14
Kacey simply had to think like an angry teenager.
How had Audrey gotten so far ahead of her? By the time she hit the main road, her daughter had vanished. She only hoped she’d been heading to Mercy Falls. Kacey sat at the stoplight on Main Street, trying to decide if she should turn right, toward the road that led to the old river bridge.
Maybe her daughter had remembered an old story she’d told about her father, decided to visit the past in the hope of finding answers. Granted, she hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with names and details, but had told her enough to spark her imagination.
Or she might have gone to Sierra’s, although Kacey had driven past the old house, found the driveway empty.
She’d also searched the Last Chance coffee shop, the library, the bakery, and called home.
Her mother, of course, asked too many questions, and Kacey had to hang up without an explanation.
The last thing she needed was judgment from her parents about how she’d handled this way-too-delicate news.
“How could you do this to me? I wish you’d never come back!”
Kacey ran a hand under her chin, swiping at the moisture there, and took a right. The road took her past Mercy Falls Community Church, and the sight of the church stirred up memories of their youth.
S’mores and hiking with the youth group. Listening to Ben play his guitar on her front porch. Cheering for him as he threw touchdowns.
Agreeing to marry him, to love him forever.
“We belong together, you and me . . . and Audrey.”
She could live without him. Kacey touched her lips, hating that she’d let him pull her close, that she’d kissed him back with so much—too much—desperation.
She stopped at the four-way stop. Ben, I don’t need you anymore. You’re free to go. We’ll be fine.
Another swipe across her chin. Yeah, sure they’d be fine.
She went through the stop, traveled down another block, and spotted her old house, a colonial revival home, in faded red brick, with the rounded covered entry porch. It sat back from the sidewalk in a grand landscaped yard, slightly raised from the level of the street.
She stared at her room, the end window, and for a moment saw Ben standing below, calling up to her.
“He’s been your everything since you were thirteen. You’ve just been living in denial for so long you think you can live without him.”
She shook her head as she drove past the house.
When she’d been thirteen, distraught and angry, the first person she’d run to had been Ben.
She pulled over, found her phone.
She noticed the four texts Ben had sent, the three missed calls. She ignored them and dialed Willow’s number.
“Hey—”
“Willow. Where does Nate live?”
Ten minutes later she rolled up to Nate’s parents’ ranch house, located a few streets over and across from the football field of Mercy Falls High.
She couldn’t escape memories of Ben, no matter which road she took in this town.
Her Escape sat at the curb. She spotted Audrey in the driver’s seat, her hands over her face.
Nate sat in the passenger seat, worry in his expression.
The scene felt so familiar, Kacey just sat there.
I can’t believe they lied to me all these years.
Her words, to Ben. And, she had no doubt, her daughter’s words to Nate.
She got out, walked across the street.
By this time, Nate had alerted Audrey to her mother’s presence. Kacey tapped on the window.
Audrey didn’t move, but Nate leaned over her, rolled the window down. “Hello, ma’am,” he said. “Uh, Audrey is pretty upset.”
“Thank you, Nate. I think we need to talk, don’t you, Audrey?”
Audrey lifted a shoulder.
Kacey looked at Nate, who gave her a grim nod and reached for the door handle.
Audrey put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Don’t go.”
But he put his hand on hers. “I’ll be in the house if you need me. But it’s your mom, Audrey.”
Okay, now Kacey liked him, just a little. Nate got out, gave her a look she couldn’t read, then headed for the house.
Kacey put her hand on the driver’s window. “Why don’t you let me drive? I want to show you something.”
Audrey sighed but got out, left the keys in the ignition, then walked around the car.
Sat down, turned herself away from Kacey.
Kacey drove without words, retracing her route back to Main Street, then over the bridge and out of town toward the old river bridge.
Maybe her daughter needed a glimpse of the past.
“I’m not going to say anything about driving without a permit, especially in front of Sam Brooks.”
Audrey lifted a shoulder. “Let him arrest me.”
