Home Sweet Home: a Novella (Coming Home Series Book 3)

by J. M. Adele

  Coming Home Series

  Book Two and a Half

  J.M. Adele

  HOME SWEET HOME

  Copyright © 2020, J.M. Adele

  All Rights Reserved

  This work is protected under copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. Any actual places, products or events mentioned are used in a purely fictitious manner, without permission or sponsorship, and with acknowledgement of their trademarked status, and trademark owners.

  Edited by CREATING ink

  Proofed by Fiona Dreaming Proofing and Formatting

  Cover Design by Book Flare Publishers

  Formatted by Book Flare Publishers

  Kindle Edition

  Coming Home Series

  Shattered Home—a Novella

  Remembering Home—a Novella

  Finding Home

  Home Sweet Home—a Novella

  Sensing Series

  Sensing You

  Convincing You

  Indulging You (TBA)

  Bloodlust Series

  Ashes and Dust

  Ember and Flame

  Bone and Blood (TBA)

  Dedicated to

  Cindie, Katja, and Shell.

  Your unfailing friendship is life.

  Thank you for reading! Home Sweet Home is a companion novella to Finding Home, book 2 in this series. It’s best to read Finding Home first. But it’s okay if you don’t. Each book reveals different parts of the whole story and it all comes together in the end.

  If you’d prefer to read Finding Home first, you’ll find it HERE.

  Enjoy!

  All Titles by J.M.

  Chapter One—Why Not Me?

  Chapter Two—Memory Reel

  Chapter Three—Ready When You Are

  Chapter Four—Confined Spaces

  Chapter Five—Fair’s Fair

  Chapter Six—Giant Stuffed Unicorns

  Chapter Seven—Screamer

  Chapter Eight—Missed the Boat

  Chapter Nine—Magnolia Tree

  Chapter Ten—Cherry Pie with Cream

  Chapter Eleven—Nighttime Visits

  Chapter Twelve—Here’s the Thing

  Chapter Thirteen—Merry Christmas

  Chapter Fourteen—Boston

  Chapter Fifteen—History Repeats (Kinda)

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Finding Home

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Why Not Me?

  Antonio

  August 2006

  Anton’s eyes followed his neighbor racing by, a trail of heartbroken cries marking her path. Breadcrumbs for him to follow into the dark of night. “Lory!”

  “I didn’t even see her come in. Did you know she was here?” Sophia exchanged a watery wide-eyed glance with Marianne before turning to the gaping doorway.

  The undeniable point of no return. The divide that had split his family, claimed his uncle years before, and would soon grant a passage of freedom to Antonio’s brother. All while those who remained were left to wonder what the hell just happened.

  “I’ll go after her.” His mama sighed, resting the stack of dirty dishes she’d collected on the table. Her shoulders sloped in defeat, betraying the magnitude of responsibility she carried as their matriarch. Or perhaps it was the burden of releasing her firstborn from under her wing. Not that she’d had a choice. Greyson would be tossing himself out soon enough, despite their father’s threat to disown him if he left. He was currently upstairs packing his shit, while Anton and the feminine contingent of la famiglia endured the fallout.

  “No, I’ll go. You’ve got enough to deal with here.” Anton’s gaze darted to his father’s empty seat at the head of the table before he lifted his chin towards his sisters. Marianne had her arm around her younger sibling, Sophia. Both were sniffling as they scrubbed away tears.

  “Go.” His mama nodded, picking up the plates, her eyes glistening with sorrow of her own.

  Muscles tight with tension, Anton followed Lory’s trail out of the house. He was glad his brother was finally leaving. Grey had bitched about this place for long enough. How many years had it taken him to grow the balls to do something about his misery? Yeah, Anton was happy for Grey. But any fuel feeding the positive emotion was consumed by the growing furnace of anger.

  The dumb shit hadn’t even considered his supposed fiancée.

