Seeking Me To Find You (Finding You Series Book 1) (2 page)

“Why would I want to teach in Los Angeles?” I said.

“Grace, I need you there. This is a huge step for me and I can’t do this alone. Hell, you are my go to man when I’m stuck on a song. You make me look like a stud in front of the ladies when you lead our team to capturing those damn flags. You get me like no other person. You can make a cheesecake that curls my toes and tickle my ears.”

Now that sounded a little strange didn’t it?

“Pleeeassse,” Nate said with his lips all in a pout.

Alone? What about his band?
Go to man! Cheesecake that curls and tickles? Yuck!

“Snap out of it Grace. Please Grace, think of it as an adventure, a new road that diverges in a yellow wood,” he laughed proudly at himself.

Yellow wood my ass. How about a scary Hollywood? I do have enough money to get me started. I would have Nate. My sperm donor lives there.
Oh, don’t go there.
If nothing else, this would be an awesome adventure. I can always go back home if it doesn’t work out. “Okay Nathan Taylor, I will take that road
most
traveled by musicians with you. But know this – you better not abandon me when girls start throwing their granny panties at you! Got me?” Nate was stoked. He snatched me up, swinging me around until I became nauseous. I secretly hope that this feeling of nausea isn’t going to be a sign of possible regret.

Grace

Four Years Later

“I
’m done. So
Done,” I whispered softly to myself as a tear gently rolls down my cheek. I can’t believe that I have stayed as long as I have. Yes, I can. Two words – Nathan Taylor. Every time I start to throw in the towel he says, “What would I do without my girl?” Not this time. I have gone against this independent chick’s code of conduct way to long.
Independent? Who the hell am I fooling?
This is a perfect time to make a break. Nate is on the east coast as an opening act for another two months. He’s not here to unload my suitcase as fast as I can load it. I don’t know why he thinks he needs me here. He and the band travel non-stop. I feel like a glorified house sitter.

I feel like every day I stay in this house, I lose a piece of myself. Nate still has this insane idea that it’s his duty to keep me safe. I’ve never seen his diploma but I have a sneaky suspicion that it says “B. S. in Homeland Security with a Concentration in Grace”. His pit bull mentality comes out especially when I’m in a relationship. I feel like I am living with my parents because even when he’s out of town I have to check in with him. I always text him when I’m leaving the house and text him when I return. If I don’t do this, he freaks. He starts blowing up my cell phone, which I lose
constantly
. By the time I find my phone, I will have approximately 15 missed calls and text messages that consist of
“Damn it Grace. If I don’t hear from you in 20 minutes, I’m calling the police. I’m going to make sure you’re buried with your fuckin’ phone.”
Then the countdown messages follow
“…15 minutes, 10 minutes, 5 minutes, Damn it Grace”
. If I was a toddler, I probably would go around the house stuck on repeat exclaiming “
Damn it Grace”.
Thank goodness I am allergic to birds. I can see the boys teaching the bird to say “Damn it Grace” so they could lecture me even when they are gone. I’m surprised that I don’t have a GPS Monitoring System attached somewhere to the frame of my car.
On second thought, he seems to find me wherever I go…
Nate says that it’s because he promised my mom and dad that he and the boys would take care of me. One time he said, “Have you seen your stepdad? Do you know what he used to do in the Marines? Even though he says he has a regular civilian job now that he’s retired, I really think he secretly works for the CIA. When we moved out here, he made me promise that I would watch over you and that’s what I plan to do. He said that he would have my balls served up on a platter if anything happened to you. Grace, I need my balls. We have a very intimate relationship.” Eye roll moment! Maybe that’s why I have a hard time staying in long term relationships; I have too many people vying for the role of Grace’s Ultimate Protector. Hell, if the State of California trusts me with eighty students each school day, you would think that my family would have enough faith in me to know that I can walk, chew gum, pat my stomach and text at the same time. Scratch that! Just one time,
one time.
I looked down to check a message from one of my
protectors
and a lovely fountain appeared out of nowhere. Geez! It’s been over a year and I still hear about it.

