Always In: The Shore Series Book 2

By M.R. Joseph

My name is Raphael Cruz. I was once a man made up of only flesh and bone. Never feeling, just existing. I indulged in the pleasures that others gave to me, and those I gave to them. That's all it was—pleasure. Physical pleasure. No emotions, no attachments. I didn't need all those feelings, didn't want them. There was no longing for love, no longing to let anyone in. Until I found her. And I gave in.

Harlow Hannum showed me what love was all about. I savored it and held it close, not even knowing I really wanted it in my life. She made me feel loved. She made me accept love. She taught me how to love in return. My heart was open to it all.  My heart was hers. It belonged to her. But, she never knew. And then lies, deceit and betrayal forced me to lose the one thing that made me more than a man who just existed. 

I should have told her I loved her when I had the chance. I should have told her I gave in to all the powers that love possesses.

Will I ever have the chance to tell her? Will my past mistakes never give me that chance?

I need her to know.

I want her to know...

I'm in...

Always.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.R. Joseph
• Release date: Jul 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781500370213

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Harlow~

I can hear, yet I can't speak. I can't feel, but I am aware. I am in perpetual darkness and I want to scream, but I can't open my mouth. Sounds are mumbled. People are around me, talking, saying things, but none of it makes sense. I dream about my loved ones, I know I do, but I can't see their faces. I hear so many voices but who is talking to me? What is all this I hear? I hear my name being called but I can't see. Why can't I see? Why can't I open my eyes? Am I dead? Is this death and all the mystery that surrounds it? I dream of floating. I dream of floating like a weightless article. I dream about losing control. I fight against something, but then it passes and I feel afloat once again. I can't figure out why I feel this way. Am I flying? Oh, God, please help me. If I am in heaven, please come to me and tell me. Why can't I move? Please, someone tell me. Wake me up if this is a dream- if I'm not dead, please someone stir me from this nightmare.

The one voice I hear constantly in my ear, I've heard it before, I know I have, but I don't know who it is. I hear daddy, I hear mommy, I hear my brother. Their voices are familiar.

Are we all dead? Is my family here with me and heaven is just so dark that we can't find our way to each other? Oh, please I hope it's not like this-death. I hope it's not just the abyss. I'm afraid, so afraid. I want to wake up. Please. Please. Please. I want to wake up. I don't want to be in the dark anymore. I want to move. My body wants to move. Why can't my brain listen to me? Please someone. Wake me up. Please wake me.

***

Cruz~

6 weeks after the accident

Her eyes are open. Harlow is awake. My Turnip is awake.

CHAPTER 1

Familiarity

Harlow~

Everything about Dr. Goldberg's office is familiar. The scent of lemon oil on the mahogany furniture, the soft feel of the leather chair I sit in, the pictures of his family that hang above the wall behind his desk. It's all familiar. I can even remember the names of his four children. Kate, Mark, Pete, and Lucy. See, how do I do that? How do I remember something so simple as the names of my therapist’s kids yet I can't remember anything about that night?

As I wait for Dr. Goldberg to come in and begin our session, I hobble out of my chair with my crutches and look out the window of his office. I peer through the blinds onto the Main Street in Princeton. My hometown. I’m glad to be back. I watch the street below. It's late August and I can almost see the heat rising from the black-topped streets. People rushing around from place to place. Some possibly to work, a lunch date, or some shopping. I wonder what their lives are like. I know what mine is like. It's a one-day-at-a-time kind of life right now. But I have to keep moving forward. Push through the bad to get to the good. I remember some of the bad, but unfortunately I can't remember a lot of the good.

And for that, I feel disappointed. Memories are supposed to live forever.

Dr. Goldberg walks in and greets me, startling me in the process.

Harlow, so nice to see you. Please come and sit. Tea?

I make my way back over and sit in one of the familiar leather chairs and stare at the familiar desk before me. I look at the familiar, gray-bearded, balding man in front of me.

