Coming Full Circle (the Pembrooke series Book 2)

by Jessica Prince

  It was bullshit was what it was. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Harlow had this whole thing planned out, including having Noah’s assistant coach Fletcher getting certified as a PT. “You’re kidding, right? I can’t just pick up and leave. I’ve got shit to do here, Harlow.”

  “Like what? You’re out for the rest of the season and on limited activity until your knee’s healed up, so don’t give me that. It’s been way too long since you’ve been back home—”

  “That’s not my home anymore, that’s your home. Denver’s my home.”

  “Call it whatever you want, but pack your shit. Duke said you can’t fly just yet, so Noah and I are driving up to get you next Saturday. We’ll crash at your place for the night and head back early Sunday morning.”

  “You talked to Duke too?” I asked incredulously.

  “What can I say? Everyone around you, except you, thinks your family is freaking awesome. Now pack. I’m done playing this game with you. It’s time I had my little brother back.”

  She hung up before I could say anything.

  “Shit,” I breathed as I dropped my phone on the counter, suddenly feeling more exhausted than I had before the phone call.

  There was no way I was going to be able to talk myself out of this one. I was going back to Pembrooke.

  Whether I liked it or not.

  Eliza

  “ONE CHICKEN PICCATA in the window,” I called out as I set the plate down and moved back to my station to chop more parsley. My body moved as if it were on auto pilot. I didn’t even have to think about what to do next. Instinct kicked in and I moved from station to station doing what I loved.

  Chop. Dredge. Baste. Mix.

  Over and over again.

  Cooking was my dream. I loved everything about being in a professional kitchen — the smells, the sounds, the praise from customers when they appreciated something I’d made for them.

  I’d been telling my father I was going to be a professional chef ever since my stepmom Chloe took me into her kitchen and taught me how to bake my first cupcake. And there I was, more than ten years later living my dream.

  When I graduated from Wyoming’s Culinary Institute two years ago, I hadn’t really had a plan for where I wanted to go. I just knew I needed to be in the kitchen. As a graduation present, Dad and Chloe had taken me to Sinful Sweets, the bakery Chloe had opened when I was a little girl. I’d always loved that place. In all my years, I had yet to find anyone who baked as well as her. But I didn’t just hold an appreciation for pastry. I wanted to cook everything. So, imagine my surprise, when they informed me that they were building out the bakery. Where there’d only been room for a few tables and chairs before, the plans now called for a full dining area. The kitchen would also be expanded in order to add room for the new stations where we’d prep and cook meals for lunch and dinner.

  Sinful Sweets Bakery had turned into Sinful Sweets Café. Chloe would still handle the baking side of the business, but they had given me my very own kitchen. Instead of being a place where you could stop in and get coffee and sweets, we now served a full meal for lunch and dinner. And the best part was, the menu was all mine. I could cook whatever I was in the mood to cook.

  And I did.

  Sure, it wasn’t a five-star restaurant or anything like that, and we’d never win a Michelin star, but I was happy. I had the career I loved, in the town I loved, surrounded by my closest friends and family.

  In order to keep things from getting stale and boring, the menu changed daily. The specials were always different, so the people of Pembrooke got a new surprise every time they walked in. Today’s lunch special was chicken piccata. And just like every day since we re-opened two years ago, it was a hit.

  “God, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how amazing it smells in here.”

  I spun around to find Chloe standing just inside the door that led out into the alley behind the building. Wiping my hands on a clean dishtowel, I looked over at Gary, one of my line cooks and asked him to take over for me.

  “What are you doing here?” I grinned as I walked over to give her a tight hug. “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation? Dad’s going to have a conniption if he finds out you came into work when you were supposed to be relaxing.”

  She waved me off. “He’ll get over it. I’m at home bored out of my mind, and it’s all his fault.”

  “How dare he try and force you into taking some time off for the first time in three years? What an asshole!” I said on a laugh.

