Returning Home: A Second Chance Homecoming (Return To Me Book 4) Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Blank Page

  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

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Returning Home

  Return To Me,

  Book Four

  A.L. Parks

  Copyright © 2014 by Leanne Sparks

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Designer: Amber Shah, Book Beautiful,

  www.bookbeautiful.com

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Visit my website at www.alparksauthor.com

  We all feared the monsters under our beds growing up.

  But they weren’t real.

  At least not for most of us.

  This is for all those people who have real life monster in their lives

  And have survived.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Clarissa lifted her head slightly from her pillow and glanced at her cell phone sitting on the bedside table. The screen was lit up, and it was buzzing loudly. She groaned, reaching her hand across to snatch the phone before it woke up her boyfriend, Colin, asleep beside her. Her eye caught the glowing red time on the clock. Two-thirty. AM.

  Jesus, when will people back in the States learn to adjust for the time difference? She had talked to all of them, reminded them she was anywhere from five to eight hours ahead of them, depending on where they were in the U.S. But that had made no difference to them. They called, usually drunk, but always in the wee hours of the morning.

  “Hello?” This had better be good. She hated having her sleep interrupted.

  “Clarissa, it’s Mom.” Clarissa sat up in bed, and tried to get the fuzz from her still sleepy mind.

  “Mom? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Amber? Is Jake okay? Lauren?” The questions tumbled out of her mouth in quick succession. Too fast for her mother, Eve, to answer. She reached across the bed for Colin, forgetting again that he was no longer there. He had moved out a month earlier, claiming he needed to concentrate on his career. They had fought, which lead to him accusing her of being unavailable to him in any way he needed, especially emotionally. She had a hard time arguing with him over that one. She knew she kept certain things out of reach of most people, and her heart topped the list.

  “Yes, baby girl, everyone here in Colorado is fine.” There was a small pause, and then her mother dropped the bombshell. “It’s your dad, honey.”

  Clarissa snorted, “Great, what trouble is he causing now?”

  “Honey…he’s dead.”

  ***

  Clarissa watched the baggage claim carousel at Boston International Airport, ready to grab her one and only suitcase. She brought only a few outfits, enough to last a week. And nothing more. When she saw the nondescript black case with the lime green ribbon tied to the handle, she moved to the edge of the circular conveyer, and snatched it up as it came close.

  It was Colin’s suitcase. He had loaned it to her at some point, and she never returned it. Her larger suitcase, the one she normally used for international travel invited too many clothes, and Clarissa wanted to make sure that she knew when to leave.

  She had refused to come, at first, but Amber, her younger sister, begged her. She needed moral support. Clarissa had selfishly hoped her mother would accompany Amber from Colorado to Newport and make the event a little less stressful. She snickered even now thinking about that. Having her mother at her ex-husband’s funeral would’ve been a disaster. For all of them. The grieving, evil bitch stepmother, Brandi, would have made a scene. Their so-called friends would have been in the back row of the church, placing bets on which woman would throw the first punch (her mother) or pull hair (evil-bitch stepmother). And in the center would have been a dead man who did his level best to make everyone’s life a competition for his attention. Clarissa had his attention at one time in her life. But that had been so long ago that she refused to think about it. The dark times. The times that existed in the deep corners of her mind. The memories that would never see the light of day, if she had anything to say about it.

  Luggage on the floor next to her, she bellied up to the airport bar to wait for her best friend to pick her up. Clarissa and Shelly had known each other for years. After Clarissa’s parents divorced, Shelly was the only friend who still wanted to have anything to do with her.

  Shelly lived in Boston and was finishing up her undergraduate degree at Boston U. After Eve and dear old dad’s attorney had convinced Clarissa she needed to return to clear up her father’s estate, she called Shelly for a ride, and a place to stay in Newport. Turns out, Shelly’s grandmother left her a pretty sweet place just off the main historic district downtown. Near enough to all the bars, they could walk home when they closed. It was a little pathetic that Clarissa cared more about getting drunk and partying with her friends then she did about saying goodbye to her father.

  A news program was on the TV. Highlights - or lowlights, depending on how you looked at it - flashed across the screen. Clarissa decided that the police finding a man dead in his apartment with a bullet through his head was indeed a lowlight. Especially for the dead man. Clarissa had tuned out most of what the reporters were saying until a picture filled the screen. A face she knew well. Her father.

