Page 3 of Broken Hearts (Hibiscus Hearts #1)

“What are you doing here?”

the guy now asks, his tone almost angry, and I’m taken aback. I knew I shouldn’t have come. I’m not welcome here, and rightfully so. I’m Mitch’s absent daughter who has shown up out of nowhere, and these people have no idea who I am.

I don’t even know how to respond to his question. I’m not even sure it’s a question, but more of a demand. He doesn’t bother to introduce himself, but he clearly knows who I am. I swallow hard, pushing back the tears I feel threatening. I’m overwhelmed. I have been since I got that phone call.

The guy is standing there, water droplets glistening on his tanned, toned skin, the sun glowing brightly, and he looks like something out of a movie about surfers. It’s hard not to check him, out with his boardshorts slung low on his hips, revealing the most gorgeous perfectly-cut muscles.

Neither of us says anything for a few seconds, and I mentally remind myself that I’m here for my father’s memorial service and not to ogle the locals.

“You going to answer my question?”

he spits out now, narrowing his eyes at me. “The memorial isn’t for another three weeks.”

My stomach tightens at his oh so inviting welcome, and I take in a slow breath, releasing it raggedly as I try to calm myself. All I feel is dread and fear and guilt mixed together, making this interaction even worse.

“You’re Mitch’s daughter, right?”

he asks again, this time almost like he’s questioning himself, and all I can do is nod. He stares at me, his impenetrable deep brown eyes nearly boring a hole through me.

I need to say something, anything because right now, I look like a complete fool. Again, I take in a breath, turning to look over my shoulder at the white-capped crystal blue waters. This is what my mother meant when she said it’s a beautiful place. Not this muscled and tanned surf bum standing in front of me.

“Yes, Mitch Harris is my dad,”

I finally reply, getting up enough courage to not sound like I’m lying, even though I feel like I am.

“I didn’t even know he had a daughter until like ten minutes ago,”

he mutters, and his attitude is beginning to piss me off.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know about you either,”

I shoot back, not even sure what I mean. Of course, I didn’t know about this guy. I don’t even know his connection to my dad in the first place. All I know is he’s standing outside of The Pipe Dream, which looks exactly the same as when I was last here nearly ten years ago. The yellow paint is weathered, and every nail holding the building together is saltwater-rusted, but there’s something about it that feels soothing, like home. I know this building, unlike this guy who is being a total shithead.

“Good comeback,”

the guy hisses, rolling his eyes as he grabs a towel from a hook outside the shower, drying his hair and pulling on a T-shirt with a worn-out logo for The Pipe Dream. “I gotta go to work. Do you need something?”

He begins walking around to the back of the building, and I follow him, pissed off that he’s blown me off. He could have at least introduced himself, but that is clearly too much effort for him.

“Go ahead and walk away from me. I don’t even know your name!”

I shout, my words loud even over the sound of the waves across the street.

He tosses a hand above his head and for a split second I think he’s about to flip me off. But thinking better of it, he just goes inside the building, letting the door close behind him.

“Great,”

I mutter to myself, letting out an annoyed huff. I stomp my way over, following the path the guy took and I begin banging on the door I saw him go in.

Waiting for him to answer is the longest ten seconds of my life, my heart racing, my palms sweaty given I have no idea what I’m supposed to say.

When he whips open the door, his head tilts to the side, waiting for me to say something, and all I can think of is, “What crawled up your ass? I’m here to see Alana, so if you can tell me where I can find her, I’ll leave you alone.”

A thick layer of white fluffy clouds fills the sky; the sun is beating down on me as the smell of ocean water permeates the space between me and this unpleasant asshole.

He props himself in the doorway, his toned arm stretched up high, like he’s trying to block my way in. I would like to see the place my father called home for all these years, but not like this.

Suddenly I hear a voice let out a high-pitched shriek. “Oh my god, you’re here! You must be Sage Harris. Aloha!”

This tiny dark-haired beauty about my age comes rushing over, throwing her arms around me, pulling me tightly against her. She smells of coconuts and sea salt, and her tan is a deep shade of bronze. She’s stunning, and I can only assume this is Alana.

Strangely I let out a sigh of relief, worried that I was going to come face to face with my dad’s wife or his girlfriend, but Alana is far too young, at least I hope she is too young for my dad.

And again, I remind myself that he’s not here. It doesn’t matter if Alana is his girlfriend or his wife or whatever. I silently chastise myself for selfishly wanting her to be a horrible person based on her association with my dad. I can’t believe how immature and childish my thoughts have been since finding out my father passed away, and not just that, but this horrid sense of jealousy I have that these people had a relationship with him when I didn’t.

I could have tried harder. I could have been a better daughter. But I wasn’t, and now I need to figure out how I fit into his life now that he’s gone.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,”

Alana says, pulling back. She holds me at arm’s length. “Obviously, I’m Alana. We talked on the phone. You’re early.”

She drops her arms, her eyes scanning my face. “You have Mitch’s eyes,”

she now says, her excitement like fireworks blasting in the sky. “Oh, you’re just beautiful, but I knew you would be.”

Again, she pauses, but only for a heartbeat before she’s rambling again, her eyes now filled with tears. “You look like Mitch, and holy shit, that’s hard to see.”

Letting out a hard breath, she reaches for me again, hugging me tightly.

“I’ve been told that,”

I say softly, remembering how, when I was here as a kid, people would say that to me all the time and I hated it. As a girl, who wants to be told they look like their dad?

