White Heat Read online



  “I want to teach,” she said softly. “I want to teach kids in this country, kids who might not get a chance to fully understand their culture otherwise. I want to help, too, Lyndie. Don’t be mad at me anymore.”

  Defeated, Lyndie sat down in her pilot’s seat. “I’m not. Go through customs, damn it. Meet me out there.”

  “Thank you.” Nina came forward and gave her a hard hug. “You won’t regret this particular attachment, I promise.”

  But she already did. She regretted all the “attachments” she’d collected, every last one, because with each of them came the distinct possibility of getting hurt. It scared her.

  She really hated that.

  24

  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 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 homeless 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 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 wealth