Lissa Manley - Small-Town Homecoming

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll welcome you back with open arms,” Miss Landry said with a knowing nod. She patted his hand. “What parents wouldn’t?”

Curt’s gut pitched. His parents wouldn’t. Well, not Dad anyway. Mom had always been more forgiving, and they’d talked weekly for the past few months. Curt only hoped he had the courage to deal with his dad—and the Graham family’s problems—while continuing to make good choices that would keep him on the path he’d mapped out.

Apprehension formed a knot in his chest. His resolve would be tested soon enough; he had no place to hide as he’d had in L.A. He was bound to run into Dad sooner rather than later. Curt preferred later. Or never, actually.

There would be no running for cover this time, no distance to soften the harsh reality that hung over the Graham family like a sickening haze. And that fact had him worried more than anything else he’d had to face since he’d OD’d and looked death straight in the eye.

Chapter Three

With nervousness eating away at him, Curt opened the door to the Sports Shack and stepped inside. The bells above clanged as the door swung closed behind him. Instantly, the smell of sporting goods—leather and rubber and something indefinable yet totally distinctive—hit him.

He paused and breathed deep, taking it all in, feeling as if his new life was actually starting. He’d saved himself from his messed-up old life, and he only wanted to see it in his rearview mirror.

Excitement bubbled inside, warring with gut-munching apprehension. This store would be his “home” for the next month—and maybe longer if things worked out the way he wanted.

He focused on the excitement, choosing to savor the moment, which had been so long in coming. There had been times in the past ten years he actually thought he’d die before he ever returned to Moonlight Cove, much less actually set foot in Seth’s store. Curt had burned a lot of bridges in his life—demolished them, actually—and this opportunity meant everything.

Seth was counting on Curt. He couldn’t screw this up.

Setting his shoulders, he moved forward. “Seth?” he called. “You here?” They’d made plans to meet at 9:00 a.m., before the place officially opened, so Seth could train Curt in the ins and outs of the daily running of the store.

Seth came out of his office at the back. “Bro!” He waved and headed toward Curt.

Curt felt something ease inside of him at the sight of his brother. He and Seth, and Ian, their younger brother, shared a bond not only as brothers but as survivors of the dysfunctional Graham household. Few others understood the scars their childhood had caused.

“It’s good to see you!” Seth said, embracing Curt.

Curt hugged his brother back. “You, too,” he said, choking up a bit, barely able to get the words out.

Seth let him go and pulled back, his blue eyes piercing. “Hey, now. Are you going all emotional on me?”

“Maybe a bit,” Curt said sheepishly. “I’m beginning to appreciate how good it is to have family around to support me.” In the past, family had meant trauma, stress and fighting.

“You haven’t had that in a long time. It’s been a rough road,” Seth stated.

“More like jagged.” Full of potholes and backsliding and enough excuses to fill a dump truck. “I finally feel like I’m on a smoother path.” Not perfect. But better. Rock bottom had had a way of making him appreciate that like never before.

Seth went behind the counter. “I hope so.” He gave Curt a solemn look. “I’d like my brother back.”

A lump sprouted in Curt’s throat. “Me, too.” He and his brothers had been close growing up, and Curt had always looked up to Seth, the oldest. “I...need to apologize.”

“As part of your recovery?” Seth asked.

“Yes, that.” There was so much more, though. “But also because...well, you did your best when we were in high school to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“You were hanging out with a bad crowd, making bad choices, and I was worried. Especially when I found the drugs in your drawer.”

Curt flinched. “Not my finest moment.” He remembered the day during his junior year of high school that Seth, a senior, had showed him the drugs he’d found and confronted Curt about his wild behavior. Regret burned a hole in his gut. His life had been a series of bad moments. “I know I told you this when you visited L.A., but I have to say I’m sorry again. And that I’m going to stay clean. I want to turn my life around.”

A year ago, Curt had ended up in the hospital from an overdose. The E.R. doctor had told him that if he kept abusing drugs, he’d die sooner or later. Probably sooner.

Terrified of dying, Curt had gone directly into an inpatient drug treatment program, and had then moved into a halfway house run by a local church charity. The best life decision he’d made until that point. His life had been littered with bad choices.

Finding God hadn’t been one of them. The Lord had saved Curt, and he would never forget that God hadn’t judged him. He had forgiven him completely, and now Curt was trying to forgive himself and move on to a better life.

“Look how far you’ve come,” Seth replied, pressing his hand to Curt’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, bro.”

Curt’s eyes tingled. He couldn’t remember anyone ever being proud of him. Certainly not himself. “Don’t be, yet. My recovery journey isn’t complete. Be proud of me when I prove to you that I’m staying clean.” For once he needed to show others he was reliable, in control and sober. He desperately wanted to be a good Christian man, hard worker and the kind of person who put his family first, no matter what. He alone was responsible for that.

A pair of pretty green eyes came to mind. Jenna. Look what she’d accomplished on her own, all for the sake of her grandparents’ home, because of her staunch love for them. She was a perfect example of the kind of person he hoped to emulate—

The bells over the door rang.

“Uh-oh,” Seth said under his breath but loud enough for Curt to hear. “Brace yourself, bro.”

Curt frowned, the bottom of his stomach sliding sideways. He froze, his eyes wide. “Why?”

“Because Dad just walked in, and from the looks of the glower on his face, he’s on the warpath.”

His shoulders bunching, Curt turned. He steeled himself to see the man he hadn’t laid eyes on in more than twelve years. After Curt had rammed his motorcycle into a tree, Dad had come to the hospital to tell him not to bother coming home, seeing as he was now a druggie with a record. Worse yet, by virtue of her dead silence, his mom had agreed. It had been a cruel blow to an eighteen-year-old Curt, and he’d never really been the same since.

Angry and hurt, Curt had done just as his dad had asked. He’d gone to live with a friend until he healed, and then he’d left town, sure news of his accident would spread and everyone in town would be judging him and talking about him. He’d told himself he didn’t need his family or Moonlight Cove.

Hitting the lowest point of his life recently changed everything.

Sure enough, his dad stood there in the store entryway, looking tired and bitter. Old, too. He’d gone completely gray and had put on a paunch that stretched his dingy shirt tight over his middle. As usual, he was dressed haphazardly in too-short pants, mangled, mud-spattered tennis shoes that looked as if they’d been made when dinosaurs roamed the earth and a beat-up bright orange fishing vest. His face was tanned to a leathery finish by all his hours spent in the sun—while fishing, Curt presumed, if tradition held true—and deep wrinkles fanned out from his eyes and across his forehead. An oncologist’s field day.