Bring Me Back

by Jessie Gussman

  She’d only been outside for thirty minutes when his truck came up the drive.

  It took her a few seconds to realize that it wasn’t Ben’s truck since she’d driven his truck home. Hoping it was one of his brothers dropping him off, and wondering what that meant for Gram, she waited, holding her breath.

  The driver’s door opened. A short pang went through her until she recognized the broad shoulders and confident walk as Ben strode up to the porch.

  “How is she?” Riley asked.

  Ben stopped, his gaze searching the porch shadows. “Gram’s fine. What’s the matter?”

  She stood. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  He found her and walked toward her. “I’m glad you’re up. I need you to know I meant every word I said tonight.” His hands landed on her hips through the blanket.

  “I was hoping you did.” She swallowed. “I did too. Whatever is going on between us is more important to me than anything that’s happening with my dad or the company.”

  He sighed. “I don’t want you to have to choose.”

  “That’s more considerate than him.” She pulled her hand out of the blanket, holding her phone. She pressed the button so he could read the text message her dad had sent while they were in the hospital.

  I’ll give you 50% of the company and the corner office I promised you if you lose the mechanic.

  Ben read it, and his hands dropped. He turned. She let the blanket fall to the floor along with her phone and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his back.

  “That’s everything you’ve always wanted, right there,” he said, bitterness seeping into his voice.

  “It’s not.”

  “You can say that,” he said roughly. “But we both know it’s a lie.”

  “It’s not!” She let go of him, moving to the side. “I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life regretting the night I stood you up for prom. I insulted you. I lied to you. And I have no right to get a second chance with you. I’ve worked hard to try to make sure it wasn’t the worst decision I ever made, but it was. The very worst decision I ever made. If there’s any good thing that can come from that, it’s that I’m never going to make an awful decision like that again. Ever.”

  Ben wouldn’t look at her. He stared off into the night, his arms crossed over his chest.

  She put both hands on her cheeks. “Ben, please. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. Let me have some time to make it up to you.”

  “It’s not about making anything up to me. Just having you beside me is enough.” He looked down at her. “Your arms around me, your smile in the morning, your name with mine...it’s enough.”

  Her heart hammered. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Her words came out hesitantly. “You want to stay married?”

  His hands came up, gripping her shoulders. “I want to be married. For real. Forever.”

  “Me too.”

  He kissed her then, on the porch where they’d watched so many new days dawn, and it felt like a new day dawning in her own life as she clung to him, kissing him back with all her heart.

  Chapter 24

  “Ben?”

  His eyes didn’t want to open, and he didn’t want to untangle himself from the soft body next to him, but years of raising kids had him answering, “What do you need, Eve?”

  The door squeaked. Then Eve squeaked. “Oh, my goodness! That’s a sight I’ve never seen before. Eden, come quick!”

  Which is what his wife woke up to—his sister standing in his open door, gawking at him still in bed at nine in the morning. “First day of work I’ve missed in your entire lives, and I can’t even sleep in.”

  “What is it?” Eden’s voice came from the stairs.

  “Ben’s in bed with a woman!”

  Eden appeared beside Eve in the doorway.

  “That’s not just any woman. It’s Riley.”

  “I know. It’s just...the first time this has ever happened.”

  Beside him, Riley stirred. Her arm was slung over his chest, and her leg was bent over his. Her head lay on his shoulder, and the confident scent of her filled his mind.

  “I’m married to her. This is what married people do.”

  “Very funny, Ben. You’ve been married to her for five months, and married people weren’t doing that then.”

  Riley moved her head, putting her lips on his neck. He closed his eyes. “Those are your kids, right?”

  The twins laughed. “We’re sorry, Riley. We had to rib Ben. It’s almost unheard of for us to see him in bed, morning or night, and he’s never had a girl.”

  “I’ve never been married before.”

  Riley stretched under the covers. “You girls can go cook us lunch.”

  “What about breakfast?”

  They smiled at each other. “We’re skipping it.”

  The twins backed out and shut the door.

  Ben turned on his side and ran his finger down Riley’s cheek. “I think you’re glowing, wife.”

  She laughed. “I feel like I’m glowing. You look kinda happy yourself.”

  “I’m happy. Beyond words. But I’m a little nervous you might regret picking me.”

  “I have a little experience in the transportation industry. Maybe together we can make something out of ourselves.”

  Ben’s finger traced the delicate line of her jaw. “That would be a huge conflict of interest. You can’t help me start a repair shop if you’re still in your dad’s business.”

  “He texted me this morning with an ultimatum. ‘Leave the mechanic or quit.’ I told him where the reports were and asked him if he wanted me to work out a two-week notice.”

  “Only half of me is happy about that.”

  “I think Dad will come around. What good’s a company when you’re all alone?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “Plus the investors were pretty clear they wanted you. I think Dad’s bluffing. But I don’t care if he is. It won’t change my mind.”

  Ben leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Does that mean we’re going to do this together?”

