The Long Way Home

by K. Langston

  Published by K. Langston

  Copyright © 2016 K. Langston

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Design: Kari March

  Editing: Wild Rose Editing

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  WARNING: This book contains subject matter that may be sensitive for some readers. For mature audiences only (18 and older).

  PLAYLIST

  “Roots” by Parmalee

  “Hurt” by Johnny Cash

  “Fly” by Maddie & Tae

  “Work Song” by Hozier

  “Burning House” by Cam

  “All I Need” by Radiohead

  “The Dance” by Garth Brooks

  “The Promise” by Sturgil Simpson

  “Can I Be Him” by James Arthur

  “Into the Mystic” by Van Morison

  “If I Told You” by Darius Rucker

  “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond

  “That Don’t Sound Like You” by Lee Brice

  “Wanna Be That Song” by Brett Eldridge

  “Fade Into You” by Nashville Cast (Feat. Sam Palladio & Clare Bowen)

  “Sober Saturday Night” by Chris Young (Feat. Vince Gill)

  Dedicated to all who have loved and been loved.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Playlist

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  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

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Bonus Scene

  From the Author

  “Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but – I hope – into a better shape.”

  —Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t see anything but red.

  Crimson eats up the hardwood floor beneath his head, slowly inching toward my feet. A scream shreds the hollow of my throat, sharp and thick. The foreign sound penetrating the eerie silence as the unbearable pain in my chest threatens to buckle my knees. My hands and body tremble uncontrollably as I find the courage to look at him.

  His eyes are slightly open, but they are hauntingly still, lifeless.

  Dead.

  My heart plummets to my stomach. The urge to vomit is strong, but throwing up would require air, and I still haven’t found any yet.

  My eyes travel to the gun, gleaming from his right hand, taunting me with grave finality.

  I fall to the floor next to him. A sob racks my body, sadness and darkness staking their final claim on my soul.

  “Dean.”

  His name is a desperate plea. A painful prayer I know will never be answered.

  He’s gone.

  Forever.

  And it’s all my fault.

  My heart shatters into a million tiny pieces, never to be whole again.

  Present

  “Order up!”

  Retrieving the plates from the window, I exhale a ragged sigh. I’m tired as hell and my feet are killing me. I shouldn’t be so tired at twenty-six, but I feel like my body could give out at any second. The double shift is beginning to take its toll. This entire week has been exhausting but I still have a few more hours to go.

  Then I can fall apart.

  “Club for you, and a BLT on wheat for you, Carl. Can I get you boys anything else?” I force a smile, brushing my hands down the front of my apron before clasping them sweetly in front of me.

  “Think we’re good here, Sylvie. Looks great.” Sheriff Griffin tosses me the same sympathetic smile he always does before sinking his teeth into the thick sandwich.

  I take quick inventory of my other tables, noting customers’ drinks are all full, mouths moving. No one in need of anything at the moment. So I head for the ladies’ room in desperate need of a break.

  I’ve been working at the Blue and White Café for nearly two years now. The tips are good and they let me take on as many shifts as I want. It’s not the most glamorous job in the world but it makes ends meet and keeps a roof over our heads.

  It’s a quaint little spot located right across the railroad tracks on the edge of town. A popular stop for tourists who travel to Grandeur, Georgia to visit the famous Dawson’s Brewery just up the road.

  Grandeur is one of those places you read about in books or hear about in songs. Where everybody knows everybody and people don’t even bother locking their doors at night, tucked away safely in the heart of the south, miles from nowhere and open space as far as the eye can see.

  I grew up in this town.

  I fell in love in this town.

  Now, I hate this town.

  It holds too many memories, harbors too much pain. I hate the way the people here look at me. I hate the pity and sympathy I see in their eyes. They all look at me like I’m some poor, pitiful woman who’s barely hanging on to what’s left of her life.

  Which is mostly true.

  If not for Caroline, I probably would have given up by now. Because Lord knows the guilt is enough to eat me alive every day.

  But I press on.

  I have to.

  For her.

  Despite the looks and the hopeless feeling that weighs heavy on my heart. Because regardless of how bad I’m hurting, my little girl needs me.

  The light in the bathroom is bright, revealing the dark shadows coloring the skin beneath my eyes. Even good makeup can’t conceal what I’m trying to hide, the pain that is locked away with the mountain of regret. My worst enemy is my memory, reminding me every single day of the chances I didn’t take and the decisions I waited too long to make.

