Coming Home: A Second Chance Holiday Romance (Honky Tonk Angels Book 7)

by Ciana Stone

  “Max, I’m telling you the truth. I wouldn’t--“

  “Get out!” He shouted. “I have my answers. You never loved me. You used me. I was a fool to believe in you. Get out!”

  “Max, please.”

  “Leave! I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to look at you. I don’t want to know you exist. You’re dead to me.”

  With that, he turned and stormed from the room. Olivia sat frozen in place for a few moments. She couldn’t believe that he thought she was lying. This wasn’t what she had imagined at all. And it dawned on her that she was once again clinging to the tragic romance of Olivia and Max, trying to write an ending that wasn’t meant to be. She looked at the envelope lying on the island and started to pick it up and take it with her, but stopped. It had been meant for him. Let him do what he would with the truth. She’d come here to do what she knew she had to do. To tell him the truth. She’d done that. Now it was time for her to leave and go try to build a life for herself.

  Chapter Eight

  The Present

  Three months had passed since the day Livi came to see him. It had taken Max a week before he was able to work on the screenplay, but he’d finished it. In one week, he’d start his book tour.

  He looked at the copy of his book lying on his desk. For the first time since the day he’d written the first word he looked at it as a work of fiction. He’d been so wrong, so stupid. Everything he’d written was a fantasy. Everything except his own feelings. Those were all too real.

  But even those were becoming manageable. As painful as it had been, her coming to see him and concocting such an elaborate lie had been the beginnings of his liberation. He could hate her, hate her for the lies, for never caring and most of all for trying to turn him against his parents.

  If only that damnable little niggle of doubt would leave his mind. His parents had split up before Thanksgiving of his first year in college. Today his mother was a year into her third marriage and his father had just celebrated his fifth anniversary to his second wife, a woman twenty-five years his junior and the birth of his daughter by that marriage.

  Max shook his head as if the act would dismiss the doubt. His parents loved him and would have done anything for him. He would never believe they were capable of doing the things Livi claimed.

  His eyes moved to the bottom drawer of his desk. That’s where he’d stuffed the envelope she’d left for him. He had not looked at it since the day she left. There was nothing there that would change things.

  He cursed, stomped to the window, jammed his hands in his pants’ pockets, and stood rocking from heels to toes, staring outside. Why now? Why after three months was all this raising its ugly head to torment him? He thought he was moving beyond it.

  He pivoted and stared at the desk drawer. Maybe whatever was in that envelope was the final step. Maybe once he looked inside it, he could truly move on. He hurried to the desk, opened the drawer, and removed the envelope.

  For a moment, he just stood there, holding it, feeling anxious. The anxiety spawned anger, anger that once again she had control. He ripped it open and dumped the contents on the desk.

  Three envelopes and a handful of photographs stared up at him. He moved the photos on the desk, looking at images of himself ten years ago. Him in a suit at the reunion they’d worked, him in a tuxedo at the wedding on the beach, him on the beach and him in her bed.

  Each image brought a stab of emotion that clawed at the wall of hate he’d worked so hard the last three months to build. With a snarl, he swiped them off the desk and flopped down in his chair, staring angrily at the envelopes.

  After a few minutes, he picked up one. It was a five by seven inch envelope. He tore it open. There were two letter-sized envelopes inside. One was addressed to him, at his parents’ house. The other was addressed to Livi and bore his mother’s return address.

  A sudden sick sweat rose on his skin. His stomach churned and to his humiliation, his hands shook as he opened the envelope addressed to him. He removed the single page and unfolded it, recognizing Livi’s handwriting.

  His eyes moved over the words, blurring as tears forced their way to the surface. She said she was sorry. She loved him and didn’t want to leave, but she had no choice. She hoped one day he would understand and forgive her, maybe even give her another chance. She was sorry she was such a coward. She’d never forget and probably never love anyone the way she loved him.

  Max threw the letter aside. He didn’t want this rush of emotion, didn’t want to let himself believe her words. He needed to hate her. It was the only way he was going to move forward. He should gather all this up and burn it.

  But he couldn’t. He had to read the second letter. It was also handwritten, by his mother. In it, she told Livi to never contact Max again. She and Max’s father aren’t going to let Livi screw up Max’s life so forget about him. If she doesn’t they will file the charges against her and ruin her.

  Charges? Could she have been telling the truth? His mind went into a spin. He quickly reached for the remaining two envelopes. One was blank, and the other was addressed to him in Livi’s handwriting, but bore no postmark. It had obviously never been mailed.

  He opened the envelope whose face was blank and removed the pages. His eyes widened as he read. It was true. His parents intended to use all their resources to ruin Livi if that’s what it took to keep her away from Max. They were determined to keep them apart and were using the law as their weapon.

  Max let the pages fall to the desk and leaned back in his chair. He felt sick. She had not been lying to him. The people he thought loved him the most in the world had deceived and manipulated to force him down a path they wanted him to go. They had taken the one thing he loved above all else from him.

