“I want.” He wrapped her in his arms once more, and she clutched him close. “Are you ready?”
Chapter Twenty
Willa’s answer to that question would have been a resounding no not ten minutes earlier. She’d been sitting in her car around the corner for the last two hours, dozing and wondering whether she had enough courage left to walk up to her old front door.
She’d forced herself out of the car with the intention of walking past the house and scoping out the situation. The last thing she’d expected was for Jackson to appear. For a heartbeat, she’d wondered if he was a figment of her imagination brought on by sleeplessness. Didn’t what you most desire appear in times of duress?
Except, he’d proven himself to be warm flesh and strong arms with a declaration she couldn’t ignore. The truth was, she didn’t want to face up to her past alone. In fact, if he hadn’t shown up, she might have turned around and walked back to her car. She glanced over at the man who held her hand and matched her step for step.
“You can do it,” he said in the raspy voice that was like the sweetest music to her ears.
He hadn’t given her courage so much as helped her locate it. She would tell him later what he meant to her. Or maybe she’d show him. She squeezed his hand tighter and leaned into his arm.
They walked up the path to the front door. She ran the toe of her shoe along a crack that she’d used to mark the start of her hopscotch game as a kid. The front door was green instead of the red of her childhood. Stands for potted plants flanked the door although they were empty in deference to the cold.
She pulled her father’s ball cap off, tucked it into her back pocket, and smoothed a hand through her hair. Her deep breath did little to calm the frantic whirling of her insides, and her finger trembled as she pressed the doorbell. Familiar tones sounded. A part of her hoped for a reprieve. Footsteps sounded, and time slowed like a watch not wound.
The door swung open and there was her father. Grayer, with more lines around his eyes and less hair, but his shoulders were still bull-like and the hand curled around the door was still wide and roped with tendons. She imagined it would feel the same as it had when she was six and it held hers when they crossed the street together.
“Daddy.” The childish tenor to the word was only a little embarrassing. Mostly she was just happy to see him. Problem was, she couldn’t get a read on him.
“Willa?”
“Yeah. I’m here.” It was a stupidly obvious thing to say, but snappy comebacks were out of reach. Her throat was dry, and she tried to swallow, but her voice was scratchy. “I’ve missed you.”
Her father stepped onto the porch and grabbed her up in a bear hug. Jackson dropped her hand, and she wrapped her arms around her dad, fisted her hands in his thick plaid flannel shirt, and buried her nose in his collar. He smelled like soap and grease with a hint of bacon.
The years peeled away. She was young again and his brown-eyed girl waking up to pancakes and bacon on a Sunday morning before church.
He shook against her, and she turned her head to see a tear trickling into a groove in his cheek. “I was afraid you were dead.”
She’d never seen him cry, and her stomach and heart spun in a sickening dance. “Didn’t you get my cards?” She’d sent him a birthday card every year without fail, driving to a different city to cover her tracks.
He pulled away, but kept his hands on her shoulders. “Why didn’t you come home before now?”
“It’s complicated. Was complicated. I don’t know anymore. Can we come in and talk?”
For the first time, he glanced away from her to look at Jackson. “Of course. Of course. Come on in.”
She followed her father inside, reaching blindly behind her. Jackson took her hand. The wood paneling of her youth had been replaced by light gray-painted walls. The furniture was an upgrade from their well-worn overstuffed couches too. House plants decorated much of the small foyer and the corners of the den.
She sat on the edge of a black leather couch. Jackson stayed at her side. His leg pressing against hers offered some comfort. Her father chose a matching armchair across the coffee table. A Better Homes and Gardens and a Classic Car magazine were on top.
After the initial shock wore off, the awkwardness of too much time passed and too many questions hung between them like dirty laundry, and she didn’t know what to wash first. “Is Carol around?”
“Still asleep. Long night.”
She could sympathize. Now that the adrenaline high she’d maintained since running from Jackson’s bed was fading, her brain waded through sorghum.