  “I’d love to. Someone around here has said that we make a good team.” Her teeth flashed, and he pulled her closer. “I’ve also heard that you are an excellent father.”

  A little shot of surprise constricted his throat. “I guess I kind of figured you were a no-kids kind of girl.”

  She bit her lip. “We could team up with that, too.”

  “Gotta say, it’d be nice to have a partner.”

  “In everything.”

  “Are we setting up this partnership in Maine?”

  “Pennsylvania,” she said with assurance.

  It’s what he wanted too. After all, he had a reason to be here now. “So, my wife is going to bring me back to my family?”

  “I’m going to make sure you stay where you belong.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “With me.”

  He kissed her then and wouldn’t have stopped for a long time, but his phone rang.

  “Gram?” Riley lifted a brow.

  He reluctantly reached for it, turning it on speaker. “Hello?” He figured he probably sounded like he was lying in bed with his wife. First time in his life he sounded like that. He smiled.

  “Someone told me you got fired,” Torque said by way of greeting.

  “Word gets around.” Technically he hadn’t gotten fired. Not yet. But he wasn’t at work, so people would naturally make that assumption. Not to mention he’d never given a thought to who else might have been in the restaurant yesterday.

  “Yeah. Would you and Riley be interested in coming to my shop today, taking my customers and watching our kids? Dusty is making a run for the championship, and Cassidy decided this morning she wanted to go.”

  Ben lifted his brows at Riley.

  She nodded. “We’ll do it.”

  “Great. How soon can you two be out of bed and over here?”

  They smiled at each other. “I guess we�
��re just not destined to lie around together.”

  “We have the rest of our lives.”

  Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review. If you would like to sign up for Jessie Gussman’s Reader Group News and receive a FREE novella in your inbox, click HERE.

  Keep reading for a sneak peak at Fly Away, book #5 in the Baxter Boys series:

  Chapter 1

  Dusty Gibson focused her eyes on the black number two before slamming the visor of her helmet down. The noise of the other competitors faded out, making her feel like she had entered an alternate reality.

  Her bike rumbled beneath her.

  The two changed to a one.

  She flicked her wrist, twisting the handle and pumping the gas. With her other hand she squeezed the clutch. Her bike trembled in eager anticipation.

  The one turned sideways.

  Two seconds later the gates fell. Dusty dropped the clutch and twisted her wrist. Engines screamed around her. Grabbing the clutch, she jerked her foot, caught second and sprang ahead. A guy in purple on her left edged closer. On her right a yellow jersey and a red jersey fought for position.

  She jammed third, then fourth gear, keeping her eyes on the first jump. Ideal position would be the leader of the pack at that point. She hadn’t gotten to be the points leader in motocross racing by running in the back.

  Running wide open she angled to the left, toward purple shirt who was running even with her. From her practice runs, she knew the direct middle of the jump had a slight dip that, hit the wrong way, could cause her bike to flip end over end. Not what she wanted to have happen with a whole class of fifteen aggressive racers behind her.

  Purple shirt gave the space, then pushed back. Dusty jerked to avoid smacking his foot peg.

  Her bike caught, her handle bars twisted. She jerked them back, keeping the throttle on wide open. Sweat trickled down her forehead. The visor on her helmet steamed up, fogging her vision. She could see the horizon where blue met brown, but couldn’t judge the distance to the first jump. Fifty feet? Thirty?

  She needed to get out of the middle. Pushing again at purple shirt, she refused to allow anything but cool determination to sit in her chest. She’d done this a thousand times before. But purple shirt either didn’t see her or was determined to keep her boxed in.

  The latter was quite possible, since she was the current points leader and, hence, the person to beat.

  Her bike screamed beneath her. She twisted hard on the throttle, keeping it wide open. She wanted to catch a big lift on that jump. But not from the middle.

  Changing up, she pushed against yellow shirt on her right. But red shirt ran tire to tire with him and he couldn’t give her the space if he wanted to.

  She tried purple shirt again. Still no budging.

  In a split second her three options ran through her brain: force purple shirt to move, with contact, if necessary, risking a crash for both of them; slow down, let him and red and yellow go by, which was surely the plan of the other three leaders; or shift her weight off her front tire and hit the jump flat in the middle. The third option would have been the only one she would have considered, except she couldn’t see.

  She hadn’t expected it to be this hot and she hadn’t put her anti-fog on her visor. Rookie mistake.

  A decision had to be made. Fast.

  Pushing once more at purple shirt, who didn’t budge from her side, she crouched on her pegs and squinted, wanting to get the timing just right. Pulling up would slow her down. Not much, but enough to let the others get ahead. Where she wanted to be. Where she was going to be. Nothing was going to stop her from becoming the first female motocross champion.

  Suddenly the jump loomed up in front of her, faster than she had estimated. She stood and leaned back, but she was a millisecond too late.

  Her front tire dipped. Her body hitched forward. Her biked kicked up, and she was flung over the handle bars, spread-eagle in the air. Purple shirt had decided at the last minute to move over, giving way to a guy in a blue shirt. She caught it out of the corner of her eye in the split second she hung upside down and backward in the air.

