The One Who Got Away (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (2 page)

I was almost home.

If you believed the brochures and the cheery sign I passed a few miles back, Rhoades, North Carolina was the hidden gem of the state. If you blinked, you’d miss the rolling fields, construction equipment, and pick up truck-lined driveways that looked like every other itty-bitty town in the eastern nook of the state.

“Your destination is on the right,” the automated voice prompted. She repeated it for posterity, and I tapped the X to close the app because I could see the brick house peeking out from behind the oak trees. The dread I’d been pretending wasn’t eating me up when I texted my sister and confirmed that yes, I was back in North Carolina and yes, I was coming to Sunday dinner rolled in my gut.

“Here we go,” I muttered, pulling into the driveway.

I knew every bump in the gravel. I maneuvered around the huge crater that Dad was supposed to fill in years ago. I tucked my car beside my sister’s minivan nestled next to an old tree. It looked like someone had tried to drive halfway up it, then remembered trees weren’t for automobiles. The painfully inept driver that had stripped the bark right from the mighty trunk? Yours truly, with my learner’s permit burning a hole in my pocket. It was the first and last time my father let me drive his truck.

Sunday dinner at the Wilkes followed closely behind non-voluntary church attendance. The only reason I got a pardon regarding the whole church thing was because I strategically planned my road trip from Nebraska. And since I hadn’t been in Rhoades in years, God, and my mother, forgave the slip up.

I didn’t loosen my death hold on the steering wheel at first, glaring at the peeling coating that flaked off and sprinkled onto my wrinkled tunic. With a groan, I finally let go of the wheel and futilely tried to make the wrinkles disappear before I shrugged my shoulders and flipped down the visor.

“Hey you,” I whispered, staring at my reflection. Without a swipe of makeup, every striking feature on my face seemed like a dull pencil that had been forgotten under some grubby couch cushion. My forehead was lined with every bit of stress I’d taken on since I left town. My baby blue eyes were navy, like the storm clouds had just rolled in. I skipped over the nose I used to think was too big for my face, a fault confirmed by my friendly peers. Then middle school hit and I said to hell with being nice and fitting in. That was one of a handful of things that remained the same: all black everything, from my tunic to my combat boots. I was still as lean and gangly as I’d always been, towering over most people. And without a doubt, I’d probably trip on at least two things, one of which being my own feet, before I even walked through the front door.

I snapped my visor back in place. I couldn’t stay in the car all afternoon.

I flicked my eyes towards the house. My mother wasn’t even being discreet. The curtains were snatched back and she was waving like a crazy person trying to get the attention of rescue personnel in an emergency situation.

The tears in my throat rose to my eyes as I half laughed, half sobbed and waved back. I killed the engine and took another sobering breath. Done with the idea of sticking my toe in, I threw open my door and forced myself from the car. I minded the crater, ducking around my sister’s bumper-stickered car. Everything from ‘Baby on Board’ to ‘If You Can Read This...You’re Too Close’ shouted Josephine.

Several other cars were parked precariously in the tiny front yard, and I went ahead and glued a smile on my face. Knowing Mom, one of the cars probably belonged to the mayor, here to give me the key to the city for finally coming home.

Before my fingertips could even graze the doorknob, the door was yanked open and Mom pounced.

“Catherine! Oh sweetie, you’re home!”

I’d been ready to give her a squeeze or two and extricate myself, but I stayed on the porch, in her embrace, and breathed her in. It had been six months since she’d made the trek to visit me in Omaha, not even complaining that she was always the one doing the traveling.

With Mom’s arms around me, her scent a mixture of sweet pea body splash, fresh baked cookies, and just...
her
...I couldn’t help but melt. The tears I promised myself I wouldn’t cry streamed down my cheeks. “Mom...I...I’m sorry-”

“Sorry?” She reared back, but her hands still cradled my face. “Sorry for what?”

That just made me cry harder, my words drowning in regret. “Because I left. I let it keep me away.” I hated that it was still ‘it.’ That even now, over five years later, I still couldn’t say the words out loud.