  “Language,” she admonished with a scowl.

  I shot her a wink and told her the same thing I’d been saying for the past few years. “Adult now, Chlo.” I pointed at my chest. “I have a 401K, my own medical and dental, and I no longer live under your and Dad’s roof. Hate to break it to you, but with that comes the privilege of cussing.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she muttered sullenly. “I still remember when you were little and were perfectly content with following me around the kitchen all day long. I miss that.”

  “I’m still in the kitchen with you most days.”

  She actually pouted as she said, “Yeah, but it’s not the same. Now you’re running your own section. You’re all grown up. I don’t know if I like it.”

  “Hey, you still have Catelyn and Abigale. At least you’ve got several more years to boss them around.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. “Please. Like you aren’t totally aware your heathen sisters are little spawns of your father. Did he tell you we caught Cate giving Abbi a haircut two days ago?”

  “No,” I gasped, wide-eyed that my seven-year old little sister had actually taken a pair of scissors to five-year old Abbi’s head. “How bad?”

  “Bad. And it didn’t help that she tried to glue it back on herself when she discovered her older sister was a terrible hair dresser.”

  I couldn’t help but crack up at the visual she’d just painted for me. Truth was, I could totally see my little sisters doing something like this. For someone who exuded an air of badassery on a daily basis, my father was a total pushover when it came to his girls, myself included. The people of Pembrooke would be shocked to see just how whipped Sherriff Anderson, the man they’d elected into position, was for all of the Anderson girls. But maybe that’s what made him so good at his job. He came home to an estrogen fest every evening. He had to get his aggression out somewhere, right?

  Anyway, Abbi and Cate’s desire to follow Dad around like I used to follow Chloe, combined with his inability to tell them no, helped to breed two girls with tomboy tendencies, very little fear, and way too much curiosity. Chloe was right. They were just like my father. To say their house was chaotic on a good day was putting it mildly. But I knew she secretly loved it.

  “So, what?” I asked once I was able to speak through my laughter. “You came to escape for a few hours?”

  Suddenly all the earlier humor fled from her expression and she grew uncharacteristically serious. “Think you can take a break for a few minutes? In private?”

  “Uh, sure. Let’s go upstairs.” My stomach twisted into knots as I turned to tell Gary he was in charge for the time being and took off my cook jacket before heading out to the stairs.

  Chloe’s old apartment over the bakery had also undergone renovations when the café expanded. It now not only ran the length of the bakery and restaurant, but also over the top of the dance studio that my childhood friend Lilly ran next door. Seeing as we worked right next to each other and had been best friends for years, we’d turned the place from a studio into a two bedroom/two bathroom apartment so we could be roommates. It cut costs for both of us, and came with the added benefit of getting us out from under our parents’ roofs. It was a win-win.

  We were sitting on the large, overstuffed couch in the living room, and it took several seconds before I finally got the nerve to ask, “What’s up? You’re kind of freaking me out right now. Is everything okay with Dad and the girls?”

&nbs
p; “No, no. Everyone’s fine. It’s nothing like that, I just… I wanted to tell you before you found out through the Pembrooke grapevine. Gossip around here’s already bad enough as it is. Hell, I’m surprised you haven’t already heard—”

  The tension in my chest loosened but anxiety still coursed through my system. “Heard what?” I cut in. “Jeez, Chloe. Just tell me already, you’re starting to worry me.”

  She sucked in a big breath and looked me straight in the eye. “Ethan’s coming back.”

  It was as though my brain couldn’t compute what she’d just said. “Ethan’s coming back,” I repeated flatly. “Back where? Back here?”

  Chloe swallowed audibly and nodded, suddenly looking very worried. She and Lilly were the only two people who knew just how much Ethan’s abandonment had crushed me. They’d both been there, front and center, when I was a little girl who was convinced I was going to marry him one day. And they’d been there when the naivety of those little girl dreams wore off, and what I had with Ethan developed into one of the most important friendships I’d ever had. They were the only two people I had been able to lower my mask in front of. They took my heartbreak over his dismissal of me just as hard as I did, feeling the pain I had been carrying with me over the past six years just as acutely.