No, thank you, Dr. Goldberg. I’m good. He eases back in his chair as he takes his pen in hand and begins to bite on the tip of it. This is also a familiar thing about Dr. Goldberg. He always starts our sessions this way.

So how is your week going? How was physical therapy this week?

I look down at my legs and see deep scaring, evidence of my accident. Those I’m not familiar with. How I got them, how they healed, and why some are larger than others. I brush my fingers over the grooves. The pinkness of the new skin showing through damaged old skin. Some of the skin has been graphed over the much deeper wounds. I try and wear longer clothes to cover the scars, but at this point, I can't allow myself to be vain enough to care. I’m alive and that's what matters most.

P.T. is going well. They say just a few more months on the crutches. I don't use them at home as often as I should, but they warned me to use them more often than not once I go back to work in a few weeks.

Dr. Goldberg opens up my file and clicks the cap of the pen, getting ready to ask me the question again. The one he asks me all the time. Then he'll write down my response.

And you are still determined to go back to teaching and not take the medical leave they offered you?

I shake my head and give him a slight smile.

I know what you're thinking, Dr. Goldberg, but I have to get on with my life. As long as I keep going to physical therapy, and keep coming to see you, then I’m fine. Teaching is also therapy to me, and I’ve made a lot of friends at that school, and Willow is always there. She's going to drive me in every day, and take me home every night. I’m finally back at my own house, too.

Writing something down, he nods his head in what looks like acceptance.

Your parents were okay with that?

I laugh. Not really. Mom cried and wanted to take care of me full time. I just needed to be back on my own. Besides, Greta is due soon and she's going to have to rely on my mom more than I will. Dad is so busy with his new firm. Craw is getting ready for his final semester of student teaching, which in fact, is at Grayson-Elders.

Dr. Goldberg loves Craw. You can see it on his face when I say his name. He knows Craw is someone special to me and has been there with me throughout this whole ordeal.

And how is your family adapting to the new changes with your father leaving his old firm and beginning one on his own?

Now that part was a bit tricky for a while. My father had left the law firm my late grandfather had started long before my father was born; leaving behind his share in the ownership in the country club my family has been a part of for fifty years, leaving behind part of his inheritance. All that was a bit messy, but what wasn't messy was kicking my sweet, old granny to the curb. It's something my dad said he should have done a long time ago.

My dad is wonderful. So many of his clients followed him. One of the partners, his paralegal, and his secretary went along for the ride. Dad's a smart man. I wish now he would have done it sooner. He only stayed around because my mom wanted to keep the peace between us all. Not for the money, but because family is everything to my mom.

Dr. Goldberg writes some more and I can hear the steady stream of the cool air come through the vents in the ceiling.

When your parents found out about the plan your grandmother had in place for you—to sabotage your relationship with Cruz—they didn't hesitate to put an end to their relationship with her, even though you don't remember your relationship with him. Correct?

From what I can recall, yes, all that was true. I missed so much. I really did. I don't remember six weeks of my life... Actually, let me rephrase that, a chunk of the better part of a year of my life.

Yes. Even though I urged them not to, because honestly, I didn't know the facts and I don’t remember our relationship.

So you still have no recollection of the relationship between you and Cruz?

As hard as I try, night after night as I lay awake trying to remember, I don’t. I remember being friends and hanging out in Sandy Cove. I remember the one night, the first night we were together. But that's all. I know the facts about when I was in the coma. I know that he never left my side. He slept there, ate there, lived there until I woke up. When I woke, and I heard him call me baby and when he began to hug and kiss me, I was confused. I didn't understand the intimacy. It was like a stranger was there. He was my friend. We had good times together with the rest of our friends that summer, but I don't remember that we were in love, that we had a sexual relationship other than the first night we met, that we had a long-distance relationship. I don't remember telling him I loved him on New Year's Eve, and about our breakup. I found out later why he did it. Craw told me everything. Evelyn Hannum practically forced his hand into doing it. Albeit it was the wrong way to approach the situation and I feel horrible that he was put into that quandary, but it changed nothing for me. I may have loved him as a friend but as for being the love of my life...I recall nothing. I want to, I really do, but if there is nothing there, how can I force myself to feel something I know nothing about?

