Come Home to Me (A Brookside Romance Book 5)

by Abby Brooks

  The moment of connection terrifies me at the same time it satisfies me. I blink and it’s gone.

  Frank helps me stand, then drops his attention to his pants, putting himself back to rights before pulling the stop button back out. “You realize this is the start of an addiction, right?” he asks. “I already need more.”

  As the elevator resumes its downward trek, I wiggle my skirt over my hips and adjust my underwear. I fight a giggle that might become uncontrollable laughter and stare at Frank with wide eyes. “I will never look at an elevator the same again.”

  Something in his face changes, the blink of recognition, and he pulls me in to deposit a chaste kiss on my forehead. “Believe me,” he whispers into my hairline. “I’ve been struggling with that problem since the last time I got stuck in here with you.”

  There’s another kiss and he breathes me in before he creates a wide berth of space between us as the doors slide open.

  I tug at my skirt as I step off the car and almost run straight into Bree. Her gaze flits from me, to my hair, to the smug smile on Frank’s face. She narrows her eyes, then shakes her head, glaring at me as I walk toward the door.

  Frank

  The McDougan & Kent table at Derby’s is packed, as is the rest of the bar. Waitresses hustle and bustle with trays balanced on hands, turning sideways to get through thin spaces left between the backs of chairs.

  Music blends with conversation.

  Little explosions of laughter cover people’s words.

  Ice clinks in glasses.

  The lights and sounds of the city on the other side of the windows add to the energy in the bar. On a normal night, those things come together in a recipe for a spectacular Tuesday.

  But this isn’t a normal night.

  This is the night after everything between Sarah and me changed in the space of one elevator ride. I told her it was the start of an addiction. She laughed it off, but her eyes told me she felt the truth of the statement. The weight of it settling into the space between us.

  With Sarah sitting across from me, laughter sparkling in those amazing eyes, the corners of her lips turning up in a sarcastic smile as she puts Jason in his place, this Tuesday transcends all other Tuesdays. When she focuses on me, the rest of the world falls away.

  There’s the hint of our secret in the turn of her head. In the way she drops her gaze to the table and then right back up again, as if she can’t handle the power of our connection, but can’t bear to break it, either.

  One by one, our coworkers excuse themselves and leave. The group at our table grows smaller and smaller. The energy of the bar diminishes. And finally, Sarah and I are alone. We lean in close, our knees pressed together under the table, her hand clasped in mine.

  She sips at her second drink. “I didn’t take a pill today.” There’s an apology in her words that makes me sit back.

  I’ve been thinking about what I said to her since Saturday. Replaying the scene in the parking lot over and over. My desire to help her that day overrode the knowledge that I’m not a doctor. I don’t have any idea what she’s been through, what her life is like. “If you need to take them…” I open my hands, feeling guilty in the same moment I’m proud of her. “Don’t go cold turkey because of me.”

  Sarah’s gaze locks on mine. “I am doing it because of you, because of what you said, but it’s also because of me. I do have problems with anxiety. Panic attacks. Depression. You name it, I’m fighting it. My doctor just keeps on renewing my prescription, but I don’t want to hide behind the pills. They’re supposed to make the job easier. Not do it for me. Your reaction on Saturday reminded me I’ve been breaking my own rules.” She drags a finger through the condensation on her glass, lost in thought, looking like she wants to say more, but she chooses to stay silent.

  I lean in to make eye contact. “I’ve fought through my own addictions, and watched others lose the battle time and time again. I’m hyper aware of the warning signs. Maybe too aware. You know what you’re going through. I don’t. It was wrong of me to say anything before I had all the information.”

  Sarah studies me, obviously considering her next words. “Is that why you only ever have one drink? Because of your own addictions?” She gestures toward my glass of water, then gives me a look so open, so lacking pretense, I regret ever doubting if she was worth helping.

  “You noticed that, did you?” I ask, even though I’m not surprised at all. Time and again, Sarah remembers tiny details from our conversations. It only makes sense that she’s paying close attention to my mannerisms, too.

