by Cate Masters
Halfway down the dark hallway, she froze, expecting the usual comeback to echo back at her: You? Deserve happiness, when all you do is cause pain? Pssh.
Trembling overtook her, surprising her. Not out of fear, like before. Anger pushed the horrible feelings to the surface, the ones she’d locked away for too long. They erupted in an anguished sob. She latched onto it, wrestled with it for several moments until defeating it.
I wanted to leave you, but you threatened me, you bastard. Threatened my parents. She’d never let anyone control her like that again.
After her husband’s sudden death, it had taken her most of the year to get out of the funk she’d fallen into. Moving home would give her a fresh start, a clean slate. With nothing left in her old life, she had every reason to return to her hometown. It wouldn’t be easy to rebuild her life, but she’d give it hell trying.
“And yes, I do deserve happiness.” The release ended in a laugh—part embarrassment, part relief. A deep inhale cleared her head, and allowed her to walk forward. Readying for bed, she drew the covers around her and something like happiness started to buzz inside her, the tiniest glimmer of it. A seed of promise.
The distant streetlight lent a soft glow to the room. She was safe. Home, in the town she loved. Bliss.
Too bad every street, every building, had memories of Carter embedded like concrete between bricks.
Her eyes drifted shut, her last thought like a mantra.
I do deserve happiness. And this time, she wouldn’t settle for anything less.
***
Carter focused on the dark road ahead. One mile. Could his entire life really hinge on one mile, on one night?
He turned right off the exit ramp. The welcoming sign loomed stark in his headlights, the words unavoidable: You’re on the road to Bliss!
The instinct to mutter bah humbug rose up. Christmas was still a month off. Unfortunately, in the meantime there’d be plenty of opportunity to repeat the phrase, or embellish it with a few expletives. Life had exacted harsh payments from him for success. The freaking holidays only made it all worse by reminding him his personal life lacked anything to make it jolly.
Too restless to stop yet, he kept driving past his parents’ modest Colonial. Why it had taken him so long to visit? Aside from the obvious—the years of grueling work, scaling the ladder of success and sometimes falling back a rung or two. But neither of his wives had had a great fondness for Bliss. Not the kind with a Pennsylvania zip code, anyway.
Different story if I’d said my hometown was Bling. They loved what his money could buy. He should have seen the truth way before marriage, both times. Must have used all my logic up developing software, with none to spare. For the past year, he’d ignored Barbara’s infidelities as well as her asinine reality show. He’d passed off her harsh comments as a bid for attention.
As if he hadn’t distanced himself from his personal life already, coming home afforded him the chance to stand back and view it from afar. Not a pretty sight. Once he removed the business aspect, his life appeared damn bleak. He’d told himself all successful people paid that price for a while. Focusing too much on work, he’d let everything good slip away, made some terrible choices he couldn’t live with, literally, and now had nothing left to hold onto.
Strange how coming back to Bliss changed all that in a snap. Even behind the wheel of a sleek BMW, he felt like the same old Carter when he drove through town. Man, it felt good. Surprisingly good, considering when he left after graduating high school, he vowed to return only long enough to pick up Sierra. He couldn’t wait to get away but, now, couldn’t wait to visit all the places he used to love. Places that meant something, that were part of his history. As if frozen in time, nothing had moved, and hardly changed. Had he driven through a freaking time tunnel?
He passed Bliss Lake, with the island at the center, its large white gazebo housing memories of his youth—how did they outline it with tiny white lights? Must be solar.
Then there was the square, where town officials used any excuse to hold a community event. The hardware store, where owner Denny Hogan always seemed to know what people needed even before they did.
And Shotsie’s Music Emporium—wow, still in business? He’d taken guitar lessons as much to learn how to play as to hear Shotsie’s stories of backstage antics at Woodstock, where she sang backup for Janis Joplin. Intense music history lesson.
