Page 6 of When Hearts Surrender

“The bodies are rumored to be down there still.” He motions to the dark waters, the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs in the distance. “The water is so cold, there aren’t many bacteriato help along the decomposition process, so the bodies don’t float back up. I’m a historian, so this is interesting shit for me.”

He laughs and prattles on. The man must be bored out of his mind to be talking to someone who clearly doesn’t plan to respond.

I stare at the canvas again, then at the scenery before me, trying to figure out what’s wrong with my art, which is an extension of me, of my soul. This is the sole purpose of my little getaway away from work and responsibilities at home. I’m supposed to sketch and paint and find my muse once more, something to fill this gaping hole of nagging want inside my chest before I have to head back to the real world, which includes preparing for my first press conference in a month.

What the fuck is it missing?

My life is everything a man should want. I’m the eldest son of the influential Anderson family, billions at my disposal, the CEO of one of the largest companies listed on the stock exchange.

I can have anything I want.

What the damn fuck is missing from my art?

I rub the phantom ache in my chest and heave out a deep breath, which crystallizes in a white mist before floating and melding with the eerie fog before me. Another icy gust billows against my face, followed by the louder roar of the crashing waves against the sharp cliffs.

The fog seems thicker now, merging with the foreboding clouds in the overcast skies. The dense forest of pine and birch just past the shoreline fades into nothingness, like an apparition, a hallucination of the mind. A chill seeps inside me as I look at the lighthouse in the distance, its light blinking slowly, warning sailors of the dangers of the rocks.

How much tragedy has it seen occur in these frigid waters before?

“Damn. The weather looks like shit. I miss the California sunshine. Anyway, I should go find the wife and the kids,” the man quips before nudging me with his elbow. He waggles his brows. “I promised them pancakes and hot chocolate for breakfast. Don’t want to disappoint them. Happy wifeandkids equal happy life, you know?”

I wouldn’t know, and I’ll never know.

I sigh. I never enjoy talking to strangers, but it seems like my silence isn’t a deterrent for this man. Slowly, I roll up the canvas, which will most likely be relegated to the back of my failure pile in my studio at home.

One of many of the past year.

Maybe Rex is right. Maybe I should spend some hours at the voyeur room inside The Orchid. Maybe a few hours with a beautiful woman will chase away the emptiness in my heart. After all, it has worked in the past.

But deep down, I know that isn’t the answer. Not this time. Not for this dark chasm inside me.

Like I’m missing a piece of myself.

Just then, something hits the legs of the easel, shaking the frame precariously, and I grab it before it topples over.

Frowning, I bend down and pick up a bright yellow soccer ball at my feet as I hear the faint sounds of children giggling, and the gentle words from a feminine voice heading toward us.

My pulse kicks up at the strangers about to invade my personal space.They are little kids and their mom. Harmless. Calm the fuck down. Breathe. You are thirty-fucking-six years old.I twist the heirloom ring on my ring finger before wiping my sweaty palms on my pants and blowing out a deep breath.

A little boy no older than seven runs over. His younger sister, judging by their identical light brown hair and big blue eyes, follows suit.

“Jeremy! I thought I told you to leave the ball in the car!” the man still standing next to me grumbles.

“Sorry, Daddy! We were just going to do one practice kick.” Jeremy pouts before turning his wide eyes toward me, uncertainty flickering in his gaze.

I look down and realize I’m still holding the ball in my hands.

I kneel and watch him traipse over carefully, his steps sure on the large pebbles, and an unknown warmth sparks in my veins. Such bright innocence shining from his eyes.

The innocence, once lost, can never be regained.

“Here you go, little man.” I roll the ball back to him, my lips curving into a small smile. “Kick with your big toe knuckle. That’ll give you the strongest kick.”

“You play soccer?”

“A long time ago. Not anymore.”

“Why?” Jeremy questions as his sister and mom approach us.

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