  “Earlier today, the black box was recovered from the wreckage of the plane that crashed three days ago in the Atlantic Ocean, just off the Nantucket Sound. The pilot, Bradley Beckett, of Newport died in the crash, along with a family friend, Simone Teller. The plane was apparently on it’s way to back to Providence from Nantucket, when it went down. Funeral services will be held for Mr. Beckett at the end of the week in Beckett’s hometown of Newport.”

  During the report, pictures of her father, smiling, looking every bit the charmer that he was, rotated with pictures of the plane pre-accident, and the crash scene. It was the first time Clarissa had seen any footage of the accident.
Her scalp prickled. Cold passed through her like an icy wave causing her hairs to stand on end. It was eerie, thinking that this man on the news, the man they were talking about so formally, was the man that had made her life a living hell. She had a hard time thinking of him as anything other than evil.

  He was gone. All she could hope for now was to bury all the secrets of the past with him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Griff sat at his desk in the back of his bike shop and stared at the computer screen. Business had picked up significantly. He was checking the latest work order from some rich guy wanting a custom bike to show off to his other rich friends on the weekends. The guy had never even ridden a bike before but was determined to have top of the line, fully custom, and was willing to drop some coin to get it.

  It sort of made Griff sick, but it also paid the mortgage on not only his small house, but his grandmother’s house, as well. He owed the woman at least that much. He had been forced to move in with her during his crazy-assed teenage years. How he survived the alcohol and weed he had consumed,he would never know. But it was his grandmother who had yanked his head out of his ass and set him straight. There wasn’t any money coming in from Griff’s drugged-out mother or sperm-donor father, so the elderly woman’s savings had been depleted. She nearly lost her house. Griff promised her that he would give up his own house and live on the street before he let the bank take hers. And he meant every word of it. He’d been lucky it hadn’t become that desperate.

  The phone rang next to him. He snatched up the receiver. “East Coast Custom Bikes.”

  “Yes, may I speak with Robert Griffith?” the professional male voice on the other end asked.

  “This is.” Damn, no one but debt collectors used his legal name. What past credit card bill was coming back to haunt him? He was sure he had paid all of them off. Or was this about his mother, who floated from rehab to the hospital to jail?

  “Mr. Griffith, this is Arthur Donaldson, attorney for Bradley Beckett’s estate. There will be a reading of Mr. Beckett’s will at his home on Saturday morning at ten. You are a named beneficiary and will need to be in attendance. At that time, we can go over the new partnership agreement and discuss the future of your business with your new partner.”

  “Yeah, okay, I’ll be there,” Griff said. His stomach twisted into an agonizing knot. He didn’t know his silent partner, Brad Beckett, very well - or for very long, but he had liked the guy. So what if he was rich and liked to flaunt it? His partnership had brought in a lot of new business that probably would’ve taken years for Griff to build on his own. Plus, Griff had always had a decent time drinking beers with the guy when he stopped by.

  His wife, now she was a different story all together. Griff met her a couple of times and she had made his skin crawl. She was less than subtle in her suggestions that he become a silent partner with her, as well, and satisfy her in bed. Griff was a little shocked that Brad had married a woman like Brandi. She tried to act the part of high society bitch but clearly had used sex to get the ring on her finger. A few conversations with Brad, it was clear he had acted impulsively, having an affair with her when she was his secretary. Griff thought on more than one occasion that ol’ Brad regretted divorcing his wife and marrying slutty Brandi after he found out she was pregnant.

  Since her husband’s death, the grieving widow had been stopping by to check on her newest investment, making it clear that she was going to be less than silent, and would not be happy behind the scenes. Griff no longer met with her in his office, after spending an uncomfortable afternoon trying to keep at arms length from her. The other guys in the shop had dubbed her Ursula, with her tentacles that seemed to multiply when they were trying to wrap themselves around him. Her ability to change from nice to naughty to downright bitchy in the blink of an eye also solidified the nickname.

