Can't Let You Go (32 page)

“We’re just about there,” the woman said. She looked to be a little older than Millie, and now regarded me with kind eyes. “I take it you don’t fly much.”

“Not if I can help it. I had a horrible flight last month, and this is my first time up in the air since.”

“It must be something important that’s got you on a plane then.”

“It is,” I said. “My whole life is waiting for me.” I hoped. I prayed. I wished.

With way too much tilt than I thought necessary, the pilot brought that bird down. And when we filed out to exit, I nearly rushed the open cabin and kissed the crew in my gratitude.

I didn’t expect to find my bags waiting for me, but when the conveyer belt chugged to life thirty minutes later, there they were. I’d cried less at funerals.

Sitting in the taxi, my heart still running a sprint, I pulled my directions up on my phone. Grateful to be on land, I didn’t care that the driver spoke no English and operated his car like we were trying to gain on the lead in Talladega.

“Here. Out. You go.” The driver put it in drive and held out his hand. “Money. Me.”

“Okay, sure.” I dug in my purse and pulled out some twenties. “Money, you.” I placed the cash in his hands, then let a uniformed man from the hotel handle the luggage.

Ten excruciatingly long minutes later, I had checked in, touched up my makeup, said a prayer, and eaten two candy bars.

This was it.

My appointment with destiny. I was as ready and prepared as I could possibly be.

I checked the address I’d been given, then walked the five blocks.

Which turned into ten.

Which turned into fifteen.

And then it started raining.

I was lost.

Totally turned around, and my navigation on my phone didn’t even pretend to care.

“Excuse me.” Rain pouring on my head, I flagged down a passing walker smartly holding an umbrella. “Can you tell me where this is?” I showed her the address.

She pointed back the opposite direction. “Five blocks that way. Then take a left by the bus stop.”

“Thank you!” I ran the rest of the way, my silver flats, once a sensible traveling choice, now eating into the back of my heels. My breath came in heaves, and my hair, which had been styled into glorious waves, now hung so far over my face, I nearly missed that left turn.

But there it was.

My first appointment in town.

The building loomed in front of me, dark and scowling. But I walked through the doors, dripped all over the lobby, and climbed the stairs.

When I reached the fourteenth floor, I was sucking air worse than Maxine blowing out her birthday candles. I stumbled my way past three doors, until I finally found the right one. I was soaked through, my hair had since formed Medusa-like knots, and the pain in my side had me doubling over, my hands planted on my knees, dragging in sweet oxygen.

Until the door opened.

I saw shoes. Two running shoes connected to legs.

“Are you okay?”

I held up a finger. “Gimme just . . . just a minute.” Should I be seeing spots? Did that mean I had hurt some brain cells? Or that I needed another candy bar?

“I’m. . .I’m here to see you.” I finally managed to lift my head.

And looked into the disbelieving face of Charlie Benson.

“Katie.” My name on his lips sounded like a prayer. “What are you doing?”

“Shivering. And sweating.” I rubbed my runny nose with the back of my hand. “It’s a weird combination.” And then I sniffled and my lip quivered. “I wanted to look hot for you.”

Charlie took a slow inspection of my form. “You look like you just walked through a hurricane.”

I attempted to toss my hair over my shoulder, but it just stuck to my hand. “Yes, well, here I am. In Chicago. Are you going to let me in or not?”
Because this vision could be all yours.

He stepped back and held open the door, and as I limped by, I held my head high. I was a Scott. I had dignity.

I also had something really vile stuck to my sole.

Charlie closed the door and led me to his small living room. “Can I get you a change of clothes?”

“No.” Luxurious as that sounded, I wanted to get straight to business.

“Did you drive here?” he asked.

“I flew.” Loretta would be proud of how I’d spent her severance.

“You flew.” At that he almost smiled. “By yourself?”

“Yes, and it was perfectly terrible. But I only had to breathe in the little baggie twice.”

He went to the couch and clicked the remote to silence the TV before sitting down. “Must be something important if you got on a plane.”

“It is.” Good heavens, I smelled like a dumpster. “I can’t help but notice you’re not at work today.”

Charlie wore faded jeans and a gray t-shirt, and he clearly hadn’t shaved in a few days. He stretched his arm across the back of the couch and shrugged. “I told you I can work anywhere my laptop is.”

I settled onto the edge of a worn leather chair and felt the water squish in my sagging underwear. My powers of seduction had been lost miles ago. “I’ve been calling you for the last twenty-four hours. You didn’t want to pick up the phone?”

“Had to get a new number. My work phone got . . . misplaced.”

“I see.” Rain droplets slid down the side of my face.

“I don’t believe we established why you happen to be in my neighborhood.”

“I just wanted to talk. Catch up with an old friend.” I craned my neck and saw moving boxes stacked in the floor of the kitchen. “We got quite the shock back home.” I watched his expression for any reaction, but the man probably had an ace in his shirt as well. It was a poker face Maxine would certainly be proud of. “Seems your Thrifty Co. paid some people off to support the buyouts. The mayor, two of the guys on the special commission, some city dignitaries.”

“Really?” He sounded bored.

“Someone leaked the information. I hear it was an internal source at Thrifty.”

Charlie shifted on the couch and picked at the skin on his thumb. “Is that right?”

“Yes. Lots of evidence. It appears this informant had probably been building his case for quite a while.”

While Charlie continued to exercise his right to remain silent, I got up from the chair and sloshed across the carpet to sit on the opposite end of the couch. “I wonder what will happen to that informant?” I asked casually.

“I hear he was fired immediately.” The poker face was gone, and Charlie looked me dead in the eye.