Oh, this would be fun.
“You know, just for the record, Ben wanted to tell you right away. It was me who held him back. So your theory that he wanted to see if you were worth him claiming you as his daughter is wrong. He was thrilled to find out he was your dad.”
Audrey shot Kacey a look. “Find out?”
Kacey nodded, turning off onto the dirt road. “He thought I’d given you up for adoption.”
“I wish you had,” she said. “Then at least I’d have a father and a mother, a normal home.”
And that didn’t hurt. “You do have a father and a mother,” Kacey said. “And grandparents who love you.”
Audrey lifted a shoulder again.
“And a great life, by the way. Safe, provided for.”
Audrey looked out the window. “Don’t forget abandoned and lied to.”
Kacey tapped her brakes as she pulled up to the bridge. She shoved the gear into park. “That’s enough, Audrey. I know you’re angry, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then why don’t you fill me in!” Tears filmed her reddened eyes.
“Fine. Get out.”
Audrey’s eyes widened.
Kacey’s voice gentled. “I want to show you something.”
An old one-lane car bridge spanned a narrow in the river. The forty-foot drop was just high enough to take Kacey’s breath away when she’d jumped, back in her youth.
And, of course, under the starlight, it had become a different kind of bridge, between innocence and adulthood.
“What is this place?”
“It’s the bridge your father used to take me to when we’d go stargazing.” She stopped in the middle, stared down at the river, blue, cool, refreshing. “It’s where we fell in love, where he asked me to marry him.”
“Why didn’t you marry him?”
Audrey had settled beside her, not too close.
“I said yes. And I wanted to. Then the night you were born, he got into a fight and was sitting in jail, and I was so angry that he didn’t show up for your birth that I refused his phone calls. So he left town. I didn’t know that . . .” She cleared her throat. She didn’t want to destroy her daughter’s relationship with her grandfather. “That Ben thought I’d given you up for adoption. I thought he’d abandoned me.”
“He did,” Audrey said, her voice sharp, on the edge of tears.
“No, baby, he didn’t. He tried to call me, but I wouldn’t talk to him. When he left town, he thought you were gone. And when he found out I’d kept you, he was distraught that he’d lost all those years with you.”
Audrey rounded on her. “Then why didn’t you let him tell me?”
Kacey swallowed. “Because I was afraid what it would do to you to find out.”
Audrey frowned.
“He’s a big country music star now, and he has a life in Nashville, honey. One we’re not a part of. And I knew he’d go back to that, and I feared it would break your heart.”
Audrey’s mouth quivered. “I’m not a baby.”
Okay, she could do this. “I know. But I remember what it felt like to be rejected, to be lied to . . .”
Audrey stared at her, shook her head.
Kacey turned back to the river, translucent to the stony depths below. Took a long breath. “Grandma and Grandpa are not my real parents. They’re my adoptive parents.” She glanced at Audrey. “My mom, Laura, is actually my aunt. My real mom died when I was thirteen . . . in prison.”
Some of the hardness in Audrey’s face softened.
“I’m not sure they would have ever told me, really. But I got a letter when I was thirteen from the Montana Women’s Prison in Billings, where my birth mother was serving time for killing my father. I don’t know how or why—I never wanted to know—but she was dying of cancer and wanted to see me. I was three when she committed the crime, so I didn’t remember her at all—but my mother decided that I should see her. Probably compassion on her part for her sister, but it destroyed me. Suddenly I wasn’t the daughter of Judge Fairing and his pretty wife but the offspring of this thin, bitter prisoner who had no hair.”
She had lost herself in the telling, remembering standing there at the bed in the hospital ward of the prison, the odor of sickness and regret swilling the air, the sickly yellow skin and sallow face of a woman who’d made one too many mistakes. “The worst part was that they let us into the hospital ward. She took my hand and told me I had her eyes. And maybe I did, but in that moment, I only heard a prophecy that I was going to end up just like her.”