In a blink of an eye, I went from the luckiest woman, a future with Lincoln Carraway stretching before me, to a jilted bride. The love of my life left me at the altar, and I left too. I hadn’t been home since my wedding day. Mom, Dad, Josie, even my brother, Rob, had come to visit me in Nebraska. Somehow, by some miracle, they never judged or cajoled me into coming home.

Now that I was back, with all the history, good times and bad, swirling all around me, I couldn’t help it. So even though I saw love and happiness shining in Mom’s eyes, I apologized again.

“Mom, I’m so sorry it took me so long.” I swallowed the boulder that was lodged in my throat and swept my blonde hair from my eyes so she could see that I meant it. “Really.”

She cupped my cheek. “No more apologizing. You came home when you were meant to, ya hear?”

And with that, she tugged me inside, like there was nothing to be forgiven at all.

One step onto the worn carpet and I could guess what was on the menu. That crisp, heavy bite in the air? That was her famous fried chicken. The faint hint of garlic making my mouth water? The best greens ever, hands down. The family portraits that covered nearly every inch of the walls, mantle, coffee table, and every surface in the living room was as warm and inviting as my favorite dish.

“Oh my
God
, you made cornbread?” I gushed with stars in my eyes, almost following the scent blindly, already tasting the crumbly goodness.

“I have dibs!” Josie’s loud, brash voice cut through my slow-mo fantasy.

Mom glanced over at me warily. “As if she needs any introduction.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I should be saying, ‘Catherine’s here!’ ‘Josie’s here!’ seems more appropriate.” When Josie peeked around the corner, her big smile hitting me right in the chest, Mom added, “Jillian and Mikey are here, too.”

That was for my sister’s benefit, and I imagined her two little ones were napping somewhere nearby. Josie’s eyes widened and she mouthed a silent apology.

Josie skipped into the main room. So much personality was packed in her lean frame as she gave my mother a look I was all too familiar with. It was the same look she had when she would steal a bite of some cooling pie Mom had prepared for dessert. Or when she came home after curfew. Or when she announced that she was pregnant with Jillian and marrying Anthony. She was just Josephine. And as much crap as we gave her, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

“The whole lack of volume control thing, that’s on you and Dad, Mom.” Josie shrugged her shoulders when she saddled up next to us. “Genes.”

“It’s always the parents’ fault, eh? You should have been a therapist,” Mom joked, stepping aside so Josie could throw her arms around me.

Josie smelled like baby powder...and the cornbread I was salivating over. “Catherine! How long has it been?” I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t pause long enough for me to do the math. “Too long, that’s how long!” She put both hands on my shoulders and peered at me so closely that my face matched her crimson-colored sweater. “You look tired.” She continued her inspection, lifting one of my greasy, dirty blonde strands. “I guess I should be happy that you got rid of that awful jet black thing you had going on the last time I saw you, but Jesus, Cat. It looks like you haven’t washed your hair in weeks!”

She was right. The black dye job was a bad idea and my hair was overdue for a proper wash, but I didn’t say so.

“And you’re still doing that awful all black thing-”

“Josephine, don’t start in on your sister,” Mom scolded on her way to the kitchen.

“Oh, she knows I’m just concerned,” Josie waved off the interruption. “Don’t you, Catty?”

Catty. She only called me that when she wanted something. I darted away from her, all the warm, fuzzy Hallmark flutters in my chest blinking right out of existence. “What is it, Josie?”

“What is it?” She brought a hand to her chest like she was offended by me cutting through the red tape and getting to the point. “I’m just getting reacquainted with my long lost sister.”

“Uh huh.” I trudged over to the couch and plopped down with a sigh. Considering I’d been on the road for hours, sitting should have been akin to walking across hot coals barefoot. Instead, I relaxed into the lumpy couch, nuzzled into its lived-in contours, inhaled the familiarity, and braced myself for the attack.

“So, you’re moving back to NC? You have a job offer in Raleigh, right?” Even though she’d crossed the room to where I sat and her expression was confidential with her golden brows arched, her voice carried. She couldn’t help it. “You know he lives in Raleigh now, right?”

My heart did a back flip.

He
.

Lincoln.

I fought the urge to make a face, and/or bite her head off. Of course I knew my ex lived in Raleigh. It was the only reason I hadn’t accepted the job offer over the phone. I told myself if I could go home, then breeze into Raleigh and not react to the mention of him, signs of him, and the very real chance that we’d run into each other, then fate was telling me to take this new job and run with it.

