Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

All the nights I’ll get to sit on the bench with Wes, or snuggle up next to him in his cabin.

The chances I’ll get to listen to my brother share about the things that mean so much to him.

How it will feel to watch Memphis finally solve all this financial stuff that has plagued him for longer than I realized.

And maybe … maybe even a time when my father and I might have a glass of wine together.

It’s surprisingly cathartic, imagining all the good.

I can feel the way it pulses through me.

It feels incredible.

Like my heart, that has been brittle for so long, is finally beginning to soften.

Like this place might eventually be more to me than just the temporary safe harbor that I hoped to flee again.

Like it might eventually, really and truly, feel like home.

Chapter Twenty-Two

WES

I didn’t think I’d be making another drive into San Francisco so soon after the disaster that was my visit to the hospital, but here I am, a week later, driving back into the city, this time with a very different purpose.

“So Viv is picking me up at the airport,” Murphy explains to me for the third time. “She’s going to take me to lunch and then we’re meeting with Todd, and then I’ll be back on a plane a few hours later.”

“I still think you jumped the gun in booking a return flight,” I tell her as I pull up to the curb and put my car in park.

She shakes her head. “It’s better this way. A quick trip, less than a day.” Murphy lets out a sigh, then looks at me. “It’ll be good, right?”

I reach over and put my hand on her knee, giving it a squeeze. “It’s going to be great. And the good news is that you are one hundred percent in control of yourself and what you decide to do,” I remind her. “So if you hate it, you say thanks but no thanks, and you come back.”

Murphy nods, then puts her hand on top of mine. “Thank you. For the ride, but also for encouraging me. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten that from anyone but myself.”

She leans across the console and I meet her, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that is over far too quickly.

“Safe flight.”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

And then she’s getting out of the car and closing the door behind her, waving on her way through the sliding doors that lead into the airport, with nothing but a purse slung over her shoulder and her guitar case. I chuckle to myself at the fact she didn’t even pack a bag, then pull away from the curb and follow the signs to exit the airport.

Last weekend, after Murphy and I discussed her going to LA and I lugged her guitar out to my cabin, she surprised me by actually opening her case and singing to me. She sang a few songs, and then she cried as she sang, and it was beautiful and heartbreaking and made me wish there was anything I could do.

She surprised me again a few days later when she said she wanted to go meet with the people at Humble Roads and hear what they have to say.

I’m proud of her for giving it a shot, even if I do think she’s being a little hasty about only flying down for a single day.

Less than a single day. Ten hours at most, including her time in the air.

But she’s still going. She’s still pushing herself. And even though she might have to deal with some uncomfortable thoughts or feelings while she’s there, I think she’ll be better for it in the end, regardless of the outcome.

It’s because she’s willing to push herself that I’ve decided to do the same.

Twenty minutes later, I pull into a space down the street from Seasons, the restaurant that I worked at for six years before I moved to Chicago. It’s still fairly early, and there’s a chance that Chef Hines isn’t here since none of his restaurants are open on Mondays.