  The split second before he crashed into her.

  A crack sounded loud in her ears. Pain flared up her back and out both arms. Her body flung wildly.

  She saw the next bike coming and tried to twist, but the pain radiated out in sharp spikes, and her mind went black.

  ~~~

  Four weeks later.

  “This one’s yours.” Sherri, the office nurse, handed Roland Bryant a folder with a smirk. The harsh florescent lighting in their physical therapy office glanced off the pristine white walls with tasteful overblown photos of palm trees hung in an even spread.

  He took the folder as he stood behind the high counter and opened it.

  Sherri put one hand on the counter. Her bright red nails sparkled. “They requested ‘the best.’” She laughed. “You know what that means.” With a lifting of her brows she walked away.

  Roland swallowed his snort. When a client requested “the best” it was almost always because they were “the worst.” Not the worst as in the physical worse, but the worse as in the most difficult to deal with. He always got those.

  His eyes skimmed over the folder. The client would be waiting in the big room where all the therapy sessions were held, but he always liked a little privacy to familiarize himself with a new patient’s background before he met them. Some injuries were so horrific he couldn’t contain his grimace. Some were unusual, requiring him to do a quick search or even shoot off a few emails to colleagues, for their advice and opinion on best practices.

  Dusty Gibson. Twenty-six. He’d fractured his femur and vertebrae T-11 and T-12 in a motocross race. Roland shuddered. There was a starred note that he was a top contender, and insisted that he would race again.

  Maybe Roland was “the best” but he wasn’t a miracle worker and Dusty was flipping lucky he wasn’t paralyzed.

  Yeah. He closed the folder, already picturing in his head exercises that would strengthen the rarely used muscles in the back that would help Dusty until his leg was fully healed.

  Normally, Roland worked the best with the patients who were discouraged, who needed someone with a story of their own to breathe hope back into a client who wondered what their life was going to consist of now that they were no longer perfectly whole. That, Roland could do. He just told his own story. Leaving his dead fiancée out of it.

  With a last glance to make sure all the proper forms had been signed, he carried the folder out. He glanced inconspicuously around the room. Dusty wouldn’t be the older gentleman, nor the three senior ladies scattered through the room. A skinny elementary school aged boy sat beside a woman, his mother presumably, with his arm in a brace and his ball cap pulled down over his forehead.

  Roland’s eyes skimmed over all of those. Dusty would have a leg brace; he might even be in a wheelchair. Only two people in the patient waiting corner of the large room could possibly be twenty-eight years old. A man who did not have a leg cast and a slim woman with waist-length blond hair who did.

  She also wore a backbrace.

  Dusty Gibson, motocross champion, was a woman.

  Roland dealt with men, women, boys, girls, old men and senior ladies. So the odd reaction of his heart, which twisted in his chest, was unexpected. And unwelcome.

  He put his game face on. “Dusty Gibson.”

  The blond rose stiffly, which is the only way one could move in a back brace. She turned. Roland’s heart twisted again. Harder. Her wide blue eyes turned in his direction, looking for the source of the summons. A heart-shaped face, cute nose, and high cheekbones complimented that long, straight hair. Her carriage was proud and despite the braces, she moved with a cat-like grace.

  No wheelchair. She wasn’t even using crutches. He obviously hadn’t studied her chart in enough depth.

  He pointed to the first counseling room along the side. “We’re going there. Let m
e grab your chart.” It wasn’t the way he normally met patients, but Dusty had already turned his “normal” upside down and he hadn’t even introduced himself yet.

  In the course of his practice as a physical therapist, he’d had a few patients that had stuck with him, either because of the severity of their injuries, their amazing personalities or because of their grit and determination. He knew for sure Dusty was going to be one of those patients he didn’t forget.

  Grabbing her chart, he caught up to her in time to open the counseling room door for her. She gave him a disdainful look. “I can get it myself.”

  “I’m sure you can.”

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  She wasn’t the first person who came in for therapy with a bad attitude. Now wasn’t the time for tough love. That would come soon enough. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She walked through the door without another word. He followed, closing it behind him.

  ~~~

  Dusty wanted to fling herself down in the light blue plastic seat, but her back and leg both still hurt and she wasn’t going to fling herself anywhere for a while. So she sat. Gingerly. Hating the fact that her once agile and strong body was crippled and painful.

  It wasn’t the therapist’s fault, though. “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she said, grudgingly as the man dressed in khaki pants and a blue polo with the logo of the therapy place in white letters on his shirt stopped in front of her.

  “It’s okay. I know this isn’t where you want to be.”

  She snorted. “Not even close.”

  “So that’s my job. To get you better so you don’t have to come here anymore.”

  The guy was affable and not bad-looking. She gave him a half-smile. “Let’s get started.”

  “I think that’s my line.”

  “You gotta be fast if you want to beat me.”

  “Let’s start at the beginning, then.” He held out his hand. “I’m Roland, and I’m going to be coordinating your therapy for the next six months or so.”