To Bring You Back

by Emily Conrad

  When they switched, Janie squeezed Gannon’s arm. “Treat my baby well.”

  “I’ll get her home in one piece.”

  She held her focus on him an extra beat, conveying she hadn’t meant for her directive to apply only to the ride. Clearly, she had the same ideas about them as his own mom.

  Though they were wrong, he nodded. He’d wronged Adeline years ago, but he’d do everything in his power to treat her well now. That meant seeking her healing above his own desire for a romance that he’d have to leave behind when he went back to his normal responsibilities. In return for his nod, Mrs. Green pulled him into a hug, the flowers damp and fragile against his neck.

  15

  A pair of picnic tables sat on a concrete slab beneath a metal roof in the wayside. Adeline tightened her arms around Gannon for the bump as he steered the bike up between the tables, under the shelter. As she pulled off her helmet, the noise of rain pounding the roof reached her ears.

  Gannon jerked his own helmet through the air, sending a spray of water out toward the grass. “I’d rather not keep going in this.”

  Her front, where she’d been leaning against him, was dry, but the arms and back of her jacket were soaked. She removed the outer layer and took her phone from one of the zippered pockets. Thankfully, the device hadn’t gotten wet. “I’ll text Asher. If the weather’s the same in Lakeshore, the food truck won’t be busy.”

  A notification reported Asher had already reached out to her.

  She dialed voicemail.

  “You don’t have to come in today. Some guys with serious cameras are hanging around, and it’s gloomy anyway.”

  Gannon whisking her away last night must’ve made her seem worth watching. She didn’t mind as much as she might’ve a couple of days before. Dealing with some attention came with the territory of life among the living—when Gannon was involved, anyway.

  She texted Asher and focused on Gannon. He’d shed his jacket and taken a seat on the picnic table, feet on the bench, elbows on his knees.

  “Photographers are waiting at the truck. Asher said to take the day off.”

  He sighed heavily. “I’m sure they’re at your house too. I’m sorry.”

  Her nerves threatened to raise her voice an octave as she searched for a way to admit everything he’d helped her realize this morning. “Maybe it’s like you said. Maybe the press and the stories they write aren’t the worst things.”

  He hadn’t shaved that morning, and coarseness marked his jaw. Still, he was fit for a photoshoot. Nothing could mute the golden-brown ring at the center of his blue-green irises. “And what would be?”

  “Maybe a new fear doesn’t have to replace the old one.”

  His hazel eyes followed her as she sat beside him.

  Her vision flitted away from his face. His short sleeves revealed the mysterious characters on the inside of his left forearm.

  She tilted her head. “I’ve been meaning to ask about that.”

  He glanced at the tattoo. “Hebrew. Psalm 51:14. Basically says, ‘Forgive me for the blood I’ve shed, and I’ll sing of your righteousness.’ Got it after Fitz died.”

  More confirmation she’d been unduly hard on him. She longed to reach out to him, but could she just do that? Touch him? After everything?

  The air flashed with lightning, and a few seconds later, thunder reverberated like a falling drum. The trees that surrounded the shelter swished with rain and wind.

  “I almost didn’t go to his grave this morning,” she said. “Next time I’m home, I don’t think I will.” The admission took almost as much courage as touching his arm would’ve. “Up until now, I’ve gone each time.”

  Gannon brought his gaze in from the greenery to study her face. His mouth hinted at a smile before his line of sight roved back to the trees. “That’s quite a change.”

  “It’s because of what you said about us being forgiven and free. And my mom said something this morning about life being short and did I want to spend it with the living or the dead.”

  “And you chose the living.” He checked her expression.

  “I did. I do.” She straightened her fingers, meaning to touch his forearm after all, but he stood.

  At the edge of the shelter, he stopped with his back to her. “That’s good news. A good choice.”

  He didn’t understand what she’d meant, and was she sure, absolutely sure, she wanted this? A romance with Gannon Vaughn? She’d glimpsed his life, the fans, the photographers, the constant attention. But that storm didn’t scare her as much after what she’d seen at the grave that morning. She’d thought him blind to the consequences of their sin. He wasn’t, and he had freedom she wanted for herself. Freedom that said they could be together.

  The rain eased as her heartbeat increased.

  She longed to enjoy a relationship with him.

  But she’d been burying her feelings for him for so long, she felt helplessly exposed at the thought of revealing her change of heart. Paralyzing fear told her the possibility of a future together was too good to be true. She couldn’t say how disaster would come about, but in the shadows, she saw the vague shapes of possibilities. He’d reject her. God would determine she didn’t deserve this happiness. She’d make another mistake and end up more broken.

  But this time would be different. Right?

  She played possibilities in her mind so long, the rain let up entirely.

  When she realized a good twenty minutes had passed in silence, she rubbed her cheeks, embarrassed. Even if she couldn’t know the future and didn’t know how to proceed with Gannon, she could’ve made normal conversation.

  Of course, he could’ve too. What had he been thinking that whole time, staring off into the woods so quietly for so long?

  A minivan exited the highway and splashed through puddles in the gravel lot. It stopped beside the shelter, and the doors slid open. A kid jumped from the van to the gravel.

