Come Home to Me

by Liz Talley

  “Who told you that your dad told me he was sorry?” Summer felt her stomach flip over. Surely Hunt hadn’t told David about the rape.

  “Dad did. He said he told you he was sorry for not helping you, for not being there for you. He said telling you that he was sorry was the best thing he’s ever done. Besides me. But, yeah, of course, because I’m pretty awesome.”

  Summer smiled and shook her head.

  “Rhett likes you. You like him. Maybe that could turn into something. He’s pretty cool, and you don’t have a man in your life. I’m good if you want to make him my stepdad. He comes with amenities,” David said with a shit-eating grin and a waggle of his eyebrows.

  “Just because you want access to Selena Gomez doesn’t mean I’m going to go chasing after Rhett.”

  “No, I want you to be happy. You were happy when Rhett was here. I know y’all were sneaking around and sleeping together. I mean, I have ears.”

  Summer turned the color of her lipstick. Bombshell Red.

  “Be fearless, Mom. That’s, like, a motto for our baseball team. If you want things, sometimes you have to go get them. Something good came to you—the whole music thing—but if you want the other good thing, I think you’ll have to go get it.”

  For another few days, she chewed on the words her too-smart-for-his-britches boy had given her. And she thought about the truth behind the ugly words Rhett had flung at her before he ran back to LA. The combined words of the two men who mattered most to her had driven her to pack her bags, max out her emergency credit card on a plane ticket, and roll the dice on making all her dreams come true.

  Rhett had come to Carolina to find himself . . . then gone back to fix the mistake he’d made.

  Summer had come to California to find herself . . . and she’d come back knowing she’d put herself out there.

  Nearly an hour and a half later, Summer pulled into a parking lot, parted with a kidney for the parking fee, and climbed out to stretch her legs. She probably looked a mess because she’d fallen asleep on the plane and drooled on her sweater, which thankfully had dried. Her hair felt dry and frizzy even though the humidity in California was almost zero. She rooted in her purse for some lip gloss and a comb. She couldn’t show up to tell Rhett Bryan he was a total dumb butt—and so was she—looking like a hag.

  She sucked in her stomach for good measure, too.

  Once inside, she went to the Will Call window. The woman inside the office gave her a cheerful smile and a ticket that put her front and center. Perfect.

  “Mr. Pete said you’re an old classmate of his. That’s so fun,” she said. She had sparkly eye shadow and blue hair. Her nametag said “Lily” and she looked excited for Summer.

  “Yep, we’re old classmates.”

  “That’s so cool. What was he like in school?”

  “The same as he is now.”

  “Adorable, right?”

  “Yep. Absolutely.” No need for Lily to know her boss was an ass. Though technically he wasn’t her boss. He was the talent. And technically he wasn’t an absolute ass. He was a man. Which said everything.

  The line to get into the studio was long and boisterous. She seemed to be the only person flying solo, but got a great seat up front. She didn’t see Rhett at first because the production assistants or whatever they called them were so engaging. She found herself laughing in spite of her nerves. She could see why people wanted to be in the studio audience—they became an integral part of the show.

  “Now, ladies and gentleman, we present your host for the night . . . Rhett Bryan,” the announcer said.

  The people around her went nuts as Rhett walked onto the set.

  He smiled, pressing his hands up to quiet the audience after a good twenty seconds of cheering and people calling out stupid things like, “We love you, Rhett,” and, “Rhett for President.” Summer wanted to snort at that one. Did they really want him to tell other countries they were doormats and accuse them of letting people take advantage of them . . . and then leave? Can you say World War III?

  “Thank you for being here,” Rhett said, boyish charm firmly in place. “We have a terrific show lined up, but you already know that. I know Andrea went over what we need from you. You’re an important part of the show. First, I’m going to run through some stuff, a sort of rehearsal. Feel free to let me know if my material sucks.”

  Rhett talked for a few more seconds before his gaze found hers.

