The Road Back to Us

by K. Webster

  The Road Back to Us

  Copyright © 2015 K. Webster

  Cover Design: All By Design

  Photo: Dollar Photo Club

  Editor: Mickey Reed

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  The Road Back to Us

  Newsletter

  Books by Author K Webster

  Dedication

  Quote

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  A Note from K

  Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For exclusive excerpts, giveaways, and news about upcoming books,

  sign up for K Webster’s newsletter here.

  Books by Author K Webster

  The Breaking the Rules Series:

  Broken (Book 1)—Available Now!

  Wrong (Book 2)—Available Now!

  Scarred (Book 3)—Available Now!

  Mistake (Book 4)—Available Now!

  Crushed (Book 5—a novella)—Available Now!

  Disgrace (Book 6)—Coming Soon!

  Defiance (Book 7)—Coming Soon!

  The Vegas Aces Series:

  Rock Country (Book 1)—Available Now!

  Rock Heart (Book 2)—Available Now!

  Rock Bottom (Book 3)—Available Now!

  Rock Out (Book 4)—Coming Soon!

  The Becoming Her Series:

  Becoming Lady Thomas (Book 1)—Available Now!

  Becoming Countess Dumont (Book 2)—Available Now!

  Becoming Mrs. Benedict (Book 3)—Coming Soon!

  Alpha & Omega—Available Now!

  Omega & Love—Coming Soon!

  Apartment 2B (Standalone Novel)—Available Now!

  Love and Law (Standalone Novel)—Available Now!

  Moth to a Flame (Standalone Novel)—Available Now!

  Erased (Standalone Novel)—Available Now!

  The Road Back to Us (Standalone Novel)—Available Now!

  To my alpha-sexy husband . . .

  It will always be Team Webster.

  Every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around.

  ~Sofía, Vanilla Sky~

  Senior Year of College . . .

  I’M COMPLETELY NERVOUS. Like “someone released a hundred butterflies in my belly and the fluttering in my stomach is threatening to make me puke” kind of nervous. All because of him.

  Bentley Harrison.

  The boy who stole my heart.

  “Tell me where we’re going,” I pout for the hundredth time on our drive.

  After a romantic dinner at a steakhouse near our campus to celebrate three years of dating, he wanted to take me somewhere “special.” The problem with Bentley is he loves to rattle me, which means that it could about be anything. Last time he took me somewhere special, we ended up making love in the pool of his apartment complex. It was special, all right.

  I know what I want it to be, but it might be too soon. Every woman who’s dated a man for any period of time and truly loves him looks forward to the day he proposes. Unfortunately, I’ve always been too chicken to bring up the long-term future. And Bentley? He doesn’t schedule anything. Marriage included. I expect that, when and if that day comes, he’ll just drive me right to the courthouse and marry me on the spot.

  The deep timbre of his chuckle sends a thrill through my body.

  “Care, we’re almost there. Let me surprise you.”

  I grumble in response and tug at the blindfold. His warm hand covers mine and gently pulls it away. Once he threads his fingers with mine, he rests our joined hands in his lap.

  “Why won’t you let me look? I’m going crazy,” I admit. And I am. Where Bentley is the spontaneous one, I’m the planner. I need to mentally prepare myself for everything. It’s amazing that we work as a couple.

  But we do.

  We’re the perfect complement to each other. I help him stay grounded and he helps me fly.

  “You were already crazy, baby. That ship sailed a long time ago.”

  I roll my eyes but realize he can’t see them. “Brat,” I snip out.

  This time, he laughs loudly and squeezes my hand. “We’re almost there.”

  When I hear the crunch of gravel, I feel a patter in my heart. He’s taking me there. Our place. Our road.

  One day on the way to his parents’ house near Timothy Lake, Bentley randomly turned down a road named Us. He said that it was our road. At first, I wanted to get annoyed at not knowing where we were going exactly, but after a good twenty minutes of weaving along the road up the hill, my breath was stolen from me.

  Our road led to the most picturesque hilltop that overlooked a valley surrounded by snowcapped mountains. The trees were thick, but they enclosed the hidden marvel as if to protect it from the outside world.

  I was in love not only with the sight, but with him.

  That was almost three years ago, and my love for him has never waned.

  With Bentley, life is simpler. Fun. Exciting.

  “Caroline, I love you,” he whispers as he brings our clasped hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles.

  The pattering doesn’t slow; instead, it intensifies. Tonight almost seems planned.

  What if . . .

  “I love you too, B.”

  After about twenty minutes, he parks the car and helps me out. The icy blast chills me to my bones, but my sweet boyfriend envelops me with one of his bear hugs.

  I blink away the darkness as he slips my blindfold off and the bright reflection of the snow greets me.

  “This place . . .” I trail off with a sigh and spin in his arms to take in the evening view.

