Page 93 of When the Storm Breaks
He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, his gaze never wavering. “No. I’ve never been one to let things go so easily.”
At least he was honest about it. “Well, there you go. You raised us to be the same as you. Make things right with Ridge.” I walked away, leaving him to stew on his actions. It was too late for me, but it wasn’t too late to make things right for Ridge.
Did I hate Patrick? No. He’d raised me and had tried to do the best he could. But he’d failed my mother who had been eight years younger than him. According to my mother, she’d been kicked out of the house when she was seventeen. At nineteen, she became a mother. My father never married her. Always called me Shelby’s bastard. Unfortunately, he and my mother couldn’t seem to stay away from each other. Which was how we ended up living in Lafayette, Louisiana off and on until I was eight years old.
When I’d told Shiloh there was no shame in giving up her baby, I’d meant it. I used to wish my mother would have done the same.
But Shiloh was nothing like Shelby.
With me, Shiloh had been good and true and honest. Besides Noah, she was the best thing that had ever happened to me.
Shiloh made me happy, and I’d like to think I’d made her happy too. And fuck, I missed her more than I should have. More than I’d ever care to admit.
* * *
I climbedthe stairs to the back porch of the guesthouse and sat on an Adirondack chair, my feet propped on the banister, my eyes on the lake. The guesthouse had been booked for most of the summer. New guests were arriving tomorrow but tonight it was empty. I slid my phone out of my pocket and did something I’d promised myself I wouldn’t. I Googled Shiloh’s name and scrolled through photos of her at Glastonbury earlier today. She was wearing a tiny black dress, thigh-high boots, and winged eyeliner, lips painted dark purple. The sky was overcast, the crowd shoulder to shoulder, and anyone could see she was in her element. She felt right at home on that stage in front of all those screaming fans. Bastian Cox joined her for the encore, and they sang “Damage” together. He looked like Johnny Depp a la “Pirates of the Caribbean.” His black eyeliner was almost as thick as hers and he wore a black fedora, a ripped T-shirt and silver rings on every finger. The fact I’d noticed all those details just went to show how closely I’d studied those damn photos.
A glutton for punishment, I kept scrolling, kept searching for clues to her life away from here,away from me. I stopped at a photo of her with Dean the douche Bouchon. It looked like they were having coffee at an outdoor café. His arm was around her and they were deep in conversation. I stared at the photo for a good five minutes. Had she gotten back together with Dean?
Fuck. I shut it down and pocketed my phone then stared at the lake through the trees. The stars were shining, and the moonlight glowed on the water. If Shiloh were here, we’d be naked and swimming in the lake. But she wasn’t here. She was five thousand miles away. She might as well have been living on a different stratosphere.
Come back to me, Shiloh.
The problem was I hadn’t fallen in love with the rock star. I’d fallen in love with the girl from the Louisiana Bayou. I’d fallen in love with the girl I’d skinny dipped with in a cool lake and went horseback riding with at sunrise. I didn’t know how to reconcile those two very different people.
But if I didn’t try, if I didn’t take the risk, I’d never know.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Shiloh
My cell buzzed,dragging me out of my dream. Dammit. I rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep. I wanted to return to my dream. The one where Brody was walking through a sunlit field of wheat the same color as his hair. He’d been smiling. I’d called over my shoulder,Catch me if you can.
But the dream was lost, and he hadn’t chased me like I’d hoped.
A few minutes later, when sleep wouldn’t return, a thought infiltrated my foggy brain.
What if that had been Brody calling me?
I bolted upright in bed and flicked on the light then swiped my phone off the bedside table.
Brody.
My heart ricocheted off the walls of my chest. It had been one week since he left me in the airport. I took a few deep breaths and tried to contain my excitement. He’d changed his mind about us. He must have. Why else would he be calling? With shaky hands, I pressed call and lifted the phone to my ear.
“Hey Shy.”
“Hey Cowboy.” My voice sounded scratchy like it always did the morning after a performance. I cleared my throat and propped the pillows against the headboard then leaned against them and waited to hear why he was calling me at eight in the morning.
“I’ve been thinking… what if—”
“Yes.” I cut him off, not waiting to hear what he was going to say. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He laughed, a low rumble that reached deep inside me and made me feel all warm and tingly. It was so good to hear his laughter and his voice again. It felt like a million years ago since I’d last heard it. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I read your mind.”
“And what was I thinking, Shiloh?”