He raised his eyebrows. “You going to introduce us?”
“Geez, of course. Jackson Abbott, my dad, Buck. Jackson and his brothers own a garage down in Cottonbloom, Louisiana. Jackson’s my boyfriend.” She shot him a look, unsure if she’d overstepped, but he smiled and put his hand on her knee. Her shoulders dropped a good three inches, and she leaned even farther into his arm.
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
Her father nodded, but his attention was squarely on Willa. It was a look that had inspired babbling and quivery knees when she was a teenager trying to sneak in after curfew. “Your hair’s different.”
She touched her hair at the nape. “I’ve kept it short for a long time now.”
“That my old hat in your pocket?”
“Yeah. I guess, technically, I stole it, but it’s kept me close to you in a weird way.” She pulled it out and turned the hat in her hands, tracing the fraying threads of the emblem.
Emotion flashed over his face, but they’d been apart for too long for her to interpret it. “Is he why you’re here?” He pointed toward Jackson, but didn’t look at him.
“No. Well, yes, in a roundabout way.” She heaved in a breath, too tired to censor herself. “I love Jackson, and until I face up to my past, I can’t move on with him.”
He sniffed, his gaze dropping to their feet. “You don’t know how many nights I’ve dreamed of you showing up like this. Alive and well.”
“I sent cards.”
His mouth thinned. “You think a scrawled ‘don’t worry about me’ on a birthday card made me not worry?”
“I had no choice but to leave. Cynthia’s death was my fault.”
He blinked, confusion writ large on his face. “It was ruled an accidental overdose.”
“I know.” The report hadn’t lessened her guilt. “But she met Derrick through me, and he was a drug dealer.”
“Went to jail for it too. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He sat forward and propped his forearms on his knees, his hands fisted. “Did you?”
“Nothing illegal. Except take Nana’s car.”
“Then why did you up and leave in the middle of the night?”
“Because the night Cynthia died, I took Derrick’s stash of drugs and buried it on the edge of the forest. I wanted to square things with the universe to make up for her death. Hurt Derrick. Except, I didn’t realize he owed some very bad people big money. He threatened to hurt you or burn down the shop if I didn’t get him the drugs back.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have gone to the police.”
Echoes of the day Cynthia died resonated. The pain and terror had tattooed themselves onto her memories, bleeding through everything that followed. Strange how life could pivot on a moment.
“I panicked and … I wasn’t sure you’d forgive me. Things weren’t the same between us after you married Carol.” She held up her hands when he tried to argue. “I’m not blaming anyone, just stating the truth and you know it.”
“Do you understand the hell you put us—me—through all these years?” His face reddened as if he were holding back even more.
Had she understood? Abstractly maybe, but she’d been consumed with her own problems as only a teenager could. And later, the distance had dulled her ability to see a path back home.
“I’m sorry.” Years of regrets weighted the apology. It didn’t seem like e
nough, but it was all she had to offer. “Running was the only sure way I thought I could keep you safe. Plus, I wondered if maybe you’d be better off without me.”
Her father sat back and rubbed his face with both hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. I assumed you were going through a phase or something, that everything would be okay.”
“Maybe it would have been if Cynthia hadn’t died.” She tensed, her leg bouncing. “Do you know what happened to Derrick? He might still be a danger to you.”
Her father shook his head. “Was locked up for a couple of years. I saw him around town after he got out, but he never settled into a decent job. Heard he violated his probation.”
“So he’s back in jail?” Relief unspooled her dread like a reprieve from being hanged.
“I have no idea. But, sweetheart, don’t worry about me. I can handle a small-town punk drug dealer.” The confidence of a father who could protect his daughter from all comers was in his attitude.
When she was young, still innocent of the underbelly of life and people, it might have absolved her of responsibility. She turned to Jackson. “We’ll need to track him down.”
