Bryan

I drove into the small beachside town, inching closer to the diner I was meeting Drew at. It really wasn’t a town. It was all swept up until the city of San Diego. But this little stretch of land seemed to depart from the usual hustle and bustle of San Diego itself, so people usually referred to it as a town of its own. It was quiet and the beach the diner sat on was rarely occupied. The sand here wasn’t as soft, which repelled most of the tourists.

Which was perfect for the locals who kept this small slice of paradise alive.

I saw the neon sign for Drew’s Diner up ahead. I figured Drew probably loved this place because he got a kick out of the name. He had this running joke that he would eventually buy the place out and never have to change the name of it. He’d laugh and laugh, wiping the tears from his eyes while reliving a joke that had long since been played out.

I came because they had incredible homemade milkshakes and freshly cut fries I could dip into the house-made whipped cream.

I pulled into the parking lot and looked over at the abandoned building across the street. Drew and I had bets on what that place used to be. I thought it was an old, run-down gas station, but Drew thought it used to be an old bank. I had no idea where the fuck he’d get the impression it was a bank, but I left him to his own ideas.

But as I got out of my car and took a good look at it, I noticed something different.

A sold sign was sitting in the window.

Holy hell, someone actually bought the place. Every business that had tried to set up there in the last decade had gone belly up. I felt for the poor sucker who was duped into buying that place, but I’m sure the owner was finally glad to get it off his hands. I can’t imagine a dust house like that going for more than twenty thousand dollars, but the property taxes alone with being so close to the ocean would be a fun surprise come next year.

The first business I remembered there had been this little antique shop. Closed its doors within a few months. Then a pet daycare tried to make its way in there, attempting to profit off the beach goers with pets that never quite made it down this far onto the coast. Closed within a year and never came back. The place had been vacant for over a year before an elderly couple invested their retirement savings into opening a bar, and that actually flourished for a bit. But when the husband died and the wife hired someone to take over the place, the new manager eventually bought them out and then drove the bar into the ground.

Ever since, it had sat vacant. It had been vandalized time and time again. I’d seen people scurrying out with old bar chairs and the older-than-dirt cash register. I’d seen people busting out the windows, and I’d try to shoo them away. It really was a decent building with good bones, but it just sat in a terrible part of town.

I couldn’t imagine anything other than a bar surviving in a place like this.

I headed into the diner where Drew flagged me down. We sat down and ordered and then got straight down to business. We had some places I scouted that I wanted to talk about developing, which meant taking on more projects.

And at the rate we were going right now, that meant bringing on new hires.

“So, whaddaya got for me?” Drew asked.

“There are two other places I’m all for building up,” I said.

“Any chance they’re commercial properties?” he asked.

“No. They’re not. They’re still residential. I enjoy the idea of helping people find a home. An affordable home, especially in a bustling city like this one. There’s no reason why we can’t get them affordable housing. San Diego is booming and is hiring more people than ever, but they can’t get anyone to work here because they can’t afford to live within the city limits. I want to change that.”

“I totally hear you, dude. I’m just saying. You could really rake it in with the commercial properties. Especially if you rented the shit and stuff,” he said.

“Then why don’t we create a new division? You head up commercial properties, and I’ll head up residential properties?”

“Dude, are you fucking serious?” he asked.

“You gotta help me with these two projects, and then we can talk,” I said.

“You got it. So, whatcha thinkin’?” he asked.

“That mobile home project is almost finished on the other end of town, and I’m liking how it’s turning out. I was thinking about taking this bigger property here and doing another mobile home one and then taking the slightly smaller property and doing tiny houses.”

“What?” he asked.

“Tiny houses. You know, houses less than one thousand square feet. That shit’s all the rage right now. We could offer people plans and floor layouts, and we’d get the same amount of money out of the smaller property as we would the larger one. Homes would still be affordable, these would still be customizable like the mobile homes, and since these tiny homes are stationary, they’d still be outfitted with all the modern amenities.”

“Like internet and plumbing,” he said.

“Yep. Thoughts?”

“I think the tiny house movement is still a small movement. You’re dedicating yourself to selling, what, twenty of them? Twenty-five?”

