Never Expected Love Read online

  Copyright © 2015 S. M. Stryker

  EBOOK EDITION

  All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover Design by Silla Webb

  Interior Design by Silla Webb

  Editing by Silla Webb

  http://www.alphaqueensbookobsession.blogspot.com/

  Photography by Ian Sane

  www.iansaneimages.com

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Sacrifice of Love

  Thank You

  Character Profile

  About the Author

  "Richard, I really need you here for this project." Don, my boss, is pacing in front of my desk. He is flinging his hands as he talks as if that is going to change my mind. "I know you can finish it by the clients' deadline." He stops and puts his hands on my desk and looks at me with hopeful eyes. He lowers his voice in resignation, "You're the only person I would trust with this."

  Shit, nothing like making me feel guilty. "Don, I'm on vacation, I cleared it with you and HR a year ago, and we already have the tickets."

  "If you stay and do this project, I'll pay for your tickets and your next vacation plus give you a nice raise for your dedication," he says as he lifts his brows and a roguish smile breaks across his face.

  "Fine," I say in a huff, "but, I get off early the night before my parents leave, and I take the morning off to take them to the airport." I stick my hand out to shake in our agreement.

  "Deal," Don says, and his smile twists to one side of his face. "I'll bring you in all the schematics needed for the project," he says as he turns and walks out of my office. Now to break it to my parents.

  The next couple of days I focus on the commissioned project, working late nights and early mornings thinking that if I finish early I can meet my parents for at least a couple days.

  AsI drive them to the airport, I say, "If I can get the project finished this week, I'll fly over. Otherwise, I’ll see you when you get back.”

  I pull their suitcases out of the car and hug my parents "Love you guys. Call me when you get in."

  I haven't heard from my parents for the last couple of days. I've tried to contact them,but I keep getting their voicemail.I keep telling myself thatthey're probably just busy with the different sightseeing ventures they have planned and haven't thought about checking in, but that really isn't like them, especially Mom. When I get home from work I look for my parent's itinerary; I need to call the hotel where they are staying. As I find the paper the doorbell rings. Who the hell would be ringing my doorbell at this time of the night?

  Two police officers are standing outside. "Can I help you, Officers?"

  "Are you Richard Stone?"

  My stomach drops, I break into a cold sweat, and my heart starts to race asbile floods the back of my throat. This isn't going to be good.

  "I am sorry to inform you there has been an accident with your parents."

  "What kind of accident, are they okay? Where are they?" The blood drains from my face, and I steady myself on the doorframe.

  "Mr. Stone, do you mind if we come inside?"

  "Oh fuck! No!" My eyes burn as tears flood them.

  One of the officers takes my arm and helps me to the sofa in the living room. My mind is racing; I should have been there. I should have been with them, I could have protected them.

  "Mr. Stone, your parents went on an excursion a couple days ago, and the pilot had a heart attack."

  "What does that have to do with my parents?" I can't think. I’m in a daze as the officer rambles on about the wreckage and trying to find out the identity of my parents.

  "Can you hear me?" one of the officers asks. "Do you have someone that we can call for you? Mr. Stone?"

  I shake my head. It's only me.

  An officer hands me a business card, his name and contact information on one side and information from the Hawaiian Police Department on the other side of the card before standing and starting for the front door. I jump when the door closes.

  I’m catatonic as I try to absorb the news of their death.

  Without thinking, I go to my dad's office and open his filing cabinet, taking out the bottle of whiskey he has hidden there. Taking it to the kitchen, I pour two fingers into a glass. I pound it back, and it burns all the way down, causing me to cough and choke. I pour two more fingers doing it again. After that, I don't remember or fucking care. When the bottle is empty, I stumble to the little bar down the road and drink until I'm numb.

  When my alarm goes off the next morning, I roll out of bed and go to the office as if it is any other day, except I haven't showered and I am wearing the same clothes that I was wearing the day before, but now they are wrinkled from being slept in. I am on autopilot, and I'm sure I smell of alcohol. I vaguely remember calling my parents lawyer and giving him the information he needs to arrange to get their bodies home.

  My boss comes into my office a couple days later, after I have another liquid lunch, to see what is going on with me. He has heard rumors I'd been drinking at work, but he wants to know where I am on the project. I tell him about my parents. "Shit, Richard, why didn't you tell me, you shouldn't be here."

  "Where the fuck am I supposed to be, Don?" I say sarcastically. "They were the only family and friends I had. If it hadn't been for this fucking project, I would have been with them, and I’d be dead too."

  "I'm sorry, Richard, I really am, but you need to take a few days off and get their affairs in order, get your affairs in order."

  "So what are you saying Don? Now you don't want me here after giving up my vacation so you can get big kudos from your goddamn fucking super client," I slur. "Now you fucking don't want me here. I gave up everything for you and this fucking company."