“I’ll get Gloria on it.”
Before anything else could be said on the matter, Carol walked into the room and stopped short, a smile frozen on her face. Her father rose. “Willa’s come home.”
“I can see that. We’ve been worried about you, dear.” Undertones in Carol’s voice struck her as discordant.
Carol didn’t look ready to break out the confetti at her return. No doubt, her life had been exponentially easier without Willa in it. She tamped down her resentment and gave her stepmother a half hug.
Introductions were made and the talk was of small things and not big questions. “Should I get some coffee? Or breakfast?” Carol backpedaled toward the kitchen. “Buck’s already fried the bacon. I can make pancakes.”
Jackson thumbed over his shoulder. “Actually, my brothers are outside in a truck. I should—”
“Go get them. We’ve got plenty. If you and my daughter are as close as you seem to be, I should see what kind of stock you come from.”
Jackson looked to her for guidance. She nodded. “Bring them in.”
“River’s with us.”
A lump grew in her throat. They’d all come for her. “Her too.”
River’s buoyant personality and Wyatt’s ability to charm put everyone at ease almost immediately. Mack and her father bonded over running garages and loving cars. Carol bustled around pouring coffee and offering up pancakes like a short-order cook.
Conversation dried up as the last of the pancakes and coffee were consumed. It was time to go. This meeting had reestablished their bonds and settled a portion of her fears about Derrick, but it reaffirmed something she’d buried under her guilt.
Her father was a good man, but he wasn’t perfect. His authoritarian ways had been part of the reason she’d rebelled. He’d taken her stepmother’s side in any disagreements to project a united parental front, but it had left her feeling unloved and neglected by the one constant in her life. The split she’d made five years ago had been brutal and not ideal but ultimately necessary.
Her father’s mouth tightened. A tension she couldn’t explain stretched between them. Perhaps it stemmed from the fact she was still a child in his eyes.
She stood up and smiled at her father. “We should go.”
“We?”
“I’m leaving with Jackson, Dad.”
He stood too. “No.”
Carol’s fork hit the plate, the clang unnaturally loud in the echo of her father’s booming command.
“This is your home. You’ve been gone for too long. You’ll stay.” His voice was quieter but no less forceful.
All three Abbotts stood. Wyatt and Mack slipped toward the front door with River, silent, but both touching her shoulder in unspoken support.
Jackson lingered. “I’ll wait outside.” For as long as it takes. The promise was in his eyes. If she decided to stay, he would understand. She wanted to tell him she loved him or throw herself in his arms but settled for a nod.
His absence felt like a load-bearing wall inside of her was gone. Her future happiness depended on him, and her heart was in his hands to protect or destroy. The thought would have sent her into a panic a few months ago. Assessing her internals like an engine, she didn’t detect anything but an even calmness. She trusted him.
Turning back to her father, she touched his arm to soften her message. “You’ll always be my dad, but this isn’t my home anymore.”
“All these years … I want to make up for them.” His natural stoicism broke and his chin wobbled.
She didn’t hesitate, throwing herself in his arms like she’d done countless times as a kid. But she wasn’t a kid anymore. She was a woman with a life and place of her own. “For better or worse, I’m not the same girl who ran off.”
“Have you been happy?”
A wave of awareness passed through her. He had been wrestling with his own guilt and self-blame all these years.
“I’m happy now. So happy.” She tightened her hold on him. “I’m not disappearing again, Dad, but I can’t move back here.”
“You’re going to leave? Right now?”
She pulled back. Their father-daughter relationship couldn’t be repaired or re-created. It had to be built from the ground up, and that wouldn’t happen in a day or a weekend. They needed time to get to know each other again.
“You know where I am. We can talk every day. I want you to come to Cottonbloom and see where I work and live, and I’ll visit you. I won’t disappear again.”
The surety in her voice must have made an impression, because her father stepped away from her. She stopped at the door and kissed her father on the cheek, hesitating a moment to breathe him in like so many lost memories, good and bad.