  Anton hoped to God Lory wasn’t aiming to get behind a wheel, in her state. He upped his pace to a slow jog, a sick twist in his gut urging him on.

  Everybody thought Greyson and Lorelei were the real deal. Including Lory. But Antonio knew the truth. It was all a bullshit ruse to keep everyone else happy. And it had started when Grey took it upon himself to deter Jake Johnson and every other undeserving hopeful from trying it on with the southern beauty next door. Grey came up with the plan in cahoots with Lory’s brother, Clay. Lory was in on it, too. Trouble was, she had actually fallen for the Italian cowboy. And Clay had come to believe that Grey was genuinely in love with his sister, so he’d gone along with it.

  What a fucking mess.

  Antonio found Lory leaning against his truck, her hands covering her face as her shoulders jerked with each sob.

  Where’s her car? “Did you walk here?”

  Her arms dropped and she raised her bloodshot stare to meet his. With a dip of her chin, she confirmed his suspicions.

  “Wanna go for a drive?”

  Another nod.

  He opened the passenger door and guided her in, then helped her with the seatbelt. Her trembling limbs didn’t seem up for any fine-motor challenges. After hot footing it to his side, he planted his butt in the driver’s seat before cranking the engine. He knew better than to ask where to. With her head down and eyes locked on her clasped hands, the only place she probably wanted to go was in her imagination—where her and Greyson’s life together still existed.

  But what would Anton know? Maybe she was picturing being behind the wheel when Greyson emerged from the house, and her foot accidentally slamming the gas pedal to the floor. Who knew what the heck went on in females’ heads? Especially when they were emotional.

  Throwing the car into reverse, he backed away from the house and turned down the gravel driveway. They drove a few hundred feet before they hit the road, giving him enough time to figure out where to take her. He could drive aimlessly. But after a while, they’d hit the border and he’d have to turn back. Unless she was planning on getting a head start and beating Grey to Boston? If she wanted to chase him, she’d have to go it alone. Antonio wasn’t having any part of that.

  “I want a drink,” she croaked.

  He took his eyes off the road for a second. Long enough to catch her scowling at the windscreen. “I’ll stop at the gas station.”

  “I want liquor.”

  His brows rose as he glanced at her again, meeting her determined stare. “Okay, then.” Fixing his attention on the road, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, whistling a tune. A careless front to cover the internal Titanic reenactment his gut was working. At least he’d be there to keep her from doing something she’d regret. Making use of a side street to double back the way they’d come, he drove into town.

  There were two places the townsfolk went to get a drink: Mama’s Roadhouse and Grill, or The Beam
Bar. Mama’s served alcohol on the side of a mean plate of southern goodness. The Beam aimed to ply its customers with eighty-proof before sending them home with a designated driver. Or a cab. The owner had been known to confiscate keys before he’d let folks leave. And you were damned lucky if you got a handful of beer nuts to soak up the kick from the drink. O’course, the nuts came with a side of E. coli, so it was best to avoid them altogether.

  The Beam was a bad idea. Sooo bad. He almost shuddered.

  Yep. Mama’s it is.

  “And don’t you dare go to Mama’s.”

  Okaaay. Jesus. She was determined to wipe Greyson from her brain cells. Would I get blind drunk if the love of my life walked out? He slid his eyes sideways. Yeah. Yeah, I would.

  Pulling into the parking lot of the bar, he stiffened on seeing Jake Johnson’s red Mustang. He would have to be here. The guy went after anything with tits, but he’d taken a particular liking to Lory back in freshman year and hadn’t let up. Not since Greyson and Clay made her the forbidden fruit.

  “You sure you don’t just wanna pick up somethin’ from the liquor store, and park out in the field?”

  “I’m sure.” She flung open her door, and marched for the entrance, disappearing inside before Anton had a chance to turn off the engine.

  Damn.

  After he slid from his seat and locked the truck, he jammed his hands deep in his pockets as he approached the impending train wreck. He hoped she’d find the darkest corner to nurse a low ball, and snarl at any poor soul who tried to approach.

