Surrender (15 page)

Now . . .

I fucked up. Big-time.

I spent all this time procrastinating, hoping that somehow there was another Julie Keaton out there, when I should have just done the right thing and given her the letter the moment I was sure. And hell, I'd been sure for a long damn time now. I'd tried to deny it, even tried to avoid asking her full name, but the truth was that I'd had a hunch since I spotted her marching down that aisle on the beach, preceding Jason's sister.

I sank down into the hotel's armchair, a near-empty glass cradled in my hand, and continued staring at the computer screen. I scratched at my chest, then my head, trying to force my brain into focusing, but I couldn't think past Julie and that damn letter and her accusation that I'd wanted to replace Jason.

It wasn't true. At least, it didn't start out that way. And if being with them, enjoying being a part of their little family unit, was considered wrong, then I was prepared to be wrong for the rest of my life. Julie deserved to have someone take care of her for once, to love her like she should have been loved all these years. And Will . . . that kid deserved to have a real father figure in his life.

I jumped, nearly spilling my drink, when a sharp rap came at the door. I stumbled out of the chair and somehow made my way across the room.

“Julie,” I said as I opened the door, before I made out the woman standing there.

“No,” said the hotel clerk. She held out an envelope. “Here's your receipt. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to let us know.”

I stuck my head out the door and looked up and down the hall, expecting Julie to emerge from somewhere, but of course she wasn't there.

—

The next morning, I woke up with the sun too bright, the birds outside too loud. I folded an arm over my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but the ringing in my head kept going, so loud it was filling the room.

It stopped suddenly and then a minute later started again, until it finally dawned on me that it was the phone making all that racket. I reached over and grabbed the receiver. “Hello?” I barely croaked out.

“Come over,” said the soft voice over the line.

I sat up, wincing as my head tried to split right down the middle. I wasn't even sure if I was just hallucinating Julie's voice.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, just hung over.”

“Well, this can wait. Just go back to sleep.”

Like hell it could. “I can be there in about thirty-five minutes,” I said and tried to move as fast as my protesting body would allow.

—

“Hi,” Julie said when she let me in. “Will's coming home soon, so this needs to be fast.”

I took hold of her shoulders and soaked her in, feeling like it had been years since I'd seen her light blue eyes, her lovely face. “I'm sorry, Julie. I wish I could convey just how sorry I am,” I said, squeezing her to my chest.

“I understand,” she said, twisting out of my arms. “I just wanted to give you this.” She picked up a box by the stairs and held it out.

Inside were my things, those little articles that I'd accidentally left behind. Or perhaps I'd consciously left them so that I would be remembered, even after I was no longer welcome in her home.

It took a few moments but it finally pierced through my sludgy brain that this was no reunion. “So we're not even going to talk about this? You're just going to end it like this?” I asked, staring down into that box.

“How should I end it, then, Neal?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Should I have just dropped your stuff off at the front desk of your hotel? Maybe just thrown it away?”

“Come on, let's not do this,” I said.

When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes, making me feel like even more of an asshole, if that was possible.

“No, Julie,” I said, touching her cheek with the pad of my thumb.

“I wish I'd had that letter a long time ago,” she said, all the sarcasm and anger gone from her voice until all that was left was anguish. “It would have made a world of difference.”

“Really? It would have made a difference knowing he never kept his promise?”

“I would have had some closure,” she said. “My life would have been different.”

“But then we might never have met on that beach.”

“We would have met when you handed me the letter.”

“And you would have said thank you and gone on your way, and I would have never seen you again.”

“Wow,” she said with a humorless laugh. “You weren't lying when you said you're a selfish bastard.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

“I knew it was too good to be true. It was all too good to last,” she said with a sad shake of her head. “I should have known better. But we had fun at least.”

“We had more than fun between us,” I said, taking a step forward, needing to be as close as possible. Maybe then I could convince her to give me another chance. “Much more.”

“I thought so, too. But I was wrong,” she said, taking a big step back.

This was excruciating, this back-and-forth. I'd much rather do SERE training again than endure this torture. “Look, Julie,” I said, “I know that withholding that letter was wrong, but one fact remains: I began to fall in love with you before I knew your real identity.”

“But if you had really loved me, you would have told me. You would have given me the letter the moment you figured it out. Instead you chose your own self—your own needs—over mine.”