As if on autopilot, he drove past The Sweet Spot. Oh yeah, he’d spent a lot of time in the coffee and pastry shop. Nice little setup, very innovative, even back in the day. Maybe Starbucks had copied them, with comfortable seating for people to hang out, drink as much coffee as they liked, which inevitably led to sampling the baked goods, so delectable, every last biscotti, muffin, and cookie made from scratch.
If he had saved all the cash he’d blown in The Sweet Spot on the sweets he’d hardly eaten and coffee he’d barely tasted, he’d probably be twice as rich today. But in those days, he hadn’t cared about investing in finance. He’d been investing in his relationship. He could almost still see her waiting tables in the pink polo shirt with The Sweet Spot logo she used to wear, tucked into her jeans. The way they hugged her rear, he wanted to do the same. He used to love watching her, didn’t matter what she was doing.
Ten years later, regret still nagged at him. If only she’d waited. One more freaking year after his college graduation, two at most, and he’d have come back for her. He could have given her the life she deserved. The life he’d dreamed of giving her after his software development business exploded with profits—which it did, soon after launch.
Their split had nearly killed him. Instead of drowning his sorrows in alcohol, he’d thrown himself into work, the only way he knew how to cope with losing her. Why hadn’t he just gone back home for her? Stopped her from marrying someone else? Ted, of all people. The guy who made it his mission during school to best him at everything. Worst of all, Carter would bet his company that Ted didn’t love her, had only wanted to steal her away from him.
In the brief time he’d held her back at the rest stop, the world was right again. She’d been in his arms, where she belonged. Even during her hasty exit, when the wind had danced in her shoulder-length brown hair, he’d wished it were his fingers entwining the strands. Her hair had always felt so soft, so inviting. Like the rest of her, although she was a bit thin and dark circles rimmed her hazel eyes. She was more beautiful than ever. Womanly.
Someone walking past the car with a schnauzer on a leash bent to wave at him.
Not until Carter returned the greeting did he realize he’d stopped the car in front of the coffee shop. In the middle of the street.
With an embarrassed grin, he pressed his foot to the gas pedal, lightly enough to cruise through town. Past Hyde’s Movie House, where he and Sierra had spent many nights. Old Man Hyde’s penchant for horror flicks and romantic comedies made it a snap for them to compromise, alternating such campy classics as Fright Night with tearjerkers like Sleepless in Seattle. Somehow, it all balanced out and felt so right. Like a fool, he’d taken it all for granted.
Now it all seemed out of his reach. Out of habit, he drove toward Willow Street then slowed while passing the O’Brien’s house, as unchanged as the rest of the town.
He hit his brakes at the sight of a small car in the next driveway and eased the BMW to a stop. A dinged compact, just like the one Sierra had driven. It had to be hers, but why had she parked there and not at her parents? Had she left Ted?
Everything in him screamed at him to get out and knock on the door. Find out right now. He had to fight the instinct. But he couldn’t leave, either. Just being on her street, near the house he’d spent more time than at his own home, and he felt like a kid again.
Before dating in high school, he’d watched her for months. Every attempt to talk to her ended in frustration, interrupted by something or someone. Until the afternoon—a Monday, like today….
He walked out the double doors of Blis
s High—a laughable name for a high school, but she’d made it literal for him—preoccupied with planning his night. An hour and a half allotted to finish his homework, after which he’d spend twenty minutes at the dinner table to appease his parents, then bolt to Skip’s house for basketball. A cruise through town, ending with a drive-by of The Sweet Spot, where she worked, then home to work on his electronics project in the garage for an hour before bed. Vaguely aware of someone following, he caught the door before it slammed against them.
“Sor—” He glanced back, and his body took root where it was. Sunlight glinted off dark hair, and her hazel eyes met his. Her slender body felt gloriously substantial and real as she walked into his arms.
“Sierra.” He’d been chasing her for most of the school year, and there she was, an angel in a hoodie sweatshirt, right behind him. Well, next to him. Actually, he held her and didn’t want to let go.
