Lost and Found

“Uh…yeah.” Derek’s face crumpled. He covered it with his hands. “Jesus.”

“Yeah. All these years of wondering.”

“You weren’t the only one wondering,” Derek said heavily. “Do you know how guilty I felt because I may have knocked up someone else and couldn’t even get my own wife pregnant?”

Nate stared at him. “I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? Are you out of your mind?”

Derek grimaced.

“That was my wife you could have ‘knocked up’,” Nate ground out, his throat tight and aching. “But now we know it wasn’t you. Now I know I had a child who died in that car crash along with my wife. Fuck!”

He thrust his hands into his hair, held his skull and turned away from Derek. This could not be happening. This was a bad dream. Not real.

Then he thought about Krissa. “You haven’t told Krissa, have you?”

“No. Of course not.” There was a pause. “You’re not…”

Nate swung around and studied his friend contemptuously. “That woman is so incredible—she’s sweet and loving and beautiful. She lives to please you, Derek. She’d do anything for you.” His lip curled as he recalled the things she’d done. “Anything. And you did that to her. Christ.” He shook his head.

“I love her,” Derek said hoarsely. “Don’t tell her. Please, Nate.”

Nate gazed at him for a long moment. A million thoughts ran through his mind.

And he knew then—he loved her too.

He should tell Krissa. She should know the truth about her husband. About her marriage.

But how could he do that to her? She loved Derek, was committed to her marriage and to the child she could be carrying even now.

At that moment, Nate’s gut churned and he had to swallow hard several times, saliva accumulating in his mouth.

“This isn’t the only time you’ve cheated on her, is it?” It was a bad feeling he’d had since he’d arrived in Montecito. “Never mind.” He held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

He shook his head again, trying to clear it, walked to the railing of the deck and gazed out at the ocean. Big puffs of white scudded across the evening sky. The wind roughened the ocean, deepened the waves crashing onto shore below them. He gripped the railing so tightly he felt the wood digging into his palms.

Then he turned, had to get away from Derek, ran down the stairs to the beach. His feet clattered on the wooden steps until he hit the sand, and he almost staggered as his feet sank into the softness. He took long, uneven steps over the beach till he reached the smooth firmness of wet sand. He gulped in the sea air, tipped his head back, pushed a hand through his hair.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

He walked until he reached his rock, sank down onto it, cool and hard beneath his ass. He faced the ocean, but didn’t see it. The breeze blew his hair back off his face but he barely noticed it. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, held his head in his hands. If he’d thought he’d felt pain and betrayal when Lauren had died, it was nothing compared to this. And it wasn’t even for himself that he felt the worst. He ached for Krissa.

He tried to weigh things in his mushy mind, tried to make sense of it. He couldn’t help the thought that if Krissa knew about Derek and Lauren, she’d leave Derek. She could be his. His alone.

Hope and excitement leaped in him at the thought.

He loved her. He wanted to be with her, always. If she knew Derek was screwing around on her, she’d leave him. They could be together, just the two of them. Fuck Derek.

He turned that possibility over and over in his mind for long, pleasurable moments.

Then he faced reality. She was married. She loved her husband. She and Derek had survived the last two years without her knowing. They could probably spend the rest of their lives together without him ever having to confess what he’d done. And if she never knew…it wouldn’t hurt her.

How could he be the one to tell her Derek was a lying, cheating asshole?

He stared at a boat, way out near the horizon. It bobbed on the water, seemingly unmoving. He watched it. Measured its progress against one of the oil rigs. Yes. It was moving. Slowly, but it was moving. He stared at it until it had moved a considerable distance.

Clouds raced past the sun, shifting him from light to dark and back to light again. He idly noted that even when the sun came out it didn’t hurt his eyes. Great.

He should be ecstatic. He was finally getting what he wanted ever since he’d gotten sick in Costa Rica. Ever since he’d arrive in Montecito, he’d wanted his eyes to get better so he could leave and get on with his life. His miserable, lonely life.

He blew out a long breath, still amazed at the pain deep inside him, the empty crater that was his gut.

He had to leave.

He sat there a while longer, wishing he could think of some other way. He couldn’t tell Krissa, and there was no way he could stay there with the two of them in this cozy threesome with the loathing and disgust he now felt toward Derek. He could never pull that off.

What about the baby?

Did he still want to do that? Of course, it might be too late. She could already be pregnant. He closed his eyes, mouth as dry as if he’d picked up a handful of sand and swallowed it. After last month, he didn’t have as much hope that they’d been successful this time. Likely not. His only chance at being a father had probably died in that freeway crash two years ago.

He put a hand to his chest. Fuck, it hurt. Why did it hurt so much, now, thinking about that? Thinking about Lauren and their baby. About her betrayal. And now…finding out his best friend had done something so heinous—cheated on his own wife, with Nate’s wife, betraying both of them. Jesus.

He heaved himself off the rock, feeling heavy and stiff, and headed back to the house with jerky, uneven steps. He stopped to look down at some seaweed washed ashore, a tangled black mess, complicated and impossible to unravel without breaking it up.

He climbed the stairs to the house on shaky legs. Derek still sat on the deck. Nate paused, shot him a glance, his heart constricting. Then he continued into the house, through the sliding doors. Krissa stood in the kitchen, doing something with some food at the counter. He ignored her, didn’t want to see her, didn’t want her to see him, and headed straight up to his room and shut the door.

He hadn’t even unpacked the bag he’d taken to L.A., but he had other clothes in the closet, in the dresser. He shoved clothing into another bag, not caring how he packed. He balled up a pair of jeans and stuffed them in, then strode into his bathroom to gather his toiletries. He stared at himself in the mirror, for once not wearing the damn ugly glasses. He looked…naked without them. Vulnerable. Pain and betrayal stared back at him.

When his gear was packed, he dragged it out into the kitchen. Krissa was setting the table for di

He watched her face cloud as she took in his bags, her smile faltering.

Derek came to the sliding door and opened it, stepped in. He, too, looked pale and strained as he observed Nate’s stuff.

“I have to go.” Nate’s voice sounded weird to him, rough and sandy. He struggled for control of his raging emotions. He took a step toward Krissa, stopped. He forced a smile. “My eyes are almost better, so I have to get back to work.”

He watched expressions flicker across her face—her lips parted, she blinked at him.

“Now? You’re leaving right now?”

His whole body tightened. He wasn’t even sure if he could get the word out past the obstruction in his throat. “Yeah.”