Page 25 of Broken Hearts (Hibiscus Hearts #1)

I ask Nate, apprehension in my voice as I look at myself in the mirror. I swallow hard, pushing back the constant threat of tears that have been present ever since I woke up.

“Yes, you look beautiful,”

Nate replies, running a gentle finger over my bare shoulder and leaning in to press a kiss where his finger just was.

He’s wearing a colorful Hawaiian print shirt with linen pants, cuffed at the bottom and his feet slipped into a pair of flip flops. He looks like he’s going to a luau, not a memorial service.

I’m not used to this, the casual nature, the bright colors or the strange sense of calm he seems to have. I feel like I should be in black, mourning the loss of my father, but Alana and Nate have already told me it isn’t like that. This is about remembering him and honoring who he was, not crying for what was lost, but to recall the happiness he brought to everyone’s lives.

I’m not there yet.

And I don’t know how they are either.

I swipe at the stray tear that has escaped from my eye, running down my cheek and streaking my makeup. Why did I even bother? Fuck, this day is going to be hard for me. It still feels like I’m an outsider looking in, and I know that’s only my impression of it, but I’m still struggling.

Alana let me borrow a dress since I showed up with only black to wear, and I realize I would have looked like the outsider that I am. And now here I am, standing in this brightly colored floral sundress, needing to wash off my makeup, trying to control my urge to sob.

I knew this day was coming; it’s the whole reason I’m here, but that doesn’t make it any easier. If anything, it feels harder now that I’ve grown close to Nate, and my friendship with Alana is becoming stronger.

These are all things that would never have happened if my father hadn’t passed away, and that makes me overrun with guilt. Guilt for not getting to know him while he was still alive. Guilt for enjoying myself. Guilt for being here and now being responsible for something my father built and loved.

The list is endless.

“It feels weird,”

I now say, the words quiet, swallowing again, trying to keep it together. I have no idea how I’m going to make it through the service. I’m probably going to be the only one sobbing like a baby since Nate and Alana have been all smiles.

“What feels weird?”

Nate asks me, turning me so I’m facing him, his arms hanging loosely around my waist.

“All of this. How can you be so happy right now?”

I don’t mean for my words to come out so accusatory, but they do. Jealous of his ability to overlook the sadness that fills the space.

“Sage, baby, your dad wouldn’t have wanted us sad. It’s easy to think about his life and remember…”

Nate trails off, the smile dropping from his face as the realization hits him.

Our experiences were very different. He had my father in his life up until he died by choice. I pushed him away by choice.

He pulls me close now, holding me tightly, the hard beat of his heart drumming softly against my chest. It has this calming quality I never thought I’d experience in my life. Everything about Nate soothes me and having him close for this will be the only way I’ll get through it.

“I know it’s different for you,”

Nate whispers against my hair, dropping a soft kiss where his words linger. “I’ll be there with you. This is a chance for you to hear what a wonderful man your father was.”

He stops talking when I let out a ragged sob, my breathing uneven and ragged too. His words feel like too much, but I know I need to hear them. I need to let this heal me the way it has for Nate and Alana. It’s why I’m here.

“Shh,”

he murmurs, his arms pulling me as close as possible. “We’re going to get through this.”

He pulls back, his fingers brushing away the tears, and he smiles.

The way he talks about this as if we’re a couple, that he has no intention of letting me be alone, makes this feel possible. But not only that, it makes me hopeful for the future, a future that includes us.

“Here,”

he now says, his beautiful smile on his tanned face as he reaches for a hibiscus from a small vase on the kitchen table, breaking it off close to the flower. He tucks it into the messy bun I have tangled at the nape of my neck. “It was your dad’s favorite. The yellow ones,”

he clarifies.

“Mine too.”

“It’s why it was Mitch’s favorite,”

Nate says, not possibly knowing if this is true.

I shake my head, the tears welling in my eyes once again.

“I’m right, Sage. He knew you loved them too.”

His words take hold in my heart, gripping tightly, never wanting to let go. I want to believe him. I want to have a piece of my father that lives in me, and this will be the memory I hold close.

“How did he die?”

I now ask, the change in subject jarring and possibly morbid, but I know nothing of what happened. I haven’t wanted to approach the subject since arriving here, and even though Alana told me it was a surfing accident, it still feels too vague.

Nate takes in a hard breath, letting it out slowly. “We’re not really sure. Autopsy report says he drowned, but he also had a head injury.”

Not that I ever thought his death was anything but accidental, but I still want to hear what happened. It feels like it could bring some closure. Or it might just be the need to know, the curiosity of the unknown.

“He died doing what he loved,”

Nate tells me, his smile back. “Alana and I have talked about it a lot, and what we came up with is that he went out for a surf that evening alone. Caught a wave, probably a big one and possibly got taken down. Hit some coral or a rock…”

He doesn’t finish, letting my mind fill in the missing pieces.

I nod, trying to see things the way Nate does. That my dad died doing what he loved. That his death is fitting to his lifestyle, but nothing about that helps ease my pain.