“The lot would hold twenty-three,” I said.

“You think you can sell that many tiny homes to people? People with kids?” he asked.

“The jobs opening up in San Diego aren’t jobs people with kids usually take, though. Delivery drivers, full-time cashiers, delicatessen experts, which is just a fancy way of saying ice cream scooper. All these jobs need to be filled, but where are these people going to live in a city like San Diego working for twelve dollars an hour?” I asked.

“You got a point.”

“If we could keep these tiny house monthly payments under three hundred a month, they’d sell like fucking hotcakes. I’m tellin’ you, it’s going to be big. Affordable housing, lower bills, more people get to have a roof over their heads they can be proud of, and everyone wins.”

“I’ve always trusted your instincts, man,” Drew said. “If you’re good, I’m good. Though I don’t really get why you’re still so hands on.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’m over here workin’ all the higher-up business stuff, dude. Corporate shit. That life’s much easier than what you’re doing. Not as many hours, not as much stress. Why are you so insistent on staying so hands on?”

“Someone’s got to be,” I said.

“You don’t wanna take it easy? At all? I mean, you’re workin’ yourself to the bone, my man. It’s time to take a breather and bask in your glory.”

“It’s never been about the glory and attention. You know this, Drew.”

“I’m just sayin’. At least take a fucking vacation. You look like shit,” he said.

“You just wanna have time to take advantage of this weather,” I said, grinning.

“It’s prime surfing weather, dude! I can’t have a job that takes me from my first love now.”

“I still don’t know how you do that,” I said.

“It’s all about being one with the waves, dude. Riding its current instead of trying to control it.”

“And not being a meathead who breaks a board when he stands on it.”

“I still don’t know how you did that. Never seen it in all the years I’ve been lovin’ those waves,” he said.

“To each their own,” I said as I grabbed my milkshake. “And speaking of, did you see our gas station across the street?”

“You mean our old bank?” he asked.

“You’re an idiot. Have you seen the sold sign in the window?”

“No way. Someone actually bought the place?” he asked.

“Apparently. What do you think they’ll turn it into this time?” I asked.

“We haven’t seen a craft shop yet,” he said.

“Or a hardware store.”

“Oh, maybe they’re gonna turn it back into a bank.”

“It’s never been a bank, and it’ll never be a bank,” I said.

“Says you. You don’t know shit,” Drew said, grinning.

“Maybe it’ll be some rich yuppie that’ll turn it into one of those legal pot shops.”

“Rich yuppie? Who the hell are you? Some crotchety old rich woman who hates millennials?”

“You hate millennials, Drew.”

“We are millennials, Bryan.”

“But not the kind people hate,” I said.

“I fucking hope not,” he said. “A pot shop? Really?”

“They’re all over the place now that it’s legal for medicinal purposes,” I said.

“You think they’d give some to you for having bullshit parents? Because your family gives me headaches.”

“Because they hate you,” I said.

“I still don’t know why. I’m so kind to them when I went over there more.”

“Because you’re a surfer dude who hangs out with me, that’s why,” I said.

A silence fell over the conversation. I knew it was about to take a turn for the worse, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to go there. I knew Drew didn’t see them at the memorial service, and I knew he wanted to ask me why.

I wasn’t ready to give him the answer.

“I mean, that’s cool, I guess,” he said. “I just don’t get why they hate you.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” I said.

“Yes, it does. They’re your parents. They’re supposed to love you.”

“Yeah, and they’re supposed to attend memorial services, be reminded of the best in their family, and bury their dead. But they don’t do any of that shit. Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

“Take it you had a rousing conversation with them?” he asked.

“Look. It doesn’t matter what I do. I’m blue-collar, you’re blue-collar, and to them, that shit’s beneath their reputation. They’ll always despise us for that, so I stay out of their way.”

“I mean, I don’t like your parents any more than you do, but don’t completely write them off. They lost a son, dude. In a bullshit and terrible way. They’re hurting, too, even if they don’t show it like you do sometimes.”

“They didn’t even come to the burial. They’ve been to none of the memorials. Every time I bring them up, you know what they call him?”

“What?” he asked.

“‘Nothing more than a junkie. Like a junkie was all he ever was.”