  "Richard, I think you need to get dried out and get some help. A bottle isn't going to help you through this, you need grief counseling."

  "What the fuck do you know about what I need and what I don't need Don? Fuck you and fuck this job! I don't need any of it." Don calls security to escort me out, but I storm out of the office and head to the bar down the road where I had my lunch.

  Three weeks later someone rings the doorbell and then knocks. I stagger my unshaved, un-showered self to the door and look out the window. The bright light from the morning sun makes me squint. What the fuck? It's the mail carrier. I open the door gripping it so I don't fall then leaning against the wall. I stand there with a blank look on my face.

  "Mr. Stone, I can't fit any more mail in your mailbox." He hands me a bundle of mail.

  "Yeah, thanks," I slur.

  I grab the bundle out of his hands and slam the door. I stumble my way back to the kitchen and toss it on the kitchen table. Envelopes scatter, sliding across the high pol
ished surface with some of it falling on the floor or onto one of the chairs. Fuck it! That's when I see it, a postcard. It has palm trees and white sandy shores pictured on it. I slowly pull it out of the pile and as I pick it up, I stumble backward hitting the wall, a picture of colored bell peppers crashes to the floor shattering. I slide down the wall. As I look at the back of the card, my heart begins to race, and my breathing is erratic as I try to clear my vision to read the card. I hear the blood whooshing in my ears. I wipe the back of my hands across my eyes removing the unshed tears, and I hold the card up to read.

  To Our Dearest Son,

  Although we are not together now, we will always be in your heart and you in ours. We will never be far apart no matter the miles, for our love will bind us together no matter the distance, and on those nights when you are lonely all you have to do is look in your heart and that is where we will be. We love you and are so very proud of the man you have become. Thank you for being such a wonderful, thoughtful, and responsible son. We hope you will always know how much we love you.

  Love,

  Mom and Dad xoxo

  I drop the card as if it burns my fingers, and I almost instantly sober up. How? It's been a month. Why? Because they could see what I was doing to myself.

  I pick up the card again, holding it tenderly as if it's the most precious possession I own because at this moment it is. I take a long hard look at it, rereading each one of their last words to me. Tears begin to burn my eyes as I read of their love for me again and the first tear slides down my face. I haven't let myself cry over their death yet, that is until now. I just sit there, leaning against the wall as I cry for all I have lost, my parents, my only family, my only friends.

  After a period of time, I'm not sure how much, I slowly pick myself up off the ground and resolve that I will again make them proud of me. There's been a hollowness that I've felt since I learned of their death, but now after the postcard, I feel hope filling me. I know things will get better, but the first thing I have to do is get myself together.

  I walk into the bathroom and look at myself. I haven't taken care of myself in weeks. Taking my razor out of the drawer, I start to conquer the month worth of beard on my face. I don't shave it all the way off, but I trim it to look tidy. I step into a hot shower, again something I haven't done for weeks. I wash the stale smell of alcohol off my skin along with the sweat and odor that I am sure permeates the house, Mom's house, the house that she always left meticulously clean.

  After my shower I dress, my pants hanging off my hips from the weight I've lost from not eating. First thing I do is make some coffee, strong coffee. While the coffee brews, I start to pick up the mess I’ve left in my drunken wake over the last several week. I grab a large garbage bag and fill it with the empty whiskey bottles, pouring the unconsumed contents of any of the bottles down the sink. Then I take all the empty pizza boxes and place them in another bag. I open the front and back doors to let the air circulate through the house to help remove the odor. I wash what few dishes I've used and spray an air neutralizer to try to speed up removing the odors.

  Then it hits me...my God, my job. I try to think back to the last time I was in the office. I am so ashamed and embarrassed. I finish sorting through all the mail. I take the garbage and the bag of bottles placing them in the recycling bin. When I've finished cleaning, I drive to the office. I don't expect to get my job back, but as I think about it, this is my opportunity to do what I want. It's not as if I don't have a business degree. I pull into the parking lot at the office and somberly get out of the car. I'd worked for Don for twelve years, it was a good job, I learned a lot, but it's my turn now.

  I walk into the office and Sally the receptionist is sitting at the front desk. She looks at me with sympathetic eyes. "Richard, hi, how are you doing?"

  "Better, thank you, Sally, is Don available?"

  "Yes, go on back."

  I walk to Don's office and tap on his door. "Come in."

  I walk in, my head lowered in shame. Don stands as I enter. "Don, I have come by to apologize for my actions. To be honest, I really don't know what all happened and I know that it's not an excuse. However, I know that what went down wasn't good, and I'm sorry for that."