When I think about how freaked out I was when I woke up and his being the only face I saw at first, I feel so terrible. The way I reacted, how I pushed him away not knowing what we shared, it plagues me. He was in love with me, and I apparently with him. It's funny what memory the brain and the heart choose to recall. In the case of Cruz and me, neither one is working.

Cruz has written me repeatedly, proclaiming his love and devotion, but no matter what the letters say, I still can’t recall our relationship. Why? Why is that, Dr. Goldberg?

I turn my head and look to the window near to me, like out side of it holds all the answers.

I’m sorry, Harlow. He looks discouraged for me because I can’t remember.

Dr. Goldberg, I wish with my whole heart I could remember how he felt about me, how I felt about him, but I can't. I have memories of the teasing he did, the wild interludes with girls he had while living next to him and how it annoyed me. I’m not sure I told him intimate details though. Like what happened with Chad and the baby and how I’m not able to have children.

The only reason my parents found out was because of my internal injuries. I was bleeding, so when the doctors did and internal exam and ultrasound, they saw that I had a partial hysterectomy. Craw explained it all to them when I was in the coma. They were devastated at first because I kept it from them, but once I woke up and became stronger, I told them everything. I mean everything. The golden boy, Chad, was no longer the golden boy. Dad wanted to kill him. I asked him not to. It was in the past. Chad would have to live with his demons. The sad thing is I can remember such a horrific thing like getting an abortion and almost dying because of it, but I can't remember being in love.

Chad was arrested for driving a watercraft under the influence, but due to his father's connections, was released and the case dropped. My dad is fighting it. He almost killed me. Perhaps it is partially my fault for going with him, but I don't remember going either.

The letters just kept coming from Cruz. Almost daily. Cards and flowers, too. I would find him lurking around the halls while I was in the hospital. If I were being wheeled to physical therapy, I'd notice him duck to avoid me seeing him. The nurses confirmed his presence even when I wasn’t sure. I think they felt it was romantic. I know he would come into my room late at night. I didn't sleep very well after I woke from the coma, and even though I faced the other way, I could feel a presence there. He knew all the nurses and the staff so I’m guessing they felt bad for him and let him look in on me. It got to be uncomfortable after a while so I asked Craw to talk to him, to request that he give me space until I could wrap my head around everything. Coming out of a coma isn't the easiest thing for a person. I experienced nauseating headaches, pain in my legs and back, my speech was slurred, and it took me a few weeks to actually eat solid food. When Craw told me he spoke with him, he didn't elaborate on how he took the news. But the look on Craw's face when I asked him, told me it didn't go so well.

Dr. Goldberg jots down some more, and I uncomfortably move in my seat. My legs are hurting today. I think it may rain tonight.

The letters stopped after Craw spoke with Cruz. By that time I was back at home.

And how did that make you feel?

I’m not sure. Sad for him.

Have you heard how he is?

Drinking a lot. That pains me to know that.

That’s understandable. Have you tried to reach out to him through Porter? Perhaps Cruz requires reassurance that you still want to be friends, and by being honest with him, he may be able to work through this and accept friendship.

Sadly, no. I’m not ready for that. I am concerned for his wellbeing, but as you have recommended, I have to take care of me first. I have to learn to live on my own again. I have to prepare for the upcoming school year, and deal with my therapies. I have to move on, Dr. Goldberg, and so does Cruz.

***

Craw always picks me up from therapy and takes me home. Both therapies actually. He waits for me at the front door of Dr. Goldberg’s building, but as I exit the elevator doors, it's not only him I see, but Willow and Thea, too. They are dressed for the beach and I have a sneaky suspicion they have plans for me. I’ve known them my whole life, so I know when I’m being kidnapped for a day at the beach.