  Out here, everything is so quiet. All that can be heard is the swoosh of the wind and the occasional groan of the frozen tree limbs.

  “Is perfect like you,” he finishes and kisses the top of my blond head.

  I’m still smiling at his words when he pulls away from me. And when I turn around to see what he’s doing, I cry out in surprise.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss, covering my mouth with my palm.

  He grins at me crookedly while on one knee, holding up a ring that glistens as it catches the moonlight reflection.

  Oh. My. God.

  “Caroline, you’ll always be my girl. When I’m around you, everything else is just boring, unimportant bullshit. I want us to finish s
chool and then I want to take you to Vancouver like you’ve always wanted. We’ll find jobs in the city and live poorly like two lovesick fools until we make it. Please marry me, Care Bear.”

  A single tear rolls down my cheek as I nod. “Yes, Bentley,” I sigh, “Life wouldn’t be the same without you. You’re my happy ending.”

  He stands and beams at me. “I’ll make you proud, baby. I know I’m not the most ideal boyfriend for you, but I love you with my whole heart. I’ll do everything to give you the life you’ve always wanted.”

  “As long as you’re there, it will be exactly what I want.”

  He slides the beautiful ring on my shaky finger with a confidence that melts my heart.

  “We’re one of the lucky ones. Not many people find a love like ours. Let’s start our life, Caroline.”

  I can’t wait.

  Eight Years Later . . .

  “I’LL HAVE THE curry potato wrap,” I tell our server. While I remain poised, I sneak a glance at my newest friend, Renée, who nods her approval. She’s the one who turned me on to veganism eight months ago. And as we sit in the new vegan restaurant called Crunch, I’m glad that I chose well.

  “Their creamy curry sauce is to die for,” she grins as the server scampers off to put in our order.

  I sip my green tea, closing my eyes so I can pretend it’s Diet Coke instead. Dropping my favorite soda for this lifestyle was the hardest part of it all. And occasionally, while out with Bentley, I’ll steal a sip of his Coke. One sip won’t hurt.

  “When will the divorce be finalized?”

  My eyes pop open, and I swallow down the unease. After eleven years with Bentley, we’ve decided to throw in the towel. We’ve drifted so far apart that there’s no coming back. The marriage counselor finally gave up on us and suggested that an amicable split was in our future since neither of us could stay off our phones long enough to talk anything out.

  Bentley stays glued to his, checking the stock markets he trades in, while I stay on mine, shopping for shoes to spite him.

  “Uh, well, my lawyer is on vacation until after Christmas. We planned for it to be finalized by the first so that we can start a new tax year as single individuals. Much cleaner that way. Of course, splitting our assets will take some time, but it seems like a good idea to start the year off fresh.”

  She sips her water and runs her eyes over my appearance. Renée is as sophisticated as they come. Her hair is always smooth and silky, she wears expensive clothing, and her French manicured nails are never chipped or flawed.

  My friend isn’t much different than I am except she’s more comfortable in her skin. I constantly worry if the image I’m portraying is the best it can be. At first, it was to impress Bentley’s coworkers at the investment firm because I wanted them to see that my successful husband was supported by a sophisticated woman. But soon, it became an obsession. When he made his first million, I vowed that we’d never be that couple we had been when we’d first come to Vancouver.

  Poor.

  “Barry is the best. You’re lucky you snagged him up before Bentley did. Barry handled my first two divorces, and in both instances, I walked away with everything.”

  I cringe at her words. Bentley and I may not be right for each other anymore, but I don’t want to take him for all he has. I’d never do that to him.

  “I’m just thankful we don’t have any children. What a mess that would be,” I sigh. My sigh is in equal parts relief and sadness.

  We tried off and on in the beginning, but eventually, I decided I didn’t want to lose my figure to having children. And I certainly never envisioned myself as the barefoot-and-pregnant housewife. But even though we stopped trying, I never lost the longing feeling when I’d see a mother cradling her baby.

  “Ew. Ugly word,” she laughs.

  I can’t even bring myself to fake smile at her, and just nod instead. Luckily, a ping from my phone alerts me to a text, which excuses my nonresponse. Lifting it from the table, I frown when I see that it’s Bentley.

  Bentley: We’re leaving in two hours. Be ready.

  Short and to the point, just like all of our conversations.

  Me: I’ll be ready. Did you get the oil changed in the Land Rover?

  By the time he replies, Renée and I have already finished our meal and are paying our tab.

  Bentley: Nope. I traded it in and got the new Audi A8 L.

  What the hell?

  Me: Are you freaking kidding me right now? An $80k car?!

  Another long-ass time between responses.

  Bentley: Nope. Spur of the moment. $93k.

  I’m furious that he’s made such an extravagant purchase when our attorneys made it perfectly clear that we shouldn’t buy anything until the divorce is final.

  Me: Of course it was.