She blew out a breath. “Audrey, I made big mistakes, I know that. I should have told you about your dad the minute he came back. I’m so sorry for hurting you.” She wanted to reach out to her, take her daughter’s hand.
Audrey did it for her. “Mom, I didn’t mean it when I said I wanted you to go back to Florida. I just . . . sometimes I want it so bad, it hurts. And then suddenly, I saw it, right there, and it scared me.”
“Want what so bad?”
“A family. You, here. And a dad. And our own house, like what Nate has. Maybe even a brother or sister.” She gave a shaky smile. “I even thought, well . . . I thought maybe Benjamin King would fall in love with you.”
Kacey gave her a small smile. “Why did it scare you?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just thought that it would never happen. And it was wrong to want it so much, because you’re right. I do have a good life. And it felt wrong to wish for more.”
Kacey touched her cheek. “You deserve it all, honey. All the good that life has to give you.”
“So do you, Mom.” A smile tweaked up her face, mischief in her eyes. “Were you really kissing him? ’Cause it looked like it when I walked in.”
Kacey’s face heated. “Yeah.”
“You still love him, don’t you?”
She looked at her daughter’s hands holding hers. Sighed. “I do. But . . . that’s the thing, honey. Ben’s life is different now. He is—”
“I know. A big country star. But he’s also my dad. And I don’t care if I can’t see him very much. I can see him now. And maybe . . . maybe he’ll come back sometimes?”
So much vulnerability on her face. Kacey reached out, pulled her close. Audrey’s arms went around her, and she tucked her head against Kacey’s chest. “I think he would like to, if you say it’s okay.”
Audrey nodded. “It’s okay.” Then she leaned back. “Do you think he’d stay if we asked him to?”
Her heart fell for her beautiful daughter, so much hope in her voice. “We can’t ask him to do that, Audrey. It’s not fair. He’s worked so hard for his career—and it’s at a pivotal place right now. He needs to be in Nashville, and on tour with—”
“I don’t like Hollie Montgomery. She’s not very nice. You should see her tweets. She sometimes calls Benjamin ‘the geezer.’”
“The . . . geezer?”
“Yeah, like he’s old or something.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, thumbed open her Twitter account. “See?”
Geezer and I are writing a new song—here’s a clip! #holliemontgomery
The post linked to a video, and Audrey opened it.
A home video, grainy, hard to see, but Kacey immediately recognized the voice, the tune, if not the words.
Turn around, listen to your heart
I need you so much, don’t tear me apart
No. He did not. She schooled her voice, her throat tight. “That’s enough, honey.”
Audrey turned it off. “She’s not a nice person, even if she did give me a present.”
“I know.”
Ben certainly hadn’t given Hollie his—their—song, right? “It’s what sells, Kacey.”
“Do you think he’s still at the ranch?”
She nodded. “Could be.” She pulled out her phone, thumbed open the texts. They all said the same thing.
Are you okay? I’m so sorry. Call me if you need me.
Maybe.
We belong together, you and me and Audrey. She is my daughter, and I love her. And I want to be in your lives.
She pressed dial and put the phone to her ear, running a hand down her daughter’s hair. The phone rang, then again.
Then someone picked up. She heard the fumbling. “Ben? It’s Kacey.”
“Oh, hi, Kacey.”
Not Ben. A female voice, and Kacey froze. “Who is this?”
“It’s Hollie. Are you looking for Ben?”
A retort found her lips, and she bit it back. “Is he there?”
“Sorry, he’s not available right now. Want me to have him call you back?”
Kacey was shaking her head even before she answered, managed to find her voice, something cool, stable.
Thank you, US Army. “No. Tell him that . . . nothing. It’s okay.”
She started to hang up, but Hollie stopped her. “Kacey, you should know something. I know you’re in love with Ben, but he’ll never love you as much as he loves his music. Trust me on this. I know.”
Kacey said nothing.
“Are you there?”
