It’d taken two days of back-roads driving before I reached North Carolina. Ditching the car, I hopped on a bus for twelve hours. I looked like a preppy sorority sister going home for the weekend, my society persona left behind with the car. Once I hit the Maine border, I hitchhiked to the nearest used car dealer and bought a rusted old Chevy with some of the cash I’d stolen.
My destination was Hudson, Maine, which was only listed on the most thorough maps, a tiny pinprick of ink among shades of green. If you’ve ever heard people tell jokes about towns where the wild animals outnumber the humans, it’s possible they were talking about Hudson.
This late in the season, most of the autumn leaves had dropped, and the nearly bald tires of my junker car crunched over pine cones as I navigated roads I hadn’t seen in years. Finally, I arrived at the only home I’d ever known, the McCullagh Inn. My aunt, who’d owned it, had died six months ago, leaving me the business. I hadn’t been able to go to the funeral, but I knew a heaven-sent opportunity when it arrived, and so I’d made discreet arrangements to keep the lights on and get a cleaning service to come through once a week.
I’d never told anyone down in Miami about the inn or my life before I arrived there, so if I had any luck left in my bones, no one would search for me here. Sure, it might seem like someone could track me down easily enough, but I came from a long line of less-than-law-abiding folks. There were ways to muddy the water.
My father had taught me to prepare for all outcomes. I knew how to fade off the face of the planet so no one ever found you again. I’d done it once before, when I ran away from home. But now I was back.…
And I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was where I was supposed to be all along.
I flipped the TV on, muting it as I dialed my brother on the burner phone I’d bought at a Virginia convenience store. I may have tried to go straight, but Paul had stayed in the family business.
I turned away from the morning news and caught a glimpse of myself in the tarnished, ornate mirror over the fireplace. The pale green walls of the foyer and the wood paneling of the living room weren’t doing a damn thing for my complexion, and I could see the faintest shadow of a bruise beneath the makeup I’d slathered on. As I listened to the phone ring, I looked into my own blue eyes, wondering if I knew the person looking back at me. Then I turned back to the news, watching to see if what had happened in Miami had gone national. My newly blond hair swung in its ponytail. I really should’ve cut it, but, hey, even a girl like me is entitled to some vanities.
“Hello?” My brother’s raspy voice cut through the cheap phone.
I closed my eyes for a second, nostalgia making my throat ache. Or it could’ve been the abuse my vocal cords had recently taken. Nothing had a greater hold on you than family. “Paul?”
“Yeah?” Silence. A lot of silence. And then: “Chelsea? Is that you?”
I licked my lips. “Yes.”
“You’re alive,” he said flatly.
“Yes,” I said again, staring at the old tree outside the front window, next to the driveway.
“I’m going to kill—”
“Paul.” I swallowed again, eyeing the whiskey I’d brought out from the kitchen. It would hurt in the morning, but it might be worth the pain. “I need help, and I need you not to tell anyone I called, or where I am.”
There was no hesitation. “What do you need?”
Relief hit me in the chest. It was true what they said about family. “A new ID. A completely new identity, actually.”
“You’re on the run. Again.” At my silence, he sucked in a breath. I’d learned at a young age that people would say anything to fill a silence. “Did you dye your hair yet?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice.” He sighed. “What happened, Chels?”
A phantom gunshot filled the empty inn, and for a second, I was back in that moment. I eyed the table by the front door, where I’d shoved the gun in case I needed it again. It would’ve been smarter to ditch it, but it was the best protection I had right now.
When the silence continued to stretch, Paul cleared his throat. “Where are you?”
I thought of the bruises I was trying to hide, the secrets I carried, and I knew my older brother would see right through me. I had no choice. I needed that ID. It was the only way I’d get my fresh start. “I’m at Aunt May McCullagh’s inn, my inn.”
There was a brief pause.
“The lawyers found you,” he said.
Ignoring the accusation in his tone, I focused on the cloudy skies above the Atlantic Ocean. I’d left all the shades drawn except for one on the bay window overlooking the cliff, where a trail led down to the beach. On either side of the trail was an overgrown garden, filled with lobelia. I’d spent half my life sitting in that window, reading and looking at the storms raging over the ocean while dreaming of a future away from this tiny town. “Yeah, I know. I suck.”
“No argument here,” he grumbled. I could picture him sitting behind the wheel of his car, glowering at nothing in particular. Paul was happiest unhappy. “She left the inn to you, wanting you to fix it up and breathe new life into the place. She never gave up hope that someday, you’d come walking through those doors alive.”
I remained silent again, because, really, what was there to say? The past was done. I couldn’t go back and fix it, even if I wanted to. And those mistakes, those choices I’d made, had turned me into the woman I was. I couldn’t regret that. Now I was here, ready and willing to make a new life for myself. And I’d make this the best damn inn in all of Maine.
Like a phoenix, I’d be reborn once Chelsea O’Kane was dead.
He sighed, dragging the sound out longer than a wave crashing on the shore. “Look. I’ll get you what you’re asking for. Meet me at Joe’s to discuss it.” There was a beat of silence. “It’s the coffee shop on Main Street, in case you forgot.”
How could I forget?
Main Street was the only street in town with any shops. There was a coffee shop, a church, a liquor store, a grocery store, a bar, and a Rite Aid. They were all on one block, with enchanting brick facades and quaint dark-gray clapboard on the old buildings. “When?”
“An hour from now. Don’t be late.”
Exactly an hour later, I walked down Main Street. The second I saw its Victorian architecture, I was comforted by its familiarity. But I tugged my baseball hat down to shadow my face and looked at the cracked sidewalks to avoid the usual small-town curiosity that would inevitably be thrown my way. I was always good at blending in, and I congratulated myself for not losing my touch…until I bounced off a brick wall.
Or, rather, a man.
His muscular arms closed around me, saving me from hitting the ground. The second his skin touched mine, a bolt of desire mixed with the panic that shot through my veins. I jerked back sharply, stumbling backward, and glanced up. The tall man who caught me was handsome, his wavy brown hair swept back off his face, and it was like the ground opened beneath me when I recognized him. Suddenly, that bolt of longing made perfect sense.
Oh, for God’s sake. I couldn’t catch a break. I’d had more than enough drama to fill ten seasons of a soap opera, and all I wanted was to lie low and nurse my injuries, but nooo.
It was Jeremy fricking Holland.
Damn it, he wasn’t supposed to be here.