Chapter Three
Elijah
I’d had a week to think about my trip back home, and my father’s death. The only thing I’d gotten figured out was, I was actually glad my father was dead, and that feeling that way made me sick to my stomach with guilt.
A car horn sounded outside my house, causing me to grab my bags and head for the door. I took one last look around at my place and walked out the door.
Isaac grinned as he held his head out of the driver’s side window of his car. Sometimes I hated that Isaac was so damn chipper, so fucking happy. All I wanted to do was throw up right now. “Put your bags in the trunk,” he said, pulling the lever by his seat and stepping out of the car.
He grabbed my largest bag from my left hand and flung it into the trunk while I stashed my other two smaller ones in next to it. “You ready for this?” Isaac asked.
“Nope,” I smirked, and slammed the trunk shut.
“If you need me to go, I can get a later flight, or hell, I’ll just go now and buy what I need once I’m there,” Isaac offered.
“Maddie would have your ass,” I laughed at the thought of Isaac explaining his spontaneous trip to paradise to Maddie.
He grinned in agreement and chuckled. “I just miss Hawaii,” he admitted.
It had been about four years since we were stationed there, and neither of us had been back. Isaac often talked about it, wishfully stating he’d move there one day. I never did have that dream. It was my home as a child, and it wasn’t a good one. It didn’t matter how beautiful Molokai was, to me, it was filled with ugly memories.
“How long do you plan on staying?” Isaac asked.
“I’m not sure how long it will take to get the house settled. Maybe a couple weeks,” I responded weakly.
I wasn’t sure what I was walking into. If my dad had been sick for years, then he probably wasn’t keeping up with the house. There would most likely be plenty for me to do once I arrived, just to get the place in shape to sell.
“Unless I torch the place, then I’ll be on the next flight home,” I smirked.
Isaac didn’t look amused. I knew he wanted to ask why I wasn’t close to my dad, why it didn’t bother me that he died, but he didn’t dare. Men didn’t talk about those things, especially Navy SEAL men.
“You never know, you might get there and decide you love it and want to stay,” he beamed.
“Not a fuckin’ chance,” I sneered.
“Well, if you find Xander, tell him I said hey,” Isaac asked with a smile.
The rest of the drive he talked about Maddie, telling me how she was enthralled in wedding planning to the point she was nearly insane. It was strange listening to him talk, the high pitch in his voice displaying his excitement, even when he tried so hard to act annoyed. He loved every minute of this domesticated shit, it was written all over his smug face. “When is the wedding?” I asked.
“We haven’t set the date yet, that’s another big issue,” he sighed to display yet another fake annoyance. I grinned in his direction, biting my tongue to keep from calling him out.
“So, you’ll probably run into a lot of people you haven’t seen in years, like high school friends, maybe a high school sweetheart,” Isaac teased.
I shrugged and let out a grumble, not really excited to run into anyone on this trip. There were several high school sweethearts, but none that I still pined over, and my best friend, Tommy Madden, who was killed in combat. I held him in my arms, watching him fade away. I was there for his last breath, the last beat of his heart.
“I doubt there’s too many I would remember, or who’d remember me,” I scoffed.
I didn’t want to bring up Tommy; Isaac and he had become really close during the tour where he was killed. I knew he still thought of him often, and was probably thinking about him now. There was no need to talk about it.
“We’re here; last chance to turn back,” Isaac joked, pulling up the airport curb. I wished it was that easy, to just turn back. Why couldn’t I? Why wouldn’t I just let the damn house be condemned and plowed to the ground?
I got out of the car, lifting my bags from the trunk after Isaac released it from inside the car. He stood beside me as I gathered all my bags with an awkward look in his eyes. Suddenly, his arms wrapped around me, and he was squeezing me tightly against him. “Jesus, I’m coming back,” I sneered, stepping back from his embrace. I couldn’t help but laugh, maybe nervousness, embarrassment, or a little of both. I’d never hugged a man before, and never had one hug me. It felt strange, but not bad like I’d expected.
