The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book]

by Lauren N. Sharman

  "Whenever you feel you're up to it. Today, if you want."

  "Today?” she asked with a sudden bout of nerves.

  He shrugged. “Or tonight. It's up to you."

  "Tonight? I don't know, Wade, I thought I'd have at least a day or two to—"

  "To what,” he interrupted her, “chicken out?"

  "No!” she shouted, because his guess had hit just a little too close to home.

  "Then what's the problem?"

  "I don't know,” she said, doing her best to avoid eye contact with him. “I just need time."

  Wade let loose with an all-knowing laugh. “You've had time, Georgia. Twenty-three days is a long time to monopolize the time of other women's husbands. Sure, those husbands happen to be your brothers and they helped you because they wanted to. But they've all got families; families they have, for the most part, neglected since you came into town ... and during the holiday season, at that."

  "It's the first week of January, Wade,” she reminded him, because she couldn't quite shake the guilt she felt for intruding. “The holidays are over."

  "I know they are. But you have to remember that Blackie, Judd, and Rebel have given up a lot for you, Georgia. Don't get me wrong, we all know how hard you've worked. Now you owe it not only to them, but also to yourself, to take this first step toward moving on."

  "But what do I do?” she asked. “What should I say?"

  "Just tell them about yourself."

  Suddenly discouraged, Georgia sat down on the bed. “They already know about me, Wade. I don't need to tell them anything."

  Wade closed the distance between them in three long strides. He sat down next to her and placed a hand on her knee. His touch comforted her, just as it had on several occasions during the time he'd been staying with her. She was happy that it didn't disgust her, or make her want to go running in the other direction. Now that's progress!

  "You don't need to rehash your past because you're right, they know all about it. When you talk to them, Georgia, I want you to focus, instead, on the future. Your future. Tell them how happy you are to be part of their family. Tell them about your hopes and dreams. Once you break the ice and get started, the rest will come easy. I know all the girls; they're not hard to talk to."

  "Hopes and dreams?” Did she even have any?

  "Yes,” he said, sounding a bit frustrated, “think about it. What does Georgia Virginia McCassey want out of life?"

  "I'm not sure,” she said dryly, “I'll let you know when I find her."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 15

  Sweat coated Georgia's palms, her anxiety growing by the second as she watched the scenery outside the window pass by at thirty miles an hour.

  "I changed my mind, Wade,” she suddenly blurted out, squirming uncomfortably on the front seat of Wade's pickup truck, “I can't do it."

  Why? Why had she agreed to meet her sisters-in-law today? The girls weren't going anywhere; seeing them for the first time was something that could've waited until tomorrow.

  Or the next day.

  When she and Wade had discussed the meeting early that morning, ‘later this afternoon’ had seemed very far away—far enough that she felt she'd had plenty of time to prepare herself. But now that they were halfway to Rebel's house and she was just minutes away from the introductions, it was too close for comfort.

  "It's too late now, Georgia,” Wade told her as he slowed the truck and turned down a long dirt driveway. “We're here."

  Her mouth instantly went dry. “We're here? Already?” Rebel hadn't been kidding when he'd said he lived five minutes from the garage.

  As Wade's truck crept slowly over the hard-packed dirt, Georgia pulled down the visor and opened the flap, revealing a mirror. Sure, she'd checked her appearance several dozen times back at the garage, but a good ten minutes had passed since her last peek, and she wanted to make sure nothing had fallen out of place.

  Georgia also wanted to confirm that what she'd seen in the mirror at the garage hadn't been a figment of her imagination. She wanted to make sure that her face, which just a couple of weeks ago had been pale and gaunt, still held the color it seemed to have had earlier.

  "You look fine,” Wade told her.

  She closed the visor, flipped it back up, and turned to him. “Fine?"

  "Yes, Georgia, fine. The girls are your family, they're not going to care how you look; they just want to get to know you."

  "Easy for you to say. You've already met them."

