-three days to make a small crack in her wall, and that’s with me showing up every day in front of the bar and trying to work an opening with her.

  Yep, I do a nine-hour shift in front of Mel’s seven days a week, mapped out around Willow’s coming and going. I get there one hour early so I don’t ever miss her arriving and I leave once there’s a nice wad of bills in my case from the after-work peeps.

  After two months, we almost have a comfortable routine. I’m hoping that means I’ll soon have her walls lowering enough that I can get on with the reason for why I’m here.

  Ivy shakes her head. “You need to get on with it, Eric. Being afraid isn’t good for your sobriety.”

  “I can’t rush it, Ivy. I’ve gotta do it my way.”

  “No. Here’s what you have to do. You walk up to her. Say something like, ‘Hello. Willow. Do you remember me? I’m the guy who fucked up your life seven years ago. I want to apologize for lying about who I am, coming between you and your dad, then breaking your heart, and by the way, here’s the money that ruined your life that you laid out for me because you believed in my lying, cheating ass.’ Just say something like that. That ought to get things moving.”

  I rake back my hair, grimacing “Yeah, that’s a great version of how a guy should make amends. We’re all going to feel so much better after that.”

  She shrugs. “I thought it wasn’t about you feeling better. It sounds good to me. Straight. An accurate accounting of what you did to her. I don’t think the words matter. You hurt her so badly there just needs to be an I’m sorry in there somewhere. It will be enough for Willow that you face her and let her know you feel like crap for what you did to her. Despite how it seems, she hasn’t changed that much.”

  Enough for Willow—but not even close to enough for me. Fuck. “Not everything I said to her back then was a lie.”

  “You’ve been in front of Mel’s for months trying to figure out a way to approach her. Whatever you think is going to happen isn’t as bad as what you’re imagining. And don’t try to parse the parts that are true from the lies. You owe her a total amends. Don’t fuck it up with whatever pieces you’re trying to convince yourself weren’t shit. You can’t wrap truth in a lie and have it still be true. A donut found lying in a hog pen still tastes like shit.”

  But it wasn’t all shit.

  No matter what Ivy thinks.

  That’s the hardest lesson I learned from finding Willow. I really did love her seven years ago. That’s the only part of what I did to her not a lie. It makes it hurt more the things I did and how unfair I was to her.

  And to add to this already fucking complicated amends.

  Sitting outside her bar.

  Seeing her every day.

  Just being close to Willow.

  I’ve fallen in love with her again.

  ON THE CONCRETE BENCH for the bus stop in front of Mel’s Tavern I find a scattering of newspapers left by the morning commuters and scoop them up.

  Crouching down, I carefully lay them across the sidewalk. The morning chill is heavy with moisture and I don’t want the dampness seeping through my jeans. It’s like being in a freezer playing during the early morning until the sun breaks through the clouds.

  My eyes fix on a story, and as I scan it I shake my head. Even when there is no news about me the press manages to invent some. Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?

  10 Celebrities Who Have Gone Missing and Returned to Stardom

  Blue Light (blog)

  Eric Manzone. It’s been a year since the Black Dawn front man disappeared from the public stage. After a stint at an undisclosed rehabilitation program, there have been no sightings of the musician. But what does that really mean? Can he come back? Here’s a list of 10 celebrities who’ve done just that…and in number one position, music’s undisputed rock god: Alan Manzone…

  TURNING TO SIT, I plant my ass right smack-dab atop the story about me. A snippet of ink rises in my head. Can he come back? Fuck you, Blue Light blog. Who says I want to? I’m happy exactly where I am. And none of your taunts are going to knock me off the road of what I’m doing until I’m ready.

  Blowing on my fingers to heat them, I open my case. I take out my journal where I write down lyrics and whatever else pops into my head that seems significant, and thumb through the pages until I reach one that’s blank. Across the top, I neatly pen: Day 64.