She hung up, forced a smile for her daughter.
“What?”
“I think Ben’s a little busy right now. But we’ll catch up with him later.” She winked, despite the urge to cry, and remembered her words. Stay away, Ben. Before you make it worse.
Please, don’t let him be obeying her. Not this time.
“Let’s go back to Sierra’s house. I think she has some more of that potato salad tucked away in her fridge.”
Audrey turned on the radio when they got into the car, pulled out her phone, and connected it to the radio. And of course, pulled up a Benjamin King album.
Perfect.
Audrey’s voice lifted in the cab.
I’ve spent so many nights wondering where you are
What you’re doing, how I let you get so far
Are you dreaming of me, out on your own
Are you thinking of us, and our own song
Are you wondering if I miss you too
Are you hoping that I’m just as blue
Please, oh please, come home
She turned to Kacey. “Do you think he was thinking of you when he wrote that song?”
Kacey drummed her fingers on her steering wheel, tightened her jaw against a wave of pain. She would have liked to think that. “No, honey. It’s just a song.”
She parked her car in Sierra’s empty gravel driveway. She got out and walked toward the house, the ground spongy under her feet.
“Hello?” She pushed open the door. The benefits of living in a small town—Sierra never locked her house.
In the kitchen, the refrigerator hummed against the silence.
Audrey pushed past her, to the kitchen. Opened the fridge door and pulled out the bowl of extra potato salad. Set it on the counter.
Kacey grabbed a couple spoons.
Outside, she heard the rumble of a backhoe, clearly repairing damage at one of the neighboring houses. A whine, breaking timber.
Suddenly the floor began to shake, the house rumbling. Kacey grabbed the counter, holding on, her hand reaching for Audrey.
“What—”
And then, the house gave a moan as the timbers overhead shifted and the walls began to tilt. “It’s collapsing!”
Kacey grabbed her daughter, pulling her to herself as she lunged for the front door. The floor gave way beneath her, the joists ripping as the weight of the house bent under the torque.
Then she was falling back toward the kitchen, sliding under the table, Audrey in her arms. She grabbed for purchase—anything—but the floor opened up and they fell toward the dank, black depths of the basement.
She landed, hard, the breath whooshing out of her, pain splintering through her shoulder, her arm.
Audrey.
But her daughter had fallen out of her grip. She reached out, groping for her as the entire structure buckled, then crashed down over them.
“You can’t make the world obey you.”
Ian slammed his right fist into the heavy bag. The bag rebounded back at him, and he brought his fist back up, exhaling hard.
Sierra’s words from yesterday still ricocheted through him.
He didn’t expect the world to obey him. But maybe some acknowledgment that he was only trying to help.
He kept his feet moving, shuffling in, out around the back, his hands up. He threw another strike. The bag jerked back, then swung toward him. He pivoted out of the way, shuffled around it, saw himself ordering Sierra from the house, and landed another punch.
The bag shuddered, came at him, and he jabbed three quick rights and a left, a power shot.
That was for the idiot he’d been when he’d told Esme that if she didn’t want to make a mess out of her life, she’d dump Dante, take his offer for schooling, and stop being a fool.
Yeah, he’d been a real hero. No wonder she’d confided in Sierra and planned on running away without a word to him.
He followed the bag around, pummeled it on the backside, ending in a power shot that burned through his knuckles. He probably should have taped up, but frankly, too much tape meant he got sloppy, less technique, more adrenaline.
And he’d already lost his head enough over the past two weeks. In fact, ever since Sierra had told him that Esme had come to her with secrets, he’d felt his life unraveling.
Except for the days she’d come over, helped him sort through the names and numbers.
Helped him pick up the search, again. Not that he couldn’t make a phone call—he’d somehow managed to get his calendar under control, talk with all his branches, even postpone the quarterly Shaw Holdings board meeting.
But having Sierra back in his living room, looking at him with those eyes that told him everything would be okay . . .