  "True,” he confirmed, “but other than occasionally running into each other in town, we don't spend any time together. So I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but they don't know me much better than they know you."

  Well that didn't make her feel any better. She'd been counting on Wade to be the one to break the ice when they arrived at Rebel's house. I guess I'm on my own.

  Sighing and shaking her head, Georgia lowered her gaze in order to check out her outfit; beginning with her new tennis shoes—bought, along with her flannel coat, with the money Bert had given her before she'd left Virginia.

  Not wanting to track any dirt into Rebel and Gypsy's house, she inspected the bottoms to make sure they were clean. Then she focused on her blue jeans. Those were new, too, as was her white long sleeve shirt. Both had been bought and sent to her at the garage by one of her brother's wives.

  Instead of wearing one of the colorful sweatshirts that they had also bought her, Georgia had chosen to wear an old, over-sized, maroon and gold Washington Redskins sweatshirt. She'd found it in the bottom drawer of the dresser in the apartment and had been told by Judd that it had been his many years ago. It was big enough to hide her scrawny, eighty-five pound body—something that was causing her to become increasingly self-conscious—which was one of the reasons she'd chosen to wear it today.

  The other reason was because it belonged to the brother she felt closest to. She thought that maybe having a little piece of Judd with her today would make meeting Angel, Dusty, and Gypsy a little easier. What would've made it a lot easier was if he could've come with her today.

  In fact, she wished that all three of her brothers could've come. But Wade had said that wouldn't have been a good idea. “It'll be too distracting to have them there,” he'd told her. “This meeting needs to be between you and the girls, Georgia. If Blackie, Judd, and Rebel are there, it'll be too easy for them to lead the conversation. They'll wind up picking up the slack when you fall silent, and that won't do anything to help you. You can do it on your own. You have to."

  Georgia hadn't liked what Wade had said, but she'd known it was true. And he was right; if she ran out of things to say, it would have been very easy to let one of the guys speak for her. Deep down, she knew this was the right thing; knew it was just one of the many things she had to do in order to get better and move on with her life.

  But it didn't mean she had to like it.

  After pulling down the visor for one last look in the mirror, she was more than happy to discover that her hair—which had recovered to the point that it was once again shiny and bouncy—still looked as good as it had just before they left the garage. Georgia would've liked to attribute her ever-improving health, both inside and out, to the fact that she was no longer using heroin. But she knew that was only part of it. The other part was due to the return of her appetite, and the delicious home cooked meals her sisters-in-law had been sending to the garage for her.

  When she finished thoroughly inspecting her face, hair, and outfit, Georgia realized she had nothing else to do to keep herself distracted. Before she had a chance to panic, Wade's voice broke the silence. “There it is,” he announced as a house came into view, “Rebel and Gypsy live here now, but this is the house that Dolan and Mary owned when the boys were growing up. Your brothers were raised here."

  Trying to hide her surprise, Georgia stared at the beautiful, pale yellow house whose yard, complete with a swing set, was surrounded by a white picket fence. It was still fe
stively decorated for the holidays, too, right down to the white candles in each of the windows. Georgia couldn't help but smile at the warm, inviting look of the house.

  "It didn't always look like this,” Wade explained, “when your fa—” he cut himself off, “when Dolan lived here, the whole place was run down and roach infested. It sat empty and abandoned for a long time after he supposedly died, then your brothers fixed it up just after Rebel and Gypsy were married."

  Georgia nodded. Rebel had told her the story of how he, Blackie, Judd, and Gypsy—who was pregnant at the time—all moved into the house together not long after their wedding. Some days they worked sunup to sundown, Rebel had said, because they were trying to finish remodeling it before Gypsy gave birth to her and Rebel's oldest child, Raider.

  "It's beautiful,” she commented, because it really was. Georgia had never lived in a house before. She and her mom had lived in the same apartment since she was born. Her time with Dolan had been spent locked in a single room, and even now, living at the garage, she was back in an apartment.

