Damaged Heart

Damaged Heart

By S.C. Wynne

Dedication

Homecomings can be heartwarming and, sometimes, incredibly painful. But either way, if the journey is one of self-discovery, then that’s always worth the trip.

Chapter One

The house smelled of stale cigarettes and booze. Memories of harsh voices, dishes breaking, and slamming doors made my stomach ache. Just like that, I was a kid again. Not a grown man of thirty-three, but a terrified child wrapped in rough cotton sheets, burying my head under the covers and pretending I was somewhere else—someone else.

Glass and sand crunched under my Italian leather shoes as I made my way from the enclosed porch into the living room. I stared at the huge, gray stone fireplace, now cold and black. I used to sit for hours on that brick hearth, mindlessly feeding wood into the hot, orange flames, worrying what mood he’d be in when he got home. If he was happy, and things had gone well at work, there was a chance the evening would be quiet and calm. I’d do my best not to misspeak or upset him. I’d be a good little boy.

But I couldn’t control her words. Her belittling vitriol was constant, always trying to tear him down. Sometimes, when her words weren’t enough to get a rise out of him, she’d throw things at him, egging him on. She seemed to enjoy his rage, while I died inside with every bitter word and slurred insult.

I jumped as the Realtor, Mrs. Burdge, cleared her throat behind me, bringing me back to the present with a jolt. Well as you can see, Mr. Johnson, she didn’t keep the house up after he…died.

I found my voice. Was it like this when she was alive? I pointed to the large cracks in the windows where the brocade curtains fluttered as the cool autumn breeze sifted into the room.

My understanding is she stayed mostly to her room and the kitchen. Mrs. Burdge’s tone was apologetic—as if she was sorry she had to tell me what a fucking lunatic my mother had been.

She had a girl who came in to help her, I think, right? I asked. My foot caught on the leg of an overturned side table, and I stumbled slightly before catching myself on the back of a chair. His chair. I lifted my hands away quickly as if the piece of furniture was hot.

She nodded, watching me with a curious expression. Alice. She’s the one who found her.

Poor Alice. She might never recover from the shock of walking in on the still, cold body of a dead person. Or was that just me? I found myself staring at the floor as if my mother’s corpse might appear there. Mrs. Burdge had her gaze on me, so I pretended to be the grownup lawyer I appeared to be. The people here didn’t know me anymore. It was safe to play the part of the normal, successful son of the pathetic town crazies. I’d escaped Bayville and made something of myself in Los Angeles, and I needed to remember that.

Are you going to sell the house? Her voice was sharp, birdlike, making me think of vultures and twittering hyenas. The place was in shambles now, but the rambling old home came with twenty acres of prime real estate. There wasn’t a Realtor around who wouldn’t give their left arm to earn the commission on this multimillion dollar sale. Or were you thinking of moving back to Bayville and living here yourself?

I’m sure I looked horrified at her suggestion, but I quickly gathered myself. I won’t be living in this house ever again, Mrs. Burdge, I said adamantly. She couldn’t realize the personal triumph I felt at merely walking inside the place.

She brightened at my firm statement. I can handle all the details for you if you’d like? There was a greedy glint in her eyes; all that was missing was the cha-ching of a cash register.

It would sell for more if I had cosmetic repairs done, correct? I asked, squinting at the vaulted ceiling. It had good bones and could no doubt be restored to its original splendor with a little effort and money.

She frowned. Yes. That would of course bump up the asking price. She tapped her foot. However, it would delay putting the home on the market also.

That’s true. But, I want to get as much money for it as I can. I didn’t want to hang on to this place, but I wanted to be smart about the sale.

I didn’t need the cash quickly, but a little extra dough never hurt anybody. I made good money from my work in LA as a criminal defense attorney. I had a very successful practice there. Several high-profile celebrities, who shall remain nameless, had padded my bank account nicely over seven of the last fifteen years. I’ve seen the comps in the area, and if I can get around five hundred thousand extra out of the deal by making the house presentable, then it’s worth the wait.