  The expression on his face was comical and he stumbled over his words.

  But like the professional he was, he completed his monologue before waving and disappearing off set. Cameras moved, the crew adjusted mics, and set decorators or whatever they were called filled coffee mugs and set up cards and stuff on Rhett’s desk.

  One of the people who’d given them instructions bounced over and tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, miss, would you follow me?”

  “Why?” Summer asked.

  “Mr. Bryan would like to see you,” she said.

  The woman to her left squealed, “Oh wow, you get to do something. Is she doing ‘Name That Leftover’? Or ‘Oopsie Daisy’?”

  The assistant merely shrugged.

  Summer knew what she was about to do and it had nothing to do with guessing songs, naming characters, or doing silly tricks. She scooted out, some people around her clapping their hands and patting her on the back.

  Jeez.

  The assistant led her to the back, where she passed Liam Neeson (who was tall, craggy, and not as brooding as she’d have guessed), a gaggle of people running around doing “things,” and a man who narrowed his eyes at her in a measuring way. He didn’t smile when she nodded at him.

  The assistant knocked on a door and it opened.

  And there was Rhett.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked as soon as the door closed behind her. He sounded rattled.

  “Seeing your show?”

  “What are you doing here?” he asked again, crossing his arms. His blue eyes projected anxiety, irritation . . . hope? Maybe she read too much into that, though. After all, he’d been clear that his world and her world were not the same. And all those people out there applauded him, adored him, would maim and destroy to be standing where she stood in his dressing room.

  “Becoming your stalker? You don’t have one already, do you?” Her nerves demanded she use flippancy as a diversionary tactic.

  “Knock it off. I don’t have time to play games. I have a show to do in”—he looked at the clock in the dressing room—“fifteen minutes.”

  “We left things unfinished,” she said.

  “I wrote you a letter.” He had the grace to look contrite.

  “So nice of you.”

  “Why now, Summer?” He ran his fingers through his hair, scowled, and then tried to make the tufts lie down again when he obviously remembered he had to go on set. “And why here? At the studio? Before a show?”

  “I knew you’d be here, and I sort of wanted to see you in action.”

  A knock sounded on the door. Rhett frowned, walked over, gave a few short words to whoever knocked, and then shut it again.

  “Okay, the way we left things wasn’t good. But things were getting too . . . too much,” he said, turning toward her.

  “So you said ugly things to me, pushed me away, and left town?”

  Rhett’s face reflected guilt. “I didn’t mean those things. Jealousy and fear are two things I’m not used to.”

  He paced the breadth of the room. She’d never seen him so unsettled. Of course, she’d never seen him in any light other than being her ideal. “Some things you said were somewhat true. I have sacrificed parts of myself for others, and, yeah, success scares me. Maybe I quit Nashville too soon. Maybe I put others before myself. But that’s who I am. I’ll never regret putting my child first. That’s the deal I made with him the minute they placed him in my arms.”

  Rhett paused in his incessant pacing and looked at her. “You didn’t have to come all the
way to LA to say that.”

  “Maybe not, but I have other reasons, and I’m practicing not being doormatty.”

  He had the grace to look chagrined. “Payne called you?”

  “Yes, and I have a meeting with him. But this isn’t about Payne, it’s about me and you.”

  “What me and you?” he asked.

  Those words pierced her heart. “I guess I got my answer. Good luck with the show tonight.” She turned toward the door and forbade herself to cry. He didn’t want her. She’d known there was a fifty-fifty chance he’d tell her to hit the road.

  “Don’t. Wait.” Rhett grabbed her arm and spun her toward him. “You can’t do this to me, Summer. I’m trying to get over you.”

  She studied him. “Why do you have to get over me?”

  “Because you live in South Carolina. You have a life that isn’t like this.” But even as he said those words his gaze dropped to her lips. Rhett looked hungry, anguished . . . not the dazzling man who’d told jokes on set a few minutes before.

  This was her Rhett. Raw, authentic, conflicted.