  How nice it must be, she thought, to own such a lovely house, to have a yard to relax in and watch your children play. I'd love to have something like this someday.

  Wade stopped the truck, put it in reverse, and did a three-point turn in the driveway to get the vehicle turned around.

  Without cutting the engine, he let go of the wheel, reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt, pulled out a pack of Winston's, and turned to Georgia. “Do you want me to walk you up?” he asked as he placed a cigarette between his lips.

  Walk her up? Like ... to the door? Well that didn't sound good. She furrowed her brows and squinted at him. “What do you mean, ‘do you want me to walk you up'? It sounds like you're not planning to stay."

  He blew out the smoke and shook his head. “That's because I'm not."

  Okay, time to panic. “What? Why not?"

  "I told you before; this is something you have to do on your own."

  "But—"

  Cigarette between his teeth, he reached for the door handle. “But nothing,” he replied coldly. “I'm offering to walk you to the door and introduce you to Gypsy when she answers it, but that's as far as I go. Take it or leave it."

  Take it or leave it.

  How many times had she heard Blackie say that same phrase over the past three weeks? It was almost as if everything was an ultimatum with the two of them. Georgia didn't mind the tough love—there were a handful of times over the past three and a half weeks that she'd really needed it. But neither Blackie nor Wade ever seemed very willing to compromise, which, on occasion, had made things more than a little frustrating for Georgia.

  As someone who had been in need of a tremendous amount of help, she hadn't exactly been in the position to argue before. However, now that she was feeling much better and was well on her way toward recovery, she felt she had the right to speak up.

  Digging deep in order to muster the courage she'd buried four years earlier, she made no move to follow his lead—only glared at him. “Neither, Wade,” she replied so confidently, she surprised herself. “I'd like you to walk me inside and introduce me to all three girls. I know you don't know them very well, but I don't know them at all. Having you there to start the small talk would be a big help."

  Anxiously awaiting an answer, she continued to stare at him after she'd said her piece. But because she was rewarded with nothing but a return glare, and was afraid she'd angered him, she added a quick, quiet, “Please?"

  When he grinned at her, she knew she'd passed some kind of test.

  Wade pulled up on the door handle, causing the rusty, metal door to creak as it opened. “Let's go then,” he said with a proud smile, “they're waiting on us."

  Mentally patting herself on the back for earning Wade's approval, Georgia exited the truck with confidence.

  But as they made their way up the concrete sidewalk, Georgia began to feel as if she was going to choke on one of the numerous butterflies that were battling each other in her stomach.

  She wished she wasn't so nervous.

  She wished she was still the outgoing and confident girl she'd been four years ago. The girl who hadn't been afraid of anything, whose teammates had looked to her to rally them when they were down ... the girl who'd had the entire world at her doorstep.

  All that was left of that girl now was an empty shell; a shell that Georgia hoped to fill with a new family, new memories, and a new outlook on life.

  Thanks to Wade, she'd come to terms with the trip she'd taken down the wrong road. It no longer mattered who was responsible for leading her there, because Georgia was in control now. She knew she may never become all she was destined to be, but that was something she was learning to deal with. Here, now, behind the brightly painted red front door, as well as back at the garage, a second chance was waiting for her ... a chance she wasn't about to throw away.

  They never had the chance to knock.

  Just as Georgia and Wade began playfully pushing at each other—trying to force the other to climb the front porch steps first—the door opened and a beautiful young woman with red curly hair smiled, then stepped outside to greet them.

  Gypsy. Rebel had told her that his wife had the temper to match her fiery red hair.

  Dressed in a pair of blue jeans and thin blue sweater, Gypsy immediately wrapped her arms around her body and shivered against the cold air. “Hi, Wade,” she happily greeted Rebel's cousin, “it's nice to see you."

  "You, too, Gypsy,” he said. Then, with a show of affection Georgia would never have expected from the to-the-point, I'm-all-business man she'd come to know over the past few weeks, Wade bent down and softly kissed Gypsy's cheek.