  He leaned back in his chair, and blew a long, deep breath from his lungs. He prayed that somehow Brad had seen fit to find someone other than his wife to take over the partnership. There was no way Griff would be able to work with Brandi, and he was damn sure not going to sleep with her. Not for all Brad Beckett’s money.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Griff entered the church and slid into the last pew. The place was packed with people. Glancing around, he wondered if it was a funeral or a fashion show for the mourning. Rich people really dressed up for the event. The men were wearing perfectly tailored suits. The women had black pearl necklaces and earrings, and big black hats. It was as if the church aisle was some sort of runway for everyone to show off the latest and greatest funeral outfits.

  When they sat, Griff was able to see the casket that held his partner, and potentially a friend, if given a little more time. It was strange knowing that the man who had tried to introduce Griff to Cuban cigars and eighteen-year-old scotch was lying lifeless in the shiny black and gold case with a massive amount of flowers draped over the top. From the side door next to the altar, the family made their way to the front pews. Brandi was escorted by two large men on either elbow. He couldn’t see her face behind the gargantuan hat on her head, but he could hear the wails from underneath it. Griff had to force himself not to roll his eyes at the display.

  Two younger women followed behind. One looked to be a teenager, the other in her early twenties. Brad’s daughters. He had talked about them. Griff knew the younger now lived in Colorado with her mother, while the older one was a photographer and lived in England. Griff stared at them. They were mesmerizing. Simply dressed, they exuded more class than the entire congregation of mourners. The younger of the two was crying and leaning into her sister. But it was the older one that caught Griff’s attention.

  She was stoic. No tears. No red puffy eyes. Shit, no emotion at all. She helped her sister into the pew and sat next to her. She barely moved during the whole service. Just sat there, staring at nothing. Not the casket. Not the pictures that sat on top. Not the people around her. Griff doubted that she heard anything that was said.

  When they got up to leave, she looked relieved to be getting out of there. She spoke to no one, ignoring people that attempted to speak to her, turning her back on those who approached her to extend condolences.

  Brad had stated that he and his oldest daughter weren’t close. Griff if she had a reason for still being so pissed at her father or was she just a cold-hearted bitch?

  ***

  Clarissa sat on the dock, swinging her legs above the water. She smoothed out the skirt of the black dress she was wearing and sighed. A couple more days, and she would be heading back to England. Her home. Except that it really didn’t feel that way anymore. She had loved it when she first moved there. She met Colin and they moved in together. But now that relationship was over, and she felt more like a stranger in a foreign land than she ever had.

  She tipped her head back and drained the remainder of her beer. Flipping open the cooler next to her, she grabbed the neck of a new bottle and twisted off the top. Hopefully no one would bother her while she finished off the remainder of her six pack. She had pretty much insulted everyone at the funeral. Not that she gave a damn about any of them. They had made her mother’s life a living hell for so many years, and then when her mother had finally found true love, they did their best to ruin it for her.

  But her mom had been strong. And that’s what Clarissa was going to be. Strong. A survivor. She wouldn’t let the hurt and pain inflicted by her father when she was child disrupt her life now. Being back in Newport stirred up so many memories - memories she would just as soon forget, lying at the ocean along with her father’s plane.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The front door opened, and Clarissa stepped into the foyer of her father’s house. He had moved into it with the evil step-bitch not long after they had married. It was somehow fitting that the first time Clarissa had ever set foot in this place, the man who owned it wasn’t even here.

  She had managed to avoid ever visiting.There had never been any reason for Clarissa to come here. She had
no desire to spend time with her father. The divorce, even though it had been hard on her mother and sister, had freed Clarissa. It would have been stupid to walk back through the gates of hell when she had finally escaped it.

  Amber walked down the hall and into a large family room. Clarissa followed behind wishing she had made the reading later in the day so that she could have had a couple of stiff drinks before coming here. She wondered if it would send the wrong message to break into her father’s stock of expensive scotch. She might consider it, if she had any idea where it was stored.

  Sitting in a large leather chair, wearing black from head to toe, was the evil step-bitch, Brandi. By the looks of her pile of tissues, she had already been getting into character as the grieving widow. What a joke. Clarissa didn’t need confirmation from anyone to know that the young, beautiful woman who had died with her father was his newest fuck-buddy, who may or may not have been slated to replace Brandi. It didn’t matter. Just another woman that had been sucked in by the Brad Beckett charm. Clarissa might have felt better about his sexual escapades if he had ever drawn a line of acceptable partners.