I shook my head, laughing, as I walked away from Isaac and into the airport. This was it, last chance for turning back, so why didn’t I?
The airport was crowded, and people were rushing in every direction. I scanned the counters until I found my airline, and then moved to the line to check my bags. A heavyset man moved to the front, heaving his large bag up on the scale. Watching him struggle with the fraying bag made it obvious that it was over the weight limit, so when the woman at the counter told him he had additional charges, the only one surprised was the man.
I shifted my weight from left to right, sighing and growing impatient as the man started pulling items from the large bag, stuffing them into a smaller one, and some into his carry on. Finally, he managed to evenly distribute the weight so he saved some cash, and I was next.
The woman at the counter had dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Her smile spread across her face with perfectly painted red lips. “I’m sorry for the wait,” she apologized.
I nodded, trying to avoid staring at her large chest popping out from her undone button on her blouse. She took my bags, weighed them, and then handed me my boarding pass. “Have a wonderful trip; I hear Molokai is beautiful,” she smiled.
I nodded again; no reason to tell her my trip wasn’t for pleasure, or that I thought Molokai was filled with ugly memories, no matter how beautiful the landscape.
The crowd of people started to thin out as each one moved towards their gate. Mine was all the way at the end, and even after the wait at the luggage counter, and the long walk, I’d still arrived forty-five minutes before boarding time.
I spun around, scanning the area, stopping my sights on a bar just across from my gate. I could use a stiff drink; hell, I could use the entire bottle.
Only a few businessmen sat in the corner of the bar, their briefcases at their feet, and their smartphones in their hands. No one was at the bar, and even the bartender seemed to be absent. I took a seat at the end of the bar and stared at the bottles. I was planning on grabbing a beer, maybe an imported draft, but the Jack Daniels was screaming my name.
Finally, a leggy blonde came out of a small door behind the bar. She was carrying a plate of food, headed towards the businessmen in the corner. “Be right with you, hon,” she winked in my direction.
My dick twitched against my jeans, coming alive without permission. She slid the plate in front of the men, a cheese tray with grapes and tiny breads. Pretentious.
My eyes followed her every movement, so smooth, so cat-like. Damn. “What can I get ya?” she asked, her southern accent so thick it seemed fake. I lifted my eyes from her breasts and to her smoky-gray eyes. This was certainly the type of woman that I’d invite to that small little room she’d appeared from for a quick, but proper hello.
“Jack,” I smiled.
She turned to grab the bottle, giving me a nice view of her rear. The woman looked like she fell right from the pages of the Playboy magazine I used to look at hidden under my dad’s mattress as a boy.
The glass slid in front of me, the smell distinct and familiar. As I lifted it to my nose, memories of my dad, his drunken rages, and my dysfunctional childhood returned.
I took a sip, and then a guzzle, finishing the drink without restraint. “One more, please,” I winked.
Her full lips pouted out playfully as her eyes batted in my direction. Again, she turned, and that ass, damn that fuckin’ ass. I squirmed in my seat, adjusting my dick as it began to push against the denim. Thoughts of bending her over the bar, fucking her right here in front of everyone soared through my mind like a Learjet.
“Where ya headed?” she asked, sliding the second glass of Jack in front of me.
“Molokai,” I replied, sipping my drink slowly.
“Alone?” she gasped, her flirtatious nature not so discreet.
“It's home,” I grumbled, not agreeing with my own words as soon as they escaped my lips. It used to be home. It wasn’t home now. Miami was home. Molokai would never be home to me again.
Her interest piqued, and I could tell it wouldn’t take much to get that tight skirt up around her hips and those panties to her ankles. A thong, probably lace; that’s what it was, I bet. Fuck. I downed my drink, left a fifty on the bar, and excused myself before I got into trouble.
She looked disappointed that I was leaving, even with the hefty tip.
I took a seat in my gate’s waiting area and let my head rest against the stiff vinyl chair. Maybe the flight would be delayed, maybe canceled. Maybe Molokai would fall into the ocean, and I’d never have to go back there again, ever.