“Just don’t write them off completely. Don’t become like them,” he said.

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I said, murmuring.

“I’d like to think your family tree sits on a hill,” he said, grinning.

“Am I obsessing over my brother?”

It was a valid question. He’d been gone for years. Five, to be exact. That was plenty enough time to push past all this and to move on and release the anger and resentment I was carrying. But I hadn’t.

At least, I didn’t feel I had.

“We just had the remembrance or whatever. Give yourself some time, dude. You’re too hard on yourself.”

I nodded and looked out the window toward the abandoned building across the street. I took a sip of my milkshake as my burger and fries were set in front of me. I saw a movement in the window and paused. A little purple flutter that kept walking back and forth. I felt my heart seize in my chest, the blood rushing through my ears.

Was that her?

Was that the purple-haired woman from the bar?

But as quickly as I’d seen it, the color vanished. No shadows were walking around in the building, and I slowly sat back into my chair. Now I was really losing it. Seeing things that weren’t there. Imagining people walking around in some abandoned building. I had to find a way to decompress from all these emotions. I had to find a way to get a decent night’s sleep.

I had to fucking get ahold of myself.

Chapter 6

Hailey

It had been a week since I’d talked with my sister. She drew up the documents, and we’d gotten them signed, eating at the diner across the street. They had a fabulous milkshake that was to die for, and I ended up getting another one to go before I headed back over to the building. I showed her around for a bit, telling her all my plans while she nodded and smiled, but the dust soon got to her, and she had to leave.

She told me she would get the paperwork filed and send over the official copies once everything went through.

I’d spent the past few days trying to clean it up. I swept out all the dust, splashing water everywhere as I tried to capture it all. I scrubbed the walls and hoisted out the trash, peeling back wilted sheetrock whenever it was necessary. I had to purchase goggles and something to cover my face while I was doing everything, but it was obvious I would need to call one of those contractors back. There were some structural damage and electrical issues that needed some serious updating, and I didn’t have nearly the type of skills needed to tackle these problems.

Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I sighed. I was really hoping I could forego hiring contractors and do this myself. I could repair and replace anything topical, but plumbing and electrical issues I knew nothing about. I figured I’d just have to flip a switch on a circuit breaker somewhere and turn on a massive nozzle for the water, but that most certainly was not the case here.

If I even attempted to turn these lights on, the whole place might go up in flames.

Even though the building itself was incredibly dilapidated, there was a weatherproofed little storage space out back. It looked like a rough addition someone that owned a bar might’ve put up, a place to keep extra boxes of things without the risk of the weather ruining everything. I decided to unload things I’d had delivered from my storage unit. Some paintings, some extra supplies I’d eventually sell, new brushes, and things like that. Storing it all here in this little extra shed would reduce my monthly costs by allowing me to close down that storage unit, so I was more than willing to break the sweat.

When I finally rid the building of the last speck of dust and the last piece of broken glass, I sat back and surveyed the area. I was going to need a great deal of help getting this thing up and running in time. I was giving myself two to three months to get it open and four months before I was profitable. Sweat made the fabric of my shirt cling to my body, and I realized I could use a nice shower.

Or a dip in the ocean across the road.

Just as I turned to the door, a knock resounded. It made me jump. Who would be knocking on the door to this old place? The mental to-do list slowly slipped from my mind as I swung the door open, and nothing I could’ve done would’ve prepared me for who was standing on the other side.

I recognized him instantly, and for a brief moment, I thought he knew me as well.

His eyes studied my hair, the massive purple sensation that was glaringly obvious about my physical features. I looked down at his tattoos, getting a closer look at the shining geometric colors that donned his left arm. I couldn’t help staring at it, my eyes flickering over all the colors and patterns. It was more intricate than I could’ve ever imagined, and I simply couldn’t pull my attention from it.

His voice, however, startled me from my trance.

“Designed it myself,” he said.

“You drew that?”

“Yep.”

“What about the coloring? The shading?” I asked.

“Did that, too,” he said.

“It’s ... mesmerizing.”

Why in the world was this man knocking on my door? Out of all the people in San Diego who could’ve possibly been curious about what I was doing, it was a little crazy it would be Bryan.