I bit back a groan of frustration then lunged forward, kissing her in greed. If she wanted selfish, then she would get selfish. But no matter how hard I mashed my lips against hers, she held firm, refusing to open up to me. I gave up, leaning my forehead against hers. “I haven't ever felt this way about anyone, Julie. But even if this is all new territory to me, I am sure of one thing—that I love you. And there's not a doubt in my mind that you love me, too.”

“I love you. But I no longer trust you.”

I should have been prepared—I mean, what else did I expect?—but to hear it coming from those lips felt like I'd just been punched in the gut.

She walked to the door, her hand on the doorknob. “You'd better go. Will's coming home soon and I don't want him to see you.”

“You haven't told him?”

“What, that the man he idolizes has been keeping a huge secret from us all this time? No, I haven't told him.”

I nodded, a tiny bit relieved. “Thank you.”

“I didn't do it for you.”

“I know, but thanks all the same.” I stared at her, trying to figure out how to fix the situation. I could create the most complex codes, set up phone and Internet access in the most remote places of the world, but Lord help me, I couldn't figure out how to appease this woman. But, as with all things in life, I'd learned that in order to figure out a problem, I first needed to step away and get a different perspective. “Okay. I'll go.”

“That's a good idea.”

I turned toward the door then stopped before I crossed the threshold. “If you or Will ever need anything, just ask. I'll be around.”

“Are you staying in town?”

“I don't know.” I searched her face for any clues that she wanted me to, but the mask was back on. “I think I'll dust off the plane and just . . . go,” I said, though now that I'd known her, I had nowhere else to go.

The front door closed behind me soundly, Julie not even bothering to watch me drive away like she used to do. I went to the car and put the box in the passenger seat, unsure of where to go next.

I could just get on the plane and fly until I needed gas—it wouldn't be the first time I'd done that. I'd lived a nomadic life not too far back, but somehow the idea of flying around the country no longer held appeal.

I was still standing in the driveway, trying to figure out my next move, when Stacy's minivan drove up to the curb. The van door slid open and Will came bounding out of the vehicle, waving good-bye to his friend before running to me. “Neal!” he cried, throwing his arms around my waist. “Where have you been?”

“I've been working, bud,” I said, which was technically not a lie.

“I have something for you,” he said, and before I could tell him I had to leave, he threw his backpack onto the grass and ran into the house.

I looked around and found Stacy still at the curb, watching me. When she got caught watching, she turned her head and quickly drove off.

Will came back waving a piece of paper in the air. “I drew this for you.”

That picture, so roughly and lovingly drawn, made my heart clench. I crouched down and smiled. “Thank you. This is a really good drawing.”

“See, it's you and me and Mom.”

“It's really great.”

“So come on, let's go practice soccer.”

“We can't do that anymore, Will,” I said, watching his little face go from happy to confused in one point zero second. “I won't be back for a while. I'm sorry.”

“Where are you going? Did you and Mom have a fight?”

“I'll let your mom answer all those questions, okay?” I said, squeezing his little shoulder.

“When will you come back?”

“I'm not sure.”

“But . . . can you come back to teach me the soccer drills? And teach me to shave for real?” Will asked, slightly panicked.

“I think your mom will be able to handle all that stuff.”

“But she'll teach me to shave my legs,” he said, throwing his hands up in frustration.

I fought back a smile. God, I was going to miss this kid. “I know, I'm sorry. Things just didn't work out.”

His chin started to quiver. “You said I was your buddy.”

I held him by the shoulders, willing him to look at me. “You are.”

“But soldiers don't leave their buddies behind.”

I bowed my head, the realization that Julie was not the only person I was letting down weighing heavy on my conscience.

“Do you want to come back for my birthday party?” he asked with a little hopeful lilt to his voice.

“I can't,” I said then remembered the gift I'd bought him. “Hold on a second. I have something for you,” I said, and I got the box from the backseat of the car.

Will didn't waste time. He ripped open the wrapping and didn't even bother looking at the box before ripping into that, too. I helped him take the pen out of the plastic packaging and put in the battery for him. “Wow. Is it like yours?” he asked.

I nodded, crouching down. Will had always been curious about my smartpen, oftentimes taking it when I wasn't looking and recording funny little voice messages for me. “You can do voice recordings here and if you write in the special notepad, it will also turn your drawings into computer art.” I took the pen and pressed record. “Will Keaton, this is Neal Harding. I want you to know that I've had the best time with you. I think you are a really cool kid, and I'll miss you. I hope you won't forget me.”