The collision bumped the breath from her. “Carter.” Her hands warmed his sides and gave him the shivers when she slid them up his chest.
His fingers found the belt loop of her jeans. “Hi.”
Left brain screamed, Let go of her, you’re holding too tight! But hormones saturated his right brain, and leaked into his ears with a pleasant hum.
The town hadn’t lived up to its name until that moment. Sheer bliss, with her in his arms.
One side of her mouth curled up, so adorable he had to stop from kissing it. “I’m in no danger of falling.”
“That’s a shame.” He’d hoped she’d fall for him.
“Pardon?” Irritation replaced her tease.
“Then I’d have an excuse to hold you longer.” He forced his brain to send a command to his arms to release her.
Her smile reappeared. “Maybe I could arrange to fall another time.”
“How about tonight?”
“Can’t. Homework will take at least two hours, and then it will be too late.”
“I’ll come over for a study date.”
“My, my, Carter Grove. You’re very pushy.” But the way she leaned into him, she didn’t seem to mind.
He took encouragement from it and hooked a finger through her belt loop. “Not really. I’m just making up for lost time.”
“What lost time?”
“All the months I wasted waiting to talk to you.”
She tipped her head back, and her pink rosebud lips came within easy reach. “Why did you wait?”
Landing back in the present, he muttered, “Good question,”
So why had he waited? In the following years, he’d have given anything for those lost months. For any time with her. It all seemed hopelessly lost, happiness merely a dream of youth. Out of reach. Gone.
Until she fell into his arms again in nearly the same scenario, but in a different time and place.
Something had urged him to follow her.
As he drove back to his parents’ house, moonlight flickering off Bliss Lake caught his eye. He’d taught her how to ice skate there, and afterward, when hot chocolate hadn’t warmed her, he had. They were on fire, back then, and it was a wonder they hadn’t kindled a blaze in his father’s truck. Holding her tonight, even for those sparse moments, sparked something in him again. He’d actually felt something tangible, something real.
For years, he’d tried so hard to forget his hometown. Now he tried harder to remember, and each new detail replaced some missing part of the person he used to be. Becoming so wrapped up in getting ahead and staying at the top of his game, he’d lost himself.
Returning slammed it all home. For the first time in a long while, he felt whole. A good feeling—something else he’d nearly forgotten.
Chapter Two
From the kitchen, oldies rock mixed with the clinking of dishes. The fresh scent of laundered cotton, soft beneath Carter’s head, and the comforter covering him on the sofa, should have reminded him. He blinked to focus, and immediately relaxed. I’m home.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” His mom, Deborah, smiled at him from the hallway. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Sorry if I startled you.” Glancing at his Rolex, he groaned. Nine-thirty? Impossible. Maybe his watch had stopped; he hoped so. He hated the obnoxiously oversized thing, but Barbara had insisted on gifting it to him. Rolling up to a sitting position, he rubbed his eyes, wishing it would erase the image of her.
“Don’t be silly,” Deborah said. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
He twisted the watch from his wrist and tossed it atop the coffee table. “I had a meeting in Harrisburg, thought I’d crash here so I could visit.”
“I’m glad you did. Are you hungry?”
“Don’t go to any trouble. I’ll grab something later, on the road.”
She eyed him. “You’re too thin. I’m making you bacon, eggs, and English muffins.”
Guess I’m staying for breakfast. “I’ll wash up.”
“If you need a change of clothes, your brother left a few things here last time. They’re in your old room. You should have slept in there.”
“I thought you’d have converted it to a craft room or something by now.”
“A craft room? Sweetie, your dad and I don’t spend a lot of time here. We keep busy with the Historical Society, organizing Arts Council events, the Sustainable Development Board, and fundraisers. We’re not ready for the front porch rockers yet.”