John’s brother.

I was worried about the recognition on his face. His eyes were dark but carried a sort of kindness that was reminiscent of his brother. I could feel his gaze dancing along me, drinking me in as we stood in the doorway. Had he seen me at the memorial? Was he going to ask me why I was there?

Was he about to ask me how I knew his brother?

“Odd question,” he said, “but were you at a memorial service for a man named John McBride a week or so ago?”

“No,” I said, lying. “Can’t say I was. Though I’m sorry for your loss.”

I couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not here while he was standing in some shoddy old shack. I had to accomplish my goal, and anything that derailed me from that had to be seen as a detriment. I’d worked hard to get to where I was and to have the ability to showcase beauty that had been smothered by the world’s darkness.

I couldn’t allow a man with wonderful tattoos and smoldering eyes to distract me from that goal because I owed it to too many people not to get sidetracked.

I saw the look of surprise roll over his features at my answer, and part of me wondered if he knew I was lying. Just the small exchange told me he’d seen me there, and I cursed myself for sitting at the bar. I should’ve stood off in the corner. I could’ve stayed in the shadows somewhere.

Hell, I probably shouldn’t have gone at all.

“I’m Bryan McBride,” he said as he held out his hand.

“Hailey Ryan,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you. As you can see, I’m not nearly open for business yet.”

“I figured by the outer appearance.”

“Then you don’t mind me asking why you’ve come knocking on my rickety door?” I asked.

“Honestly? I was just curious. I’m at the diner across the road about once a week, and I was getting curious as to who bought this place.”

“Guilty as charged. I actually tried the diner a couple days ago. They have tremendous—”

“Milkshakes?” he asked.

“Yes. Oh my gosh, they’re splendid. And their whipped creams have different flavors.”

“I love the pistachio whipped cream,” he said.

“Oh, I’m a sucker for anything banana,” I said.

We laughed lightly for a little bit, reveling in the tidbit of information we had in common. His eyes seemed to sparkle with the smile that rolled across his features, and it was a lot like the sparkle in his brother’s eyes whenever John would wipe his paintbrush across a canvas.

I felt a pang of guilt boiling in my stomach as Bryan’s voice ripped me from my trance.

“What are you building here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“An art gallery,” I said.

“An art gallery.” He nodded as he glanced around the room. “I could see it.”

“Oh, you can, huh?” I asked.

“Well, I’m an architect by trade, and I own a construction company here in town, so part of me was interested in what the new owner was turning this into.”

“Wait, you do construction?” I asked.

“I do,” he said, grinning.

“Come here.”

I took his hand and yanked him into the middle of the room. Finally, someone with some knowledge of the subject I could use to bounce my ideas off of.

“All right, so here’s my vision,” I began. “Floor tiles the color of onyx and cream-colored walls. The canvases that will be showcased on the walls for sale will be encased in bird's-eye maple.”

“Bird’s-eye maple?” he asked.

“Yep. I want to have other frames in different types of wood, though. All different sizes eventually. Purpleheart, Cocobolo, East Indian Rosewood, and so on.”

“Sounds beautiful,” he said.

The man couldn’t have paid me a better compliment if he had actually tried.

“They’ll line both sides of the shop with one or two, in particular, being displayed without a frame in the window.”

“You’ll have to build a platform into the wall that can house the displays,” he said. “And from the looks of the sheetrock you’ve torn away, you’ll need some seriously updated electrical as well as some help fixing insulation. I would think the humidity from the ocean would warp your paintings if the place isn’t properly insulated.”

“Yes, it would.” I actually hadn’t thought about that, but it was a good idea. I was interested in hiring someone who had good ideas, especially someone who could find little things like that that hadn’t crossed my mind yet.

“The register will be here in the back, and this little alcove area will be curtained off.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Well, I don't want people seeing a place they pay at when they first walk into the gallery. That’s tacky to me. Eventually, I want to use the broad space in the middle for art classes and therapy.”

“Therapy?” he asked.

Shit. I’d run my mouth for too long.

“I’ve lived in various places, and every time I go to a new place, I always seem to attract people who need help. So, I started using the one thing I knew I was good at. I started teaching people how to paint and draw, and all they had to do was show up.”

