His guiding light, p.1
His Guiding Light, page 1
His Guiding Light
Copyright © 2024 by E.L. Ough
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are only used for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. The scanning, uploading, or distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property.
For information address: authorelough@yahoo.com
Cover Design: Dianna Roman and Raquel Riley
Cover Photographer: Tom Cullis
Cover Model: Ryan Ray
Editing and Formatting: Jenn ReadsBooks
Alpha Reader: A.E. Jensen
Beta Readers: Dianna Roman, Marianne PA, Raquel Riley
Sensitivity Reader: Jennifer Green
Contents
Spotify Playlist
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About E.L. Ough
A Note From E.L. Ough
This book contains some material that may be considered triggering to some readers. Please note the following descriptions.
Kinks:
Nipple Play
Foreskin Sucking
Armpit Sniffing
Spanking
Mild Ds Choking
Trigger Warnings:
Death of best friend and grandfather
Shitty Parents
Tropes:
Demi Rep
Hurt/Comfort
Lighthouse Keeper
Carpenter
Photographer
Age Gap
Love after Loss
Small Town
Amnesia
Possessive MC Stranger-to-Friends-to-Lovers
This book contains explicit sexual content and is for adults over 18.
A (short) Glossary for Maine slang
As this book takes place in Maine, research was done into how words and phrases are used and pronounced. here are a few of them.
Wicked—an exclamation:
‘wicked good chowdah’
‘wicked cold’
‘some wicked awful weathah’
“Oh, ‘bout like this”—Response if you ask a local from Maine what the weather is supposed to be like.
Chowdah (aka Chowder)—Delicious Maine soup of white cream with clams or lobster (pronounced lobstah by the locals).
Flatlanduh (aka Flatlander)—Visitors from away, people who are not local.
Spotify Playlist
His Guiding Light
I’m Not Okay - Citizen Soldier
THE LONELIEST - Måneskin
You’re Gone - Diamond Rio
Tennessee Whiskey - Chris Stapleton
rosier/punk2 - brakence
Angels Fall (Aurora Version) - Breaking Benjamin
Save You - Simple Plan
Feel - FLETCHER
Simple Things - Teddy Swims
Hold On - Brandon Ray (feat. Lauren Weintraub)
Falling - Harry Styles
Lost Without You - Freya Ridings
Stronger Than My Storm - Citizen Soldier
Lose Control - Teddy Swims
Bed on Fire - Teddy Swims
Stay With You - John Legend
Wherever You Will Go - The Calling
Some Things I’ll Never Know - Teddy Swims
Waves - Dean Lewis
What More Can I Say - Teddy Swims
Lighthouse - Westlife
My Home - The Change
Worth The Wait - Spencer Crandall
First Time - TEEKS
The Lighthouse Keeper - Sam Smith
Fix You - Sam Smith
Hold On - Chord Overstreet
Last Communion - Teddy Swims
Dedication
To Maxwell and Jaxon, thank you for telling me your story.
This is for anyone who has ever felt like they were broken.
You’re not. You’re perfect just the way you are.
Author’s Note
Hey everyone, me again!
Well, who would have thought I’d be here again with my solo debut? This was a labour of love… and sometimes hate! Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my men (Maxwell and Jaxon), but they fought me sometimes and my ADHD fought me the rest of the time!
It was hard going some days, but lucky for me I have a kick-arse team behind me and they kept me going every day—even on the bad days. Especially on the bad days.
I can’t thank them enough for everything they have done for me.
I’ve spent a lot of time away from my family, zoning out into my Hope Harbour world. Thanks to my husband for taking the wheel and keeping our family in line!
I really hope you enjoy the little world I created.
Thank you for taking the time to read
E.L. Ough
xx
Prologue
Maxwell
Beeeeep
I listen to the machine flatlining, its piercing sound invading my mind, consuming my every thought.
Standing here, peering through the window into the resus room, I feel a strange numbness washing over me. I think I’m supposed to cry, but my eyes remain dry and devoid of tears. As I turn away from the door, I’m met with the sight of a bustling emergency room, the sounds of footsteps, chatter, and medical equipment filling my ears. There’s a constant low hum as staff members chat and walk around with paperwork, but I can’t make out their words.
People are going about their daily routines, oblivious to the fact that my entire life has just completely turned on its axis. Even though my heart is broken, the world continues to spin without pause. But nothing stops, except for the beating of a person’s heart. When your heart gives up and you let out your final breath. When the doctors can’t fix you and it’s just... over.