  “So we’re done because I don’t live here?” she asked.

  He pulled her to him. “You don’t know how thin my control is right now.”

  Summer let him hold her, felt the beat of his heart, the steel in his arms, the softening of his body. “Why do you try to control things you can’t?”

  He set his head against her hair. “I don’t know.”

  Summer pulled away from him. “I came here because we have things to say that can’t be said over the phone or, God forbid, a text.”

  “I have ten minutes, but after the show we can go back to my place. We can talk about . . . whatever it is you have to say.”

  Summer shook her head. “I can’t wait any longer. Sixteen years ago, I kissed you on the beach and it didn’t work out. It so didn’t work out. I left things undone, and you walked out of my life. Gone was the chance to tell you how I felt or even try to salvage what was left of our friendship. I assumed I wasn’t worthy of a guy like you. Even now, I feel pretty unworthy. You’re a star. I’m a music teacher, billed by Nashville Music Today as ‘old-fashioned and reticent.’”

  “You know that’s not true,” Rhett muttered.

  “But right now, I’m being brave. I love you. I’ve always loved you and probably always will. I know that likely doesn’t change anything, but I’m not standing outside the fire any longer. I’m all-in even if I get burned.”

  Rhett stood close to her, so close that she could see he’d missed a few hairs along his jawline when he’d shaved. She inhaled the familiar smell of his cologne and felt the deep breath he took at her words. “You love me?”

  “I do. As stupid as that makes me. We spent a week and a half together, and that’s all it took to tip me back over the edge,” she said against the softness of his gingham shirt. “It may be fast but . . . it happened for me.”

  “Ah, Summer,” he said, pulling back. “I can’t tell you what you do to me, but how can this work? I can’t stand the thought of pulling you into something that would hurt you. This isn’t an easy life.”

  “So you’re going to stand outside the fire? Why would you be scared to . . . love me?”

  Flying to LA and asking Rhett Bryan to love her was the biggest gamble of her life. When she really thought about it, it was crazy. Hollywood celebrities didn’t engage in relationships with small-town music teachers. And if they did, it was for a silly fling. But she’d done it, and on the next day, she’d meet with the head of a record company to discuss a potential record deal.

  Call her the gambler.

  Rhett stared at her for a few seconds, his gaze searching every inch of her face before returning to her eyes. “Because I’m damaged.”

  “We’re all damaged, sweetheart,” she said with a smile.

  Rhett’s lips covered hers and he emitted a deep sigh, wrapping her back in his arms. He lifted one hand and cupped her jaw, as he nudged her lips apart and deepened their kiss.

  The door opened behind them, someone yelped, and then it shut again.

  Rhett laughed then before pulling away. A tender flame of something wonderful danced with amusement. “I always tell them to knock. What if I were in my undies?”

  “Someone would get a treat,” she said, pressing her fingers against her lips.

  “You’re a brave woman, Summer Valentine,” he said.

  Inside her heart dropped. He was telling her no. This was the way a guy ended a relationship. This was the way Rhett had dashed her hopes on that beach years ago. You’re a great girl, but . . .

  “But . . .” she managed through the sudden emotion clogging her throat.

  Rhett smiled. “Is there supposed to be a but?”

  “You tell me.”

  He shook his head. “When I came back, I felt like hell again. Couldn’t sleep and the nightmares started again. The network made me go to this shrink who was . . . like someone Glenn Close could play. Creepy but compassionate. I don’t know . . . just different. She didn’t offer platitudes, she listened and asked pointed questions that had me examining my life. A part of me hated her, but she was damned successful.”

  “A good therapist doesn’t always give you warm fuzzies. Sometimes we need tough love,” she said.

  “She gave it, and I realized I’d spent my entire life chasing fame and fortune as if only that could define me. I had few friends, a nonexistent support system, and an ulcer that flared up on occasion. My life looked full, but it was smoke and mirrors. It was sobering.”

  “And that led you to seek out the Tavares family?”

