But now she was back.
Tears stung her eyes, and Sydney blinked against them. Stupid hormones. She’d never been much of a crier—she’d learned at an early age that tears solved nothing—but since she’d been pregnant, they popped up like stray hairs on a chin.
Family. Acceptance. A sense of belonging. Those had never been hers to have in her hometown. Hell, there was a very good chance they still might not be hers now. But for her baby, it could be different. The burdens of Sydney’s childhood didn’t have to be her child’s. She wouldn’t let it be.
But she wasn’t in the habit of fooling herself. While she hoped—prayed—for a nurturing haven for her child, and truly believed she would find it here, she also wanted that for herself, for Sydney “That Girl” Collins. On that latter point, she knew better. Nothing changed in Rose Bend. Not the houses. Not the townspeople. Not the opinions. Not the hearts.
That’s why she stood on this hill behind St. John’s Catholic Church, the oldest church in Rose Bend, instead of driving to her parents’ home. It was an ancient institution.
Carlin was buried at the newer cemetery on the other side of town. Undoubtedly Sydney’s parents still visited her older sister’s resting place, while Sydney hadn’t been there since they lowered Carlin into the ground. Eighteen years. What kind of sister did it make her that she hadn’t visited Carlin in almost two decades?
A shitty one.
The answer popped into her mind, clear and adamant. And curiously, the voice sounded very similar to her mother’s. She huffed out a rough, jagged laugh. That criticism and more awaited her once she arrived at her parents’ house.
Focus on the bigger picture. You’re here to raise your child in a warmer and safer environment. To give your baby a place where she’s not a passing strange face, but a part of a loving family and community. True and true. While Sydney and her parents had a strained relationship that might be impossible to heal after years of too-cold politeness and stinging disapproval, she believed—had to believe—that they would accept their grandchild. Love their grandchild.
But now that the idea was cold reality and no longer theory? Well, she would be a liar if she claimed her stomach wasn’t bolting for her throat. And the feeling had absolutely nothing to do with morning sickness.
Oh God, she’d made a mistake. What the hell had she been thinking returning here? She should leave right now. It wasn’t too late—
“Stop it, dammit,” she hissed at herself. “Get a hold of yourself and woman-the-fuck-up.”
Sydney shook her head, and a whisper of movement out of her peripheral vision snagged her attention. Surprise crackled through her as she spotted a lone, tall figure standing in the newer section of the graveyard. The leaves of a soaring, ancient red oak cast shadows over him, concealing his identity at this distance. Not that she would’ve called out if she recognized him. He was obviously here for solitude, just like her.
With one last glance in the mourner’s direction, she concentrated on the view before her once more.
Peace settled over her, like an old friend eagerly welcoming her back. As she’d known it would. The people in Rose Bend might not be the most receptive to her being back. They might not ever accept her. But this place? It knew her heart. Closing her eyes, Sydney tipped her head back, allowing the fat sun sitting low in the sky to warm her skin with its last rays. This had been her special place after Carlin died. Here, she could be alone. Away from the censure and overwhelming grief she’d glimpsed in her parents’ eyes. Here, she could shed the I-don’t-give-a-fuck persona she’d adorned, because God...she gave so many fucks.
Here, she could be Sydney and not sink in the shame of being alive.
“Sydney?”
Well, damn.
Irritation flashed through her, but years of living in the South already had her lips curling into a polite smile. Until she turned her head and met a pair of stunning amber eyes. A very familiar pair of stunning amber eyes that she hadn’t forgotten in the eight years she’d been gone.
Astonishment ricocheted through her, robbing her of coherent speech.
“Cole?” The shallow rasp was all she could squeeze past her constricted lungs.
A full, sensual mouth curved at the corners, that bottom lip heavy, and for a moment, his smile briefly banished the shadows lurking in his gaze. And it was that smile that confirmed the tall, wide-shouldered, powerfully built man standing before her was indeed Coltrane “Cole” Dennison. The man she’d hopelessly crushed on so many years ago stared down at her now, that jeweled gaze filled with confusion, surprise and delight.
Delight.
Coltrane Dennison was delighted to see her. Then again, her childhood friend’s older brother had always been nice to the foolish and reckless teenager she’d been. Even though she and his sister Leontyne had gotten into some scrapes that could squarely be placed at Sydney’s feet. Now...some might still call her reckless. But at twenty-six, she’d learned discipline and restraint. The hard way.
“It is you,” he said in a voice that landed somewhere between the smooth glide of water over pebbles and thunder rolling across an inky sky.
Damn. Not only had pregnancy turned her into an emotional Tilt-a-Whirl and caused hair to sprout in places it really had no business growing, but it’d apparently transformed her from grant writer to poet. Cole shifted closer, effectively cutting off her scolding of herself. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to adopt a carefree smile that was a flat-out lie.
“It’s me,” she said, slipping her hands into the pockets of her billowy red-and-gold maxi dress. “Guilty,” she added with a chuckle that sounded way too self-deprecating for her comfort.
Seemed she was always on the verge of apologizing for something.
For not saving her older sister’s life.
For not being the perfect daughter.
For not giving her baby a two-parent home.
Yep. That was her.