Will listened to my recorded message. “Thanks, Neal,” he said, wrapping his arms around my neck. “You're really cool, too.”

My chest constricted at the finality of the hug. “'Bye, buddy.”

Will hung on, sniffing by my ear. It was almost too much to take. Then Julie saved me from completely losing it. “Will, time to come in.”

I stood up and turned around. “'Bye,” I said, leaving so much more unsaid, and with one last sad wave, I got in my rented car and drove away.

I flew out of Dallas that afternoon and headed to the shores of San Diego. I hadn't been back home in a while, but I really needed to be by the water and clear my head.

It was dark by the time I exited the hangar at Montgomery Field and caught a taxi to my buddy's pub ten minutes away.

“Hey, long time no see,” Lonnie, the owner and my friend, said as soon as I entered the establishment. He reached across the bar to clasp my hand and give my shoulder a pat. “Where the hell have you been, man?”

“Oh, you know, here and there.”

“And back again,” Lonnie said as he handed me a bottle of beer, reminding me of the geeky kid I'd known back in high school. It was the reason we'd been friends. Geeks of a feather and all that.

“How's Bill Gates?” he asked, leaning on the bar. “You taking over his empire yet?”

“Not anytime soon,” I said, taking a big gulp of the beer. It tasted extra good considering the day I'd had.

Another guy walked in and Lonnie greeted him with a jerk of the head. “'S up.” He turned to me. “Mark here will take care of you,” he said to me.

“You're not staying?”

“No, it's my wedding anniversary. The wife and I are doing the whole thing—got a babysitter, booked a fancy dinner, the works.”

“How long have you been together? Five, six years?”

“Six,” Lonnie said. “I still don't know how she fell in love with my nerdy black ass, but I'm not going to question it. I'm just going to make her very happy tonight.
Very
happy.”

I raised the mug. “Hey, congrats, man.”

“What about you? Still single?”

I worked on peeling the label off the bottle, shaking my head. “It's complicated.”

He pushed away from the bar. “Duly noted.” He uncapped another ice-cold beer and slid the bottle over. “Hey, man, take care of this guy, okay? Anything he wants. Within reason,” he said to Mark.

After Lonnie left, Mark took up his spot. I drank my beer and avoided his prying gaze. He was watching me, waiting for me to say something. When I didn't speak, he finally said, “So what's your sob story?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You know, your tale of woe, your reason for being drunk at a bar at seven on a Monday night.”

“It's Monday. Isn't that enough?”

“There's always a reason why people hate Mondays. For most people, it's because they hate their jobs.” He folded his elbows on the bar, leaning too close for my liking.

“I hate Mondays because I do.”

“Hmm.” He studied me for a long moment, his head cocked to the side. “So what's your damage?” When I gave him a confused look, he waved a hand. “You know, everyone's got something. An abused childhood; they accidentally killed someone; some deep, dark secret that causes them to shy away from the world. What's yours?”

“I have nothing. I'm just a regular guy, completely boring and unexceptional.”

“That's it,” Mark said, slapping the bar and pointing a finger at me.

I sighed, beginning to wish I hadn't come here at all.

“You don't think you're worth loving.”

I got to my feet, the stool screeching beside me. “You know, if I wanted to be analyzed, I would go to a real shrink.”

“I am a real shrink,” he said with a shit-eating grin. “I like to practice in my off-hours on unsuspecting handsome strangers.”

I tried to hide my surprise but didn't know if I was successful. “Well, I'm flattered but I don't need therapy. I just came here for beer.”

“Well, you're in luck, therapy is free.” When I didn't return his smile, he finally backed off. “All right, I'll leave you alone.”

I fixed my attention on the television up in the corner of the ceiling; it was playing the eighties movie
An Officer and a Gentleman
. It was at the iconic point of the movie where Richard Gere was stalking through the factory in his whites, intent on literally sweeping Debra Winger off her feet.

I snorted. “It'll never work,” I said to nobody in particular. “She'll always be paranoid that he'll leave her, because if he did it once, he'll do it again.”

“You know,” Mark said, coming back over, “even trust issues can be overcome, provided both parties are willing to work on it.”

I stared down at my empty bottle. “Yeah, therein lies the rub.” I looked up. “Give me another one. Keep them coming.”