“Love you.” She walked out the door. Jackson was leaning against the truck, his arms crossed over his chest, but she knew they’d open to receive her as she got closer.
She turned around halfway down the path. Her father stood on the porch with his hands stuffed in his pockets. She shuffled back to him, fished out her keys, took the trailer’s key off the ring, and handed the rest over.
He held them up. Cold sunlight glinted off the metal. Wonder bloomed in his smile. “You’re still driving Nana’s car?”
An easiness had returned. Cars had always been their bridge to one another. “Can you believe I kept it running? I left it parked around the corner. Consider it returned. I don’t think Nana would have minded me taking it, do you?”
“It was going to be yours anyway. Don’t you need it?”
“Nah. Jackson’s got me covered, but thanks.” She hesitated. “I’m going to keep your hat though. You mind?”
“As long as when you wear it, you’ll remember to call me.”
“Deal.”
With that final promise, she walked straight into Jackson’s arms.
“You okay?” he whispered.
“I’m good. Can we go home?”
He opened the truck door, and River greeted her with a sloppy lick on the face.
Beyond words, Willa buried her face in the dog’s fur and sent thanks to the universe for bringing River and the Abbotts into her life. She and Jackson and River climbed into the backseat and settled in for the drive home.
Nestled against Jackson, his heartbeat pacing her own, she let exhaustion claim her, wandering in and out of dreams. One thing became clear as they drew closer to Cottonbloom. Home was a moving target and had more to do with people than places. Jackson was her home now.
Epilogue
THREE MONTHS LATER …
March in Louisiana was fickle. The summery warmth of morning could be replaced by clouds and a cold northerly wind by afternoon. Willa and River were outside next to the garage enjoying the sun before it disappeared again.
Jackson and Wyatt were putting the final touches on the Plymouth Hemicuda. W
yatt was like a father awaiting the birth of his first child, all nervous excitement. Mack was sitting in his office staring at the wall and squeezing a stress ball into dust.
Ella Boudreaux was getting under his skin. After the bombshell announcement at the Mizes’ New Year’s Eve party, she had stayed away from the garage, and a flickering hope that she would stay out of their business flourished. Mack had reworked their financial plans in order to raise the capital to buy her out, but it would take at least a year.
Mack had spiraled into quiet reflection that periodically exploded into anxiety-driven anger. If Ella Boudreaux did choose to insert herself in the business, Willa worried Mack would detonate as if someone had clipped the wrong-color wire on a live bomb. Honestly, she felt sorry for the woman, but she was smart enough to keep her opinion to herself.
The past three months with Jackson had more than made up for her years alone and lonely. It was still a challenge to accept his help, but instead of getting mad, he’d roll his eyes and call her on her craptastic baggage.
They spent their nights making love then staring up through the skylights of the loft at the endless sky. Wondering at the vagaries of fate kept her awake long after he fell asleep. What-ifs made her hold on to him that much tighter. Her bad luck had splatted against a Jackson-shaped wall. Now, all she could think was how lucky she was to be in his arms and the recipient of his love.
Like stitching together a torn quilt square by square, she and her father were mending their relationship. He’d visited the garage and had been suitably impressed. Jackson’s car knowledge had raised him more than a few notches in her father’s esteem. She’d shared some of where she’d been and what had happened to her with him, but he didn’t need to know everything.
She threw the stick for River and laughed when the dog tripped over the end on her run back. An old Ford truck puttered down the road and turned into the parking lot and out of sight. One of the boys could handle the new customer. She wanted to play hooky in the sun a few more minutes.
“Willa?” The voice had haunted her nightmares.
She whirled. Derrick stood at the corner of the building. He was an older, harder version of the boy she’d known. Multiple stints in prison would do that to a person, she supposed. Gloria’s search on him hadn’t turned up his present whereabouts.
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