“No, I didn’t mean you were.” His parents always put him in awe. Both strong-willed, they’d provided the best example of drive he’d ever known, though they applied it to helping others.
“Why don’t you grab a quick shower? You know where everything is.” She headed to the kitchen, so he made for the bathroom then the bedroom. Other than a creaky door, his old room hadn’t changed. Twin beds, one for him and one for Craig, two years his junior. Posters of some of his favorite bands plastered the walls behind the desk—U2, The Police, Pearl Jam. His guitar leaned against his bed, still plugged into the amp.
He sank to the bed and held the instrument against his chest. How many hours had he wasted trying to learn to play the thing? Mostly love songs, to impress Sierra. He could almost feel her beside him, watching with adoring eyes, even though they both knew his playing stank. No matter what he’d done for her, she’d welcomed it with the same enthusiasm. Pick a roadside daisy? She’d kissed him with such passion, he wanted to give her everything.
None of his efforts to please his first wife ever brought the same reaction and, eventually, he’d stopped trying. Same with Barbara, who took what he gave with barely a thank you, and then pointed out something larger she wanted. How had his marriages grown so miserable, so fast?
You must have that magic touch.
“Breakfast,” his mom called.
“Be right there.” After quick change into a black sweater and jeans, he cursed. No shoes except his polished black leather pair.
As he walked, the heels clicked against the hardwood floor and onto the kitchen tile. He laid his folded suit on a high-backed stool and sat on the next one over.
Deborah set the plate on the kitchen island and tsked. “I should have made six eggs instead of four. Look at you, so skinny.”
He patted his taut belly. “It’s all muscle.” And eating takeout every night. It had grown old the first week he’d unofficially left Barbara. Cutting back on meals so awful presented no problem. Sitting down, he dove into the generous helping.
She gripped the counter, her expression stern. “Why are you here?”
Mid-scoopful, he paused. “I was in the area, like I said.”
“You’ve been in the area lots of times, but never visited.”
He put on his best boyish smile. “You’re not happy to see me?”
With her no-bull attitude, she set him in her sights. “Are you in trouble, Carter? Is that hellwitch causing you pain?”
His appetite faded, but he wasn’t going to miss out on her tasty breakfast. “No more than usual.”
“You stay as long as you
need to, all right?” She went to the fridge and returned with a glass of orange juice for him.
Tension melted, he relaxed. “Thanks, Mom.”
In her I-just-thought-of-something way, she wagged a finger at him. “I saw Ellie O’Brien at the grocery store yesterday. Sierra came home, too.”
“Oh?” Funny how fate taunted him with his terrible choices. Running into her the way he had left him rattled.
The coffeemaker burbled. After taking two cups out of the cabinet, she poured. “Too bad about her husband.”
“Is it?” Too bad he married her, yeah.
She settled onto the stool beside him. “Of course it is. He was only your age.”
“What’s wrong with that?” He didn’t need a reminder of Ted’s age. The three of them had gone through school in the same class. The bastard had moved in on Sierra two years after Carter went off to Princeton. At the thought, he bit hard into the English muffin.
His mother leaned hard on her elbows to face him. “Because thirty-three’s too young to die.”
The toasted bread stuck in his throat. He coughed to loosen it.
She thumped him on the back. “Are you all right?”
Eyes watering, he finally swallowed. “Die?” he rasped.
Her thumps became soothing strokes. “You didn’t know? I thought sure I’d told you. Last January, dear. Supposedly drunk, he crossed the highway median and hit a tractor trailer head on. Thank goodness she wasn’t with him.”
Why hadn’t Sierra mentioned it? “January?” The same month he’d left Barbara. Unofficially, but even then, he’d known he’d never go back to her.
Deborah’s voice filtered through the haze. “I think that’s why she’s back in town. Ellie said she looks terrific, though a little too thin, like you.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. He’d noticed how good she looked, damn it.
“Have you seen her?” The sideways look she sent signaled she already sensed the answer.