  The bar was a little worse for wear, its neon sign long since giving up the ‘h’ and a ‘Be’, renaming the establishment T e am Bar. Local football fans claimed it was in honor of their beloved sport, but the bar culture was more indiscriminate. He’d seen a golf cart parked there once; it didn’t matter what your sporting preference was. If you had any at all. The only requirement was a mutual need to get shit-faced.

  Rockabilly tunes spilled from the open windows as easily as beverages poured from the tap. Clustered conversations added to the decibel barrage. Anton waited outside, scanning the windows, to assess what he was walking into. It seemed like a regular night at the bar. Piss talkin’, one-uppin’, and back slappin’. Anxiety yanked his hairs on end when he saw Jake leaning over a table, his body mostly covering whom he was talking to. The only visible part of his companion was long blonde hair covering one shoulder.

  The same shade as Lory’s.

  Fuck.

  Antonio wanted to march in there and pull her into the safety of his arms, assuring her everything would be okay. And to tell her that his brother was a dick for letting her go. Would she appreciate it? Nope. Would she listen? Hell no. Lory had a mind of her own.

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The odor of smoke, sweat, alcohol, and bad decisions hit him before he opened the door. Every bar smelled the same; he preferred the scent of the barn any day.

  As soon as his feet crossed the threshold, his shoulders braced for a fight. Shit. Lory leaned over the pool table, preparing to take a shot. Her skirt rode up the backs of her thighs, giving several roving eyes a show. Including that fucker, Jake, who’d taken her vacated chair.

  Anton’s eyebrows lowered, and he counted to five before finding that dingy corner he’d prayed she’d be in. Catching the eye of the bartender, he held up two fingers. Viv nodded, and in less than a minute, he had two beers joining him for the shit show.

  The song changed to a Keith Urban favorite, and Lory’s hips began to sway. Anton downed half his beer in three gulps, hissing before clanking the glass on the sticky wooden surface.

  Jake rose from his seat, and sidled up behind Lory, placing his hands over hers on the pool cue. She turned, lips pulling into a tight smile, and shouldered his chest. He raised his hands but didn’t retreat the required step. Jake was a big guy at about six foot two, and two hundred plus pounds. There was no way a tiny thing like Lory could make him budge with a mere shove. But she had all the power in the world to bring a man to his knees if she wanted.

  What are ya gonna do, princess?

  After finishing his first beer, Anton picked up the next before leaning against the backrest of his chair. His lazy posture wouldn’t have fooled anyone who truly knew him. The second Jake’s hands wandered an inch too close to her skin, Anton would be on him. But, unlike Grey, Anton didn’t assume she needed protecting.

  Lory’s hands drifted down the cue before readjusting to a firmer grip. Like she was holding a staff.

  Lory’s lips moved as she stared Jake in the eye. Whatever she said, he didn’t like, and a sneer formed on his face. His expression quickly changed when she expertly ‘passed the baton’, lodging it in his groin. Levering forward, his eyes bugged out as he white-knuckled the cue.

  Being mid-gulp through another mouthful, Anton barely prevented his nose from becoming a beer sprinkler. Swiping the back of his hand under his chin, he blinked. “Oh, shit. She ninja’d his ass.”

  Sweet Jesus, that’s hot.

  Twirling away from the table, Lory skipped to the jukebox by the restrooms. Her finger ran down the glass window and she tapped once before pausing. Head popping up, her eyes roamed the room, finally landing on Antonio. A sly grin tugged at her lips as she beckoned him with a crook of her finger.

  Oh, damn. He ignored the way his body tightened. He was an expert at pretending she didn’t rev his engine. With a shake of his head, he brought his glass to his lips once again.

  I ain’t chasin’ you, honey.

  Her smile grew wider. Both hands mimicked pulling on a rope as she sidled up to his table. “Don’t ya know, you should come when a woman calls?”