Whatever you think is best, she said smoothly.

I plan on hanging around town a couple of weeks to keep an eye on the renovations. I haven’t taken much time off in the last few years, and I could use a short break. I had no intentions of sitting by the pool sipping drinks with umbrellas in them, and I doubted I’d know how to enjoy a real vacation if I tried. But I needed some rest whether I wanted it or not. I’d been having debilitating migraines lately, and my doctor felt it was probably stress related. I’d grudgingly agreed to take a few weeks off, mostly to get him off my back, but I’d been careful to bring my laptop.

Would you like to see the rest?

No. I’ve seen enough for today. I moved awkwardly toward the door, and she followed. As you know, it’s been a while since I’ve been here. Would you be able to give me some names of contractors who are reputable? I asked.

I know several. I’ll have them meet you here tomorrow if you’d like. There are two I especially like, and they could probably give you a bid on the spot. She paused next to my car and pinned me with her bright gaze. When it comes time to sell, do you think I’ll be the Realtor of choice, Mr. Johnson?

I nodded, appreciating that she was blunt. I always preferred when people didn’t beat around the bush. Secrets and games nauseated me, and I’d had enough of them to last me a lifetime. I think you’ll do nicely, Mrs. Burdge.

* * * *

I’d checked into the Bayville Hotel as soon as I’d arrived in town. Not counting my little excursion down memory lane today, I’d done little more than unpack and eat breakfast since. I decided to have lunch at the hotel as well. I figured the less I ventured out, and the fewer people I ran into during my short visit, the better.

A short, brunette girl of around nineteen seated me near a window that looked out over the peaceful harbor. I ordered a bowl of clam chowder with bread and a pint of ale and scanned the crowded dining room. It was mostly cheerful, middle-aged couples with a few newlywed types thrown into the mix.

I didn’t know any of them, not that I really knew anyone in Bayville anymore. There wasn’t anyone here I felt close to. I’d never made friends easily. When I was in high school, I’d tried, but it had been too embarrassing to hide what my folks were like. My family had moved here after my dad was dishonorably discharged from the navy. We’d had no other relatives in the area, or anywhere that I knew of. It was simpler to avoid bonding with people. Leaving had been an easy decision because I’d had no one to stay for. I’d hightailed it out of Bayville the day after my dad’s funeral fifteen years ago. I doubted anyone had even noticed that the weird family’s kid had left town.

At first, when I’d arrived in LA, it had bothered me that I couldn’t connect with people the way others did. I’d hoped, when I’d escaped my parents’ toxic presence, that I’d be able to find a meaningful relationship of my own. Maybe LA had been the wrong place to try and find someone. It was such a huge, fast-moving metropolis that forming friendships took time and skill I didn’t possess. So I’d settled for giving most of my energy to my work. When I’d needed something more, I’d had a few guy acquaintances who were as emotionally unavailable as me. I’d rotated between them, meeting up a couple times a month to fuck, and the casualness of that arrangement had suited me fine. Those hook-ups had simply been about sexual release, nothing more. I wasn’t looking for love anymore. I’d become accustomed to the fact I wasn’t built for it.

By the time the waitress delivered my food and drink, I was so deep in thought I jumped when she spoke. I was enjoying the fresh clams and creamy soup when I realized there was a small child next to me, staring. I looked around, but no one seemed to be with him. His cheeks were chubby and flushed, and his eyes huge and blue. I’d never been this close to a kid before, so it was almost like seeing an alien for the first time.

He reached up and grabbed at my bread basket, and instinctively I knocked his hand away gently. No, little boy. Move…away, or something.

He pushed his lower lip out, and his eyes filled with glistening tears.

Oh shit. That can’t be good.

Bread. Was all he said in a little trembling, hoarse voice.