He hit the bag again, then let it fall back and caught it, breathing hard.
He shouldn’t have kissed her. That might be the worst part—remembering how she’d kissed him back, her arms around his neck, her perfect body against his, kissing him like he’d only dreamed of for the past five years.
Finally.
Until . . . “You need to let this go.”
He’d spent the better part of today arguing with the Amtrak office, threatening, cajoling, and attempting to purchase the security footage that might give him a clue as to what train Esme might have taken.
And dissecting just why Sierra’s words tore at him.
Maybe he didn’t want to let it go—because he didn’t want to let her go.
Ian walked away from the bag, sweat streaming down his chest, and picked up a water bottle.
“You can’t make the world obey you.” Maybe that was it—if she didn’t have to search for Esme, there was nothing pulling her to him but . . . him. And he knew how that worked out.
Ian sprayed water into his mouth, then grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his neck, scrubbing it up into his hair, rubbing away the heat.
He glanced at the bag, debating another go. At least it felt better than leaving another voicemail with Sheriff Blackburn asking about the coroner’s report.
He was reaching for his free weights when the doorbell rang, a resonant boom through the house. He came down the hall in his bare feet and athletic shorts, the towel around his neck.
Sam Brooks stood on his doorstep.
“Please tell me you’re here with a coroner’s report.”
Sam shook his head. “I just got back from the Kalispell hospital. Chet was having chest pains.”
Ian pulled the towel off, wiped his face. “Oh no. Is it a heart attack?”
“They’re still working that out, but I thought you should know.”
Ian held the door open. “Come in.”
Sam stepped inside, and Ian closed the door behind him and headed to the kitchen. “Want a drink?”
“Sure.” He slid onto a high-top chair. “I thought Sheriff Blackburn called you about the coroner’s report on Dante.”
Ian grabbed two bottles of water and closed the fridge. “No.”
“Hmm. Well, the results were inconclusive. Probably Dante drowned—but the coroner said he also suffered a skull fracture as well as a broken shoulder. Although that might have happened in the fall.”
“And what about the other body—any identification?”
Sam shook his head. “But Blackburn is on duty today. Give him a call.”
“I’ve called five times. He’s probably avoiding me.” He handed Sam a bottle, opened his. “I wish Sierra were here. She always had a way of making people talk.”
Sam let one side of his mouth slide up. “She sounds like the KGB.”
Given the secrets Ian had told her, she could be. “No, I just mean she could get things done.”
Sam took a drink, then considered his bottle for a moment. “So, you two are . . . I mean, she’s not working for you anymore, right?”
Ian had thrown his shirt over a chair when he’d gone to work out, and now retrieved it. “No.”
“And so you’re not . . . I mean, there wasn’t anything between you two, right?”
Ian turned, looked at him. “Why? Did she say something?” He felt a fresh heat curl through him, the memory of her in his arms suddenly bold in his mind.
“No. But sometimes, well, I thought maybe you sort of liked her.”
Ian pulled on the shirt. “No. We’re just . . . no.”
Sam stared at him, his expression enigmatic. “Okay. So you don’t mind if I ask her out, right?”
Ian tried not to stiffen, to keep his voice casual. “Sure. Why not?”
More silence then. “Okay. Good. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t overstepping.”
“Nothing to overstep.” Ian took a long drink of his water, tried not to let it choke him. Cleared his throat. “She’s a great gal.” Normal voice, and he managed a smile.
“I agree. I’ve known her almost my entire life, but something about her—ever since she started working at PEAK. She’s just always so cheerful, and she has the most amazing hazel-green eyes.”
“Blue. Her eyes are more hazel-blue than green.”
“It depends on the light, maybe.”
Ian finished off his drink, crushed the bottle in his fist. Refused the urge to argue.
“She’s had a rough go of it, with her mother,” Sam said. “She practically raised Willow on her own. And then she dated Rhett Thomas for a long time.”
