Page 4 of The Comeback

Quietly, I take the steps down off the deck and walk slowly around the house toward the front. I’ll feel better meeting a stranger out in the open. Because if it is someone trying to break in or something, I’d rather have the option to run away than be stuck inside. A truck is parked in the driveway—a truck that wasn’t there thirty minutes ago when I arrived.

“Excuse me, this is private property,” a deep male voice says.

I jump and scream, my phone flying from my hands and skidding through the grass. I immediately drop to the ground, trying to find it, glancing back and forth between the grass and the dark figure striding toward me from the driveway.

The very big dark figure. At least six-four, by my estimation. I know that height well, though I’ve spent years trying to forget exactly how tall six-four is. The figure is broad-shouldered too. So probably really strong. I skim my hands along the ground, praying I’ll come up with my phone before it’s too late. Maybe I should run without the phone and hope I can make it to the neighbor’s house before the intruder catches up.

“I’m calling the police!” I cry, bluffing one hundred percent. Can he hear the lie in the squeak of my voice?

“You’re calling the police? You’re the one trespassing.”

“What?” My hands finally make contact with the phone, and I snatch it up, flicking the bar across the screen to dial 911 before standing up and backing away.

The figure steps into the glow of one of the lights that run along the underside of the eaves. “Oh,” I say softly, blinking at the—yes, very large—man before me. He’s just as attractive as I remember. “Jett McCombs,” I breathe.

He huffs. “Look, being a fan isn’t an excuse to trespass. I’m sorry, but you need to leave, or I’m going to call the police, and not to sound entitled, but the chief is on my speed dial.”

He doesn’t recognize me?

I have been mostly absent from social media the last couple of years, and it’s not like he stayed my friend after I left Reno, but it’s hard to imagine I’ve changed so much that the man I was once set to marry, the man I planned to spend forever with, doesn’t even know who I am. Hurt zings through at the thought that he’s erased me so fully from his life. I haven’t exactly been expecting him to call me up and want to kiss and make up, but I haven’t forgotten him either.

Wait. I’m standing in the shadow of the bushes where I finally found my phone. Squaring my shoulders, I take a step into another circle of light in the yard, facing Jett with what I hope is a strong expression and no evidence that my insides have completely turned to jelly.

Now he freezes. He narrows his eyes. “Ava?” And then comes the expression I expected. A fierce glare. “What are you doing here?”

Jen’s Beach Escape. Jenna. Gabriella arranged the stay, paid for it and everything, so I only looked at the website once to check out the house. The profile picture was of a family on the beach near the house, and far enough away that I couldn’t distinguish features. I hadn’t thought to click on it to inspect it closer. Why would I? How would I have ever guessed that Jett’s sister-in-law owned a vacation rental on Galveston Bay?

“What are you doing here?” Jett repeats, his voice colder than before. “If you’re looking for me, you could’ve called first?—”

“The host—Jenna, I guess—said it was fine if I checked in tonight instead.” I can’t seem to get more words out.

Gabriella’s fiancé, Colby, is a teammate of Jett’s; I know at least that much. With me planning the wedding of a Puma player, I expected to run into Jett at some point, but not like this. I have no idea if he and Colby are friends or not. I know so little about him now beyond that he’d gone professional just like he’d planned and that he was back in Texas playing for the Pumas. I only know what I see when I watch the Pumas games on TV, and I don’t really go looking for more. What’s the point? We were supposed to get married, but when things went wrong, he had no interest in forgiving me. He hasn’t spoken to me since the night I left.

“You’re the wedding planner?” He takes a step back. “I thought you did, like, dinners or other events or something.”

That he knows what I do for a living surprises me. Event management wasn’t in the plans when we were together; it was something I discovered I loved and had a knack for after coming home to Houston.

“Weddings are events,” I finally say. Happily-ever-after events that I can handle. “Gabriella is a college friend. If you want to call Jenna to confirm everything, that’s fine. I’ll just”—now it was me who took a step back—“wait here.”

Jett stares at me for a moment longer before turning and yanking out his phone. He’s stopped from dialing by the arrival of a police car, lights flashing, in the driveway.

I pull my own phone back out, and sure enough, I have a call going, one I forgot about when I realized it was Jett McCombs standing in the yard.

“So, um, it turns out I have the police on speed dial too,” I say.

CHAPTER 4

JETT

The officer who responds is easy to convince that all of it’s a misunderstanding. Still, I get a few sideways looks from him, and he asks Ava twice if she’s sure she feels safe. I’d tried multiple times to wipe the glare from my face, but I can’t believe Jenna rented the house to Ava Lemmon, of all people, and didn’t even say anything. Had, in fact, basically set me up to run into her.

I keep looking over at Ava, checking to make sure that it’s indeed my ex-fiancée standing in the yard of Jenna’s GetAwayHome. Her strawberry-blond hair hangs in a ponytail down her back, longer than the last time I saw her. In high school she wore it shoulder-length but started growing it out in college. The air is thick between us with so much unsaid—at least, on my side. Does Ava have any regrets about us?

When it’s obvious the officer isn’t going to leave until I do, I walk back toward my truck, looking over my shoulder at Ava. She meets my gaze, holding it for a moment with an expression I can’t decipher. I used to know her so well. I could read every twitch of her lips or scrunch of her eyebrows. Her expression seems almost indifferent, but the tightness in her stance says she feels the crackling tension between us as much as I do. A few more minutes together and things could explode—and for a second I’m not quite sure what kind of explosion it would be.

She turns, breaking the spell, and pain twists in my stomach as I watch her walk away. I whirl around, yanking open the door of my truck and sliding in as quickly as possible. I feel stupid that I’m reacting to her like this when it’s been seven years since I last saw her. It’s not like I’ve been pining for her, waiting for her to come back into my life, never giving up on my love for her like this is some Blake Shelton song. I don’t look toward the house, the door, or Ava as I pull out of the driveway too fast, considering a patrol officer is parked next to the curb, watching me go.

I stew over seeing Ava again the entire way home, my brain completely caught up in the softness of her voice and the way my heart stopped when she stepped into the light.

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