You ask about my relationships? In LA? Do you remember that I’m not that girl that sits idly by twirling her hair, popping her gum while some metro sexual male talks about himself, looks at himself, and cares only for himself? Not to sound cliché, but where have all the real men gone? Obviously not to LA. Most girls here are willing to give up their identity to be the arm candy of some rich guy. Not me! Maybe that’s why, like in childhood, I never got that knock on the door. When I met Evan, I thought I had found something really special. I met him as I was hiking the trails up near the Hollywood sign. I had twisted my ankle and he offered to help me back to my car. Halfway down, and a couple of scrapes on my knees from stumbling, he decided it was best that he carried me back to my car.

Was I in love with him? Kind of. Maybe. We had been dating for almost a year and I could sense that he wanted to take our relationship to the next level. I just wasn’t ready and he seemed okay with that. I accompanied Evan to many social gatherings where he was eager to show me off. He always made sure I was glued to his side. He would comment that he was afraid I would be scooped up by another bachelor because of my wittiness and charm. At first I found him endearing, but after a while, when I couldn’t go to the bathroom without him holding my hand, I found it a little stifling.

In the beginning, we had an extremely comfortable relationship where I felt I was not losing myself. I was able to do my thing and he did his without the all the jealousy and drama. He said that was one of the main things that attracted him to me. He said I was an independent woman who did not want to be up his ass 24/7. I felt as if I had one person that actually trusted me. It didn’t seem to faze Evan that I lived with five guys, had a best friend that was a guy, and could wrestle all at once five strapping young men trying to steal a cheesecake I made for a faculty luncheon. Evan appeared to be such a gentleman. He held the door for me, he sent flowers to work, he told me I was the most beautiful women in the world, and he told me that I was the center of the universe…

Well I found out that he must have multiple universes because he was getting a well performed
favor
in his nether region by a girl that had lips so inflated that she looked like she had held the suction from a vacuum to them for days. She didn’t look surprised as I used my key to his apartment so that I could feed his Yorkie Poo? That should have been my first clue. A
huge
clue. What self respecting man has a Yorkie Poo? All the suction he must have been getting made his brain forget that he asked me to feed his dog because he was
working late
. Someone was
working late
and she had Hoover tattooed to her forehead. Let’s go back to Miss Hoover’s lack of surprise. I think it was physically impossible because she looked like she had so much Botox that there was no way that function could register. Nice! Evan tried running, pants on the ground, after me saying he loved me and that he had one moment of weakness.

You know what? No wonder he was grateful with his space. Things added up rather quickly. He didn’t mind me spending time with my friends because it gave him the opportunity to have a little flavor on the side. By the end, when I was with him he seemed a little more possessive, like he wanted to take a piss on me every time a guy walked by. Typical M.O. of a cheating guy. How did I miss that?

Damn it Grace, you need to put on your big girl panties and dry that leaking eye. It’s time to take back the reigns and steer this horse in a new direction. But where do I start? It would be so comfortable to move back to Virginia. Moving back would go against all that I am trying to accomplish. I know my mother and dad would welcome me back with open arms. The problem is I’ve just broken through a little of my sperm donor’s exterior. I need to stop calling him that. One day I am going to slip and we’ll be back to square one. He’s trying. I know, I know. I’m supposed to be an independent woman that doesn’t need the love and approval of any man but this is the man who helped create me.

Sam, aka sperm donor, has a new girlfriend who is about my age. She is petite like me, however her chest is stuffed like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Holy Moly, George! I think they could walk and talk by themselves. He seems happy. Hell anyone would when you have those suckers sticking in your face 24/7. I know. I’m being catty. We have dinner every couple of weeks though he’s made it known that he’s not father material. I can respect that to a certain degree, but when your willy comes out and wants to play, you have to know what the consequences could be: producing a human, that has a heart, who just wants to be loved. I believe that’s what it comes down to…love. Isn’t that what the world needs? Wasn’t that a song?

Acceptance and love is all I’ve ever wanted from Sam. Growing up all my interactions with my dad came in a form of a check. There was no note, no nothing. I never received a call on my birthday or any other holiday. It wasn’t until I moved to California and forced him to acknowledge me that I knew what his voice actually sounded like. Even though I have a wonderful stepdad, no one or nothing can take the place of your biological father. It still plays with my psyche that my own flesh and blood has always kept his distance. There have been many nights Nate has tried to analyze why my friends were mostly guys but I couldn’t keep a boyfriend. He thinks I have created a wall around my heart, protecting it from disappointment and hurt.