  He wasn’t touching that comment. Caging a groan, he pulled out his wallet and handed her a fiver. “Is that what you want?”

  Lory sighed with a satisfied smile. Plucking the note from his fingers, she blew him a kiss before sashaying back to choose her song. He watched her ass the whole way. As good as Anton was at resisting the urge to stare, sometimes he let himself surrender. He was pretty goddamn sick of denying his desire for her.

  Lory chose her song then began to sway.

  How. The. Fuck. Had his brother walked away? Dumbass.

  Being on the receiving end of her flirtations was a first for Anton. Sure, she’d teased him before. Like a big sister teased a little brother. But this siren song was something she’d reserved solely for his older sibling.

  As far as he knew.

  That little mind detour had him holding in a mouthful of beer, his gaze searching every pair of eyes that tracked her movements. And there were several. Could he blame her if she’d fooled around when her supposed fiancé hadn’t given her anywhere near the attention she deserved? He took another sip, the fizzy brew sliding down his throat before he pushed away the still half-full glass. He’d swallowed enough bitter-tasting truths for a lifetime.

  Before long, she danced her way over to him, tugging on his hand. He tensed again. She was pulling him towards the edge of a ravine, and she had no idea.

  Eyes glassy, breath smelling of tequila, she leaned down to whisper, “Dance with me.”

  He coughed up a laugh. She may as well have said, ‘Fall with me. Die a sweet death for me.’

  In her attempt to cover her pain, she’d brought his to the surface. And she appeared to be clueless to his unrequited love.

  He resisted the pull. “How much did you drink before I walked in?”

  “Three shots. Why?”

  “Has it gone to your head?”

  “Relax. It’s one dance.”

  Another humorless laugh caught in his throat.

  No, sweetheart. It’s so much more.

  Having her in his arms would be like a key in a rusty lock to Pandora’s box.

  Memory Reel

  Lorelei

  It took some effort to open her eyelids a mere slit. She shut them as soon as she’d achieved the feat. Beautiful as they were, the dawn’s first rays weren’t so k
ind to her alcohol-infused retinas. Had she left the curtains open? Her usual enjoyment of the cardinals’ and robins’ bird song was marred by a god-awful hammering inside her cranium. How much had she drunk last night? Why could she feel a breeze?

  Jostled by movement beneath her, she expelled a hiss of pain as her eyes sprang open. Lory shielded her face with her hands, peeking at her surroundings through the cracks between her fingers. Wide open Mississippi sky. This wasn’t her bedroom, that was for sure. Rolling to the side, she gently pushed herself upright. A couple of blankets provided cushioning in the tray of a pickup, while another covered her legs. Poking out the bottom, a pair of boots, presumably attached to a pair of feet, announced that she had company.

  Shit. Her stomach twisted. Shit, shit, shit.

  Digging through her pickled brain, she tried to piece together the night before. Whose truck was this?

  Layered over the outfit she’d worn last night, a red flannel shirt wrapped her in comfort and warmth. It kinda looked familiar. Why was she wearing a man’s clothes? What the hell had she done? Consternation heated her face as her heartbeat picked up the pace. Tugging the collar to her nose, Lory drew in its beer and smoke scent. She inched her head around, to identify the garment’s owner.

  Oh, thank God. Antonio.

  Wait… Her eyes flared as she bit her lip.

  Jesus! Antonio? Really?

  She ended up with her ex-fiancé’s brother? Good lord, she needed to go before he woke up. What have we done?

  He rested one hand across his stomach while the other rested above his head, near the butt of his shotgun. His bare chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm. The crease between his brows hinted at troubled dreams. Apart from his dark stubble, he was clean-cut. Not as wild as his brother, but he was equally as beautiful.

  And all at once, the night before came crashing into her awareness.

  Greyson on his knees, begging her to understand. Behind him, a suitcase stuffed with the selections from this life he’d been willing to take into his new beginning. It had been as glaringly obvious as a billboard. She hadn’t been on his packing list.