I’m not sure anything will.

“We have to go, babe,”

Nate now says, weaving his fingers into mine. The warmth of his touch encourages me to follow him.

He leads me out the door of his house and across the yard to the back entrance of the shop. We both step inside, and I stop, closing my eyes, I picture my dad standing here.

He loved this place more than anything, and I can feel his presence here. The smell of his blueberry surf wax fills the space. I try to take comfort in the fact that I’m here celebrating him, something he would have loved.

Nate tapes a sign to the door, saying, “Closed for Mitch’s memorial service. Join us at Turtle Beach to celebrate in his honor.”

It’s handwritten and simple, just like my dad would have wanted.

“Ready?”

Nate asks, again his hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. And as much as I want to say no, I nod.

We walk to the beach, and when we reach the location of the ceremony, I gasp out loud, taking in just how gorgeous it is.

The beach is lined with white chairs, each one draped with yellow hibiscus flowers. And at the front, with the ocean as the backdrop, is an arbor woven with greenery and hibiscus. Mounted in the sand are multiple surfboards of all sizes. My dad’s is in the center, decorated with leis.

To the left of the arbor sits a large stand holding a picture of my father. A small table next to it with a brightly colored urn.

I choke back the sob as I take it all in.

The picture.

The urn.

The surfboard.

The ocean.

It’s overwhelming.

I walk straight to the picture, grateful we’re the first ones here, allowing me the time to take it all in, to adjust and grieve.

I run my fingers over the picture. My father’s joyful, tanned and weathered face smiling back at me, and the tears spill down my cheeks without warning. Flooding from my eyes like a rushing river, and I don’t try to hold it back.

He’s smiling brightly, wearing The Pipe Dream T-shirt. His hand held in the ‘hang loose’ symbol, his wrist covered in multicolored bracelets. Behind him sits the ocean, a place he loved, along with his surfboard propped in the background.

I take it all in, the tears blurring my vision. But I catch one of the bracelets on his wrist, swiping at my eyes so I can see it more clearly.

“Nate,”

I call, and he comes to stand at my side. His arms instinctively wrap around my shoulders, pulling me close. “When was this picture taken?”

“I don’t know,”

he replies, lifting a shoulder. “Maybe two or three months ago. Always with the shaka though.”

He laughs a little, giving the same gesture with his thumb and pinky finger. “Why?”

I let my fingers trail over the bracelet, seeing my name so clearly now etched into the silver oval and next to it, sage leaves.

If I thought I was a mess before, I’m a trainwreck now. The tears spill from my eyes without a single sob leaving my mouth, flooding my face. I don’t even bother wiping them away.

“Look,”

I mutter, my word lost in the raggedness of my tears.

“He wore that every day,”

Nate says, and when I take in his face, his brow is furrowed, confusion masking his once smiling face. “I never knew. I never asked.”

“For how long?”

“Since the day I met him, he had it on,”

Nate replies, and this time when I take in his face, his eyes shine with the threat of tears. “He loved you so much, Sage.”

I don’t know if I can take this. He loved Nate too. He loved Alana and Tanner. He loved the island and the ocean. These people were his family. This place was his home.

Nate pulls me to him, holding me close as we cry together. Letting out what he’s been holding in, what he’s been trying to keep inside, trying to be strong.

I can’t imagine what Nate is feeling right now, given my father was the only person in his life that remained constant, the person who saw something in him, the person who possibly saved him.

“Fuck, Sage,”

Nate rasps out, his words hoarse and painful. “I miss him so much.”

I want to be strong for him, but I just can’t, falling apart again, our arms wrapped tightly around each other, holding each other up. His words break my heart, shattering it into a million pieces. It’s the honesty that gets me, sharing what he really feels, and I know how hard that is for him. His vulnerability will never be seen as a weakness to me.

Pulling back, I take Nate’s face in my hands, my thumbs brushing away the tears, I kiss him. My eyes fall closed, my lips soft and comforting against his. He needs me as much as I need him.

We have each other.

When we finally separate, I look over my shoulder, and if things couldn’t get any more emotional, I see my mom standing near the last row of chairs.

I blink a couple of times, not sure if she’s really here, but when she waves, a smile on her face that feels so much like home, I run to her.

I nearly knock her over with the force of my body when I collide with her, her arms wrapping around me. She hugs me with the force that only a mother can, and I sob against her shoulder, letting myself find comfort in her presence.

“What are you doing here?”

I ask through a strangled sob. I’ve never been more grateful to see her, needing her more in this moment than I ever have in my life.

“I had to come say goodbye too. Your father gave me the greatest gift of my life, and I owe it to him to be here,”

she tells me, running a soothing hand down my back. I can feel the wetness of her tears as she kisses my cheek.

“Thank you.”

“And I thought I told you not to fall in love with a surfer?”

she now says, a chastising playful tone to her voice, and I let out a laugh amongst the tears.

“I want you to meet Nate.”