  The knot in my throat is tight, and I just can’t seem to swallow past it today.

  God, will I ever be able to go a day without crying?

  Turning away from the mirror I press my back to the wall, trying
to stifle a runaway sob. But they rack my body in relentless waves of grief and despair. I ride it out, until I feel a little bit of the weight ease from my shoulders.

  But it’s only temporary. The heaviness is back with a vengeance when I look in the mirror once more. I can’t escape it. No matter how hard I try.

  Wiping my nose, I dry my eyes. Grateful my small breakdown hadn’t been worse.

  Usually once I start, it’s nearly impossible to stop.

  I stand facing the mirror as I release my blonde hair from a ponytail then pull it neatly back in place, a meager attempt to conceal the evidence of my consuming misery.

  It’s a wasted effort.

  I’m still a mess.

  Feeling only slightly better, I make my way back out front, refill several glasses and serve another table before noting the hostess has seated a new customer in my section.

  I retrieve my pen and pad from my apron as I make my way over. “Hey there, what can I…” I blink, my brain and heart still trying to play catch-up while a flock of butterflies take flight in my belly.

  Am I dreaming?

  “Linc?”

  He smiles.

  A smile I haven’t seen in a long, long time, and it’s such a welcome sight. Tears burn behind my eyes, and I swear my heart damn near stops altogether when he stands from the table.

  “Sylvie.”

  My name is like a solemn vow, wholesome and pure, tugging at the strings of my stumbling heart. Without hesitation, he pulls me into his strong arms, and I immediately sag against him, soaking up his warmth.

  It feels like it’s been a lifetime since I could breathe without it hurting.

  I steal a moment of comfort in his arms and his familiar scent has me struggling to let go.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, forcing myself to release him.

  Guilt gnaws at my stomach, remembering the hateful words I’d said to him the last time we saw each other. Linc and I were once best friends. We told each other everything. But we haven’t spoken in over a year and even though there was still so much left unsaid, it was as if he never really left.

  His brown hair is a little longer but it looks good on him. A light dusting of scruff covers his sharp jaw, making him appear rugged and hard, but his soft green eyes remind me of his kind heart and kindred spirit.

  His warm smile slowly fades, and that’s when I notice the pain in his eyes. “Mama has cancer,” he says softly.

  I fall to the chair next me, my knees unsteady from the blow of this devastating news. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, Linc.”

  He takes the seat across from me. “Doc says her chances are really good. They caught it early, but her treatment will be aggressive, so she’s got a long road ahead.”

  I cover his hand with my own, a sharp pang piercing my chest. He lost his father when he was seventeen. His mother is all he’s ever had; it would kill him if he lost her, too. “Please let me know what I can do to help. I had no idea she was sick. I…I haven’t seen Gwynn in a while. I should go visit.”

  He smiles again, but this time it’s weak, sad. “She’d love that,” he says. “She misses you and Caroline.”

  I miss you, too.

  He doesn’t say the words out loud but he doesn’t have to. Those eyes of his tell me more than I care to know. We’ve always had a way of communicating without speaking.

  A smile.

  A touch.

  A look.

  He knows me in ways no man does. Or ever will. There’s a heavy amount of comfort in that but there’s also an incredible amount of guilt.

  I stand, eager to put some distance between us. “What can I get you to drink?”

  He clears his throat. “Sweet tea.”

  “Comin’ right up.”

  I feel his eyes on me as I move through the tables. I cash out one of my customers and refill a few glasses before eventually pouring his glass of tea.

  My skin prickles all over as I approach. “Have you decided what you want yet?” I pull my order pad from the pocket of my apron.

  Linc pins me with his sharp, unforgiving eyes. “Yeah, I know what I want, Sylvie.”

  “What’ll it be?” I ask, my voice just as shaky as my hands.

  “You.”

  Past

  I’ll never forget the day we met. Linc walked into Mrs. Martin’s fifth grade classroom with a big smile on his face, so confident and sure of himself, wearing a pair of square-toed cowboy boots and a button-down plaid shirt.

  “Class, this is Lincoln Matthews.”

  “Linc,” he corrects.

  Mrs. Martin gives him a warm smile. “Linc. Welcome him to the class, everyone.”

  We all give our obligatory welcome as Mrs. Martin points to the empty desk next to mine. “You can follow along with Sylvie today until we can get you a textbook assigned.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He slides into the vacant desk closest to mine, pulling a notebook from his backpack. I turn my attention back to Mrs. Martin as she continues her lesson. I don’t want to look at him, but my stupid eyes keep shifting to the left.