  He wanted to cry, to scream, to break something or someone – something to ease the pain of betrayal. Something to erase the guilt. He’d tossed her out and called her a liar and all the while, she had been telling him the truth.

  Max reached for her letter and opened it.

  Dear Max,

  I know you’ll never read this, but I still have to write. I’m finally back home. It feels weird, like I’m a stranger in my own home. The doctors say that’s part of the process, trying to re-acclimate. I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel real.

  Maybe I just don’t want it to be real. After the bomb, I don’t remember much of what really happened. I know I was taken to a hospital in Germany and was in a coma for three weeks. But I wasn’t there. My body might have been there, but my mind went somewhere else.

  Maybe it went where I’ve always wished I really were. With you.

  I lived a lifetime with you in those three weeks, Max. A life where I never took the job in New York where you never went to California. A life where we stayed together. You went to UT, I worked at the studio, and the day after you graduated, we were married.

  We were so happy. We had a little boy. He had his father’s eyes. Life was simple and good and we had love. It was all we really needed.

  I wish I’d had the courage to make that choice, Max, but the truth was, I was afraid. Afraid your parents would have me sent to jail, or at least ruined my ability to earn a living. Afraid maybe they were right and I’d ruin your life if I stayed or if I convinced you to go with me. Fear made me choose the wrong path and I wish more than anything I could go back and undo it.

  But I can’t. So now, I wish I’d never woken. I lied before when I said I didn’t remember anything. I do remember the truck hitting the roadside bomb. I remember the pain and lying there in the dirt on the side of the road.

  I remember thinking of you and wishing I could undo it all. I hope that my mistake ended up being the right thing for you. That you have a good life and are happy. For me, I guess I was fated to have known and lost one great love and then spend the rest of my life regretting.

  Or maybe, if I’m lucky, sinking back into that dream where you love me and our son has your eyes.

  I love you, M
ax. I always will.

  Livi

  Max gently placed the letter on the desk, rose, and walked to the window. He stared out, blinking to stay the tears, but lost the battle. The emotion overwhelmed him, robbing him of strength and control. He braced himself, his hands on the panes of glass before him and his head lowered.

  He cried. Cried for mistrusting her all those years ago. He cried at the pain of his parents’ betrayal and most of all he cried for the way he’d treated her when she came to him three months ago and tried to tell him the truth.

  And when he had no more tears and he could think without being overcome, he called and booked himself a flight on the red-eye to New York for that night. It was time to see Livi.

  *****

  It was a miserable morning, rainy, windy, and cold. Max recognized the allure of New York but could not imagine calling it home. He gave the cab driver a substantial tip and stepped from the car, hunching down in his coat.

  He punched the call button at the door to Livi’s apartment building. There was no answer. Maybe she was asleep. He tried again. Still nothing.

  Maybe she’d gone out for breakfast. It was Saturday. Did she get up early on the weekends? Did she stay in the city or leave? He had no idea. It reminded him there was a lot about Livi he didn’t know. He tried her cell phone. It went immediately to voice mail, so he hung up.

  Should he leave? It was freaking cold. He turned from the door, scanning the street for a cab. And that’s when he saw her. She was running toward him, her head down, feet pounding the sidewalk as if she were racing the wind that sent rain pelting on her back.

  She was ten feet away when she looked up. The moment she saw him she stopped dead in her tracks. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  Max walked to her. She was thinner than the last time he saw her and her eyes held a look of pain. “Can we talk?”

  “I think you pretty much said it all,” she replied and started to brush by him.

  Max grabbed her arm. “Livi, please.”

  She looked up at him and once again, he saw the pain. It stabbed at him. He knew he was the cause. “Please,” he repeated.

  Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded. Max followed her inside the building. She was silent as they waited for the elevator and remained silent on the ride and down the hallway to her apartment.

  Once inside, she kicked off her shoes. “I have to shower,” she said and hurried away.

  Max wandered into the living area, looking around. He spotted her awards, lying on a desk. Livi had earned two Pulitzers for Breaking News Photography. She’d had each framed with the photo that had earned her the award.

  The first was of a firefighter, carrying a woman from the wreckage of the World Trade Center, and the second of a soldier with an Afghan child in his arms, running from an exploding building.

  Max was reminded of what a talented and fearless photographer she was and he wondered why she didn’t have the awards hanging on the wall. He wandered into the kitchen, found the coffee, and prepared a pot to brew.

  He could see from the small window in the kitchen that the rain was now mixed with snow. He watched the flakes float by the window for a while and lost himself in thoughts of Livi. She was just forty and already had achieved so much. He had no doubt that she could have had her choice of jobs, anywhere in the world. What made her choose to walk away from what she did so well? Was it the bombing?

  He heard a sound behind him and turned. Livi stood in the doorway. Dressed in fleece pants and a matching top, her feet were encased in thick wooly socks and her hair was wet from the shower.

  “I made coffee.” He said.

  “Thanks,” she made for the cupboard and took two cups.

  “Still drink it black?” She asked.

  “Yeah. You still like a little coffee with your cream and sugar?”

