One Wild Night (Hollywood Chronicles #1)(60)

He sighs. “I really wish you’d leave in the morning.”

“I can’t, Ted. I haven’t seen her in years and it sounds bad.”

He nods in understanding. “Do not drive if you’re tired. Pull over and stay at a motel.”

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him, lifting the coffee he bought me. I press the cup to my lips and take a sip, feeling the warm liquid slide down my throat and settle into my belly. Truth is, I don’t need the caffeine. The adrenaline running through my veins could keep me up for days.

“Then just call me when you get there.” He looks over his shoulder and down the street.

“I will. Is everything okay?” I ask as his eyes scan the street.

His gaze returns to me, but it's hard not to notice the concern in his eyes. “Yes. Just want to make sure you make it okay, baby. Take care of your mom. Everything here can wait.” He presses a quick kiss to my forehead before stepping away from the car.

I manage a tight smile as I reverse out of the driveway and toward the town I swore I’d never return to.





Chapter 2





Frances





Nearly eight hours later, I exit the interstate and onto the two-lane county road that will lead me into Crescent Ridge. More than forty miles with not a streetlight in sight is all that is left to travel. Stars light up the bright sky, guiding me home—to the one place I vowed I'd never return to. The evening sky was one of my favorite things growing up in Crescent Ridge. The stars provided hope that there was more than the small town I lived in. A town I was willing to stay in for Cole. I would’ve given up every dream I had—for him.

The sound of his voice on the phone echoes through my head, and my stomach clenches at the thought of seeing him. I swallow hard and push my anger to the side as I think about my mom and what I’m about to walk into.

As I ease my car down the long road that dead ends into the cul-de-sac where my childhood home sits, a flood of emotions overcomes me. Tears fill my eyes when I see how different everything looks since I fled ten years ago. The houses look smaller and the trees look bigger. Ahead of me lies a quiet street full of houses that have seen better days.

Gravel crunches beneath the tires as I pull into the small driveway. My fingers are wrapped tightly around the steering wheel and my eyes are glued to the front porch. Hanging baskets of flowers once hung from the covered porch and flowerbeds used to hang from the porch railing, displaying beautiful arrangements of flowers.

It was the one splurge my mom indulged in. Our house was less than modest, but she claimed the flowers gave it an appearance that we cared about our home. Even in the dark, I can see that nothing is left but the hooks that the baskets used to hang on and the empty flowerbeds appear to have not seen a flower in years.

Where the porch was once painted white, it's now mostly gray from the weathered wood beneath where the paint has long since cracked and mostly disappeared. The three wood steps that lead up to the front porch lean to one side, and the dilapidated wood looks as if it could splinter and break apart.

I swallow hard against my dry throat when memories overcome me and take me back to a time where I spent summer nights sitting on those steps, shoulder to shoulder with Cole. My legs would be crisscrossed and tucked tightly underneath me while I talked to him, telling him stories and the plans I had for us. I planned our entire lives on those wooden steps, and I realize now that those plans were as dilapidated and weak as those steps had become.

Shaking off the thought, I remember Cole lying on his back, his long legs bent at the knee and propped on one of the steps. He'd lie there with a giant smile on his face as he listened to me talk. He rarely spoke when I'd tell him my dreams, instead he'd listen. He was a sponge, taking in every word. As we got older, he could recite every detail of my plans, and he'd whisper them to me as I'd fall asleep in his arms.

There were two things I believed in back then—Cole Ryan, and the plans I made for us. Sadly, both of those turned out to be nothing but a lie.

***

I navigate the delicate steps, carefully dragging my suitcase behind me. The front door is unlocked, just as it always was growing up. Crescent Ridge is small, and we never worried about anyone entering unannounced.

Stepping over the threshold and into the dark living room, I can see a dim light coming from the kitchen. I close the front door quietly and drop my suitcase and purse on the living room floor as carefully as I can without making too much noise. I rush quietly down the hall to check on my mom.

I twist the door handle and push open the door. I can hear the faint sounds of her heavy breathing, and my upset stomach instantly begins to settle. Tiptoeing across the wood floor, I lean in and press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She doesn't move, and the steady sounds of her breathing tell me she's still sound asleep.

I close the door quietly behind me and when I look up, there is a short lady in scrubs standing in the hallway drying her hands on a kitchen towel.

"You must be Frances," she whispers and pulls her glasses off her face, tucking them into the tight graying curls on top of her head. She rests the towel on her shoulder and smiles at me.

"I am." I walk over to her and hold out my hand.

She takes it graciously and shakes. "I've heard a lot about you. I'm Judy, the home nurse Mr. Ryan hired."