26. Tommy

Chapter twenty-six

Tommy

I 'm sitting on a stiff couch in an ornate lobby in downtown San Diego. Everything about the hotel screams money. Why install practical hardwood or carpet when you can use imported marble? And seriously, I've counted four—FOUR—Greek statues of naked men. Whatever happened to nice imitation flowers or some drab framed pictures of landscaping that can't possibly offend anyone?

Okay, the place is nice, but I'm in a foul mood. Ever since my mother and Miranda rallied around me, I've been a mess. Even now, while in the midst of getting information I need to find Tilly, my mind is racing. Miranda is upstairs, meeting with her cousin Grayson. I have no idea what they are discussing, only that it has to do with Tilly.

After discovering that Tilly had left, I was frantic, ready to search the entire resort or stake out bus stations and airports. But Mom, always the voice of reason, talked me down. Tilly left of her own free will, she had said. It was what she wanted, and I needed to accept that.

So, I let her go. Since leaving Tahoe, I've barely spoken, my blonde scruff evolving into a scratchy beard. It's a scraggly mess that looks like my own personal wildlife sanctuary right on my chin. I have no intention of shaving it. It's less a style choice and more a side effect of the new ‘I really don't give a fuck' attitude I've adopted. There's a tournament in Australia I was supposed to head to in three weeks, but I've already withdrawn. I was due to have stitches removed yesterday but skipped the doctor. Who has time for taking care of yourself when wallowing in self-pity and focusing on the start of my hermit's beard? Eventually, I'll pull them out myself, but for now, I just don't care.

I lean my head back, staring at the hotel's ceiling. It's been hours since Miranda went upstairs. If she takes much longer, they'll need to scoop my decayed body off the floor of the ridiculous polished marble. I sneak a glance at Mack, who arrived with my mother. He is sitting across the room, absorbed in his phone, seemingly indifferent to everything.

He's good, almost too good. Half the time, I find myself looking around just to spot him. He has this admirable way of blending in that shouldn't be possible with how huge he is.

Then, I see Miranda coming down with Grayson. Her eyes are red and puffy; she's been crying. I rush over, but Grayson stops me with a hand in the air. The authority he has in that one move is something I'll never be able to emulate. Maybe it's his size? The guy is tall and wide in a way that might make me jealous. I say might because the taller they are, the harder they fall off their surfboards. Short and broad is better for my career choice, even if I'm standing up straighter around him.

"Miranda already filled me in about Tilly. I'm sorry, but if she left of her own—" he starts.

I'm already walking away. He doesn't want to help? Fine, fuck him too then.

Miranda calls out, but I head straight to the car, where Ma waits inside, listening to an audiobook and doing a crossword.

"How'd it go?" she asks as soon as I'm inside.

"No clue except they won't help find Tilly," I say, my voice rough with frustration.

Miranda gets in the back and scowls at me. "It went well. Grayson hasn't heard from her, but he's going to put some feelers out. Just to make sure she's not in a hospital or jail."

The car falls silent as Mom nods, trying to inject some optimism. "That's a good idea. Let's go back to the Airbnb. I can make some lunch, and maybe we can go to the beach or something."

"Fuck the beach," I snap, my patience worn thin. If I wanted to rub salt in my wounds, I'd just stare at the picture my mom took of us at her house again. The beach reminds me of Tilly, how her hair would get stiff from salt after a long surf session, how she'd lay in the sand and take one of her ‘power naps' after a tough paddle out. Even the sand that would always coat her arms, making that smooth skin look rough, just like her prickliness. Yeah, fuck the beach.

Miranda sighs from the back seat. "That was incredibly rude, Tommy. Your mom is trying to help and probably doesn't appreciate getting barked at."

"It's okay, baby. I know he doesn't mean it. Do you need anything, Tommy?" my mom asks.

I don't answer. What does it matter? No one is doing anything to find Tilly. What if she's already hurt? Miranda seems to think the family wouldn't do anything drastic, but I don't trust them one bit.

I put the jeep in drive and start backing up, with Mack set to follow a few car lengths behind, but never far.

Once back at the Airbnb, they get out of the car, but I don't join them. Rolling the window down, I say, "I'm gonna run an errand. I'll be back for dinner."

Mom gives me a sad smile. "Okay, baby, call if you need anything."

She walks inside, with Mack and Miranda close behind.

As soon as they're gone, I pull out of the driveway and merge back onto the freeway. Sam's place is just a few minutes away, and right now, she's the only person I feel like talking to.

I park the jeep and rush to her front door. Knocking, I hear her heavy steps approaching. The door swings open, and Sam engulfs me in a hug immediately.

Although most of the story is already out there, there are details I didn't give her on the phone. In my panic, I mostly just asked if she'd heard from Tilly and let her know she was gone. But I'm here now, mostly because I know deep down that only Sam can grasp how much I miss Tilly.

After our lengthy embrace ends, we move inside. Sam settles on the couch, propping her swollen ankles on the coffee table.

Greg emerges from the back a few moments later, wrapped in a towel. "Oh hey, Tommy."