“The hockey player? For the Minnesota Blue Ox?” How did Ian not know that?
“Yeah. They dated four years—and then he left for Minnesota and got engaged three months later to one of the cheerleaders on the ice crew. Sierra took it pretty hard. The worst part is that they were engaged for three of those four years. I think he was just trying to hang on to her. But he took four years from her that she can’t get back.”
Ian stared at him, hoping he hadn’t flinched at Sam’s words.
“She’s always been an amazing godmother to Audrey, Kacey’s kid. She’d make a great mom.”
“Sam, you haven’t even asked her out yet, and you have a ring on her finger?” Ian didn’t mean for his voice to emerge quite so brusque.
“No, dude. I’m just saying that she’d be a great catch. And maybe I’m the one to catch her.”
He didn’t mean it in such a way that Ian should want to hit him.
Except, he did.
Sam finished off his water, handed the bottle to Ian. “Thanks.” He slid off his chair.
And something like panic flamed in Ian’s chest—a sense of losing something he might never get back.
Yeah, I mind. The words formed in his head. I want to date Sierra.
He opened the recycle bin, dropped the bottle in.
Sam headed toward the door.
“Sam.”
He turned. “Yeah?”
Ian came around the counter, trying to find the words. “About Sierra.”
On his belt, Sam’s cell phone buzzed. He answered it. Listened. “Oh no. Was there anyone inside?”
Sam shot a glance at Ian, and he didn’t know why, but his gut tightened at Sam’s expression.
“Okay, I’m on my way.” He hung up, his jaw tight as he looked at Ian.
“That was dispatch. Another house collapsed in Mercy Falls.” He swallowed. “It was Sierra’s.”
“And was there someone inside?”
Sam hadn’t finished nodding before Ian swept up his shoes and headed out the door.
“So he’s not having a heart attack.” Ben stood at the desk, down the hall from his father’s ER cubicle, trying to tamp down his own heart attack after two hours of pacing, panic, and not a little frustration at his own helplessness.
It hadn’t helped that Kacey hadn’t answered one of his texts or returned his calls.
He’d left the team in the waiting room when the ER doctor pulled him aside. He should probably update them.
Although, frankly, the doctor should have probably talked to Pete or Jess. After all, it seemed they knew his father better than he did.
“No. Your father’s EKG came back normal. But you need to follow up with his primary care doctor to see if he’d like to run a stress test.”
“So I can take him home.”
“We just need his discharge paperwork.”
He was nodding when he spotted her. Oh, for crying out loud. “Hollie, what are you doing here?”
She wore a pair of cowboy boots, a ripped sweatshirt falling down one shoulder, a glittery baseball cap, and leggings that outlined her petite frame. “You left this in the waiting room.”
She held up his phone, and he took it, pocketed it. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I stopped by the ranch. I wanted to talk to you. A nice woman named Kelli sent me here. Is your dad okay?”
“Oh, that’s good. I was so worried.”
He frowned but let the words bounce off him. “Thanks. I gotta—”
Her hand on his arm stopped him. “I came to see if you were okay after last night. You seemed so upset.”
Really? “I’m fine.”
“Because I love that song you were working on before the concert. I took some video of you playing it and posted it on Twitter. It’s already trending.”
He stared at her. “What?”
“It’s a good song, Benji.” She broke into a hum.
“Hollie—”
“Just come back home, Ben. We’ll go back in the studio, make that music magic we do.”
“I gotta check my dad out of the hospital.” He pushed past her, toward his father’s cubicle.
But Hollie’s voice trailed after him, lifted to carry down the hall. “She doesn’t want you, Ben.”
He stilled.
Turned.
Hollie shrugged. “I’m sorry. She called while you were in there. And she said that she didn’t want you to call her.”
He stared at her, searching for venom in her tone, her expression. She just gave him a sad smile. “Sorry. I really am.”
“I have to get my dad home.”