  She cut a look over her shoulder with what appeared to be a ghost of a smile on her face. “Something like that.”

  She handed him a cup then took hers to the table. Max took a seat across from her. “We need to talk, Livi. Really talk.”

  “No, we don’t. You got the answers you needed, Max, and so did I. We can move on and forget about the past.”

  “Can we?” Can you, Livi?”

  “I already have.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  She jumped up. “If you’re here to pick a fight you can leave.”

  “I’m not here to fight.” He followed as she walked away.

  “Then why are you here?” She stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him.

  “I opened the envelope.”

  Her eyes widened and suddenly she turned and hurried from the room. Max followed to find her standing in front of the window in the living area, staring out. He walked up behind her and put his hands on top of her shoulders.

  “I read all of it.”

  “You shouldn’t have.” She said, continuing to look outside.

  “Yes, I should.” He turned her to face him. “And there’s something you need to know.”

  When she stared silently at him, he continued. “When you were in a coma in Germany, I was there.”

  He saw the surprise register on her face and in her eyes and felt the subtle jump of her body under his hands. “I found out a week after you were transferred to Germany. I sold my car and bought a ticket. “

  “You what?” her voice was a choked whisper.

  “I sat with you for two weeks. The doctors said that often people who are in a coma hear what people are saying, so I talked to you. Every day, all day. I told you a story. A story about us. About how it would have been if you hadn’t left.

  “It was the story you dreamed, Livi.”

  “That’s…it’s not… you were there? Why?”

  “Because I loved you and I was scared you were going to die. I had to be there, to tell you.”

  “But you weren’t there when I woke. No one told me— “

  “My father showed up. I’d called and asked him and Mom for money. I was broke. I slept in the chair in your room and didn’t have money to eat. He came and took me home. Two days before you woke.

  “I tried to talk him into lending me money so I could stay but he refused. I’d been offered a director’s position on a film. He said I couldn’t throw that chance away. That you wouldn’t want me to.”

  Max was suddenly unable to face her with what he had to say next. He released her and turned away. “I could have worn him down, could have made him give me the money. But I chose to leave. I walked away from you. Left you lying in that bed alone.”

  He took a breath and turned to look at her. “I left you alone, Livi.”

  He could not have surprised her more. On many levels. He’d rushed to her, flown halfway around the world to sit with her and tell her a story that had always been her dream.

  And he’d chosen to take an opportunity that might not have come around again rather than stay with her. Funny, but that didn’t bother her at all. She understood all too well. She’d given up many things in her life for her career. She understood that drive and that need.

  It didn’t matter that he’d chosen to take his opportunity. What mattered is that he had come to her. He’d traveled half a world to be with her. He was the only one.

  “He was right, Max. I wouldn’t have wanted you to pass up the chance.”

  “I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have let him talk me into--”

  “Max, no. Don’t do that. Don’t blame him or yourself. Your dad made his share of mistakes, but we all did. He loves you and he thought he was doing what was best for you. Don’t fault him for that.”

  “But if I had stayed we might have been able— “

  “No,” she said gently. “I was a mess, Max. You couldn’t have fixed me. I had to learn to fix myself.”

  “Have you?”

  She smiled up at him. “I’m working on it.”

  He blew out his breath and ran his hands back through his hair, a gestu
re she remembered so well. “I’ve made such a mess of things, Livi.”

  “We all did,” she replied and took his hand to lead him to the sofa. “Don’t try to take all the responsibility on yourself, Max.”

  He sat beside her, gripping her hand. “I'm so sorry.”

  Olivia wasn’t prepared to walk that path just yet, to talk about where they’d gone wrong and what might have been if they had acted differently. It wasn’t going to change anything. They couldn’t undo the past. They could only try to find a way to accept it and move on.

  “So, I hear there’s a big book signing tour in your future,” she said, changing the subject.

  “Yeah, it starts here in a week.”

  “I guess I’m going to have to read it. The editor at the magazine said it was wonderful.”

  “So you know about it?”

  She shook her head. “No. To be honest, I wouldn’t let her tell me anything about it. Why don’t you? What’s it about?”

  He was quiet for a long pause and in that time, she saw the Max she remembered appear in his eyes. She saw longing, nervousness, and excitement compete for dominance. He looked away as he answered.

  “It’s about a boy who comes of age in the arms of an older woman. About a boy who learns about love and loss.”

  Olivia waited until he looked at her. When he did, the most miraculous thing happened. All the pain vanished. In its place was acceptance. What had happened had shaped both of them into who they were at this moment and for better or worse, they had to embrace those experiences and appreciate that for one moment they knew what it meant to love.

  “You wrote about us?” she asked, even though she knew what his answer would be.

  “Yes.”

  “God now I’m even more scared to read it.”

  “Why? It’s a romance. People will think it’s fiction.”

  Olivia felt her spirit lighten and with that, she remembered her ability to tease. “A romance? Max, you didn’t write a sappy love story did you?”

  She saw the surprise on his face. He blinked, opened his mouth, closed it, and blinked again. She grinned and tugged on his hand. “Come on, fess up, Max.”