  This time, his reply is immediate.

  Bentley: Don’t get bitchy. I can buy whatever the hell I want.

  Bitchy?! I’ll show him bitchy!

  Me: Why don’t you just go without me?

  I expect him to reply immediately and I hope he’ll beg for forgiveness, but I don’t get another text.

  “Well, darling, as much as I’d love to sit here and watch you text-fight with your soon-to-be ex-husband, I need to run along and meet my sweet man for a quickie,” my friend interrupts.

  Rub it in, Barbie.

  “Sorry, Ren. I’ll call you when we get back and we can schedule a pedicure or something. I’m long overdue,” I apologize as I wiggle my toes. These heeled Jimmy Choo boots are gorgeous but hurt like hell. I’d love nothing more than to soak my feet in a heated Jacuzzi.

  “It’s okay, babe. You’re going through a lot. Talk soon,” she chirps with a wave.

  I stare at her as she elegantly glides off down the sidewalk to her waiting driver. When I lift my phone back up, I see that he’s finally replied.

  Bentley: Suit yourself, but you know Mom won’t leave you alone. She’ll call and harass the fuck out of you. Then maybe you can tell her about the divorce.

  I groan at his message. There is no way in hell I want to be the one to tell his mother, Louise, a woman I adore, about the divorce. We decided we’d keep it from our families until it was finalized so that they wouldn’t put their two cents in and intrude. All we have to do is get through Christmas with his family and we’ll have smooth sailing after that.

  Me: Fine.

  And this time, he doesn’t respond at all.

  I glance at the clock on the wall for the hundredth time as I pace the foyer of our expansive loft in the heart of Vancouver. We paid over two million for this space six years ago, once Bentley hit it big day-trading. It had seemed our life had taken a turn for the better, but reflecting back, I see that that’s exactly when it all turned sour.

  My Bentley became someone else.

  “Mrs. Harrison, can I make you some tea while you wait for Mr. Harrison?” Judy asks with lines of worry etched on her forehead.

  Turning toward her, I shake my head no. Judy may be our housekeeper, but she’s always felt like a second mother to me. Before I have a chance to bitch about where the hell Bentley is, he bursts through the front door.

  The man still steals my breath away with his maddening good looks. His suit is expensive, but he appears disheveled. I take a quick scan of his body and notice that the knot of his tie has been loosened, the top button is undone, and part of his dress shirt isn’t tucked in.

  He’s been with his bitch secretary, I bet.

  “About time,” I snap and storm away from him to pick up my suitcase.

  He curses under his breath—something to the effect that he’s glad he’s divorcing that nag. Tears instantly spring in my eyes but I blink them away.

  “I’m doing you the favor, Bentley. You don’t have to act like an ass,” I spit.

  When I turn around, he’s gone. With a sigh, I hightail it after him toward our bedroom. I already packed his suitcase so that we could leave the moment he got here. There’s no reason why we ca
n’t just grab the bags and go.

  As soon as I enter our bedroom, I bite my lip. Following him in here was the wrong move. He’s already shed himself of his jacket and dress shirt, and his tie is draped over the chaise lounge. While he unbuttons his pants, I watch the muscles in his back ripple with a strength business men don’t have. Bentley may be one of the wealthiest men in this city and a numbers whiz, but he still holds on to his country-boy roots. He spends too much of his free time in the gym, swimming, lifting weights, or meeting the guys for a game of basketball.

  When he drops his pants, I attempt to turn away but can’t take my eyes from his ass, which is so muscular and bitable in his black boxer briefs. God, I must be getting my period soon, because I’m feeling horny as hell.

  Not good timing.

  I can sow my wild oats after the divorce. Until then, I can use the vibrator that’s tucked safely in my bedside table.

  He turns suddenly and raises a smug eyebrow when he sees me blatantly staring at his boxers. Now, however, I’m gazing at the thick bulge in them. It takes all of my willpower, but I drag my line of sight down to focus on his feet.

  “We don’t have time for you to change,” I grumble.

  “Too damn bad,” he growls back as he starts to slam drawers. “I’m not traveling seven hours in a fucking suit, Caroline. Why don’t you put on some jeans or something? It’s a long drive.”

  When my eyes lift, I’m thankful to see that he’s pulled a pair of jeans on, which are hiding his delectable ass.

  “I’m quite comfortable,” I lie. I’m wearing a pair of black leggings and a tunic sweater, which are comfortable, but the three-inch, spiked, knee-high boots are not.

  “Bullshit.”

  I roll my eyes at him and put my hands on my hips. “Well, make it snappy, Bentley. We’re losing daylight. At this rate, we won’t make it to your mother’s until almost midnight.”

  He does pick up his pace, and I internally high-five myself for having lit a fire under him. I wait not so patiently as he strides into the closet. When he remerges with his rifle and case of bullets, I gape at him.