  "Richard, I have to admit it did come as a shock, I've never known you to be a drinker, and I know you were hurting, shit, you found out that your family had died and you didn't take time to grieve. You look as if you are doing better. I know you quit, but I would really like to have you back here."

  "Thank you, Don, and I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I still have some things I need to clear up. No, I've never been a drinker, I thought it would help me forget the pain that I was feeling, but the pain never went away. I just wanted to come down here and apologize to you for my actions. They were uncalled for, and I am very sorry. You've been nothing but good to me. Thank you." I stand as Don follows and I reach out to shake his hand. "Bye, Don."

  "Bye, Richard."

  As I walk out of the office, my phone rings. "Hello?"

  "Is this Richard Stone?"

  "Speaking."

  "This is William Morgan. I am your parents' lawyer."

  "Yes, Mr. Morgan, what can I do for you?"

  "I've been trying to contact you. I am sorry to hear about your parents. They were wonderful people, I will truly miss them. I wanted to talk to you in regards to their will. Is it possible to meet with you today? I know it's short notice, but I've been trying to contact you for the last several weeks."

  "I can meet with you right now if you have time."

  "That would be great. I will see you when you get here."

  I meet with my parents' lawyer and am surprised at their wealth. My parents had over two and a half million dollars in assets, and that didn't include their life insurance policies they had on each of them. I knew my dad was good at what he did, but I never even thought about what it could do for me. I have Mr. Morgan start the corporation paperwork and have him advise me on what I need to do to get my business started.

  I've worked with computers for so long and can see how the world is changing with all the new technology and apps you can get these days. This is the direction I want to take my business. I want to make a new start; I want to make my parents proud of me.

  My parents had paid their home off years prior so I don't need to worry about that. I decide to do a little updating, turning one of the rooms into an office and workspace for my new business. I decide that I'll start out of my home and then work into something bigger. The last thing I want to do is to start out too fast and get in over my head.

  Once I get things going with the business I decide to step up my mother's charitable works. I contact the local high school's computer department. I want to hire someone that I can mentor, someone that I can make a difference in his or her life.

  I receive quite a few calls and interview several kids, but I'm not impressed. Maybe this isn't a good idea after all. Most of the kids I interviewed were cocky, spoiled, and have the attitude of entitlement. That isn't what I am looking for. A couple days later I get a call from a quiet kid, Beckett Dalton. He didn't say a lot over the phone, but he intrigued me though I'm not sure why. I set an appointment for an interview later that day after school.

  I open my door at about three o'clock to a small boy that if lucky is maybe five foot five. Looking at him, you can tell he has very little self-confidence and low self-esteem, he can hardly look me in the eye. He is supposed to be a senior in school, but he's so small he looks more like a freshman.

  I reach my hand out to him, "Hi, I'm Richard."

  He slowly reaches his hand out and takes mine. His shirtsleeve rides up his arm, and I can see bruises and wonder what his story is. "Hi, I'm Beckett Dalton," he says in a quiet voice.

  "Come on in, Beckett, and we'll get this started. Would you like something to drink?"

  "Water please."

  I bring him a glass of water placing it in front of him. "So tell me about yo
urself, Beckett."

  "I'm sixteen, a senior in high school, and I want to work with computers when I get out of college."

  "Have you worked with computers before?"

  "I used to live in West Seattle, and my neighbor brought home a computer that wasn't working. He said I could have it if I could make it work. I went to the library and borrowed a bunch of books on computers, I figured out what was wrong with it and got it to work again."

  "How old were you when you did that?"

  "I was twelve."

  "You were twelve when you fixed your first computer?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Do you still have it?"

  "No, Sir," he says quietly, looking at the ground.

  "Why?"

  He sat there quietly for a long moment before he spoke. He looks down at his hands as if they hold the answers, then looks into my eyes and says, "My mom got mad at me and got rid of it."

  What the hell, who would do that? "So you really must have done something real bad."

  He looks down at his hands again before answering me. "No, Sir, it was actually my stepfather that upset her, but he was standing up for me, so that made it my fault."

  "I see." I didn't want to interrogate the kid, but it will be interesting to learn how his home life is now. "So does your mother and stepfather know that you are here applying for a job?"

  "No, Sir, and it's just my mother that I live with."

  "What do you think she will say when she finds out?"

  "Nothing, Sir, she won't even know."

  "Is that the right thing to do by not telling her?"

  "Yes, Sir, I mean, if it were someone else, then no, but if she knows she will use it against me and you, it would just cause more problems."

  "Where are you going to tell her you're at if she asks?"

  "I'll be honest with her, but until she asks, it will be better this way." He looks me in the eyes and says, "You really don't want to have to deal with her. If I am lucky enough to get this job, I would really like to keep it. But if she finds out, you might not want me here anymore."