When you’re no longer here.
The realization that I’d missed my chance slowly dawns on me. I arrived too late. After receiving a call from the sheriff’s office, he informed me that Annie had been pulled out of the water and was now at the hospital. I disregarded the speed limits and drove as quickly as possible, but it wasn’t fast enough. I may not have been able to offer any help, but at least I would have been there to support her. Let her know I was there, and that I was sorry for being late. To hold her hand and comfort her.
But when I arrived, they refused to let me in. Trapped in my agony, all I could do was watch through the window of the door as they worked on her lifeless body, listening to the sound of machines beeping in the background. Until they weren’t. Would she have even known I was here? Could she hear the desperation in my voice as I called out her name and begged the doctors to do everything they could to save her? Probably not. She was probably long gone by then. But I knew, in that moment, I’d failed her by not being there when she needed me the most. I was supposed to be there with her today. Why didn’t she wait for me?
Amidst the cacophony of hospital noise, a familiar voice calls out to me. It’s Sheriff Davis. He was the one who called me what feels like just mere minutes ago—when my life was still normal. I look up at him, meeting his eyes, and his lips begin to move, forming words. It looks like he’s saying sorry. As if it’s somehow his fault that my best friend, my everything, now lies lifeless in a hospital bed, separated from me forever. His lips keep moving in front of me, but his words remain elusive, slipping through my grasp despite my best efforts to understand. As if my mind is rebelling, refusing to accept what he’s trying to tell me. As if it becomes real when he confirms that it’s happened. She’s gone.
I flinch when he reaches out and rests his hand on my shoulder. I wish I could scream at him, ‘Don’t touch me,’ but the words won’t come out. I simply stare at him, numb. There’s a mix of concern and pity in his eyes. Like he wants something from me. To tell him I’m okay and that it’s alright for him to leave. That his job is done. I can
Run.
I shrug his hand off my shoulder and take a step back, accidentally bumping into someone. Without hesitating, I pivot and sprint toward the exit, his voice echoing behind me.
Somehow, I locate my truck amidst the chaos of the hospital parking lot and drive home on autopilot. As I pull up in my driveway, a single word reverberates through my chest.
Home.
But the word that usually fills me with warmth and calm is now just a cause of numbness. I might be home physically, but I’ve just lost the one person who’s been my metaphorical home for as long as I can remember.
Chapter One
Maxwell
Five years later
I stand up from my crouched position on the grass, run my fingers through my hair, and release a sigh. I find solace at the top of this cliff and make a point to visit frequently. However, I always depart with a heavy heart. Grief is a peculiar thing; sometimes it seems to disappear entirely, granting you a day off from its weight as you momentarily forget the trials you’ve endured. However, just when you least expect it, grief can reemerge and strike you head-on, leaving you with no means of escape. On other occasions, it simply lingers in the background, an ever-present reminder of your pain. It serves as a constant reminder of my failures, a burden I’ll carry indefinitely.
Slipping my hands into the pockets of my dark blue jeans, I gaze out at the ocean as dark clouds approach. A storm is coming.
I need to get back to the lighthouse. Running my fingers over the cold, black marble headstone one final time before finally heading to my truck. I quickly jump in and start the engine.
On my eighteenth birthday, my grandfather, who was more like a father to me, gave me this shiny Lincoln Blackwood pickup. I’ll never forget the day he showed up in our small driveway. Pops, my nickname for him, leaped out and slammed the door while I hurried outside.
“She’s a beauty, Pops.”
“Well, son... she’s yours,” he announced, beaming at me.
“What?” I blurted, placing my hand against my beating heart. “Mine?”
“Yes. You’re eighteen now and you got your driver’s license. A young man needs freedom.”
“But you know that I don’t mind sharing Betsie with you,” I countered, still somewhat in disbelief. Betsie was his truck, but I got to use it when I wanted.
“I know that, but it’s time you had your own. Happy birthday, Maxy,” he said, his eyes suddenly wet. I guessed it was a big day for him, too.
Filled with happiness, I leaped toward him, and we nearly crashed onto the ground because of the impact. Hugging him tightly, and he did the same while laughing that hearty, familiar laugh I could never get enough of. When I moved away from him, I saw that look of pure joy in his eyes again.
“This is the best gift ever, Pops,” I chuckled once more, expressing my gratitude.
