Searching Hearts
Authors: Sabrina Lacey
Searching Hearts
~ The Prelude To The Hearts Series ~
© 2014 Sabrina
Lacey
Published by Lacey Publications at
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This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are
either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may
be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of
the publisher.
Copyright © 2014 Sabrina
Lacey
All Rights
Reserved
Brendan Clark, just
graduated college, receives the gift of a weekend in Mendocino to
lick some romantic wounds, and discovers an older woman with a
broken heart of her own. This is the prelude to the Hearts Series,
the story of how a good guy becomes a “bad
boy.
For those who’ve had their
hearts broken.
Brendan Clark
Twenty-five years old. The day after my
balls got juiced for Steve, a jock at NYU. The person who nourished
him with my sack: Sara Brighton. Sara, aka The First Total Bitch I
Ever Loved. And the last.
______________________
Waves crashing. Turning everything they
touch, inside out. And I’m not talking about the ones in the ocean
through the window to my left. Those are nothing.
“Is this your first time in Mendocino?” The
voice is sweet. Curious. Annoying.
I blink. Blurred mind snaps to focused
faster than a turtle at lettuce after its owner left it for two
weeks without feeding it. “What?”
The woman’s skin – pale and raisin-like –
dimples in on itself. “Is this your first time to Mendocino?” Her
voice makes the good witch in The Wizard of Oz sound butch.
I process her question. It would be a simple
question if it were any day other than today. “Oh. Yeah. First
time.”
“Wonderful. This is a magical place, you
know.” Her head tilts sweetly and I instantly expect the lollipop
crew to jump out and start humping my leg. “Are your parents coming
later tonight?”
I stare at her long enough to make her
uncomfortable. “Are you kidding me? I’m here to lick some wounds so
give me the key and let’s be done with it.”
“Oh. It’s just that I saw their name on the
reservation,” she stutters.
“Yeah. It was a gift. And no, it’s not my
birthday, so wipe off the grin.”
She obliges but it’s obvious I’m not her
favorite cup of tea. She probably prefers people tempered with milk
and sugar. Not bitter like me. That’s what it’s come to. That’s who
I am now. As in today. The day after she killed the me I used to
be.
I blow out of the door and head to Cottage
2. I just want to sleep.
Rebecca Wells
Cottage 1. Same night. Same second. Ten Year
Anniversary flowers upside down in the garbage. Empty, toppled-over
bottle of Rodney Strong Cabernet. On floor: Me. Thirty-seven years
old. Not on floor: My Husband.
______________________
I thought it would be forever. Jack was
perfect for what I wanted. He wasn’t terribly handsome but he was
driven with
Successful Future
stamped onto his four-finger
forehead. He came from a good family. The sex was fine, passable,
but I wasn’t looking for sex. I was looking for money and for a
good father to my eventually-born, genius kids. I looked to his
fair-to-mediumly happy parents’ continued partnership as a
blueprint for what I could expect. I wanted stability. And I got
it.
What I didn’t bargain for was the dead
inside blah feeling that threatened to suck me into oblivion. The
same one that made me scream what I screamed this morning, back in
Arizona. He’d stared at me like the stupid kid in class when the
teacher tells him it’s not a multiple choice test. “You don’t like
my car?”
This is what I screamed: You don’t look at
me anymore. What color are my eyes. When was the last time we had
sex. I’m tired of pretending I’m not a carnivore. Your Prius dries
my panties right up.
I do have to admit that it was a well-chosen
turn of phrase in a heightened state, but
that’s all he
heard?
“Open godammit!! Are you fucking kidding
me?!!” My head lifts to the sound coming from outside, not from my
memory of this morning.
Standing in front of the door to the cottage
next to mine is a tall, way too young for me, brooding ball of
manhood jamming his reluctant key into a lock that must have been
born under the sign Taurus. There’s a fallen suitcase on the porch
like my bottle of sucked-up wine. His anger matches mine, though I
doubt he knows my husband Jack. The jokes inside my head make me
laugh outside my mouth. A mistake. Eyes of blue thunder slash to
their right and land on me, nearly tearing my sweatpants right off.
My heart stops after my breath. There’s no way I could have
prepared for the feeling in my legs when this young kid stares at
me like he wishes I’d die two times and then once more.
I duck my head inside and close the door. I
need the skin to remain
on
my body.
Brendan
Cottage 2. Lock: jammed. Anger: unmanaged.
Demons: assimilated.
______________________
I’m trying to get some R&R and this lock
has her legs closed tight Unfuckingbelievable. This place is so
cute, it’s annoying, and now the key doesn’t work so I’m trapped
outside and will have to go back and ask for help. That’s not going
to happen.
A door to my right opens. My neck nearly
cracks with the speed of turning to see who’s staring at me.
Peering back is a wildcat, mid-thirties.
She sneers at me and vanishes.
Well well well. Looks like God just gave me
a present.
I’ve never been the bad boy, which I’m done
paying for. Enough Mr. Nice Schmuck. Sara’s last words to me were,
“You’re just so nice, Brendan. I don’t want to hurt you.” Fuck that
upside down and sideways. So what if I bought her flowers all the
time we were together. Never cheated on her. Let her know she was
loved. Stayed faithful to her after she left our apartment to study
at NYU, mid-college. Wrote her letters which I actually
snail-mailed. Bought her a ring that her eyes never got the chance
to suck on and brag about and throw around like a gloating kitten
lying in catnip.