  “I thought about what you’d said, what Hunt’s apology meant to you, and the courage it took for him to admit he was wrong. So I went.”

  “And?”

  “I cried like a baby.” He gave a sheepish grin. “Crazy, huh? I guess I’d never truly grieved about that child’s death. I’d kept all the trauma associated with that day inside. It just came out. I think I scared that poor family.”

  Summer grabbed both his hands and held them. “I’m so proud of you. That had to be cathartic.”

  He clasped her hands. “You don’t know. It was like I had finally ripped the bandage off, and I knew how you felt, why you had to let all that anger and hurt go. I couldn’t heal until I faced the monster in the room.”

  For a few seconds, they stood, holding hands.

  “Will you stay with me tonight?” he asked.

  Her heart sank again because he’d still said nothing about why he couldn’t love her. She wanted to share his bed, but even more so, she wanted to share his life. “What are you asking?”

  A knock sounded on the door. The grumpy man she’d passed in the hall popped his head in. “They’re waiting on you.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Now, Rhett.”

  He pressed his lips together. “I have to go, Summer. We’ll have more time to talk after the show.”

  Summer tried to tamp down the disappointment. She hadn’t planned to talk to him before the show. Instead she thought she’d catch him afterward. Now she had no answers to where she stood in his life. “Okay.”

  Rhett checked himself in the mirror and hurried toward the door. She blinked and he was gone.

  “God,” she whispered, sinking onto the chair sitting in front of the dressing table.

  The door opened again and Rhett whooshed inside, grabbed her from where she sat, and kissed her hard. “I was wrong. Instead of asking you to stay the night, I meant to ask you to stay forever.”

  Summer’s heart surged against her ribs. She couldn’t control the tears that sprang into her eyes. “Seriously? Forever?”

  He kissed her again. “We have things to work out, logistics and stuff, but I want you in my life. I ran because I was scared of you, scared of loving you. But I’ll stand in the fire with you, Summer . . . even if it’s in South Carolina. We can make this work.”

  He kissed her again, this time the sweet
est kiss she’d ever had. Because in his kiss was a promise, and she knew that when Rhett Bryan wanted something, he got it.

  “Yes,” she breathed when he broke the kiss. “I’ll stay with you.”

  Someone in the hallway shouted for him. Rhett kissed her hard again. “After the show, we’ll have coffee.”

  Summer laughed. “With cream.”

  He turned and leered at her. “Are you doing dirty talk, Funny Valentine?”

  And that made Summer laugh harder. “Maybe.”

  Smiling, he said, “This is about to be so good. I love you. I’ll see you after the show.”

  Summer gave him a smile, her heart expanding with love so intense she thought she might burst. She’d heard people talk about what it was like being in love, but she’d never known how truly profound, wonderful, invigorating, and half the adjectives on the DO NOT USE list in her creative writing class it could be. It was complicated, but Rhett Bryan loved her.

  “It’s a date, Carolina boy,” she called after him before collapsing onto his dressing room couch in a state of euphoria.

  She’d rolled the dice on Rhett and won the jackpot. Now all she had to do was get Payne Reynolds to offer her a recording contract.

  But first, coffee.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  South Carolina, spring

  The month of April still clung to winter, so Rhett pulled on the jacket he’d bought in the Savannah airport. California already boasted of warm days and balmy nights, and he hadn’t expected a forty-eight-degree night when he’d gotten off the plane.

  David was getting his first start as a pitcher that night, and Rhett had promised the kid he’d be there. Red-eye be damned. He’d take something and sleep on the plane. But not before he got to kiss Summer good night . . . and maybe climb in the bed with her for a little snuggle.

  Or a lot of snuggle.

  The game was in the bottom of the first inning, and he spied Summer in the stands sitting with her mother, sister, and Grampy Pete. He felt her anxiety as she twisted her hands and watched with utter concentration the gangly kid on the mound. He understood the nerves. He had them himself.