  Sarah nods and spins a finger around the rim of her glass. “I wasn’t sure I was right.” She looks up with a smile. “Until just now.”

  I fold my arms on the table and consider how much to share. No one back home knows how close I came to falling apart. I got things under control before I hit rock bottom and never felt the need to tell my family after the fact. But Sarah needs to know she’s not alone, so I decide to tell her everything.

  “When I was in college, and then later, when I’d first moved to Denver, I got into a habit of drinking too much on the weekends. Then, I’d drink too much on the weeknights. Then, I’d just drink too much. I turned into someone I didn’t respect and I didn’t like it. As soon as I realized what was happening, what I was doing to myself, I quit drinking.” I sigh as I remember those early days after college. “And man, it was such a wakeup call. I realized I didn’t really know what to do with myself if I wasn’t drunk…” I lose the rest of the statement, letting it trail off into oblivion. I don’t like thinking about those times, let alone talking about them. It’s like eavesdropping on a stranger’s memories. Some people are happy drunks. I’m not one of those people.

  Sarah tilts her head. “Why have a drink at all, if things got so far out of control?”

  “To prove to myself I can stop when I choose.” I watch a waitress cross in front of our table, her hair bouncing in curls past her shoulders, then give my attention back to Sarah. “If I’m the kind of man who can’t even have one drink without turning into a monster, then I’m not really in control, am I? The alcohol still controls me. But if I can have a drink and stop, then I control the alcohol.”

  Sarah pulls her hair over her shoulder and I remember the way it looked wrapped around my fist yesterday. “I can see that,” she says as she fiddles with the ends of her hair, almost as if she’s reveling in the same memory. “Though the people in Alcoholics Anonymous might disagree with you.”

  “I know my logic is full of holes, but this is the way it makes sense to me. The way it works for me. The way I feel best about good old Frank Wilde.”

  And isn’t that what life is all about? Finding the best ways to get yourself through it all? We aren’t all carbon copies of the same person. It’s foolish to believe we all need the same answers to problems.

  “I wasn’t going to point out any holes, silly. I respect you for your choices. It’s a big deal to come back from something like that.” Sarah shrugs and the smile falls from her face. “You must think so little of me, for being as out of control as I am when it comes to this stuff.” She lifts her glass off the table an inch or so and then puts it down.

  “I’d hardly call what you’re doing being out of control. I’ve never seen you have more than two drinks.” I pause, considering whether to voice my next thought out loud then decide we’re way past censoring ourselves. “Although I will say that mixing the medication with the drinking is a bad idea.”

  “I know that. I really do.” Sarah looks at me, a million things dancing behind her eyes. She chews on her bottom lip and then drops her gaze, only to bring it right back to mine. I wait patiently for her to decide what and how much to share with me.

  Just when I think she’s decided to share absolutely nothing, she speaks up. “Things aren’t great between me and my family. It’s been bad for years.”

  The words, so generic they give away nothing of the situation, come from somewhere so deep in he
r soul that I can see the effort it takes her to pull them out. She trembles under the weight of it all, bolstering her courage before speaking again. “My brother’s wedding brought all this…stuff…to the surface and I just couldn’t put myself through it…”

  I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she takes a sip of her drink and then forces a smile.

  “There’s this saying that’s everywhere on Pinterest and Facebook and stuff. What if I fall? Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?” She waits for me to acknowledge the quote before she continues. “I always fall. At least when it comes to my father. I’ve never been enough for him, even when I tried to be everything he wanted, even when I disagreed with him completely.” Her voice cracks and she swallows hard, then glances around and lets out a shaky breath, shutting down the emotion and hiding it under lock and key. A jailer practiced at doing her job, despite the cries of the prisoner.

  I take her hands and rub my thumbs along her knuckles. “You don’t have to talk about it, not here. Not now. But I’m here when you’re ready and I’m a good listener.”