“Our flight doesn’t leave until later tonight. I have a ticket for you.” She shrugged, a sudden vulnerability in her expression he hadn’t expected.
It reminded him of their early days, when she hung on his every word, when he’d thought they might be a real duo, partners.
“Just in case you want to make great music,” she finished.
He headed to his father’s cubicle.
Chet sat on the table, already wearing his clothing. “I told you it was just the barbecue.”
“Dad, don’t. You really scared us.”
Chet nodded. “Sorry. I guess I scared myself a little.” He winked. “Thanks for sticking around.”
“Are you kidding? Dad, c’mon. I’m not leaving you. But you need to take better care of yourself. This might have been a shot across the bow.”
“I know.”
He did? Ben expected a fight, but the old man gave him a crooked smile.
“Edamame and quinoa for me.”
It took a second, but Ben let out a laugh. “Okay, Dad. Let’s find you a wheelchair. The team is waiting to take you home.”
“Good. Then let them. You go find Kacey.”
“No. Kacey was right. I just made it worse. And now she doesn’t want me around.”
“So? You’re Audrey’s father.”
“I haven’t been her father for thirteen years. So why do I think I have the right to be now?”
“And that’s your problem, son. You’ve let shame tell you how to run your life. You have since the day Cash Murdock made fun of your boots.”
“You knew about that?”
“Of course I did. I’m your dad. And I was proud of you that I didn’t have to pick you up from the principal’s office. You turned the other cheek.”
“Until I didn’t.”
Chet frowned. “You were young, Ben. And angry. And, frankly, afraid.”
Ben flinched at that.
“Stop blaming yourself. You were barely eighteen. And Judge Fairing made it very easy for you to walk away. And you let shame tell you that you should. Shame is a powerful voice.” His voice softened, and he looked away. “I know. Because I’m ashamed that I failed you.”
What? “Dad, how did you possibly fail me?”
Chet looked away, and the fluorescent lights turned him thin, old. “Because you’ve lost so much of yourself, and I did nothing to stop it.”
Oh. “Dad, if you’re talking about my career choices, they aren’t your fault.”
“Yes, they are.” He looked at Ben, his jaw tight. “Maybe not all of them, but I’ve had thirteen years to figure this out. You needed me, and I wasn’t there for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
His father’s barrel chest rose and fell. “You called Judge Fairing that night you landed in jail instead of me. And I knew it was because you thought I’d be disappointed in you.”
“I . . . you always said it wasn’t worth fighting over. And in retrospect, it probably wasn’t.”
His father shook his head. “I should have been the one you called. Instead of thinking you disappointed me, you should have trusted in my love for you. That I would be on your side.”
“I didn’t blame you, Dad. I did something wrong—I didn’t expect you to come to my rescue.”
“But you should have expected that. I’m your father—and regardless of whether I agreed with you or not, my love for you doesn’t change. But you thought it did, and for that I am ashamed. I should have stood beside you. I knew Kacey better, and I should have said that I didn’t think she’d give up her baby for adoption. But I was also embarrassed in front of our town, and let that shame rule my decisions. I admit I wanted you to leave, and for that . . . I’m so sorry, Ben.”
A fist had tightened in Ben’s chest.
Chet managed a tight, small smile. “You’re not the only one longing to fix your mistakes.”
Ben looked away, eyes burning.
“When you came home that summer, I thought you’d stay. I admit it—you started working on the SAR team, and suddenly I had this chance to fix everything. I thought maybe we could just forget what happened, start over. But then I realized you’d come home for Kacey, and it would only tear you apart to stay. Your mom thought maybe it would be better for you in Nashville.”
“She’s the one who told me to go back. I really wanted to make her proud.”
“She had all your albums, Ben. She loved them.”
Ben blinked, nonplussed.
“Even . . . the last one?”
“She knew your heart, your mom did.” His voice fell. “There’s no pressure to stay, Ben. But don’t leave because you think you’re not wanted here. And don’t let shame drive you away. Or tell you that you can’t be a dad to this little girl who needs you.”