  And they understood exactly why it hurt so badly.

  Being raised by a mother who made it clear on a regular basis that she’d wished she never had me made a lasting impression. The only reprieve I’d gotten was when I was with my Dad. When he started seeing Chloe, she went off the rails, started drinking and disappearing all the time. And when she was there, she was even worse than her usually terrible self, constantly needling me for information about Chloe. When I refused to say anything negative, she’d try her best to guilt trip me for preferring some “whore over her own mother.” She’d eventually gone so far over the edge that there was no going back, earning herself a few months’ jail time, several hefty fines, years of parole, and being stripped of all custody over me until I was old enough to make the decision whether or not I wanted her in my life.

  At thirteen, I made the mistake of reaching out even though Dad was against it, thinking that maybe she’d have gotten the wakeup call she needed to actually be a mother.

  The conversation with her that took place left me flayed open. I experienced a whole new pain I hadn’t even realized existed. Dad had been more furious than I’d ever seen him, raging, telling me there was no way in hell I was ever speaking to her ever again. Chloe was disgusted by my mother’s behavior and did everything she could to try and make me feel better. But me… well, I was broken. After that, I kept my loved ones close and everyone else closed out. It was still something I struggled with to this very day, opening myself up to trust other people, risking getting hurt again.

  When Ethan disappeared from my life, I felt that pain all over again, only that time it was much more acute. You see, I knew what my mother was, always had. In the back of my mind, there was always the knowledge of what she was capable of. But Ethan was different. I looked at him like he’d hung the moon, could do no wrong. I’d been blindsided and in complete disbelief. When I finally managed to get ahold of him, just long enough to demand answers for his abrupt disappearance from my life, all I’d gotten were hateful words that broke my heart into pieces.

  The best thing that could have happened after that was him never coming back.

  He left me shattered, and I hated him for it.

  “Harlow put her foot down. She misses her brother, and her and Noah’s kids miss their uncle. I know he hurt you, but Ethan’s still their family, sweetheart.” The sorrow in her clear green eyes hit me like a gut punch. “I know you heard that he was hurt…”

  “Of course I heard,” I replied bitterly. “He’s like a goddamned legend in this town. It’s all anyone was able to talk about for weeks.” Despite my hatred for him, Pembrooke adored their golden boy. The kid who was a football prodigy. The one who made it to the NFL. All I wanted was to have him out of my life completely, only to have him shoved down my throat at every turn.

  “Well, she got sick of him avoiding his family. Said it’s been going on too long, so she and Noah are going to get him. Harlow set it up so he can do the rest of his rehab here.”

  “So he’ll be here for a while?”

  “I don’t know,” she shrugged, “I would assume so. I mean, I know he’s out for the rest of the season, and I’d imagine physical therapy and training will take a while to get him back into playing shape.” Leaning forward, she placed her hand on mine and squeezed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know how much he hurt you, and I hate that you may have to see him again. I wish there was something I could do to make it all better for you.”

  That right there was just one of the reasons I loved Chloe with all my heart. She made it so damned easy. She gave her love so willingly that it was impossible not to return it. But I wasn’t the same little girl I’d been before.

  Yes, I was broken. My armor was dented and bent, but I was tougher now. And Ethan Prewitt no longer had the power to hurt me. Feigning a casualness I definitely wasn’t feeling, I stood from the couch and took a fortifying breath.

  “It’s okay,” I told her softly. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  She stood as well, skepticism written on her face. “You sure, honey?”

  I shrugged and offered up a smile. “As long as he stays the fuck away from me for as long as he’s here, how could there be any problems?”