  “It’s all right there, you know. Like it wants out.” Sarah presses her hand to her lips as if to keep herself from speaking. I wait and she drops her hand before continuing. “It’s not fair of me to dump any of this on you. I’m a big girl. It’s my job to handle it.”

  “Handling it and ignoring it are two very different things with two very different outcomes.”

  Acceptance softens Sarah’s features and she nods. “So,” she begins and then clears her throat. “My dad and I had a falling out when I was a teenager. I made a mistake and the solution he saw wasn’t something I could bring myself to do…” She pauses, obviously struggling with her words. “You asked about something that happened when I was a kid. Something that no one knows about. I told you about a stupid note. But this…?” She drops her gaze to the table. “My dad and I didn’t get along well before it happened. After…?”

  “You really don’t have to talk about it here. I understand.”

  Sarah nods and offers an apologetic smile. “I got pregnant when I was in high school.” She blinks after the words make it past her lips, as if she doesn’t know what to do now that she’s spoken them. “Dad wanted me to get an abortion and if you knew anything about my family, you’d understand what a shock that was for me. I couldn’t imagine going through with it and told him exactly what I thought of the idea. Anyway, life had its own plans and I lost the baby the next week.” Her eyes shimmer with all the unspoken emotions, lost in pain and memories. “I thought my mom was going to lose her mind. She made me swear never to tell my brothers. Never to tell my friends. Never to tell anyone.”

  She glances at me as if to gauge my judgement, of which there’s none. Life happens. We’ve all made mistakes and who am I to judge her for hers?

  “Anyway,” she continues. “A day of silence between Dad and me stretched into a week of silence, which stretched into a month of silence, and so on and so forth until neither one of us could wait for me to graduate and move out. One night, I was complaining about Colton’s girlfriend at the time and my dad turned to me and there was hate in his eyes. Like, actual hatred. He told me that girl was more a part of the family than I was.” Sarah pauses to push back the hurt that chased the words past her lips. “After all we’d been through, it was a slap to the face that I never recovered from,” she whispers. “I know I wasn’t the kind of kid he wanted, but I’m blood. His daughter. That’s supposed to mean something, right?”

  I nod and tighten my grip on her hands, afraid that if I speak, she’ll clam up and it’s painfully obvious how badly she needs to get this out into the open.

  “Fast forward a few years and David is getting married. I drag myself to the wedding, an utter nervous wreck by the way, and then there’s Dad. Hugging David’s new wife, cupping her face in his hands and smiling at her the way I always wanted him to smile at me. All I could see was someone else who was more a part of the family than me.” She fiddles with her drink and then pushes it away. “And if I look at things logically, I can understand how he feels closer to her than to me. I’m just as at fault here as he is because all I needed to do was talk to him. It wouldn’t have been easy, but maybe we could have…” She pauses and shakes her head, her eyes darting around the table but not seeing anything but her memories. “Anyway, I saw my mom on New Year’s Eve. Asked her if she thought I could stop by and see Dad because I’m so tired of feeling this way. She hugged me and told me she loved me so much, but Dad wasn’t ready for me. It’s been five years, Frank. Five years! And he’s not ready?”

  Sarah pauses to collect her thoughts and then continues. “I had every intention of going to Colton’s wedding, but I couldn’t put myself through that again. Couldn’t stand there and feel like a stranger among family, while another woman, a friend of mine, Tessa, took my place.” She shakes her head. “I’m ready to fix things. Ready to move forward. I just don’t know how. Not if Dad isn’t ready.” Her gaze bounces across my face, ready and waiting for my judgement.

  I lean across the table to cup her cheek. “I don’t think you can do much more than take care of you.”

  “But I’m not doing a very good job of that, am I?” Sarah leans into my touch and closes her eyes. “If I need a little blue pill to get through my days,” she whispers, “then I’m not doing a very good job at all.” She sits up and looks into my eyes. “I want to stop taking them. I really do.”