At least I’ve got that.
At least she never knew how much I really
loved her.
Doorknob finally gives way to my mood and I
almost fall inside the cottage. Damn. It’s like the quaint fairies
threw up in here. Mom – what do you think I am? A chick? Well, I
have to admit, that’s how I’ve been acting my whole life – like a
fucking pansy.
Tides have turned. There’s a new Brendan in
town. Watch out lady in Cottage 1.
Rebecca
Cottage 1. Covers: on me. Curtains: open.
Dark, neglected, empty wood-burning stove Night: black and lonely.
Phone: ringing a-fucking-gain.
______________________
I slide my thumb across the device. “What,
Jack.”
He sighs. “Where are you? I’ve been looking
for you everywhere.”
“What part of ‘It’s over and I’m out of
here’ did you not understand?”
Silence, then, “Where are you, Bec?”
Silence, then, “I’m not telling you.”
Silence, then explosion.
“What the hell is going on! Ten years of my
life and I don’t even get an explanation?”
I’m sporting the opposite of his energy
level. “I told you. I screamed all my reasons, but you weren’t
listening which is no surprise. You’d only have heard me if I
started the conversation with ‘the Dow Jones is up three points;
I’m leaving you.’ That’s the only way you would’ve heard me.”
I hang up before he has a chance for an
unwitty comeback. This time I turn the phone completely off. Why
torture myself? Best just to torture him. I’m done.
Staring at the stars outside my window, I
wonder how he hasn’t figured out that I came to our anniversary
spot alone. I guess he wouldn’t have expected me to fly without
him. It’s a thing I’ve never done. We met when I was twenty-five.
Married at twenty-seven. Separating at thirty-seven. Divorcing at
thirty-eight, I guess. All of this sans genius kids. What happened
to having children? What happened to that?
I let the wine do its magic of lulling me
finally into a dreamless sleep. Better than nightmares, thanks.
Brendan
Cottage 2. Porch. 9 a.m. Clothing: Faded
blue jeans. No shirt. No shoes. Service? Definitely.
______________________
Her door opens and I wait. A chain reaction
happens in my body, beginning with my mind, moving to my gut,
landing in my crotch. I rest my hand on the space on my leg just
below and wait, eyes on where she’s about to be. Waiting. Waiting.
Waiting. What’s taking her so long? Stick your head out
already.
Bam.
She steps outside and turns her head right.
Looks right at me like she was hoping I’d be here. The same tigress
I saw last night is peering out from her eyes. She gives hungry a
whole new look and it’s got nothing to do with wanting donuts. I
check her body out as she stands staring at me from the welcome
mat. Nice rack held up by a bra that doesn’t need to push the
already perky bounty up. Her sundress is tight around a womanly
waist and it hangs to the floor so I can’t see her legs. That’s
okay, I’ve got an imagination. I bet what’s under there is smooth
and firm. Shaved. Flawless.
She scans my body too, but more quickly,
like she thinks I won’t notice. Oh, I notice.
I just stare at her. No smile. Fuck smiling.
I can’t be bothered.
“Hey.”
Her head tilts like an alien who doesn’t
speak the language. “Hi.”
That’s the most reluctant greeting I’ve ever
heard. Time to bring out the big guns. I slowly raise my hand and
touch my abs like there’s an itch I need to scratch, moving as slow
as a snail on Quaaludes in a snowstorm. Her eyes fixate on my hand
and she backs away into the cottage and closes the door.
What the fuck.
Fine. I’ll go check out the ocean.
Rebecca
Cottage 1. Back: on front door. Chest:
heaving. Panties: soaked.
______________________
Okay, somebody tell me that didn’t just
happen. I’m pretty sure I just got undressed by a pair of the most
beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. His abs have nooks and crannies
I want to nibble on and his arms are just the right amount of
muscular. The kid looks like Zeus and Angelina Jolie had a son who
sprung out fully formed and ready.
But there’s no way he’s older than
twenty-four. I’ve got a million years on him, easy. But those abs…
when he touched them, I wished I were his fingertips. Why do I have
to be so much older? Why did I waste my good years on a guy like
Jack? It’s so unfair. It’s screwed up how society tells you
marriage is the prize so much so that you choose the first ring
that comes along thinking I won, I won!! And not thinking – wait,
this guy for… my whole life?
I scan myself in the bathroom mirror and see
newly embedded crows feet and a wedding ring. It takes gallons of
soap and hot water to squeeze it off my atrophied finger. Finally I
place it atop the tiny, hotel-sized soap where it can clean away my
past and stay the hell out of my future.
Walking into the bedroom, I look out the
window. The ocean waves at me from across the two-lane road.
There’s a cliff.
Maybe I could throw myself off it. It’s
worth a shot.
When I get to the edge, I’m surprised and
happy to find I’m not alone. Zeus Jolie turns at the sound of my
footsteps. His dreamy eyes flicker and he scans me again, gaze
resting on my breasts like there’s a NY Steak resting on them,
complete with a bottle of A1 sauce.