Going back to that new start, I begin making a list: 1) The town needs to be out of LA yet close enough for a good day trip. 2) I have to be able to find a good teaching job. 3) It has to be in area where I can explore the outdoors. 4) It has to feel like home. As I search through areas on my computer, one jumps out at me.
San Clemente
. The town is about sixty-six miles south of LA. I don’t want to estimate in time because traffic is traffic in Southern California. It’s close to a military base. As a little girl, I grew up living on a military base in North Carolina. Some people can’t handle the noise but I always found comfort hearing the blades of helicopters cutting through the air and artillery booming like thunder. In looking at schools in the area, it appears to have a noteworthy education system. Five stars on some sites I peruse. The high schools have top notch track and field teams, which maybe I can help coach. It appears the schools pay very well. One website touts on San Clemente’s exquisite beaches and others say it has an old town feel with all the new town upgrades. There are running, biking and hiking trails. Ding! Ding! Ding! I think we have a winner. Now I am off to find a job and a new home while seeking the life that I deserve.

Jackson

“I
don’t care
if you puke up your last sperm, you need to get your ass into gear and start moving, Recruit! Momma’s boys! Is that all they’re recruiting? I could carry this piss ant from one end of this base to the other, in full battle gear, and not break a sweat. This is fucking ridiculous!”

Ben just smiles his charming smile at me. “Missing the fleet much?” he says sarcastically.

“You know what asshole, I know what we do is an ‘important part of the Corps,’ but man, what I wouldn’t give to hear the engines roar, to smell jet fuel while boarding the plane, feel the cold rush of air when the ramp opens, land jump out from twenty-seven thousand feet, and do twenty mile patrols. Now that’s what it is all about. How much longer do I have?”

“You don’t have the countdown clock ticking somewhere?” Ben chuckled then finally put his drill instructor hat back on and lowered to a deep baritone, speaking to the lowly recruit whispering to a fellow recruit. “This isn’t your grandmother’s picnic. Get your sorry ass down and give me fifty.”

Now that is getting down to business. That’s why I’m a Marine. It just sucks that ten years into my hard as nails career I was told I had to play drill instructor. At least I’m not stuck in an office promising my left nut to a scrawny teenage wanna be to make a recruiting quota. I think I would light my hair on fire and put it out with a sledge hammer!

Moving from the East Coast to the West Coast along with Ben a little over a year ago now has been challenging. Things move faster, things are more expensive, however the beauty is outstanding. The East Coast beaches have nothing on the beaches of San Diego. And the girls! Sweet Jesus! The girls! They bike in their bikinis, they roller blade in their bikinis, hell, they even run in their bikinis. I always wonder how they do it. Those bikini cups are not too supportive and those puppies run the risk of escaping. And these are not normal size puppies. I’m not complaining, but these puppies are the type that can cause some serious damage – like blackening eyes. With all the vanity around here you would think they would consider this and kennel them with a good running bra.

Our job as a Drill Instructor is very daunting. We have twelve weeks with a group of recruits and then once they graduate we have two weeks off until we get our next cycle. During our time with the recruits we alternate a twenty four hour shift and then alternate early mornings and late evenings. We have to be up before our recruits and hit the rack well after they do. It leaves us little down time.

Ben and I’ve known each other since our early days in Scout Sniper School. We just lucked out and got put in this hell together. People say that we could be brothers. We both have dark brown hair with a medium regulation cut and the same six foot three, one ninety-five frame. The only difference is that Ben has steel blue eyes that could cut you like a knife and mine are a coppery brown like my late father. A year ago, we decided to get a place together when we got here. Gunnery Sergeant pay is shit, plus we forgo our dive and jump pay while we are here mucking it up with the maggots. The housing allowance makes up for some, but we are never home. Ben’s little brother, Adam, is living with us while he finishes school. That’s why when we chose a place to hang our hats we wanted a relaxing place to take advantage of when we can. Hence, we chose San Clemente. We found a condo with beach views that screams relaxation. I can walk out of our door to a road that leads to the most pristine beach that calls me out for an early morning run. When I get home, we have an awesome set up in our back patio that holds a stone fire pit that beckons me for a cold beer by a fire late at night. H-E-A-V-E-N, Heaven!