  “Then stop.”

  She makes a face and pulls away. “It’s not that easy.”

  “I never said it was going to be easy. But if you want to stop, the answer is simple. You just stop.”

  “But what happens if I have a panic attack? What happens if something goes wrong and I freak out and mess things up and I end up worse off than I am now?”

  “Then call your brother. Or your doctor. Or hell, call me. Talk to me. I’m here for you. I know it must feel like you’ve been alone for years, but you’re not. Not anymore. I’ll hold you up until you’re strong enough to do it yourself.”

  Sarah places her hand against my chest. “You’ve been nothing but amazing to me. Why?”

  “Look at you. You’re funny. Smart. Sexy as hell. Why wouldn’t I be amazing to you?” I pause and look deeply into her eyes. She’s hurting, barely more than a raw nerve sitting in front of me, and if she’s anything like Leo, we’re going to have some hiccups as she learns to deal with everything she’s avoiding, but she’s worth it. One look at her and I know she’s worth it. “It’s time to stop falling, Sarah. Let me show you what it means to fly.”

  Sarah

  It’s late by the time I get home, but not so late that I can’t make a call I should have made weeks ago. The second the door closes behind me, I pull up Tessa’s contact info and hit the call button. The phone rings. Once. Twice. A third time. Just as I’m resigning myself to leave a voicemail and deciding how much to say now versus later, Tessa answers.

  “Well, hey there,” she says, sounding neither pleased nor displeased to hear from me.

  “Hey.” I drop onto the bed, the cheap comforter scratching against the back of my thighs, and kick off my shoes. “I’ve been meaning to call for a long time,” I say as I cross my legs and massage a foot. Apologies don’t come easy to me, but that’s a weakness it’s time I address. Tessa is a good woman, a good friend. She deserves the same in turn.

  “Yeah?” Tessa asks in that same tone, one you’d reserve for a call from a stranger. “Colton says you’re in Denver.”

  “I am.” It’s tempting to use small talk to cover up everything that’s broken between us, to just drop into conversation as if nothing’s wrong. Pretend things are okay without actually talking about what happened so I can hang up feeling better about not coming to her wedding. Old Sarah would do just that. But I’m working on a new Sarah. “I called to apologize…”

  “Sarah…” Tessa trails off and lets out a breath.

  “I was wrong to
disappear after New Years. I was wrong not to come to your wedding. I know you know that things between my family and me are all kinds of fucked up, but I should have been stronger for you. I ran away and I’m sorry. I really am.”

  There’s a long pause and then, “I don’t know what you want me to say.” She sounds hurt, like she’s stuck between wanting to tell me to fuck off and not knowing if I’m worth the effort.

  “I don’t want you to say anything. I just need you to know I’m sorry. I’m kind of stuck here in Denver, but when I get home, I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you.”

  My own statement is a punch to the gut.

  When I get home.

  How did I not realize that my time in Denver—and therefore my time with Frank—has an expiration date?

  “I forgive you, Sarah. I mean, in a way I guess I already forgave you. Everyone knows not to count on you to do what you say you’re going to do. What kind of friend would I be if I started holding that against you now?”

  Her words sting, but I shake them off. She’s right, after all. “Do me a favor, would ya? Start holding them against me. You deserve a friend who will be there for you even when it’s hard.”

  “You’re right. I do. And you hurt my feelings and on one hand I don’t know if I even want to talk to you right now.”

  “And on the other hand?”

  “Well, the other hand has missed you so much it’s willing to work on forgiving and forgetting.”

  I flop back on the bed and cover my eyes with my arm, trying to push away the realization that I managed to ignore a giant roadblock between Frank and me—namely the twelve hundred or so miles separating his home from mine.

  Tessa fills me in on life with Colton while I nod and smile my way through the conversation. I’d forgotten how much I appreciate her genuine positivity and easygoing nature. “So, obviously I’m happy as can be,” she says. “What about you? Colton says you’re working?”