As I make my way to the door, I’m engulfed in hugs from the girls. When I pull away I already shake my head no.

No way, girl. Not happening. I just want to go back to my condo and relax before I have to start work again.

Too late, Willow sings. We went to your house, packed you a bag, and now we are going to handcuff you, stick a burlap sack over your head, and steal you away from the jail that is Princeton.

I’m not going anywhere, Willow. I’m not ready.

Oh, hog wash. Get your ass in the car and let's go sip on some beers and enjoy the beach before we have to deal with a bunch of acne-faced, hormonal pre-teens for nine months.

Craw slugs his arm around my shoulder as he leans against the glass door of the building and bends in my ear.

Har, I think you're ready. You need this. It's just the weekend. I look to my brother who I trust with my life. I bear my soul to him time and time again and I do know that he knows what's best for me.

But what if— Craw stops me before I can finish.

What if what? What of you see Cruz in Sandy Cove? Yes, I'll be honest with you. You may see him. He doesn't live at Porter's parents’ anymore. He has his own place again.

Again? I question.

Craw looks like he doesn't want to fill me in, but he knows I'll ask again if he doesn't. I can be relentless.

Yes, again. He had gotten his own apartment before the accident when Porter had kicked him out of his house. When you didn't wake up, he wouldn't leave. This you already know. But he had to give up his apartment in Sandy Cove. When you woke up, he went to live with his brother.

I get a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Poor guy. He gave that up for me.

But what about his job? He got it back, right?

Yes, for Sandy Cove, and he rents a place not too far from the station. But don't worry. I spoke to him. He knows to give you your space. He just cares about you, Har, and he is dealing with this just like you are.

Yes, drinking solves a lot, doesn't it? I probably should not have said it that way.

Craw gives me a soft but warning look.

Harlow, that's not fair. Max and Porter are keeping tabs on him. He knows he can't mess up or get out of control. And he knows to be respectful and keep his distance.

I ask him again.

But why is he not at Porter's place again?

The three of them look at one another, clearly trying to figure out what to say next. I bite my thumbnail waiting for them to answer. I get aggravated almost immediately from their silence.

Well, for fuck’s sake. Would someone tell me why? Still the deafening silence resumes and now I just want to leave.

Never mind. I already know the answer. Let's just go.

I carefully climb into the car with Craw’s help, and he sticks my crutches in the trunk of Willow’s BMW. The air conditioning is on full blast, cooling me automatically. I think about the answer they would have given me. Why Cruz isn't staying at Porter's parents’ anymore. It's because of me.

I’m emotionally, physically, and mentally drained. I usually am after a session with Dr.Goldberg, but including Cruz in that mix outside my session makes intensifies those feelings.

CHAPTER 2

I'll keep playing this song till I’m all out of quarters

Cruz~

She's here. Not here like in front of me, but she's here in Sandy Cove. My anxiety has erupted into something I can't control. I can't sit still, I can't really think. I can't do this mother-fucking job right now. Craw called to tell me that he was going to try and convince her to come for the weekend. He basically asked me—in the nicest of ways because we have become friends—to stay away from her while she's here. I will do as he asks and only because I know in my heart I need to give her some space. The doctors told her she could regain some of her memory eventually, but there's no timeline. My only hope is that it does happen. If I were a magician, the first thing I'd do would be to bring her memories back. Make her remember us. We were in love. I didn't tell her until it was too late but that's the guilt I'll have to live with. I once said to her that if she just wanted to be friends then I would have to live with that, but I wouldn't live without her in my life.

Things change. I’m living without her. I exist without her. Barely. Craw told me they are going to Jax. When I heard that I was surprised she agreed to go there, then I remembered that it's just another place to her. She has no memory that Jax was the place I told her I wanted to be with her. That it was the place I told her how I felt about her. I don't even know if she remembers that was where we first met. The bathroom. Fuck bathrooms. Well that one anyway.