—

A cab dropped me off at my father's house a few hours and several beers later. I took my bags and knocked on the door, regretting that I'd called ahead, wishing I could just sneak in and hide in the guest bedroom unnoticed instead. I looked up at the second-story window, remembering how easy it used to be to climb up there from the balcony railing, but in my inebriated state, I'd probably fall flat on my ass and land myself in the hospital.

“Neal,” my stepmother, Karen, said, ushering me inside. “We thought you were coming earlier.”

I bent down to give her a hug, hoping she didn't smell the alcohol on my breath and the lingering cigarette smoke on my clothes. But that was just a drunk man's wishful thinking, because the sober notice everything.

“Have you started smoking again?” she asked, looking stern.

“No,” I said, taking my smelly jacket off and balling it up. “I went by Lonnie's bar first, and his bartender is a smoker.”

“Well, that doesn't seem right,” she said, leading the way to the living room. “Isn't smoking banned in all public places?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that's not legal.”

“You know what should be illegal? Hitting on and psychoanalyzing the only patron in your bar while you smoke,” I said, collapsing onto the suede love seat.

My dad, who was sitting in the same recliner my mother had spent her last days in, looked at me over his glasses. “You look like hell, son.”

“I feel it,” I said.

“Things didn't go well with Julie?” Karen asked, all motherly concern. “Oh, did you eat already? Do you want a sandwich?”

“Things are over with Julie.” I blew out a breath and turned to Karen. “I'd love a sandwich, Karen.”

“Be right back,” she said and disappeared off into the kitchen.

Dad raised a bushy eyebrow. “What happened?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does. That's why I'm asking.”

I leaned my head on the back of the couch. “I withheld something from her, something that I should have handed over the moment I knew it belonged to her.”

“Son,” he said with a sigh. “Let me guess, you thought you were keeping it from her for her own good?”

I gave a miserable nod.

“So if everything was going fine, why give it to her? Why ruin a good thing?”

“I couldn't have it hanging over our heads anymore. She wanted to build a life with me, and I didn't want any secrets between us.”

Dad gave me a narrowed, suspicious look.

“No, I wasn't self-sabotaging,” I said. “I really love her. I want to be with her.”

“Isn't that what you did with that Shari girl?”

“Hell no. Shari cheated on me while I was deployed. There's nothing similar between the two situations at all.” I sighed, wishing there
were
a correlation between my past relationships and what had happened with Julie. Maybe then I could collect the data and track the trends to see where I had gone wrong.

But as it was, the only recurring fact was that all my relationships had ended. If I was a more insecure man, I'd probably deduce that the problem was me.

I pushed up off the couch. “Do you still have my surfboard?”

He jabbed a thumb toward the side of the house. “All your stuff's in the garage. In the back by the fridge.”

“Thanks for letting me crash for a few days, Dad,” I said and headed to the kitchen to eat my sandwich and try to soak up the alcohol in my belly.

—

The next day, I woke up before sunrise, surprisingly free of a headache and that groggy feeling that usually came after a night of heavy drinking.

I took my surfboard from the garage and gave it a coat of wax, finding the constant circular stroke calming. After, I borrowed my dad's truck and drove the short distance to the Torrey Pines State Reserve and walked the two-mile-long path to my favorite surfing spot, Black's Beach.

The sun had risen by the time I made it down to the beach but it was still cold as balls. I stuck my longboard into the sand and took a moment to soak in the view of the massive swells rolling in, smiling as a dozen surfers tackled another fifteen-foot wave. It had been a while since I'd taken on anything that big, but my body was already raring to go, already anticipating the rush of dropping in on a wave.

I took in deep breaths, feeling revitalized as I drew into my lungs the fresh salty scent of the ocean. This was sanctuary. This was home.

A seagull flew by and pulled my thoughts back toward the sky, toward the woman who wanted nothing more than to fly.

“Get it together, Harding,” I said, slipping my arms into the sleeves of my full-body wetsuit and zipping up the back. Willfully clearing my head, I took hold of my board and ran toward the water, meeting the freezing waves with an exhilarated shout. My arms sliced through the water as I paddled out to sea, and when I dropped in on that first wave, I felt that familiar rush of joy that comes when I'm communing with the ocean.

As I caught wave after wave, the voices of doubt were silenced by the roar of the ocean, and it was there inside an immense barrel of falling water that I was finally able to make sense of my problems.

I came up with a plan just as my board hit a gurgle in the water and I went flying off my board, landing on my back at the base of this enormous wave, staring up at death.

Come and get me,
I thought right before hundreds of pounds of salt water pounded me into darkness.