“She doesn’t need me, Dad.”
“All children need their dads, Ben. It doesn’t matter how old they are.”
Ah, shoot, he was right. Because Ben just stood there, longing like a stupid kid to fall into his father’s embrace.
As if his father knew, Chet shot him a sideways look. Ben met it, nodded.
Then Ben said softly, “I have no idea how to be a dad to Audrey. I see her with Kacey, and she just . . . she just knows what to do.”
“I saw you today, teaching her how to play the guitar.”
“That was ten minutes. That’s not the rest of her life.”
“You don’t have to figure it out today. You just have to start. Like physical therapy, right? Progress, one day at time, leaning on God for the steps, the strength, the healing.”
And, of course, it came right back to God. “Dad, why would God help me? I got myself into this mess. He’s not going to get me out of it.”
“Ben. That’s exactly what God is going to do. That’s what he means when he calls himself the Good Shepherd. He restores your soul, gives you new strength, and then he leads you in the right direction. And it has nothing to do with whether you’ve made a mess out of your life. He is the Good Shepherd for all the sheep who call his name—whether you’re a white sheep or a black one.”
Ben closed his eyes.
“So, son, you have a choice. You can keep trying to fix this on your own, or you can give your trust—your heart—to God. Every day, one day at a time. And don’t let your mistakes tell you that God isn’t for you, that he won’t help you fix them.”
He slid off the table, used it to balance himself, and put one hand on Ben’s shoulder. “How about this—let’s not let our past determine whether God loves us or not. He does. And we’ll never get it right without him.”
Ben swallowed, wanting to believe him.
His father suddenly pulled him to himself, holding him. “I love you, son. And I’m so proud of you.”
Ben closed his eyes, letting let the words find root. “I’m so sorry, Dad. For everything. I embarrassed you and I cost Mom her grandchild, and I just want to do this right.”
Chet didn’t let him go. “You will, Ben. Because it’s time to come home. Because you finished your song, right?”
Ben leaned back, met his dad’s eyes. “You heard me on the deck last night.”
Chet nodded. “I forgot how much I love listening to you sing.”
Before he did something embarrassing like burst into tears, Ben ducked his head out of the cubicle, spied the orderly with the wheelchair. “Over here.”
He saw Pete, Jess, and Gage sneaking in behind the orderly.
“He’s good to go.”
Thankfully, no sign of Hollie.
His dad shrugged off his help getting into the chair. But he grinned up at Ben, winked.
He held up his hands in surrender as the orderly wheeled him out.
Pete had run ahead and now pulled up his F-150. He came around to help, but Chet was climbing into the cab on his own. Pete had brought his crutches from the house and now threw them into the back.
“I’ll catch a ride with Gage,” Sierra said. Gage was twirling the keys to his Mustang around his index finger.
“Ty also drove,” Jess said, nodding toward Ty’s Silverado. “I’m sure he has room.”
“Wait, guys—”
This from Pete, who held his phone up to his ear. “Hey, Sam . . . Yeah, I got your text, what’s up?”
He looked at Sierra, then Ben. “She’s here. . . No, I don’t think Ben tracked them down yet, why?”
Ben looked at him, and Pete’s face seemed to lose a shade. He swallowed. “I don’t know.” He looked at Ben. “What kind of car does Kacey drive?”
“A silver Ford Escape.”
“Yeah, that’s hers,” Pete said solemnly. “Yeah, we’ll be right there. You want us to stop by HQ—right. Okay.” He paused again. “I’ll tell him.”
He hung up, and a hush hung over the group. Pete looked at Sierra, his face tight. “Your house collapsed.”
Sierra stared at him. “What?”
“And . . .” He swallowed. “They think Kacey and Audrey are inside.”
No . . .
A hand tightened around his arm.
“Get in, son,” Chet said, scooting over. He glanced at Pete already moving to the driver’s side. “We’re on our way.”