  Ethan

  BEING BACK IN the house I grew up in for the first time in six years was surreal, to say the least. It wasn’t as if I’d intentionally planned to avoid Pembrooke and everyone in it when I first left, but the longer I stayed gone, the more excuses I made for keeping my distance, the easier it got. Then it was no longer easy. By the time I wanted to go back to those people, one in particular, it was too late. I’d stayed away for too long.

  Jesus, I’d really made a mess of shit.

  “Since you can’t take the stairs with your crutches very well, we’re putting you on the sleeper sofa,” Harlow talked as she lugged my bags into the den. “We just got a new mattress for you so it should be comfortable.”

  “That’s fine,” I mumbled as I crutched along after her, Noah following slowly on my heels. I scanned the once familiar room and noticed all the subtle changes that had been made, a new paint color, a wainscoting along the walls, little things like that. “You’ve remodeled,” I said, stating the obvious. “It looks nice.”

  “Well,” my sister huffed as she dropped my luggage on the floor unceremoniously and rested her hands on her hips. “You’d have known if you’d have bothered to come home once or twice in the past six years. A lot of changes have been taking place while you were off being a big shot NFL dickhead who was too busy for his friends and family.”

  “Harlow,” Noah spoke up, warning in his tone.

  She threw her arms out at her sides. “What? I’m only saying exactly what everyone else is thinking.”

  “And you’ve been at this shit all last night and the entire way home. I think he gets it, Wildflower. You’re pissed. Time to stop beating the hell out of a dead horse, yeah?”

  When I got Harlow’s phone call the other day, I hadn’t thought I could possibly feel any worse. I’d been wrong. Knowing I’d hurt my sister with my absence, hurt my whole family, cut like a goddamned knife. When our grandmother had died when I was fourteen, Harlow had uprooted her entire life, leaving behind her job, her friends, to come take care of me. She hadn’t even blinked.

  “I’m not beating a dead horse,” she continued, the two of them arguing like I wasn’t standing right there. “I’m just stating facts. One of those facts being that the only time I’ve managed to see my little brother since he was drafted was when I packed my family up and hauled my happy little ass to Denver. And here’s another fact for you!” She really was on a roll. “Sitting in a car for seven hours with one hormonal teenage girl a
nd a little boy with the attention span of a flea is a nightmare. But do you hear me complaining about it?”

  “Yes,” Noah and I said at the same time.

  She ignored us both and continued. “No. You know why? Because I’d suffer through that nightmare if it meant seeing my baby brother, if it meant those two terrors got to see the uncle they adored. But does he show me the same courtesy?” She let out a humorless laugh. “Oh no! Why should he have to bother himself with something as mindless as considering other people, when he knows his sister will do it for him?”

  “You’re right, babe,” Noah said in a placating, yet slightly sarcastic, tone. “You should be nominated for sainthood.”

  “Damn right I should!” she finished, finally winding down from the millionth rant I’d had to experience since they showed up at my place the night before.

  Knowing just how to calm her down, Noah moved toward his wife and wrapped her in his arms, leaning in to kiss the side of her head. “Time to wind down, baby. Why don’t you go upstairs and run yourself a bubble bath, and I’ll bring you up a nice, big glass of wine in just a bit. How’s that sound?”

  Harlow sighed, leaning further into him, and I was hit with that all too familiar pang deep in my chest. The one that made me feel like an interloper, the third wheel in my own home for years. It wasn’t that I disapproved of Harlow and Noah’s relationship, I truly was happy for them. But I’d spent most of my childhood feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere. My parents died when I was so little that I barely remembered what they looked like, and we were sent to live with our grandmother.

  Things had been good for a few years, until the day Harlow took off for reasons that were her own. And I’d felt abandoned for the second time in my life. That feeling only got worse when Gram died. Sure, Harlow had given up everything and come back to be with me, but it was only a short time before her and Noah got together. Then she was pregnant and they were starting their own family.