I arrived in Long Beach at 5:30 a.m., an insane hour that I more often saw from the other end when I was on the EastCoast for work. The first ferry left at 6 and I’d need all day to accomplish my goal. Of course, the little shit couldn’t just work in town. Another reason to pound Bryce’s ass into the ground.
I had to hike into the bush to get to him. I’d already registered as a hiker under a fake name. The PI had gotten me a fake ID, which I’d also used to book the ferry ride. I kept my sunglasses and hat on, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. I couldn’t risk getting recognized, and thanks to a clean shave, it would be less likely.
The rational part of me told me to just go have a stern talking-to with Bryce. Level with him. He hurt Aspen, which hurts Mara. And either of them hurting hurts me because I love them.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I knew I loved Aspen because he’s a great kid and I treated him like my own. I was proud of him, and when he fell, I was there to lift him back up.
Same with Hazel. She was my little buddy. She wasn’t old enough to get her feelings hurt by her biological dad, but I’d be doing everything I could to be the dad she needed. She wouldn’t miss Bryce because I would be enough.
But Mara.
It was clear as day.
I loved Mara.
I wouldn’t call a shady guy to stalk out her ex if I didn’t love her. I wouldn’t get all his details including what time he’d be where, packing a bag full of various items for a variety of situations if our encounter went sideways, and getting on a ferry at the asscrack of dawn so I could have the max amount of time to find him and carry out my plan.
I stood at the front of the ferry and let the cool ocean breeze blast me in the face. The sun rose behind me over the city,casting an orange glow over the approaching island. I vaguely wondered if that place that had great fish tacos was still in Avalon.
Now’s not the time for fish tacos, Jack.
But maybe it was. It would look less suspicious if I acted like a tourist, tooting around town like I wasn’t there to fuck up my wife’s ex. Then again, the taco stand wouldn’t be open at 7 a.m. I needed to focus on getting into the bush.
With my backpack and outdoorsy clothes, I looked ready to hike, and that’s exactly what my cover was. It was going to be an all-day affair to get all this carried out.
Logic told me this was insane. It was a premeditated crime. I went to extreme lengths to find this guy. I had to block a day to come out here, lie to my wife about where I was going, get my best friend in on the lie, have him also lie to his wife, and then do this absolutely insane thing.
One problem: I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what I was going to do once I found him. I had a strange assortment of shit in my backpack: hockey tape because zip ties would be too obvious, fuzzy handcuffs left over from an attempt at kink with Sydney (why?), bear spray so it wouldn’t look so glaring that I had pepper spray for humans, a handkerchief to cover my face (less obvious than a balaclava, easier to toss aside and dismiss as a hiker’s dropped neck scarf), and finally, the piece de resistance, a knife.
Just for cutting the hockey tape off his wrists if it came to that.
I couldn’t kill him. I didn’t want to kill him. I’m not a murderer.
I couldn’t be a murderer. I wouldn’t.
I got one of those shitty vending machine coffees on the ferry and because the water was choppy as shit pulling into theharbor, spilled half of it. I slugged the rest back in one sad, sludgy gulp.
But I couldn’t risk stopping in a coffee shop and getting recognized. I had to get dirty first. Then I’d be less recognizable.
Yeah.
He was living in this base camp commune thing for hippies without families, except that he did have a family. He just fucking bailed on them.
The more I thought about each detail, the more I wanted to burn every item he owned.
I had to hike six miles with the pack on. I underestimated the elevation changes. Never seen a 20% hill grade in my life, but there I was, scrabbling up on desert dirt and trying not to prickle my tender little fingers on cactus needles. This was the fastest way to his encampment, though, and he was due to be back to be on lunch duty for the volunteer crews.
The irony that he worked to help volunteer crews while shirking his own duties as a father was not lost on me.
Again, I did not bring any matches or accelerants, and that was a real fucking shame. Huge oversight, Leroy.
I saw Bryce from the back before he could see me, talking to somebody else working there. That’s when it started to feel real. I was only going to rough him up and tell him what he needed to do. Force him to make a decision about his family.
My family. His family that he abandoned.