“I guess you met Nate,”

Alana now says, beaming at him as he stands in the doorway looking like he wants to kill me with his bare hands. “Nate, this is Sage Harris, Mitch’s daughter,”

she says, a tone to her words that feels like she’s trying to convince him that I’m alright.

That ship has sailed. He hates me with the fire of a thousand suns.

“Come in, come in!”

Alana says, blooming with enthusiasm. “You want to see the shop? I know the last time you were here was like, well, I don’t know, a while ago.”

Alana puts a hand on Nate’s chest, giving him a gentle shove out of the way, and even though he moves, that doesn’t mean he wants me coming inside.

“It’s so good to have you here.”

She looks over her shoulder at me, smiling with a perfectly toothy grin. “I miss Mitch so much and having you here is like having a small piece of him back.”

Alana stops at a counter that is constructed from an old surfboard, an iPad mounted next to an ancient cash register. When she turns to look at me, her eyes are filled with tears again.

“It all just happened so quickly.”

Her words have now turned quiet as she swipes a finger at the drop that escaped, running down her cheek.

Nate comes up next to her, resting a hand on the small of her back, and my eyes immediately fall there. I guess he does have some compassion, just not for me. He presses a kiss to her hair, whispering something that makes her smile, and she gives a little nod.

They’re clearly a couple, and for a split second, I’m hit with a thought that makes my jealousy return twice over.

What if Alana is his daughter? Or what if that grumpy asshole is his son? These people could be my siblings. Holy shit.

Without giving it a second thought, I blurt out the question, the words leaving my mouth before I have time to filter them. “Is Mitch your dad? Is my dad…”

“Oh no, no,”

Alana immediately replies, shaking her head. “Nate and I have worked for Mitch since we were sixteen. He’s just…well, kinda like a dad, but not our dad.”

“Not that you have any right to be pissed if he were our dad,”

Nate jumps in. “Not like you cared about him at all.”

We all fall silent, smiles dropping from our faces as Alana whips around to glare at Nate. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

she whisper-shouts, grabbing him by his wrist and yanking him into the small storeroom we walked through earlier.

It’s not like the shop is very big. It’s maybe the size of my apartment in New York with half of it being used as storage. I can hear every word that is being said, and I can’t help but think I should just leave. Between the two of them, Alana is trying so hard to make me feel welcome, while Nate is doing everything he can to get me to leave.

The bad news for Alana is that Nate is winning. This is the last place I want to be. I’m embarrassed that I showed up, embarrassed that I never had a relationship with my dad, embarrassed that I can’t even say I know any of his friends or anything about his life.

I wander around a little, trying to convince myself to stay, but catching every word of the conversation behind the thin piece of material that blocks the shop from the storeroom.

“I can’t even believe you called her,”

Nate hisses, letting out a hard scoff.

“You need to knock this shit off. Mitch would have hated to see you treat her this way and you know that.”

“That’s low, Alana. Don’t use Mitch against me. She’s a fucking stranger,”

Nate replies, anger in his words. He’s hurting too, just like Alana, but he sure as hell is manifesting it into hurting me.

“Listen, can you please just be nice to her?”

“No,”

Nate immediately barks, and I hear what sounds like a smack. “Okay, okay, shit, Alana, you didn’t have to hit me.”

“Please, I swatted your arm, you baby,”

Alana says, laughing a little. “You always overreact to everything.”

The two emerge from the back, and I try to pretend like I didn’t hear every word of it, even the part where Nate called me ‘a fucking stranger’, and nothing about that makes me feel any better.

“Where are you staying?”

Alana now asks, her perfect smile on display.

“I was just planning to find a hotel near the shop,”

I say, realizing that’s going to be a little difficult since the shop is on a part of the island that isn’t nearly as built-up as other areas.

Nate lets out a low laugh, looking over at me, he says, “Good luck with that. There’s nothing available. You didn’t think to make a reservation before you came?”

“I didn’t because I was a little caught off guard,”

I reply, trying to keep my anger from bubbling to the surface.

“Yeah, you weren’t the only one,”

he mutters, tugging a hand through his disheveled brown hair. The conversation with Alana didn’t make a damn bit of difference to his attitude.

“Then you should stay here,”

Alana jumps in, motioning to the ceiling. “Mitch’s apartment is above the shop.”

“What the fuck?”

Nate suddenly blurts out, and both Alana and I whip around to look at him. “Sorry, I guess I said that out loud. You’re more than welcome to stay here,”

Nate now says, gritting his teeth as he forces himself to say the words.

“I don’t want to impose,”

I say softly, pulling my phone from my purse. “I can look for something. Maybe a rental or a room somewhere. I’m sure you don’t really have the space for me…”

I trail off, looking up at the ceiling, knowing the apartment is about as big as the store. I remember it being small when I visited, but I’m sure it will feel even smaller now.

“Oh, Nate and I don’t live here. We don’t even live together. I wouldn’t want to spend any more time with him than I have to,”

Alana jokes, throwing her arms around his neck playfully. “I live a few blocks away with some friends, and Nate lives, um, Nate lives out back in the guesthouse.”

She says this like she knows I’m going to cringe, but what other option do I have? I’m in a place where hotels book up months in advance, and on a part of the island that isn’t really interested in having tourists. It’s pretty remote in the grand scheme of things. It’s the kind of town that tourists visit to learn how to surf or to have lunch. It’s not the kind that has luxury high-rise hotels.

“As long as it’s okay,”

I now say, looking directly at Nate. He’s the one who has the issue with me being here.

Silence falls between us, and Alana gives Nate’s side a hearty jab with her elbow, and she widens her eyes at him.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”