Coming Home
Coming Home
A Contemporary, Second Chance Romance
Alexia Chase
Coming Home
A Contemporary, Second Chance Romance
Copyright 2020 Alexia Chase
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design by Designrans
Proofreading by The Word Fairy
Copyright 2020 Alexia Chase
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by electronic, mechanical, or other means, is forbidden without written permission from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialog, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Book Excerpt
Natalie
After he’s done, I close his curtain and scurry back to the front window. When I’m two feet from my desk, my mouth drops open, and I gawk at the man on the other side. Trey Collins. My high school sweetheart. The only boy I’ve ever loved. And, lost. My heart slams against my chest.
Dr. Maxwell is with a patient in exam room eight. Crap. I twist to the right. Nurse Rivera is in room three. Everyone is busy with patients. Shit. Don’t be a pussy. That was twelve years ago.
I straighten my back and take in a deep breath. At the same moment, he peers inside the window. His face turns white, and he looks like he’s going to pass out. Shit. I yank open the window. “Are you okay?”
The muscle in his jaw tics. “Yeah, I’m great. Thanks for asking.” His eyes flash with a wave of anger I should have expected, but it still slices me to the core.
Be professional. “How many I help you?”
For several seconds, his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say a word. Then he clears his throat. “My arm got cut on a site. It needs stitches.” His mouth barely moves as he grits the words out between his teeth.
My gaze travels from his hazel eyes, down his sharp cheekbones, over his broad chest, to land on his forearm. His tattoo-covered forearm. Holy shit. When did he get all those tattoos? So, not the point. Focus. I study the bandage tied around his arm. The scrap of material is soaked in blood. “What did you do?”
“It’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. Just another scar to help me get inside another woman’s panties.” His voice drips with disgust.
What an asshole. I jerk back and click on the mouse. “Go ahead and have a seat.”
Pressing my lips together, I motion with my head for him to leave the window. Screw you. I stare at him with utter distaste. “Try not to drip any of your blood on the floor. I don’t want the custodian to have to clean up after the trash.”
His jaw flexes as his teeth grind together. The ‘fuck you’ is evident in his eyes. He turns on the heel of his boot and marches to an open seat while muttering. It’s likely the ‘fuck you’ was said out loud as well as in his eyes.
Contents
Book Excerpt
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Free Book
Other Books by the Author
About the Author
Book Review
Chapter One
Natalie
The hospital waiting room is humming with chatter, groans, and exaggerated sighs. Like the louder they are, the quicker they’ll get in. I toss up a mental eye roll and repeat the triage protocol to the raven-haired, impeccably dressed woman with flawless make-up, standing in front of me.
“I hear what you’re saying, ma’am, but I’m a senator’s daughter,” she smirks. Then, she lifts her perfectly manicured hand in the air and studies her French tipped nails.
Lady, I don’t care who your father is. He could be the Pope for all I care. I snicker under my breath. If she’s the Pope’s daughter, she might get in quicker. That would be the news story of the century. The Pope’s illegitimate daughter shows up at the local ER. Story at nine.
“I understand your frustration. However, there is a procedure in place for how patients are addressed within the ER. Maybe you could try the urgent care clinic on Grand Boulevard.”
“Tell the doctor that Tanya Ferguson is in the emergency waiting area. I need to be seen for this killer sinus infection.” She flicks her fingers as if to dismiss me.
Sweetheart, I’ve been dismissed by better. My mind drifts to my father, and then, I shake my head. Now is not the time for a trip down memory lane. “I’ll let her know.”
“Her?” The woman’s brow furrows until her eyebrows almost touch. Above her brows are deep crevices in her forehead.
“Yes, Dr. Maxwell is the ER doctor today.” Damn, should have started with the doctor being female. So many people get their panties in a bunch when the physician isn’t male. Whether it’s a perceived competency issue or the potential loss of a doctor/patient fantasy, the results are the same – walkouts.
“Uggg,” she sighs, turns on her heel, and stalks to the door.
How in the hell did she do a perfect pirouette? I glance over the window ledge and search for her tutu. She must have left that little accessory at home. The woman was probably in ballet by the time she was two years old. The benefits of money and power.
Should have gotten rid of her fifteen minutes ago and saved a dry mouth from all this talking to the air I’ve been doing. I shake my head. The sheer number of people who pop into the ER for weird reasons is beyond what I would have ever expected.
Pill poppers. Free passes from work seekers. Too entitled to wait for a doctor’s appointment. And then, there are the ladies looking to hookup with the hot doctors. Not much question which category Ms. Perfect was in. The door slams shut behind her.
“Who was that?” Lucia Maxwell nods toward the exiting woman. Doctor Maxwell’s long blonde hair is pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck. She’s petite and thin.