I started writing her letters in order to jog her memory of what we had. They just confused her and kept on breaking me apart when there was no response. Once Craw asked me to stop writing them, I did. Reluctantly, but I did. I left the hospital when the nurses and her doctor asked me. Her parents felt horrible. They thanked me for being by her side all those weeks, and for never giving up hope. But they told me I needed to stay away so she could recover. It gutted me. Not being able to help her, hold her, be there for her. Sometimes it is too much for me—not being there for her like I always was. I stopped driving by her parents’ rental house. That was where they took her once she was strong enough to leave the hospital, but not strong enough to go back to Princeton. I saw her leave to go home, though. I parked down the street. She looked so small and fragile as Porter and Craw carried her down to the car. That should have been me carrying her. Me. I thought my heart would break again right there like it did day after day while she was in her coma. I watched her be driven away, out of my line of sight, out of my life. That's when the numbness began to take shape.

So here I am again. Knowing she's in Sandy Cove, do I revert back to my stalker-like tendencies, or just stay away? Just one look at her is all I need. I just need to see her beautiful hair, her skin. I just want to see her smile.

My shift is almost over. It's nighttime. Now what the hell do I do with myself? All my friends are out with the girls and I can't be anywhere she is. I'll spend the night pacing the floor of my shitty apartment, getting hammered by myself, and wishing things were different. I wish every day things were different.

As soon as I'm off duty, I switch from my patrol car to my own, and take off for my apartment. Thoughts go through my mind, plans in the making. I go through them like I’m making a list to go grocery shopping or something.

A. Go find someone to just fuck and pretend it's Harlow, just to get off. Which I know I’m not going to do, but I still weigh it as an option because soon I will be a virgin again cause it's been so long.

B. Go get totally shit faced in my apartment and cry like a bitch after I drink a fifth of Jack.

C. Go walk the streets of Sandy Cove in front of Jax, back and forth, all night long wishing and hoping I get to run into her.

I think I want to go with C. Even though I'll most likely do some of B. Plan A never seems to be an option for me though.

***

So I shower, not really knowing what the point is. The air-conditioning in this shit hole I call an apartment doesn't really work and my nerves are making me sweat. I wander down the main drag where all the popular bars are. I wear my baseball cap to try and go a little incognito. It may work, but the goal is to see her and actually talk to her. That's the whole reason why I went with plan C.

Hands in my pockets, my head down, I walk. Inching closer and closer to Jax, I see people I know. Stopping to talk with them, but not really paying attention to the small talk that takes place. I have one eye on them and one eye on the door of Jax. I have no intention on following her in if I see her in there or if I see her go in, I just need to see her face. I need to know she's happy and I will if I see her eyes sparkle, if I see that glow she always has around her. I'll know it. If I just happen to cross the street when I do see, it will be by accident. Everyone will see through that plan, so my course of action has changed. I’m a chicken.

I run into the drugstore to grab a pack of gum. The line in here is long, too long for my liking, and I’m freaking out that if I wait here much longer I'll miss my chance to see her. Oh, fuck it. I throw a few bucks on the counter and tell the kid who works the register that I’m in a hurry. He knows I’m a cop here so he doesn't give me shit. I take off out the door in a mad rush and run right into...Willow.

Cruz? It's a question and a warning. Of all the people in this damn town to run into. Why? Please, God, why?

Willow, I was...um just stopping at the store for some gum. That's it.

She grabs my arm and pinches it, dragging me towards a brick wall near the drug store. Her voice surprisingly calm after she just shredded my arm.

Cruz, I know what you're doing, but you can't. You promised Craw. Please, if you love her, let her have her space. Give her time to heal everywhere she needs to. She smiles at me sadly like she understands, or attempts to.

Where'd this Willow come from?

I lower my head, shaking it and re-depositing my hands in my pockets. I can't look up at her because I know she's right, and if I keep my focus on the ground beneath me, I won't cry. Yep. Big pussy. I cry...all the time.

I...I just want to see her face, Willow. It's been so long. A photograph is nothing compared to the real thing. Can you understand that?

