Page 23 of Coming Home

“Love, Jo, all your days, if you choose, but don’t let it spoil you, for it is wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can’t have the one you want.”~Louisa May Alcott,Little Women

With each flip in the bed and punch of the pillow, Nat tossed and turned between her attraction to Noah and the allure of reuniting with Duncan. Even though she was the only one in the bed, it was filled with reminders of both men. Noah’s forlorn blue eyes staring at her from the stone path. The softness of his words as he told her she was beautiful. The way Duncan’s scent of spicy enticement had wrapped around her. The primal possessiveness in his voice as he bent close, promising to obliterate all past kisses with his future one. The seductive glint that swam in his eyes should erase any thought of Noah, but it didn’t.

Kicking her blankets off, she shot up. “Fuck it!”

No use trying to sleep in a bed full of phantom men. One a promise of the future and the other a specter of what would never be. The dull ache in her chest sparked from the pain ofunrequited affection. It was called a crush because to care and not be cared for had the power to destroy.

“I’ll only ever be Clayton’s little sister to him.”

Then, why did he say you were beautiful?

“To be nice!” she gritted, answering herself.

Plucking her phone from the bedstand to check the time, she decided to exercise this angst away with a jog. It was almost six a.m. The gray light of breaking day slinked into the sleeping loft through the partially opened blinds. Tugging on hot pink running shorts and a black sports bra and tank, she plopped onto the bed to put on her socks and sneakers.

Walking to her car, her gaze drifted to the farmhouse. Clayton’s red pickup was gone. Most mornings, he and Elle jogged at the Greenway before work. Since they’d be at the Greenway, she decided to go to the village park to get a run in before coming back to get ready to head to the clinic for the day. Neither of the Owens siblings jogged the country roads of Perry.

Not anymore.

This early in the morning, the village was quiet. The row of gravel parking spaces along the front of the park was empty. She parked her Jeep and hopped out. Inhaling the coolness of dying night and the warmth of waking day, she cut through the playground toward the paved road that encircled the park’s baseball fields.

Down the street and around the corner stood the yellow Victorian she’d called home for the first eighteen years of her life. Growing up near the park, she spent plenty of time here and scenes of her childhood were fond memories. The safety ofDad’s arms catching her as she shot down the slide, arms up and squealing. Her mom’s musical laughter as she pushed Nat on the swings. Clayton and Evan playing basketball on the court while she cheered in between whines for them to let her play. Clayton, the eldest, always succumbed to her tantrums. Evan, the middle child, shook his head before he relented and handed her the ball.

“Evan,” she croaked at the remembrance. Increasing her speed, she ran as if trying to outrun the memories.

Despite being seven years older, Evan was more best friend than big brother. While Clayton was the quintessential big brother, doting and overprotective, Evan straddled the line between protective and “I got your back.” He’d tease her but also listen. From the time she was thirteen, they’d go on long runs together and talk the entire time about anything and everything. There had been few secrets between them.

Evan was the favorite of all her favorite people. He’d been a bright light that flickered for just a moment, leaving her cold in the darkness of facing a life without him.

“Oh, Evan. I miss you,” she whimpered.

Hot tears rolled down her face, accompanying the painful widening pit in her stomach. The rapid pace of her run slowed with each teardrop. Salty tears and sweat blurred her vision. She stopped, pitching over with her hands on her knees, and gulped for air.

“I got you,” a soft baritone soothed, and a palm rubbed calming strokes down her back.

Lifting her head, she murmured, “Noah.”

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, placing his strong hands on her arms. With firm gentleness, he raised her to a standing position.

“Noah.” His name said everything and nothing all at the same time. She pressed her face into his chest, allowing his arms to tuck her in close and his embrace to ease her sadness.

They stood there for what may have been hours or only minutes.

Noah’s arms clenched around her. “I’ve got you. Let it out.”

Not once did he say, “It’s alright,” or “Don’t cry.” In that moment, he just let her be sad.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice was muffled by his chest.

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“But I’m using your T-shirt as a tissue,” she sniffled.

“What else are T-shirts good for?”

She tipped her head up. “How are you here? The park was empty when I got here.”

He grinned. “I live three doors down from the park. I got up early for a run and I saw your Jeep.”

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