  “Hey,” he whispers, scooting so close the tops of our desks are now touching.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m Linc.”

  “I know.”

  “And you’re Sylvie.”

  My eyes shoot to his. “Figure that out on your own, did ya?”

  He smiles and it’s different than the one he entered the room with. That one was full of confidence mixed with a smidgen of arrogance.

  This one is brimming with curiosity.

  Reaching for my textbook, he pulls it closer to the center of our joined desks. “Where are we?”

  With my index finger, I point to the problem Mrs. Martin is currently working out on the board.

  But he doesn’t look at the problem.

  He touches my wrist.

  Electricity zings through my body, discovering nerves I never even knew existed.

  “I like your bracelets.” His voice is barely a whisper as his fingers move to inspect several woven bracelets lining my arm. The friendship bracelets are something my best friend, Rachel, and I like to do when we’re bored.

  We’re bored a lot.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Does it take you long to make them?”

  “Linc, no talking please,” Mrs. Martin scolds, her eyes darting back and forth between us. “Sylvie, you know better.”

  I grit my teeth, quickly returning my attention to my work. I hide behind the curtain of my long, blonde hair, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and something else I don’t quite understand. This stupid boy has been sitting next to me for less than five minutes and I’ve already been in trouble.

  I ignore him. Refuse to acknowledge him. That is until a piece of notebook paper is placed in front of me.

  I’m sorry.

  It proclaims in scribbly, stupid boy handwriting.

  Okay.

  I write back.

  Don’t be mad.

  Okay.

  Can we be friends?

  No.

  Why not?

  Because.

  Because why?

  Please leave me alone. I’m trying to learn.

  Me too.

  Then leave me alone.

  Not until you agree to be my friend.

  Fine, I’m your friend. Now leave me alone, bully!

  He flips the sheet of paper over now that most of the front is filled with our hasty scribbles.

  I’m not a bully!

  You just bullied me into being your friend.

  I charmed you into being my friend. There’s a difference.

  Whatever.

  I smile, finally lifting my eyes to his.

  Who is this boy?

  This sweet, happy boy with a smile as bright as the early morning sun and eyes like the green grass of late spring? He’s definitely charmed me. I’m not sure if I find that annoying or cute.

  He looks away, back to our pap
er, and writes something else. My eyes follow his hand as he pens his final words…

  Friends forever.

  After I read it, he balls up the piece of paper and tucks it inside the front pocket of his backpack.

  I have no idea how very true those words would be.

  Past

  “Linc, I’m scared,” I whine as he drags me closer to the ominous contraption.

  “It’ll be fine. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna keep me from throwin’ my guts up.” I try to tug my hand from his, fear clawing at my chest, but he only grips it tighter.

  Spinning to face me, he brings his free hand to my shoulder. “Listen to me, you can do this. It’s all in your head.”

  “I’ve been afraid of heights since birth. Please, let’s go ride the tilt-a-whirl or something,” I beg, trying to reason with him, but I can see it in his eyes, he’s determined, and when Linc Matthews sets his mind to something…there is no stopping him.

  “No, we’re doing this, and we’re doing it together. Now quit being a baby and c’mon.”

  Linc’s firm voice conveys what I already knew. One way or another, I’m getting on this stupid thing. My heart races furiously in my chest as he hands the carnie our tickets.

  He can be so freaking annoying sometimes.

  In the three years we’ve been friends, he’s made me do a lot of things I didn’t want to do. He loves pushing me outside of my comfort zone. Like the time he talked me into riding on the back of his dirt bike even though they scared me to death. Or the time he made me go swimming in a pond even though he knew how much I hated not being able to see the bottom.

  He knows my deep fear of heights. I can’t even ride an elevator to the third floor of our doctor’s office without hyperventilating.

  But Linc has a way of talking me into just about anything. He brings adventure and fun to my simple world, and just like the scribbled words on the sheet of wide rule paper had promised, Linc and I had undoubtedly become friends.

  Friends forever.

  I trust him. Tell him things I don’t dare tell anyone else, not even Rachel.

  But I’m not so sure about this.

  As the controller closes the cage, locking us in, I begin to panic. My vision blurs as we move upward, only to stop a few feet above the ground so he can lock some other poor soul into the cage behind us.