  Gannon grabbed his coat. “We need to get moving.”

  The family lined up along the edge of the concrete slab, holding what must’ve been their lunches, waiting for Gannon to get his motorcycle back where it belonged. She turned to find Gannon already seated on the bike.

  In Lakeshore, he pulled over a few blocks from her house. “Sorry, but it’s best if you walk from here. Cut through the backyards, and maybe they won’t get a shot of you.”

  She pulled off her helmet, wishing he’d do the same. Instead, his head swiveled as if he were watching for photographers. The moment she’d missed at the wayside wouldn’t happen here.

  Maybe it was better this way.

  She stepped back with a wave and let him go.

  The next day, Gannon found John studying the lake from the overlook on the cliff. Brown and gray tinged the waves under the cloudy sky. His dogs played nearby, deep in a game of tug-of-war.

  Gannon took a seat on the bench that ran along the three-foot-tall wall. “This thing with Adeline’s doomed, isn’t it?”

  Amusement tugged John’s expression. “Is there a thing now?”

  “No.” Though he’d almost tried to start one. He’d narrowly resisted kissing her at the wayside yesterday, telling himself he had to leave her better than he’d found her. “In a few weeks, we’ll leave. Between the press, Matt, our schedule, and distance, I don’t know how it could work long term. If I start something more than a friendship, isn’t that making promises I can’t keep?”

  Trigger, the gray pit bull, barked as Camo lay down, chewing on the toy they’d battled over. John stepped away long enough to throw the toy and restart the game, then returned. “You’ve got cold feet.”

  “We went to the cemetery. If I’ve got cold feet, it’s from standing on a grave.”

  “Stand on grace.”

  Grace and grave. A one-letter difference that could change everything—or stand between him and Adeline forever.

  His phone sounded, and he scrambled to pull it from his pocket, hoping to see Adeline’s name.


  John chuckled as he and the dogs wandered off.

  But the caller was only Harper.

  He lifted his phone and answered. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Who’s this girl?” Harper sounded as if she’d opened her dressing room to find it occupied by someone else.

  The “girl” had to be Adeline. His pleasure at getting to talk about her proved one more time how much of a goner he was. But with Harper, he had to be careful. He scanned the lake. “What girl?”

  “This small-town mystery girl I’m looking at.”

  “I don’t know what you’re looking at.” But he could guess.

  Harper was addicted to gossip sites, the kinds that could get miles of copy out of one blurry photo of him and Adeline on a motorcycle.

  “Adeline Green.” Harper pronounced the name as if she had to sound it out one syllable at a time. “She’s cute, I guess, if you’re into plain.”

  Plain? Adeline’s silky hair could beat out Harper’s teased and heavily sprayed styles any day. Instead of makeup, all it took to bring out Adeline’s eyes was that smile he saw so rarely or a little sunlight, which highlighted her brown irises with honey.

  “She’s a hot dog vendor?” Harper’s laugh rang like a wind chime. “You can’t be serious about this, Gannon.”

  He put the call on speaker to search for the article, see what they’d written, and decide if he ought to warn Adeline or not. “Why does it matter to you who I’m serious about? You’ve got a boyfriend.”

  “Don’t you hear anything? Colton dumped me. He wants nothing to do with me. No one does. I’m disposable to everyone.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “What? I am. You can’t prove otherwise.”

  He’d find the article later. The breakup could only be good news. Though he doubted Colton had attacked Harper since he hadn’t been on the security tape, the relationship had been responsible for many of Harper’s ups and downs. Once she got past the sting of it, maybe she’d even out.

  He switched off speaker and brought the phone back to his ear. “My texts and calls prove I care, but you chose to ignore them until you got jealous.”

  “Don’t pretend you mind the attention. We’ve been dancing around this for months. With Colton out of the picture, you don’t have to settle for less.”

  He bit back his response. If he defended Adeline, Harper would take that as confirmation of a romance, and she’d share the news publicly in ways that would hurt Adeline. He had to stay focused on himself and Harper. “You and I would never be happy together.”

  “You’re my best friend.”

  Maybe, but she wasn’t his. “You know I’m here for you, Harper—”

  “I do. Think of how much you’ve helped me. And I love what you believe. I want to know more about it. I’ll come up. We can talk for hours and hours.”

  “You’re not coming here.” He mimicked the tone security used with fans. “If you need something, you can call, but if you keep after more of a relationship, I’m done.”

  “So there’s more to you and this girl.”

  His phone beeped, and the display showed Adeline’s name. Joy rushed in. Yes, there was more. Always had been, and if he could find a way, despite all the reasons he told himself it would never work, there always would be.

  Adeline sat on the back step and watched Bruce sniff the grass. Since the phone had rung four times already, she started planning a voicemail for Gannon. She didn’t want to leave another fumbling one.

  “Adeline.” His smiling voice—not a recording—gave her a thrill that alone justified the call.

  “Hey.” She gulped. What had been her excuse for calling? It wasn’t just to indulge her crush. “Did you have something to do with the sanding being finished when I got home?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Funny. Tegan, Drew, and Chip all said the same thing. Only they were more convincing.”