I plucked a pillow from the nook of the couch and used it as a shield. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Josie shrilled. “That’s all I get?!”

“Jesus, Josie, give her some room to breathe.”

I’d never been so happy to hear my brother’s deep growl in my whole life.

Robert was still in his uniform, which wasn’t an accurate indicator of whether he was fresh off a shift or heading in. He'd joined the force after taking a couple of courses at the community college and hadn’t taken it off since.

He looked so much like Dad with his mop of curly brown hair and days-old scruff that those damn tears were back in full force. I covered it with a sniff as I tossed aside the pillow and hugged his neck. When we separated and I looked into his eyes, I saw a few tears of his own.

“How are ya, Rob?” I playfully punched his arm. “How’s Meredith and Syd?”

“I’m hanging in there. Meredith has turned the house into her workshop and is driving me insane.” He groaned, but the twinkle in his eye told another story.

He met Meredith when he signed up for a pottery class, expecting an easy A. Meredith was the teacher and even the Wilkes charm wasn’t enough for an auto pass. He failed the course, but on the last day, Meredith slipped him her number. A year and a half and a country wedding later, my adorable niece Sydney was born.

“Syd is all attitude and lives off Disney movies and Cheerios,” Rob chuckled.

I glanced past him, on the lookout for the cute li'l booger, but there was no mini, toddling version of Meredith.

“She’s under the weather, so Mer is at home with her,” he explained.

Before I could say how much I missed that bundle of never-ending energy, he was Facetimeing his wife. I got to chat with a bleary-eyed Meredith for a few minutes and meet Syd’s favorite new stuffed animal, Mindy.

I left my siblings and wandered into the kitchen where my mother was laying out plates. I vaguely recognized the cluster of old women crammed into our tiny kitchen. They buzzed around her, transferring casserole dishes to the dining room table. Mom wouldn’t let me lift a finger to help, calling me the guest of honor. I re-met the women, all from church. With heavy perfume clogging my nostrils and my body aching from a round of bone-crushing hugs, I glanced at the open back door. The sound of Dad’s old radio hummed through the patched up screen.

“Take this out to your dad and tell him dinner in five.” Mom handed me a Coors Light and swatted my behind when I hesitated.

“I’m going!” I hissed as I took my sweet time, fingering the label on the bottle.

She leaned in and whispered, “He hasn’t stopped talking about your visit since you said you were coming for sure.”

My face warmed several degrees. I swiped the beer and acted like her admission didn’t make me ten times more nervous. Dad gushed about three things: football, James Patterson’s latest release, and classic rock. Hearing that he was excited about my visit, and had been talking about it since I’d confirmed that I was coming a week ago, was enough to make my heart float right out of my chest.

I inched down the stairs that spilled into the backyard. The smell of the woods and the country filled my nostrils. It was a welcome scent.

Dad was where he always was on Sunday afternoons, stretched out in his lawn chair, some high stakes thriller paperback folded on his thigh, ball cap tipped over and covering half his face.

I knew he wasn’t sleeping. He knew that I knew he wasn’t sleeping. Still, I paused fifty feet away and announced myself.

“Daddy?”

Usually, he’d grunt ‘What?’ then wink while he pretended I’d disturbed him from some fantastic dream. This time, he nearly knocked over his chair when he scrambled to his feet.

It had only been a handful of months since we’d seen each other but I saw every minute, second, and hour of worry dash across his hardened features. He wrapped me in a hug that was all muscle, freshly mowed grass, and the cigarettes he wasn’t supposed to be smoking.

He pressed a kiss against my forehead. “Welcome home, Cat.”

T
here was no cover of darkness, no covert way to sneak into Raleigh and pretend I wasn’t scared shitless about running into Lincoln, or any sign of him. Just as I took the Hillsborough street exit and allowed myself to exhale as I eased around the curve, accepting my fate, his name punched me right in the face.

Up on a billboard, touching the sky, ‘Carraway Consulting’ shouted in big, sparkly letters, shining as brightly as the family that grinned down on me from the signage.