  Before I put it away, I flip through the filled sheets. I have enough new material here to release a solo LP if I decide to someday. The songs are very different than the stuff I recorded in the beginning of my career, but it’s Manzone epic greatness. Like Dad’s rock symphony Long and Hard, if the world ever gets to hear it, it will be my masterpiece.

  On the inside of the cover I scrawl Darkness into Light. Beneath it is taped a letter written by my grandpa Jack that I received in rehab. No salutation—I laugh—and one line: Light shines in the darkness and darkness has not overcome it.

  Yep, Darkness into Light is the perfect title should I ever release this LP. Though I should probably ask my grandpa if it’s OK to sort of lift the title of his most famous album, Darkness and Light.

  After tucking away my journal, I grab my phone.

  Me: Doing well. Hope you are, too, Grandpa. Just reading a letter you sent me. Thinking I might want to use something from it. Any objections to me titling my next release Darkness into Light? I’ll get it if you say no.

  Jack: Laughing. It’s from the Bible. I don’t think I have a right to tell you yes or no. But to answer you, no objections. Glad you’re fine. Still in Seattle?

  Me: Yes. Working the steps. Trying to figure out a way to finish amends number five. Can’t seem to find the right beginning.

  Jack: You don’t have to look for it. When it’s right you’ll know it. One day at a time. Don’t let anything push you any faster.

  Me: Won’t. Love ya, Grandpa.

  Jack: Love you, too, EJ.

  I stare at the chat string. Grandpa Jack’s pretty much the only one in my life who gets why I’ve lived the last nine months the way I have. My parents support what I’m doing, but I doubt they understand it. But Jack got it without me explaining it.

  Smiling, I click off my phone and begin to play.

  Chapter One

  Willow

  The present…

  AS I EXIT THE Java Hut, the bells tied to the door pleasantly jingle as a blast of cold air hits my cheeks. Wind blows through my long hair, causing the bags in my hand to swing.

  The sidewalk is crowded with people rushing to work. I can tell from the faces rushing past me that I’m not the only one with the Monday morning blues.

  I work to live; I don’t live to work, I remind myself, though my nifty slogan isn’t doing much for me.

  When I woke
this morning, I was tired and really didn’t feel like driving in to Capitol Hill to do an eight-hour shift alone in the bar. Trying to make a go of my dad’s bar seems so hopeless at times. It’s not close to profitable and it consumes nearly all my time.

  Worse, I’m not even sure why Dad left me the bar and building he owned in his will. Even though Jade tried to make me feel better by saying it was a sign he was sorry for what he’d done to me and just couldn’t express it, I knew it’d hurt her that he’d left everything of value he had to me instead of her.

  Jade was Dad’s favorite, always, even before we had our falling out. She was the one who nursed him and took care of him until the end. Me, he wouldn’t even talk to or allow to visit him in the hospital. Even after six months thinking about it, it doesn’t make sense to me that he left me the bar.

  But then, my dad never made sense to me. He was difficult and judgmental and rash at times, but that doesn’t matter. I loved him even during the years he didn’t love me. The years he wouldn’t talk to me or show up at Jade’s for the holidays if I was there. And that part Jade said about giving it to me so I’d know he was sorry; maybe that’s why I hold onto it and try so hard to keep it going.

  Though giving it my all doesn’t seem to be doing much for the prospect of saving Mel’s. It’s almost as if the more I put in the more I fail at it.

  That’s so like how things go for me. When I give my all, I never seem to win. Not in life and not in love.

  That’s when I decided to stay in bed for the day. Working to the point I have no social life wouldn’t bring Dad back or change the bad years that had passed between us. Skipping going into work wasn’t like anyone was going to miss me. The tavern isn’t open on Mondays, and it’s a paperwork catch-up day, nothing else. I’m the owner and I could stay home if I wanted to.

  I could do something fun.

  Go to a spa.

  Get my hair done.

  Be spontaneous and carefree for a change.