  Gannon’s rich voice rumbled with laughter, his lack of further denials admission enough.

  “Thanks.” She brushed dust from the step beside her. “I appreciate not having to go back up with a sander. The caulk gun and paint shouldn’t be nearly so hard to control.”

  “I hired them to prep and paint the whole thing. They’ll be back Monday.”

  “Gannon, that’s too much. You can’t—”

  “Let me do this.” His tone warmed. “I don’t like the possibility of you falling while you’re holding a paintbrush any more than I liked it while you were holding a sander. I promised your mom I’d take care of you. I can’t let you risk your life over paint.”

  She’d reached home without incident yesterday, but when she’d circled her house to check on the worksite, a photographer had shouted questions. Where had Gannon taken her the night before? Were they officially a couple? What was it like to date him?

  She’d ignored the man. Still, her stomach tightened every time she thought about the questions. What would it be like to be Gannon Vaughn’s girlfriend?

  Nervous energy fluttered in her chest. “My mom asked you to take care of me?”

  “She said to treat you well.”

  “And you agreed to.” She fought it, but he had to hear the smile lift her voice.

  “Of course. You know that’s been my intention this whole summer.”

  The tenderness in his tone eased past her defenses. Not a difficult task. She’d waited to call him about the work he’d hired out, but the extra time had done nothing but make her miss him more.

  “I do know,” she said.

  A beat, and then when he spoke again, she heard notes of gentle happiness. “What are you up to?”

  Her stomach hopped like a bow against taut strings. “I’m getting ready. The crew from church is coming, and we’re working on my porch tonight.” Should she invite him to come too? If he’d asked about her plans because he wanted to get together, he probably hadn’t envisioned a group activity. Even less, a group activity that involved manual labor.

  “What’s wrong with your porch?”

  Oh. She’d never told him about the letter from the neighborhood association. “It needs to be replaced. A contractor from church will make sure it’s done right. Apparently with everyone’s help, it won’t be that big of a deal.”

  Just as she was about to invite him, he spoke. “You should call it off. We can hire someone to do the work. Paparazzi will be there. They’ve already started writing about us.”

  Of course they had. Why did Gannon sound so frustrated?

  Bruce sat beside her. She rubbed his warm ears. “They’ve been out front since I got home. What are they saying?”

  “I haven’t looked yet, but I hear they’re making us out to be a couple.”

  “Oh.” So he didn’t want to look like a couple. Had she taken too long to come around? He’d given up on her?

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could stop them, but people buy it. The less we give them, the less they have to run with.”

  She pulled Bruce a little closer, earning herself a kiss that didn’t do much for her nosediving hopes. “Wouldn’t we look more like a couple if you paid people to fix my house?”

  “They wouldn’t know who hired the contractors.”

  “Everyone knows I don’t have the money for it or I would’ve hired someone myself. The church is helping because I couldn’t do the porch myself or afford a carpenter, and they don’t want me to have to pay the fines.”

  “What fines?”

  He might as well know. He was already unhappy, and with press digging around, her standing with the neighborhood association would come out eventually.

  “My house isn’t up to the standards for the neighborhood, so the association gave me ninety days to fix it. The porch and the paint.”

  His silence stretched. He was probably thinking about how different they were, him on top of the world and her barely keeping a grip on a rundown house.

  “Anyway. None of that’s your problem. If they stop seeing
us together, they’ll lose interest.”

  “Adeline—”

  “No, it’s fine.” Good thing she’d hesitated to reach out to him at the wayside. This rejection, subtle as it was, stung enough. “They’re writing rumors. I’m more concerned with reality. The big waste container is here, Chip has the materials, and a team of deacons is coming. Plus, Drew’s bringing the youth group over to help. I’m not canceling such a big production.”

  He sighed. Maybe he was as disappointed as she was by the course this conversation had taken. “When are they working?”

  “Four until dark, and they’ll come back tomorrow if they need to, but I have to work then, anyway.”

  “And if your boss tells you to stay home again?”

  “He didn’t order me to. If I’m such an attraction, I’ll bring in extra business.” And work would help keep her busy and prevent her from thinking about Gannon.

  “Okay. Good luck. Let me know if you run into trouble.”

  “Thanks.” She kept the phone to her ear a little longer, but only dead air followed.

  16

  Adeline helped carry a chunk of her old porch, but the men on either end probably could’ve moved the debris without her. As the boards thudded into the large trash container, she stepped back to let a couple of the boys hoist another section of rotting floorboards over and in.

  The porch was mostly gone already, and two or three hours of daylight remained.

  Three photographers lingered on the sidewalk, but their interest had waned since they’d confirmed none of the thirteen males on the premises—Chip, Drew, five deacons, and six high school boys—were band members.

  Good. They didn’t need to snap any more unflattering pictures of her.

  She’d found the article Gannon had mentioned. The piece featured a shot of Gannon leading her to the motorcycle. His jacket had, indeed, made her look like a clown.

  But in that picture, he’d held her hand and looked back at her.

  All eyes were on him, but his eyes were on her.