“Her name is Tanya Ferguson. She left when I told her you were female.”
“Lord.” She rolls her eyes and slaps her hands on her hips. The top of her coat splays apart with her change in position. “The stalkers are the worst.” Her eyes flit over the waiting patients. “It’s a packed house tonight. Of course, it always is during a full moon.”
“Yep. It brings out the crazies.” Clicking through the computer screens, I finish inputting the insurance card information and
address for an older man who’s suffering from a potential kidney stone.
As I move through the ER, it’s as packed as the waiting room. Each exam room is inside a glassed in cubical. Most of the sliding doors are open all the way to allow the medical professionals easy access in and out.
Inside the rooms, the patients seeking privacy have the curtain skirted around them to varying degrees. The drape for room two is pulled shut. “Mr. Sanders?”
“Yes,” his voice comes out as a groan.
I snag the edge of the white curtain and pull it open a few inches. The metal rings make a scraping sound as they move. I catch a whiff of the man’s cologne and blink as it tickles my nose. “I have your insurance paperwork and some documents for you to sign.”
“Okay,” he mumbles and lifts his arm from over his face. The pain he’s experiencing is evident by the set of his jaw and extends to the distressed expression in his eyes.
Kidney stones are a bitch. “Don’t sit up. I’ll come over to you.”
“Thanks,” he sighs as his foot and leg bounce in an apparent attempt to help ease the pain. It’s questionable if it’s helping.
“They should be with you soon.”
“God, I hope so.” He grabs the pen from me and signs on the lines I’d placed ‘x’s beside.
After he’s done, I close his curtain and scurry back to the front window. When I’m two feet from my desk, my mouth drops open, and I gawk at the man on the other side. Trey Collins. My high school sweetheart. The only boy I’ve ever loved. And, lost. My heart slams against my chest.
Dr. Maxwell is with a patient in exam room eight. Crap. I twist to the right. Nurse Rivera is in room three. Everyone is busy with patients. Shit. Don’t be a pussy. That was twelve years ago.
I straighten my back and take in a deep breath. At the same moment, he peers inside the window. His face turns white, and he looks like he’s going to pass out. Shit. I yank open the window. “Are you okay?”
The muscle in his jaw tics. “Yeah, I’m great. Thanks for asking.” His eyes flash with a wave of anger I should have expected, but it still slices me to the core.
Be professional. “How many I help you?”
For several seconds, his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say a word. Then he clears his throat. “My arm got cut on a site. It needs stitches.” His mouth barely moves as he grits the words out between his teeth.
My gaze travels from his hazel eyes, down his sharp cheekbones, over his broad chest, to land on his forearm. His tattoo-covered forearm. Holy shit. When did he get all those tattoos? So, not the point. Focus. I study the bandage tied around his arm. The scrap of material is soaked in blood. “What did you do?”
“It’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. Just another scar to help me get inside another woman’s panties.” His voice drips with disgust.
What an asshole. I jerk back and click on the mouse. “Go ahead and have a seat.”
Pressing my lips together, I motion with my head for him to leave the window. Screw you. I stare at him with utter distaste. “Try not to drip any of your blood on the floor. I don’t want the custodian to have to clean up after the trash.”
His jaw flexes as his teeth grind together. The ‘fuck you’ is evident in his eyes. He turns on the heel of his boot and marches to an open seat while muttering. It’s likely the ‘fuck you’ was said out loud as well as in his eyes.
My hands shake as I try to click on the mouse to open the billing screen. Shit. I roll my eyes. I didn’t get his insurance card. Too fucking bad. I’m not calling him back up here and starting another conversation with him.
When I moved back to town last month, I knew it was possible I’d run into him, but the likelihood was nothing compared to the reality.
The sweet boy I’d loved has been replaced by a man with an extra fifty pounds of muscle, covered in tattoos, and an asshole attitude. What hasn’t changed? He’s sexy as fuck, and my heart still slams in my chest when I see him. Some things never change.
Chapter Two
Trey
Motherfucker. After twelve years of being ghosted by Natalie Westbrook, she’s here in the flesh. And damn it if she doesn’t look better than she did at high school graduation. The freckles which dotted her nose and cheeks are gone, and the red in her hair has muted into a gorgeous shade of auburn.
Damn, dude. Didn’t know you knew the shade of auburn. I snort and slam my heel into the white tiled floor. Shit. The lady beside me clutches her son closer to her chest and shifts her weight to her other hip. Yeah, I’d want to get away from me too.
I rub my hand over my face and twinge as the pain radiates up my arm. Shit. Stop moving it.
“Ms. Barker?” Natalie’s musical voice calls out through the waiting room, and my betraying cock twitches.