I frowned and again looked to see if anyone had any intention of claiming the little creature. The only person who seemed at all interested in my plight was a solitary guy sitting all the way at the other end of the small restaurant. How had I missed him? He was one of the best-looking men I’d ever seen—classic tall, dark, and handsome. He also had a beautiful white smile. I knew this because he was grinning at my situation with the little kid. I didn’t smile back. I looked away nervously instead, just in time to see the kid making another try for my bread basket.

"Go away," I hissed at the child.

The kid surprised the hell out of me by smiling suddenly, and I noticed two little pearly teeth poking out of his pink gums. "Go-way, he repeated in a little, squealing voice. Go-way, go-way."

I hadn’t wanted the child to cry because it would bring attention to me, but this was worse. He was giggling and repeating the word over and over loudly. I didn’t know what to do. And I was even more confused when the kid put his grubby hand on my arm and tugged.

Who are you? What do you want? I asked, gingerly trying to pry his fat little fingers off my silk cuff.

Bread! Bread! he squealed again, tugging on my sleeve.

Scowling, I whispered, You’re going to tear my shirt. Do you have any idea how much this shirt cost?

I sincerely doubt he’s going to answer you. He probably only knows two words. The hunk from across the room had approached us while I was distracted by the toddler. I looked up into the stranger’s beautiful face. His dark eyes were brimming with amusement, and his grin was accompanied by deep dimples.

I…I don’t know where he came from, I mumbled, trying to ignore the curious stares of the people around us. The guy’s nearness was playing havoc with my pulse.

You don’t? Did you skip sex education in school? He seemed to be enjoying my embarrassment a little too much if you asked me.

I mean I don’t know who he belongs to. I scowled.

He picked up the boy and held him in a relaxed manner. The miniature monster apparently didn’t freak him out in the least. He looks like Lydia’s kid. The hunk looked around the restaurant and called out to a waitress. Is this Tyler?

What’s he doing out of his playpen? I’ll get Lydia. The waitress disappeared into the back area.

You know, he doesn’t bite, the stranger said, studying me. The kid was trying to slap the man’s cheeks, and he avoided the child’s hands deftly.

I know for a fact he has teeth. I saw them both, I said, trying to regain some composure. It wasn’t easy with him standing so close to me. His blue jeans hugged his strong legs, and he smelled like fresh air and confidence. I wondered if his self-assurance would slip any if I flirted with him.

Names Rhys Tucker. He held out his hand.

I hesitated briefly before taking it. His skin was as warm and firm as I’d imagined, and my stomach had a little visit from some butterflies. Cory Johnson.

There was immediate recognition in his gaze. I thought that was you. We… uh… we went to school together.

Did we? I was certain I’d have remembered him. Though my school days were a depressing blur, I should have recalled knowing someone like Rhys.

Briefly. You left a couple of months after I arrived. He swallowed, and for the first time he looked uncertain. I was the new kid in town. Some of the other students were assholes to me, but you were different. You were kind.

Oh, I said. I’d been kind? That truly had been a long time ago.

Are you back for good? He adjusted the cooing kid in his arms.

I shook my head. Oh, God no.

He frowned. Not a fan of Bayville?

I shrugged. I prefer LA.

Really? He looked as if he couldn’t comprehend anyone not loving Bayville. He’d obviously had a very different experience than I’d had growing up here.

A plump woman, who I assumed was Lydia, came hurrying up to us, her worried gaze locked on the child. Tyler, you’re driving me nuts. She took him from Rhys and laughed. I’m sorry. He climbed out of his play pen again. I think he’s part monkey.

No, it’s fine. He didn’t hurt anything, Rhys answered her. He’s grown a bunch since I last saw him.

Lydia hefted the kid on her hip and sighed. He’s a handful; that’s for sure. She turned her apologetic gaze on me. I’m sorry if he interrupted your meal.

I nodded, trying to look pleasant. What could I say? No problem, but he was extremely annoying? I decided to be polite instead. It’s fine. You might want to get him a piece of bread. He seemed very fixated on mine.

Yeah, he loves the carbs. That’s probably why he’s so huge. She grinned and wandered away.

I