"Hi," I say. Maybe Sam isn't the only one that understands. Greg went through something similar back before Sam was his wife. But he also let her go. Great for his conscience, maybe, but not the kind of heroic stupidity I'm aiming for. The entire time she was gone, Greg knew where she was but didn't chase her. That doesn't impress me. If I knew where Tilly was, I would be on the next flight to her.

He grabs two beers from the fridge, offering one to me when he comes back. I take the beer but don't sip it, my hand instead brushing the fabric of Sam's couch. Memories flood back of our first night spent here together, how nervous just lying next to her had made me feel.

"How you doin' Tommy?" Sam asks, her eyes full of sympathy.

"We slept together," I say simply. Maybe I should give them more than that, but I know I don't have to. They'll both understand how much that would mean to me.

Clasping both hands together, Sam smiles, her eyes watering. With a laugh, Greg puts his arm around her shoulder. "Calm down, babe. It obviously didn't go well. Couldn't get it up?"

I snap my head his direction and shoot daggers with my eyes. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

But Greg only laughs as he lifts both hands in surrender. "Okay, wrong time, I get it. But hell man, you said the same shit to me when I was trying to woo my girl." He's got me there. At the time, we were in Costa Rica, and we weren't such good friends. But Greg wasn't near as desperate and the situation not as serious. Tilly could be hurt by her disgusting family already. Knowing them, she could either be at a black-tie dinner or chained in a basement—hard to tell which is worse.

Yeah, I don't believe that for a second either. Even if the idea of her being unable to come back to me is more appealing than the alternative. She left. End of story. Grayson confirmed the family doesn't know where she is either.

I put my head in my hands and rock back and forth a few times before Sam touches my knee. "What happened, Tommy?"

"You already know the bullet points," I say flippantly.

"But I want the details. Maybe I can work some best friend magic if I know everything," Sam says. That is true, but telling the full story feels like betraying Tilly. She didn't tell Sam herself, and I hate getting in the middle of things. Still, if it's my only shot, I have to try. I tell her about the memorial, her fucking psychotic aunt, about the dance, how we kissed, then went to my mom's. I skip the details of our sex; I'm sure eventually Tilly will spill. She always loves recounting her escapades to Sam. Want to know a sure-fire way of getting Sam to blush? Mention sex of any kind. It's one of Tilly's favorite pastimes. Finally, I explain the fire and both Greg and Sam are silent as my story finishes.

Looking at the ground, I run a palm over my face, trying to rub away the sting of tears. "I told her I loved her." My voice is soft, almost a whisper. But I know they both heard it. My head jerks up, and I know my eyes are probably too wide with panic. "This can't be it for us. She loves me too. I want—" I stand to my feet. "I want this!" I point between them, and they look at each other with confusion in their eyes. I ignore it as I begin to pace the living room, careful to avoid their old, warped coffee table. "I paid my fucking dues. I watched her sleep with other men, move away from me, stop talking to me, and yet we found each other again. I'm not just gonna wait anymore."

Following a spell of silence, Greg retreats to get dressed. He's gone for a while, and I think I hear him on the phone. In my attempts to eavesdrop, I don't try to talk to Sam. Returning with car keys in hand, he suggests, "Let's go for a drive."

"I'm staying here," Sam insists. "Getting in a car is like pure torture for my giant pregnant body."

Greg laughs. "Stay here, Kooky-Sam. We'll be back. Love you."

He pecks her cheek, and I have to look away. Such domestic displays are what I had hoped for with Tilly, and not having it now is like torture.

We walk outside to where his car is parked along the curb. His Honda is old and battered, but he treasures that car.

Once we hit the road, Greg breaks the silence. "She called Sam."

I straighten up, but Greg signals for patience. "She's doing okay. But no details. The call was from a blocked number, and she didn't give a location. Just wanted to know if the baby had been born yet. Sam did her best to be supportive, probably because she went through something similar a few years back."

"Did she ask about me?" I can't help but ask.

Greg shakes his head. "She probably knew Sam would tell her to call you." Pulling into a coffee shop lot, he faces me. "I know a guy, Phil, don't ask his last name." He points to me and lowers his brows.

I hold up my hands. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Greg relaxes back into his seat. "He's gonna help you. But it's... not exactly legal."

I nod, determined. Finding her is what matters, regardless of the means.

"And Sam can't know," Greg continues. "She might inadvertently tell Tilly. And temper your expectations; these things can take time, especially if Tilly keeps moving."

"Thank you, Greg. Seriously." I mean every word. When I sought out my two friends, I knew they would be supportive, but this goes beyond what I thought would happen.

"She's loved you for years, Tommy. But like Sam, she's scared. The two girls are so fucking similar, it's creepy sometimes." He laughs. "For Tilly, though, I don't think we can wait for her to come back. In fact, I don't think Sam would have ever faced the music if it wasn't for her nephew's illness." That's probably true. When Sam fled Costa Rica, she only allowed us to help when she discovered her nephew needed a piece of her liver. Without that, I'm almost certain we still wouldn't have seen her. "For now, we need to find her. Then we can convince her to come home."