I slid the rest of the way down the couch until my damp jeans pressed against his dry legs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t.” He leaned back and let his head hit the cushion. “Nobody could know until it was over.”

“Are you okay?”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “No.”

“Maxine said the bank fired your dad.”

He nodded gravely. “There’s also an investigation to see if criminal charges need to be pursued.”

“That’s what you meant when you wanted the wedding to be perfect for your mother. You knew this was coming.”

“I was able to break the news to my mom before it went public. She’s devastated. But not surprised.” His mother had been the one to tell me how to find Charlie.

“And your dad?”

“I can’t even talk about it. Not yet.” Charlie propped his feet on the coffee table, crossing at the ankles. “He was furious. No matter how in the wrong my dad is, I betrayed him. His own son. My mom kicked him out, so he’s in some hotel outside of town. Sadie doesn’t understand any of it. How do you explain to a kid that her daddy’s a criminal?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult this was.”

“It was the right thing to do. I started seeing red flags late last year . . . so I started documenting. As much as I wanted your theater to survive, I didn’t want my corruption suspicions to be true.”

“Does Joey know?”

“Mom was going to tell him when he got back from his honeymoon.” Charlie looked as soul-weary as I’d felt the day I left London. “So the Valiant’s safe?”

“Yes. And Thrifty’s lawyers have offered to cover all the legal costs and some large shut-up money not to sue.” James was going to use his to build that new wing on the church. “So the people who wanted to retire get to do that and keep their businesses, and the Valiant will live many more years.”

“I guess that means you’ll be taking over soon?”

I stood up and walked to the window and watched the rain puddle in the street. “I’m not going to be the Valiant manager. This week I realized my heart is on the stage—not behind it. So I’ve got some auditions here and in New York. Small parts, but I have to start somewhere.”

“That’s great.” Charlie walked up behind me, and I could see his reflection in the glass. “Did that heart happen to tell you anything else?”

I turned then, painfully aware of how close we stood. “It told me that I had walked away from a boy one too many times. Because I love this boy.”

Charlie rubbed a smudge of something off my cheek, his finger gliding over my skin. “Anyone I know?”

“A very brave informant. I don’t expect him to believe this isn’t tied to the saving of the Valiant, but it’s not. I’ve loved him since I was sixteen. It just took me a while to get it straight in my head. To realize that fear was holding me back—on my career, on letting go and completely falling in love with my whole heart. It’s pretty scary,” I admitted.

“Maybe that guy’s scared too. He might be a mess.”

I reached for Charlie’s hand and reveled in the texture, the heat. “Be my mess.”

He smiled at that, revealing one sigh-worthy dimple. “I’m gonna love you fiercely, Katie Parker Scott. Are you sure you’re up for that?”

“Yes,” I said. “I think I finally am. I love you, Charlie. And I’m sorry for everything. For letting you go, for all the things I said, for the stuff I said to Frances about—”

“Katie”—He put his fingers to my mouth, rubbing his thumb across my bottom lip—“You got on a plane for me.”

“A shaky, wobbly plane.”

“I think you really might love me.” His lips lingered a breath away from mine. “I’ve lost a lot this week, but nothing tore me apart like losing you.”

I slipped my hands around his neck, my fingers touching the ends of his hair. “We can deal with the rest of it together.”

“You sure about this?”

I pulled his face to mine and kissed Charlie with all that I had. My smelly, soggy body against his, I poured everything into that kiss—my hopes, my fears, my insecurities, and my love for a boy who seven years ago fished me out of a pool. If Charlie had only known what he’d really caught. A girl with tangled thoughts in her head, hesitant feet that were now ready to walk toward those new things, and a passion for him that was as relentless as it was consuming.

Arms holding this gorgeous man, I leaned back and smiled. “So this informant. What do you think he’ll do now?”

Charlie kissed my temple and smiled. “Drive a beautiful girl to some auditions in town. Then hold her hand on a flight to New York. He’s going to watch her dreams come true.” My knees nearly buckled at the wonder in his face. “And beg her to love him.”

“For how long?”

“Forever,” Charlie said. “He’s going to love her forever.”

The Scott family theater would go on, and I would always adore it. It had been my salvation, the place where I had found my life’s purpose. It had taken my adolescent anger, my tears, and my laughter, and given me memories of a lifetime and set me on the path of a destiny bigger than my dreams.

I would carry that theater of mine in my heart always.

And with Charlie by my side, I would push through the fears. I would be brave. I would be bold.

I would be valiant.

If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at your online retailer and Goodreads.

With much gratefulness, I would like to thank:

Erin Valentine, my sweet friend and awesome editor

Christa Allan, Kristin Billerbeck, and Sibella Giorello, for getting it, being my support system the past few years, and speaking my native tongue of sass and sarcasm. The best is ahead.

Lizann Tollett, prayer warrior and my buddy in the trenches of life

Kelli Standish, for your incredible encouragement, your fighting spirit, and the million things you do for authors.

Beverly Jones, for pool Sundays

My school family, for laughs, encouragement, and Sonic runs. Oh, and educating children.

My much adored readers, for every email, comment, review, and happy thought you’ve sent my way. Thank you for loving my In Between family. You’re total Sweet Peas.

Four-time Carol award-winning author Jenny B. Jones writes romance with equal parts wit, sass, and Southern charm. Since she has very little free time, she believes in spending her spare hours in meaningful, intellectual pursuits, such as watching bad TV, Tweeting deep thoughts to the world, and writing her name in the dust on her furniture. She is the author of romantic comedies for women such as RITA finalist
Save the Date,
as well as books for teens, like her
Katie Parker Production
series. You can find her at
www.JennyBJones.com
or standing in the Ben and Jerry’s cooler.

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