I should at least have gathered up the courage to visit. But I wasn’t there. Just like I hadn’t been there for fall break, or Thanksgiving, or Christmas. New Year’s Eve? Nope. Rang in the New Year in the lab so I wouldn’t have to think about it. Spring break? Yup, you got it. I was working. Easter came and went while I did my statistics thing. I hadn’t planned to be there for summer vacation, either. Work, right. A great RA with a fabulous professor analyzing clinical trials.
What Thomas Wolfe said, that you can never go home again, was so close to the truth it was scary. But I hadn’t had any way to truly understand what it meant back when I was sitting in high school English. With maturity comes wisdom? Maybe not in my case.
As I headed towards South Louisiana and the swamp, a storm gathered on the horizon and lightning flashed. That storm also made me think of the boy I had left behind in the worst possible way, under the worst possible circumstances.
I was heading back to the place where Booker Outlaw and I had collided on one of the worst nights of my life. I trembled just thinking about him and what he’d done for me.
Now—as I returned to Hope Parish, to Suttontowne, Louisiana for the first time since I left for Tulane—I began to understand the message of Wolfe’s quote
My experiences changed me. I’d never be the same girl I was before the secrets and the lies. Before the night Damien Langston changed my life forever.
By the time I pulled into my aunt’s driveway, the rain was coming down so hard I couldn’t see anything but silver sheets streaming down my windshield. May in Louisiana was like monsoon season. The downpour trapped me inside my car and left me feeling isolated and cocooned at the same time. And I don’t do well when I’m alone with my thoughts. When there’s no problem to solve or work to accomplish.
My aunt’s white plantation house, generations old, had aged gracefully into a soft patina of yellow. It almost broke my heart to see it again, to think that my aunt might die before I could tell her I was sorry for my neglect…to realize that although I hadn’t planned to come home again, ever, I had missed this house—and even more, my beloved aunt—with a deep, enduring ache.
But abandoning this town had been a necessity that burned inside me like old Mr. Lacroix’s cheap moonshine.
My vision blurred, my nose runny and probably red from the tears that had started when I was about an hour outside Lafayette. I sat trapped by the rain. My stomach had already been in such knots that I hadn’t eaten anything since leaving Tulane.
No, I couldn’t come home again, but I could and would be there for my aunt. It tore me up to think of her falling down that wide, grand staircase, lying there alone for who-knows-how-long in that big, empty house.
I went cold at the thought. Really cold. And scared. It was too early to visit her at the hospital and, even though I wanted to see her desperately, I would never break the hospital rules. They were there for a reason. Sick people needed their rest to get better. And I wanted my aunt back.
Grief clutched at me. My throat went tight with pain. Memories of life with my wonderful aunt flooded me, only adding to my tears. Those memories opened up deep emotions that rocked me. I was a terrible niece. I hadn’t bothered to come home for the holidays, instead making the excuse that I had to work. The guilt made the knot in my throat even more painful.
All because I was a coward.
I was trying to mop up a fresh flood tears when something furtive darted past the back window. It appeared abruptly in my peripheral vision, its figure distorted by rain, mists on the window, and still more tears. I gasped and grabbed the steering wheel in panic, while the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I stared in the rear view mirror, raising a hand to quickly wipe my eyes clear, searching for the apparition, but just as abruptly, it was gone.
Were my eyes deceiving me? I peered into the rain-soaked darkness, but the silver sheets obscured my view.
The pelting cascade of water struck the roof in a staccato rhythm which had, only moments ago, been soothing. But now I realized the downpour muted any outside sounds that might have given me a clue about what had flitted past the car. The storm had rendered me deaf and blind, and my skin crawled. Was someone out there? I looked around, my senses on full alert, but could see nothing.
Suddenly my back window exploded in a cascade of finely-beaded glass. Something heavy hit the back seat. I screamed as glass fragments and blowing rain struck the back of my head and neck with moisture and stinging pain.
For a moment I was stunned. My car keys slipped from my slack grasp and fell into shadows, landing somewhere on the floorboards. Someone had thrown something through my window. The oddness of the eerie, sneaky figure added to my confusion.
My hand went to the back of my neck and came away red with blood. I twisted around left and right to see if whoever had broken my window was still out there, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. When I reached down to try to find my car keys, my skin crawled with the feeling I was being watched.
My self-control slipped and I had to get into the house as quickly as possible.
I looked around one more time, but couldn’t find anything unusual. To hell with it. I needed to call for help. I reached for my phone and swore under my breath. It was dead.
The rap on my window jolted me. I jerked my head around and saw the unmistakable outline of a broad-shouldered man standing outside the door. He was shouting something at me, but my nerves and the pounding rain drowned out what he was saying. When his fist hit the window again, I dropped my phone and redoubled my efforts to find my car keys, my movements jerky with fear, my breathing quick and uneven. His fist hit the window again. I knew he could easily come through the back window, and then I would be trapped just like the last day of my summer vacation on Wild Magnolia Road. The door handle jiggled.
My heart stopped, and then finally self-control made room for the rational part of my brain.
I wasn’t safe here.
But I wasn’t safe outside, either, and without my keys…I couldn’t get in the house.
The sound of the handle scared me. At least I had a chance to hide myself in the bayou.
I flashed back to that night, his hot breath, his groping hands. I bolted across the seat with a cry, pushed the passenger side door open and stumbled from the car. Immediately the deluge soaked me to the bone. I ran. My heart beat frantically, as if it would pound right out of my chest.
Warning: This book is for mature audiences only!
New Adult Contemporary Romance.
A Perfect Mess is part of the Perfect Secret series and is a Hope Parish novel. It can be read as a stand-alone novel or in any order with the series.
The publishing order of the series is as follows:
A Perfect Mess
A Perfect Mistake (coming soon)
A Perfect Dilemma (coming soon)
Other books by this Author-Going to the Dogs series
Leashed
Groomed for Murder
Hounded
Collared (coming soon)
And now a sneak peek at For Real (Rules of Love, Book One) coming November 14 from New York Times Bestselling author, Chelsea M. Cameron!
Two people. One fake relationship. What could go wrong?
When virgin Shannon Travers gets fed up with her friends demanding that she find a boyfriend, she enlists the help of tattooed, mohawk-rocking graphic design student Jett. He’s more than happy to play along with their Fake Relationship, including the Ten Rules of Fake Dating that control-freak Shannon comes up with. Even if he likes to violate them. Repeatedly.