I'm nodding, my chest tightening. Really, I hadn't expected this much help. Showing up at their bungalow was more for moral support. My previous plans were to bitch and moan until they sent me packing.

Greg sits up straighter and slaps my back. "Alright, you go inside. The less I know, the less I have to lie to Sam."

Getting out of the car, I try to quell my nerves. Hope. The first sign of it since she left is blooming inside me.

Inside the small coffee shop, I see a guy sitting at the long bar by the window. He looks exactly how I would expect an investigator. Grey polo and slacks, bags under the eyes with mussed salt and pepper hair, like he's been staking out someone all night.

"Phil?" I ask. He nods and gestures to the seat next to him. "I'm Tommy." I offer my hand. We shake, and Phil gets right to business. "Greg gave me her name, and I've already begun searching, but any additional info you have could help."

Practically shaking with excitement, I provide everything I know, especially about the rental car and her family dynamics from our time in Tahoe. When I finish, Phil promises to look into it and asks for a few weeks.

As we leave, Phil acknowledges Greg with a wave but doesn't stop to talk. Back in the car, we head towards the house, my mind stuck in a loop. Weeks. He said to give him a few fucking weeks.

When Greg parks behind the bungalow, he places a hand on my knee. "We'll find her. Phil's one of the best. It just takes time. Now, come in and have some cookies with Sam."

Back inside, Sam brings out some chocolate chip cookies from the pantry, and we all sit on the couch, enjoying the moment together.

Soon, Greg has to leave for the surf shop to lend a hand to Ron, leaving Sam and me alone.

As soon as he's gone, Sam pounces. Of course, it's figurative since I doubt she could do anything fast with her giant stomach in the way. "You're leaving something out. Even before you two went to Tahoe, something happened," she says.

I can't help but smile as I recall the night she came here, upset about her apartment. "She came here, you know. I'm guessing you didn't tell her I was in town?"

Sam gives a sheepish smile. "I never even said your name if I could help it. She would start pouting, and I just couldn't stand it. You know how stubborn Tilly can be."

"I convinced her to stay the night, and she slept on the couch. But the next day, she tagged along to my tournament, and after I got hurt, she was there with me in the hospital, holding my hand."

Sam shifts in her seat, clearly engrossed in the story. "Fuck, that sounds romantic," she says.

I laugh. "It was... nice."

Her eyes narrow, but the smirk remains. "Nice? Really? Not life changing? Or orgasm inducing?"

Looking down, I admit with the first smile I have had in days, "I love her, Sam. I have to find her. She left because she was worried about me. I can't let her do that. She wants to be together, I know it."

Sam takes my hand. "When I left, I was scared. But when Penny said my nephew Clark needed my liver, I already wanted to come back. It was the excuse I needed, but honestly, I might have come home soon anyway. I missed Tilly, you, and Greg so much." She blinks back tears. "Give her time, Tommy. When she calls next, I'll try to convince her to come back. But it has to be Tilly's decision."

I nod and sniffle. "And what about TJ?" I ask, gesturing to her belly.

"Oh, he's kicking like crazy, driving me nuts." To emphasize her point, she places my hand on her pronounced bump, and the tiny baby kicks against my touch. My stomach leaps into my throat, a mix of excitement and a touch of nausea swirling within me.

"So weird," I say, but secretly I love it. Part of me wonders if Tilly wants kids. I have every intention of finding her and being together forever if I can help it. Certainly, I've always wanted a big family. Growing up with brothers was fun, and I know I can count on them now too. If I asked, Dylan would be down here in an instant.

Greg strides back through the door, his voice laced with playful accusation. "You hitting on my lady?"

I chuckle, but pull my hand off Sam's tummy. "Just letting TJ know his dad's a kook surfer. Sorry, bro, someone had to spill the beans."

"Kook? At least I'm not an attention whore. Did you catch his San O wipeout?" Greg asks Sam.

She shakes her head. Greg's already syncing his phone with the TV, and there I am on the screen, wiping out and surfacing with blood streaming down my face.

"Oh my god, Tommy!" Sam exclaims, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

As I watch, the lifeguards haul me out of the water, and Tilly rushes to my side. I notice her smile as I hop atop the vehicle to cheers, feeling like a twist to my heart. It's a physical ache, this heartbreak—more intense and tangible than any cliché ever described.

By the end of the video, Sam's slapping my shoulder, laughing. "You are such an idiot!"

"Maybe," I concede, standing up. "But hey, this video's got like a bazillion views."

"Yeah? Maybe we should do like a signing at the shop or something? Take advantage of your idiocracy."

"Anytime," I say. Not that I'm famous, but I do like doing autographs. A lot of times, I meet people who say they're inspired by me, and that's an honor I wear proudly.

As I head to the door, I turn to them both behind me. "Thanks, guys. This was great," I say, leaning over to kiss Sam's cheek. "I'll call tomorrow."

After our goodbyes, I step out the front door. I feel better than I have in days, and I know, wherever Tilly is, we're going to find her and bring her home.