She takes my face in both her hands and raises it up to look at her. Her smile is genuine and I know she gets it. I like this Willow. She should stay.

Yes, Cruz, I do. But she doesn't remember. It's not that she's trying to forget because believe me, and I told you this after she came out of the fucking coma, if she knew the truth, if she knew what her grandmother said to you and what she made you do, she would have never allowed it to happen. I know that girl and she did love you, with all her heart, but she is a different person now. I...I can't explain it, but she is.

Craw told me she is different. She's not hiding from her problems like she used to. She's not allowing the old, dark thoughts or memories to overtake her. Things that used to make her insane, she allows to roll off her back. I’m glad for that part.

And I’m different too, Willow, but it sure as hell doesn't allow me to stop loving her.

She let's go of my face and looks defeated. She shouldn't because I’m the one who is directionless.

I know. I know, just try and be patient. She's still got a long way to go mentally and physically, Cruz. Please if you love her, let her go. Just let her go.

Willow walks away and I'm left standing alone again with my thoughts. No actions, just alone in a place where I’m lost. I feel so lost, that's until I see her. I see her hair whip around the corner without even seeing her face ’cause when I see her face, I'll know. I'll know she's happy, I'll know I can walk away and let her go on and live her life.

But that's not what I see.

Even though I see her shiny, bright-as-the-glowing-sun hair, it’s her walking with crutches, hobbling along the sidewalk that I see. Craw on one side and Thea on the other. I duck under the awning of the drugstore to hide, but I stare at her. I’m mesmerized by her. Not only her beauty that is now making my heart thump out of my chest, but to see her wounded, limping, and easing her way on those damn wooden sticks. Her head is down still and I can't see her face. I just want to see her face.

Harlow. Look up, Turnip. Look at me, baby.

And as though she heard me, she peers up and I see what I’ve been waiting to see for weeks and weeks. Her face, those eyes. I long to see happiness in them, but I don't. I don't see it. The one thing I wanted to see was her blue eyes radiating happiness but that's not what I see. I know her so well. I can tell that's not what she's feeling.

Does it make it any better for me to walk away knowing she's hurting? No. It makes it worse. Even if she were happy, my feelings wouldn’t alter. I'd feel the same way. I think I really would. My heart and my world would crash down again no matter which outcome.

She doesn't see me. I make sure of that as she disappears into Jax. With every step I take toward my apartment, I become numb. Pained.

***

I play with the few dollars worth of quarters on the bar in front of me. I allow them to hit the bar from in between my fingers. Listening to them clank as they hit the wood. And I sing along with the words to the song. Not sure I’m using the right words or if they're coherent, but fuck it.

How do you mend this broken man, how does a loser ever win... blah blah blah... Wah, wah wah...

I feel a hand on my shoulder and a voice in my ear but I’m so drunk I’m not sure at first who it is.

I didn't take you for a Bee Gees’ fan there my friend. I spin on my stool in my drunken stupor to try and gage who the messenger of the words is. It's Max.

Max! Max a million, thanks a million. My friend of friends. What the hell you doin’ here?

I notice Porter or who I think is Porter behind him. I squint my eyes to try and focus.

P? Is that you? He nods, well all three of him nod. I think.

It is you. Come 'ere and hug me, man. I missed you. What you all doin’ here?

The song of the night comes to an end and I stumble off my seat to play it again. I leave Porter and Max at the bar and stick my quarters in the jukebox.

When I start to hear the soulful sounds of the three, British men in white leisure suits coming out of the magic box, I tap my fingers on it and sing along again. I hear someone tell me to shut the fuck up and I don't get angry, I just laugh. Max comes over to me and leads me back to my stool.

Cruz, buddy. How long have you been here? And how many times have you played this fucking song?

I giggle at Max. I think I giggle, no, no I giggle. I’m pretty sure I giggle. Fucking pussy.

Oh, I have no idea. Ask my friend here? Phil the bartender, how long have I been here for? I hear him answer to