Bound for Me (Be for Me #4)(63)

All her stuff was gone.

She was gone. Faster than a pro-skier out of the gate. He went straight from her silent unit, to St Clair’s.

Luca looked daggers at him. “Best bartender ever. And you go and scare her off.”

Scare her?

“Connor,” Krista hurried up to him. “What did you say to her?”

“Why? What did she say to you? Did she say where she was going?”

Krista shook her head, the anxious look in her eyes making Connor feel even more of a jerk. “She was a closed book. Totally. Just phoned and said she was sorry, but that she wasn’t coming back.”

She hadn’t been answering her phone at all since. He’d left a million messages already.

“Do you know where she’d go?” Krista asked.

Connor didn’t answer. He leaned his elbows on the bar and rubbed his temples.

He’d screwed up so bad. In so many ways. And for once in his life he didn’t know how he was gonna make any of it right.



After two cramped, boring plane rides, Savannah finally climbed the steps into the bus heading to the outskirts of Belle, Louisiana. She checked the address she’d scrawled into her notebook one more time and tried to push down the anxiety rising in her throat.

The state her father must be in? Trailer park meant no money. Her mom’s baby news probably meant drinking. Meant rock bottom ugly.

But she’d deal with it, as she had before. She’d help him out. Then she’d get herself a job. She’d make good tips. She’d save. Then she’d get herself a better education and get to building her own damn empire.

She’d make a better life for herself. And be utterly independent.

She hefted her big bag onto her back and got off when the bus pulled into the last stop. Ten more minutes of walking. Which was good because it helped stretch out her stiffened muscles… and she could mentally prepare herself one last time.

She walked another five minutes, through the trailer park then spotted a familiar figure hunched over a fold-out table, watering a bunch of herbs in pots. “Dad?”

“Savannah?” He turned quickly, a massive smile breaking the look of concentration in his face. “What are you doing here?”

She could ask him the same. Except she didn’t. She stared at him. “You look good,” she finally said.

He looked different. His skin wasn’t the usual sallow. He was in shorts and a tee. They were clean. And he was gardening?

“You look as beautiful as ever.” But he didn’t sound as certain. “But a little tired?”

“A lot tired.” She picked up one of the small plants and read the carefully printed lettering on the small stick. Basil. “Have you spoken to mom recently?”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

She knew he knew. There was a defeated look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Can I get you a drink?” He brushed his hands and turned towards the trailer door.

Savannah’s heart sank.

“I have a whole selection of teas.” He went up the couple of steps.

“Tea? You mean hot tea?”

“Herbal.” He nodded. “They’re good. I almost like a couple.”

She started to laugh. “Seriously?”

He turned in the open doorway. “Come in.”

Curious, Savannah followed him. She looked around her father’s new home while he fussed with the kettle. Unlike the unit she’d shared with him in the hotel, there was no mess here. There were no bottles. No scrunched up receipts. The place was tiny and sparsely decorated. Only one picture hung on the wall. A framed photo of her from a few years ago—smiling at the camera in a way she hadn’t smiled in years.

Savannah wrapped her cold hands around the warm mug he handed to her and breathed in the light strawberry scent. Not bad. “So you know mom’s news?”

There was no point in trying to make polite chat, she just had to deal with it.

“The baby? Yeah, I know.” He put his mug on the small table and frowned a little as he sat down. “She’s never coming back.”

“No. She’s not.” Savannah watched, quietly amazed as her father gently swished the teabag in his steaming mug.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” he said very quietly.

For a moment Savannah was lost for words. “You’re my father.”

“You didn’t see your mom for ages. She hurt you and you shut her out. I thought… you might do the same to me.” He looked across at her. “I deserve it,” he said. “I stole from you. I betrayed your trust. I’ve let my addictions push away what’s most precious to me.”

“Mom,” she whispered.

“No. You. All these years I used your mother—my declarations of undying love for her—as an excuse to take stupid risks. To gamble. Because I am an addict,” he said it clearly, harshly, like he was still practising the admission. Still accepting it. “But you? I destroyed part of myself when I stole from you.”

“Dad—”

“When you left, that’s when I knew I had to sort it out.” He rubbed his forehead. “I went on a bender. Woke up I don’t know where and realized I’d lost everything. I’d lost you. I was hoping to have things a bit better by the time I next saw you… but you’ve come sooner than I ever hoped you would.”