“They didn’t pay you for it?” he asked.

“Most couldn’t. They were homeless or maybe just hitting the streets. Some were getting clean from drugs and others were fresh out of prison.”

“Sounds a bit dangerous,” he said.

“I had faith in them. They all had this beauty they wanted to eject into the world, but the darkness had a way of swallowing them whole. I kept their paintings in the hopes that I could display them one day. Sell them to people. Inject the beauty they wanted to share with the world into the lives of others so the legacies they left behind weren’t so bleak.”

His gaze was fixed on me, and I started wondering if I’d said too much. I could sense every movement of his eyes along my body, and I wanted to know what he was thinking. Did he think my idea sounded crazy? I didn’t know why I was so drawn to his opinion, but the more he continued to stare at me the more anxious I became.

“Wanna see some of their paintings?” I asked breathlessly.

“Sure,” he said.

I walked him through the building, watching his head darting around. He was clocking things, probably running numbers through his mind. We pushed out the back door and went over to the storage area where I pulled it open and grabbed the first painting I could grab.

My heart leaped into my throat when I realized it was one of John’s.

Please don’t turn it over. Please don’t turn it over.

He ran his fingertips over the painting in front of him. It was a cabin John had painted. A detailed log cabin with trees growing up around it and the wind kicking up the leaves from the ground. There was a car, something akin to a Jeep, sitting off to the side, and I could tell Bryan was losing himself in it.

“This is really good,” he said. “Was this done by one of your therapy students?”

“It was,” I said. “He had so much beauty to give. I can’t bring myself to leave these behind. An art gallery seemed like a good idea since it’s always been a dream of mine anyway.”

“I love art. Always have.”

“I got the hint from the tattoo you claim to have drawn and colored yourself,” I said.

“I mean I didn’t tattoo it myself, but I did design it myself.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s still art,” I said as I plucked the painting from his fingertips.

“I drew a lot as a kid. The ocean. The waves. Deserted buildings that peppered the coast. Now it’s just blueprints and construction plans.”

“Sounds absolutely thrilling,” I said, giggling. “Do you draw much anymore?”

“Not for pleasure,” he said. “All for business now.”

“Yep. Careers have a way of doing that to people.” Anna immediately came to mind while he talked. The life and passion had been drained from her because of establishing a so-called sensible career. Jobs seemed to do that to people, suck their goals and passions and wants from their lives.

“That’s what I want to do, you know,” I said.

“What?” he asked.

“Breathe life back into those who have had it sucked out of them. I want to touch people with art and show them that having passions and aspirations beyond a paycheck aren’t only good but are required to live a balanced like. Expressing the soul through art is like feeling an experience. It brings a beauty to darkness that this world so desperately needs, and that’s what I want to be.”

“Like a beacon at sea guiding the sailors home,” he said.

“Exactly.”

“How about this?” he asked. “I’ve been looking at the place while you were talking. I’m assuming you’ve gotten some estimates from other contractors around town?”

“Yes, but I haven’t called anyone back yet.”

“Don’t. Let me get you a free estimate for what it’ll take to get this place looking like how you want it to look. Most contractors will just fix the body and then leave the interior design to someone else. I’ll bring you both,” he said.

“Really? You’d be willing to do that?”

“For someone who has the passion and purpose you do for opening this gallery? In a heartbeat,” he said.

“All right. Well, how do I get ahold of you?” I asked.

“Let me give you my card. It’s got my work and cell number on there. I’ll write yours down, so I can call you tomorrow with the numbers, and we can figure out what your next move is from there.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. McBride.”

“Nope. Bryan. All the way,” he said, grinning.

“Bryan. I can do that. You ready for my number?”

“Shoot.”

I rattled it off to him as I stuck his card in the back pocket of my paint-splattered jeans. I was excited to be talking numbers and plans with someone who was actually interested in my dream, my vision, and why I was opening this place to begin with. I shut the storage door and walked him back through the building, letting him take one last in-depth look before I showed him out the door. Crossing my arms over my chest, I saw him run across the road and hop into a truck.

My gosh, he even walked like his brother.