The Secret Son's Homecoming by Helen Lacey

Author:Helen Lacey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2018-04-16T15:20:52+00:00

Chapter Eight

Jonah sat in the gazebo for close to an hour. He finished the wine, packed up the dishes and the barely touched food, and headed back to his apartment. What was supposed to have been an evening to remember was now one he desperately wanted to forget. He followed that with thirty minutes of staring at the blank computer screen, trying to decide if he really wanted to know everything there was to know about Connie.

In the end, he realized he did.

And it didn’t take long.

Tabloid headlines. A violent assault. Names suppressed. Three high school seniors.

A fifteen-year-old girl.

By the time he finished reading, he was sick to his stomach.

She’d been found on the roadside after escaping her attackers. Beaten. Raped. Barely conscious.

And then the sickness abated and rage, unlike any he had ever known, filled his blood. His fists clenched instinctively and he paced around his apartment, using up his energy, trying to get his breathing under control, glancing every now and then at the damning computer screen, hating everything it represented.

Slowly the rage in his heart subsided and helplessness emerged, forcing him to sit down. Memories bombarded his thoughts, and every harsh thing he’d said to her rose up and settled into his chest with an aching, relentless shame. His eyes stung and he cursed the whole damned world for allowing it to happen to her.

He wanted to call her, to see her, to hold her in his arms and tell her no one would ever hurt her again. But he knew she wouldn’t allow that. Connie was proud and strong and obviously resilient.

And he wanted her.

In his heart, deep in that place he let no one enter, Jonah suspected he always would.

Despite his inner voice telling him to call her and apologize for being an unmitigated idiot, he held off contacting her until the following morning. He sent her a text message at nine o’clock.

Can I see you today?

He waited for a reply, staring at his cell phone for close to fifteen minutes before it beeped with a message.

I’m at home making Thanksgiving cookies.

He texted back immediately.

I like cookies.

More waiting. But the next message had a smiling emoji attached to it.

I thought you might.

Jonah smiled, feeling about sixteen years old. Whatever was going on between them, he knew he didn’t want it to be over.

See you soon.

He didn’t get a reply. Instead, he waited an appropriate twenty minutes and then headed to her place. The dogs were by the fence to greet him when he arrived, barking madly before she appeared by the front door and opened the screen, dressed in jeans and a bright pink shirt, with a chef’s apron wrapped around herself. Her hair was in a ponytail and she had fur-lined moccasins on her feet. And she had a wooden spoon in her hand.

The dogs stopped barking and he let himself into the yard. They scurried around him for a few moments before quickly losing interest. Jonah reached the bottom of the steps and looked up, meeting her gaze, feeling the connection hum between them.

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