“Take good care of her,” he said, patting me on the shoulder as he walked toward his truck. “And don’t forget to name her. Come on, let’s take her for a spin.” He threw me the keys, and I caught them with one hand.
“You’re still quick as a whippet,” he grinned at me while I ran my hands over the shiny black paint job.
I jumped in and turned to him. “Love you, Pops. You raised me right, you know?”
His expression told me he was proud of me. With tears glistening in his eyes, he patted my leg fondly. “Thanks, son. I love you too. Now let’s take this beauty for a ride.”
As I return from my memories, I wipe a stray tear from the corner of my eye and rub affectionately at the dashboard of Luna, my beloved truck. It was Annie who suggested it. She’d loved how the moonlight gleamed on the hood when we went for our late-night drives. It feels like a lifetime ago now.
Glancing out the windshield, I watch the dark clouds getting closer, so I rush back to the lighthouse before the storm hits. I make it to the door just as the heavens open and it starts raining heavily. Grabbing my logbook, I head up the stairs that lead to my living room, passing the small kitchen that’s to the left of the entrance.
The Hope Harbour Lighthouse has been my home for seventeen years. While I inherited the responsibility from my pops, my connection to this place runs deep. They built this lighthouse around the turn of the nineteenth century but later modernized it with an LED beacon. The furnishings are basic, and it gets damp in here from all the moisture in the air. To ensure easy visibility for boats, they painted the lighthouse white.
While the port has become less busy over time, it’s kept its charm as a picturesque fishing town. The lighthouse has been my sanctuary, especially in the past five years.
I pass by the sofa in the center of the room and head to my desk next to the window, where I store the logbooks on shelves to the right of it. After noting down the current weather, time, and date, I make use of the radio next to the emergency telephone. The signal is terrible in here, so my cell phone is no good, and when you’re stranded in a lighthouse during a storm, the emergency phone is the only way to get in touch with the outside.
After sharing my predictions with the meteorologists for them to inform the residents, I continue my journey upward, bypassing my small bedroom and continuing past the cramped shower room. I don’t use it because of its inadequate size for my six-foot height. I’m reluctantly forced to go back to the main house, which I actively try to avoid, going inside only when I need to. Reaching the service room where the noisy generators are working hard to keep the motors for the beacon at the top of the lighthouse running. I check the barometer to make sure everything is working properly and at the right speed, noting down the information in my book. This is all pretty basic stuff and I’m sure it bores most people, but Pops taught me how to run this lighthouse and now it’s like second nature to me. It’s become the definition of my life these days: boring, lonely, and predictable.
I go up the next set of stairs and power on the light. After activating all the switches and inspecting the emergency generators, I ascend a narrow ladder to reach the galley at the top. There, I’m greeted by the breathtaking sight of the light that spins and illuminates the path for anyone who requires it.
As I approach the glass panes, I peer into the dark night. The light makes it difficult to see below, but I can hear thunder and crashing waves. From up here, you can taste the salt in the air from the sea. The rain is loud as it pelts the glass; this storm sure rolled in fast. I really hope no one is out in the bay tonight.
I wake with a start, sitting up on the sofa where I fell asleep last night. It’s where I end up most nights, to be honest. It’s still dark out. My alarm rings before the sun has even appeared. For us lighthouse keepers, it’s essential to do our checks right before sunset and sunrise. As I stand up and stretch, I can feel the soreness in my body from spending another night on the couch. But I prefer staying here, because it gives me the solitude I enjoy, unlike down at the house where memories I don’t want to revisit haunt me.
I navigate to the kitchen area without turning on the lights, using my night vision to look out to sea before sunrise. It’s easier to see any boats in need of assistance this way. Without wasting a second, I power on the coffee machine, a task I can complete anytime—even in the dark. As the coffee brews, I quickly put on my sweater and run my fingers through my hair to tidy it up. I could use a trim and a shave, but I have no motivation to do it and I don’t have anyone to impress, anyway.
I finish brushing my teeth using the little sink in the kitchen, alerted by the machine’s beep that my precious liquid gold is finally ready. Preparing my travel mug, I grab my logbook and head toward the desk window.
Before I do anything, I take a few sips of my steaming coffee, black one sugar no cream, and check out the aftermath outside. Opening the window and feeling the morning air on my skin wakes me up instantly, giving me goosebumps and bringing some freshness into the room.