  Georgia was so stunned that there was a tender, caring side to Wade, she couldn't help but stare. When he met her gaze, he tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. “Aw come on, Georgia, don't tell me you're surprised to see there's a side of me that's human?"

  Well, if that was his way of breaking the ice, he'd done a good job. Georgia held her laughter in as long as she could, which was a good five seconds, before breaking into a smile and giggling at Wade's off-the-wall sense of humor.

  "I'm just as surprised as you are, Georgia,” Gypsy said to her, “that's only the second time he's come within ten feet of me, and the first he's dared to touch anything other than my hand."

  "That's because your husband's a dangerous man, Mrs. McCassey. I don't think he'd appreciate me copping a feel with him standing here."

  She laughed. “So you waited until he was away at work before you came sniffing around, is that it?"

  Wade reached out and took her hand, pressing it to his lips. “Just as every other self-respecting rogue would do, my lady."

  All three of them laughed, officially, and effectively breaking the ice.

  Thank goodness.

  When a cold gust of wind whipped through the trees, Gypsy shivered again. “What do you say we go inside,” she suggested. “As long as I've lived in Hagerstown, I'm still not used to the wind that comes blowing down from those mountains. It's freezing out here and I hate to be cold. Are you joining us, Wade?"

  Georgia looked at Wade, doing everything she could to get him to hear her silent plea. She didn't want him to leave. Things had been going okay the past few minutes. What would happen if he wasn't there?

  "Thanks, Gypsy, but not today. I have this thing about being around too much estrogen at once; makes me feel a little too feminine. Before you know it, I'll be upset that my clothes don't match and start to fear that these boots,” he motioned to his worn, brown cowboy boots, “make some part of my body that I don't even realize exists, look fat. I think I'll go back to the garage for a while and load up on testosterone."

  She smiled a soft, pretty smile. “Careful, you could overdose if you hang around that place too long."

  "True,” he agreed, “but it beats the hell out of spending the day discussing clothes, makeup, and pretty much anything girly."

>   Embarrassed for him, Georgia touched his arm and gave him a slight shove. “Wade!"

  "I'm just kidding, darlin',” he said to Georgia, suddenly leaning down and kissing her on the cheek, too. “Gypsy knows that. Truth is, not only does her red hot temper scare the shit out of me, but Angel and Dusty are so tough they could each kick my ass without the other one's help, and with one arm tied behind their back.” He backed away from Gypsy and descended the steps, stopping two below the one Georgia was standing on. “In fact, I think I'll get the hell out of here now, in case they heard that little estrogen joke and didn't think it was quite as funny as I did."

  He was leaving? “But—"

  "But nothing,” his voice had returned to its familiar business-like tone. “You'll be fine. There's no way that Gypsy's cooking is so good because she chops up nineteen-year-old girls and uses them to season her recipes."

  Wondering where Wade had kept his sense of humor hidden the past three weeks, Georgia smiled in spite of herself. “Because the people she uses have to be at least twenty, right?” she asked playfully, deciding to join the fun.

  He smiled back and gave her a wink. “You got it."

  Then, just for a moment, the panic returned and she called to him. “Are you coming back?"

  Wade climbed up the step. His head now even with hers. “I have to go down to the counseling center for a while and do some paperwork,” he explained. “My boss isn't real crazy about paying me money unless I do something to earn it."

  Ah, work. She'd wondered how he'd managed to get so much time off work, and how he was earning a living while he was staying at the garage.

  "I also have to stop at home for a minute. My plants tend to do things like shrivel up and die when I don't water them."

  For some reason, that struck her funny. “You have plants?"

  "Yes,” he said with a humorous hint of sarcasm, “and don't sound so surprised. Plenty of men have plants. For me, they're a test. I promised myself I could get a dog if I could manage to keep foliage alive for an entire year."

  Was he serious? “How long has it been?"