Son of a bitch. I grind my teeth together and breathe deeply. After holding it in for several seconds, I exhale. Deep breathing works for childbirth, it should be a cure for dumbass erections that pop up for no reason.
Why in the hell isn’t it working for me? I’m not trying to pop a newborn out of my dick. All I’m trying to do is exist in the same airspace as the woman who ripped my heart out of my chest and smeared it across the gravel with the heel of her knock-off tennis shoe.
“Yes?” Ms. Barker glances up from her seat. She’s across the room from me, and her impeccably brushed hair shines under the florescent lights.
I frown and glance between the two women. Nothing seems wrong with Ms. Barker. Is Natalie going to send everyone in first and let me bleed out on the floor?
“Come on in through the door, and we’ll get you to your father’s exam room.”
“Thank you,” Ms. Barker nods toward Natalie, hitches her purse on her shoulder, and walks across the waiting room.
Okay, maybe, she isn’t going to intentionally watch me die. There are fifteen other patients and family members waiting to be seen. Should I go somewhere else? Surely, County General would be less busy.
When I glimpse back to the window, Natalie’s face is bright red, and she jerks around to face the interior of the ER and away from the waiting room.
Why did she leave? My shoulders sag as some of the anger of seeing her again and the adrenaline of the accident seeps out of my body. I feel like a Mack truck has plowed over me going fifty miles an hour.
The last time I saw Natalie was twelve years ago after our high school graduation. She’d worn a pink sundress and kissed me goodnight outside her father’s rundown house.
We’d made promises for the life we were going to have, which included marriage, babies, and a white picket fence. I’d made promises. She’d lied and disappeared.
My shoes are covered in splotches of blood. It looks like the janitors may have to clean up after me anyway. I lean backward, causing my head to land against the wall with a thump. Then, I close my eyes and block out everything. Too fucking bad, there isn’t a magic button I can push for a do-over.
From inside my jeans pocket, my cellphone buzzes. After three rings, I finally drag it out and swipe the screen open. My sister. Great. “Yes?”
“Where are you?” Leah’s shrill voice vibrates against my ear. “You’re supposed to be at my house.”
“I’m at the ER.”
“What?” she gasps.
“I got cut.”
“Trey, I’ve told you to stop hanging out at those biker bars. Someone is going to kick your ass. Especially if you get handsy with someone else’s old lady.”
I snort. Leah trying to talk badass biker is funny as shit. “Give me a break. I’m not going to screw someone’s old lady, and I don’t go for club girls either. I’m friends with a couple of guys in a biker club, that’s it.”
“Fine. So, what happened? Gnaw your arm off to get away from some woman who looked good in the dark last night but really looked like a horse’s ass?”
“Shit. Leah, stop busting my balls.” Despite what she thinks, I’m not a player. Well, at least, I have
n’t been in years.
The woman beside me claps her hands over the little boy’s ears, gives me a death glare, and practically shoves the chair over backward, trying to get away from me. Perfect. I’m not really a jackass either, but my sisters are assholes, and seeing Natalie has me fucked up in the head.
“I’m all out of ideas.” Her voice is muffled as she says, “Nicole. Trey’s in the ER.”
“Oh, my God,” Nicole’s voice sounds like a tiny echo.
“He’s fine. He cut his arm, and I’ve run out of ideas on how he did it.”
“A woman?”
I roll my eyes and let them continue talking shit. There’s no point in interrupting.
“He says no,” Leah scoffs.
“A man over a woman?” Nicole’s voice is a little less distant as she must be walking closer to Leah.
“Nope.”
Such assholes. I growl. Yes, I screwed around in college. Once Natalie left me, I didn’t fucking care anymore. Later, I tried to find someone I could think about growing old with. That shit worked for about a month, and then I gave up on that idea as well.
During the last four years, I’ve been nearly celibate, but trying to explain that to my sisters is pointless. They don’t listen.
“If you’d shut up, I’d tell you,” I mutter. Fuck. She’s staring again. Or maybe I keep looking at her, and she’s catching me gawking. Get your head out of your ass.
“Fine,” they say in unison as they’ve both put their heads up to Leah’s phone.
“I was at a job site, and one of the guys left a board hidden under a plank. When I stepped on it, the board knocked over a window, and my arm went through the pane of glass.”
“Shit,” Leah hisses.
“Thankfully, I was wearing gloves, so my hand isn’t messed up, but a big chunk of glass wedged itself into my forearm and took out a slice of skin.”
“Eww.” I imagine Leah cringing and wrinkling her face. She is not the caring type.
“Are you still bleeding? Did you wash it out? Put pressure on it? Which hospital did you go to?” Nicole is a nurse, so she instantly shifts into her professional mode.