Coming Home to You

By Tessa Marie

After getting evicted, Seth finally decides to grant his sister's wish and return home. Filled with bad memories, and holding the burden of a secret that's not even his, he goes back to the place he swore he never would.

His first night home a loud thump awakens him. When he goes to investigate he finds Katie, the one girl who was always off-limits, falling through his living room window.

Katie spends her days cutting class and her nights getting wasted so she can forget reality. On the outside, everyone thinks she’s happy being the life of the party, but on the inside she’s lonely and broken. She’s about to flunk out of school and become a nobody when her best friend's brother, and boy she has loved for years, comes back home.

Two broken souls burned by those who were supposed to love them most find solace in each other. Will they be able to help one another heal before the past destroys them both?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theresa Paolo
• Release date: Mar 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463854891

Tessa Marie

Tessa Marie lives on Long Island, NY with her fiancé and their fish. She is the author of NA and YA contemporary romances. Her debut novel (NEVER) AGAIN, released in Fall 2013 with Berkley (Penguin) and the companion novel (ONCE) AGAIN released Summer 2014.She has a hard time accepting the fact she's in her thirties and uses her characters to relive the best and worst years of her life. She put her love of writing on hold while she received her Bachelor's Degree in Marketing. When she's not writing, she's behind a camera, reading, watching Legacies, This is Us, American Idol, The Voice, or can be found on Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest and Facebook.Writes adult contemporary romance under her real name Theresa Paolo.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

SETH

The needle presses against my skin, a familiar vibration turning to an annoying hot scratch as Cruz begins on his new practice piece. I sit comfortably on the couch, watching some shitty reality show with my arm hanging to the side.

So, what exactly are you putting on my arm today? I probably should have asked before we got started, not that it matters. He could be inking a fluffy rabbit on my arm, and I wouldn’t put up a fight. Cruz and I have an agreement.

He practices his tattooing on me, and I get to sleep on his couch for free. I have a few questionable pieces on my body, including a portrait of Marilyn Monroe that looks more like Hatchet-Face from that old-ass movie Cry Baby. Small price I have to pay to keep from living in my car.

Cruz’s place isn’t exactly a five-star accommodation, but it’s a guaranteed place to stay and more than I had a few months ago. Besides—after much practice—Cruz is actually really good at what he does, so the tattoos have been getting more badass—pieces of work I’m proud to have displayed on my body. I don’t even think he needs to practice anymore, but he’s a perfectionist and wants to keep honing his craft. I won’t argue as long as it keeps a roof over my head.

My body is like a flip book at a tattoo shop, covered in samples of skulls, birds, roses, pinup girls, cartoon characters, dripping clocks, and anything else you can imagine. We started on my legs—so the worst can only be seen when I’m in my underwear—then we moved to my sides, and now we’re onto the last bit of ink-free skin on my left arm. There’s no rhyme or reason to any of it except for the tattoo on my right arm. That design was all me, and because Cruz loved the idea so much, he went for it, but only if I allowed him to put the image in his portfolio, which of course I did.

It’s one of the few tattoos I have that actually means something. Dark and depressing—exactly how I feel inside.

Cruz finally looks up and smiles. I know that damn smile. When he shows that many teeth he’s way too entertained about something.

What the fuck are you putting on me?

An octopus holding books and wearing a top hat and a monocle, he says, and I turn my head to him with an amused laugh.

Seriously?

I figured I could personalize each of the books to the customer’s favorites. Any requests?

It takes me a moment to think about it. Where the Wild Things Are. My dad used to read it to me when I was a kid. It was his favorite so it automatically became mine. On nights when he worked a double or got stuck doing paperwork, I would sneak into my sister’s bedroom, sit on the floor next to her crib, and read it to her. I was only three and didn’t know how to read, but I memorized the story. To this day, I can still recite every word.

The kids book?

That would be the one.

You got it, buddy. Cruz tilts his head, his black hair falling to the side as he loses himself in his work. I keep my eyes on the TV and let him do his thing.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I slip it out, careful not to disturb Cruz. A new text with my sister’s name flashes on the screen, and I tap it to open.

Are you ever coming home?

I promised her I’d be home for last week for Thanksgiving, but by the time I got in my car and started driving, I couldn’t bring myself to go back, so I turned around and spent Thanksgiving alone, eating a frozen dinner from the dollar store. Pretty pathetic, but I figured it was better than the alternative—going home to an ecstatic sister while my mother tries to make small talk like everything is normal. Like she didn’t mess up so bad that it’s ruined any chance of us ever having a healthy mother-son relationship. We’re not normal, and the fact that she tries to act like it sends a fiery rage pumping through my veins until I want to throw my fist into a wall in hopes of finding some release.

My biggest secret isn’t even my own, but that doesn’t mean the guilt doesn’t rip me apart. That it doesn’t make me question everything I know… or at least I thought I knew. My mom is to blame, and until she can admit what she did and accept that she’s a horrible human being, I have nothing to say to her.

Need to get that? Cruz asks, nodding to my phone.

Nah, it’s all right. I ignore the text. Anna is one of the few I have left in this world, and I hate letting her down, but I hate lying to her more. Every time I see her, the way she reminisces about Dad and Mom and how happy they were and how much she misses us as a family, I want to scream. If she only knew the truth.

But I refuse to pop the bubble she’s surrounded herself with. She’s been through enough.

I let the constant buzz of the tattoo gun lull me to sleep. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to get a couple hours in. Being an insomniac really sucks, so if the urge to take a nap arises, I take advantage.

A loud obnoxious knock at the door startles me awake, and I jump at the same time Cruz presses against my skin, causing the needle to go much farther than it’s supposed to.

Son of a bitch! I groan.

Shit! Sorry dude.

I glance to the door and then back to Cruz. Are you expecting anyone?

No. You?

I shake my head. The knocking gets louder and more obnoxious, so I get up. I resist the urge to rub my arm as I pull the door open. Hamid, the landlord, stands with his hand in mid-knock. He’s a few inches taller than me and tilts his head to glare at me with his dark eyes.

Hamid, what’s going on? I ask, taking in the hard set of his jaw and the tight clench of his hands.

What’s going on? he mocks me. "You’re out of here! That’s what’s going on."

Excuse me? Was he high? Had he lost his damn mind? You can’t do that. Not without reasonable cause, I argue, pulling that out of my ass from somewhere. Maybe that one business law class I took my first semester before I dropped out.

Like not paying rent! he yells, thrusting his finger at me with a little too much gusto.

That’s ridiculous. I turn around to Cruz whose shoulders are hunched forward. Cruz, tell him that’s ridiculous. You pay the rent every month.

Bullshit! Hamid yells.

Quiet! I say to Hamid, holding my hand up for emphasis as I wait for Cruz to explain how this is all a misunderstanding. He has to have records of his checks clearing. Cruz?

He goes to talk, but it’s a bunch of mumbled sounds. His eyes stay fixated on the ground as if he’s completely incapable of making eye contact.

Cruz? What the fuck? You paid the rent, dude, didn’t you?

You’re out of here! Hamid calls out again from the doorway. You have one hour before I notify the sheriff. One hour! With that Hamid spins around, his hand in the air like he’s waving a flag of victory and storms out.

Cruz, what’s going on?

He finally looks up from the ground, his eyes locking on mine for a brief second. He doesn’t need to say anything. I can already see it all. He screwed us.

Where’s the rent, Cruz?

He throws his hands up in the air, and they come down with a smack against his legs. There’s this chick I’ve been seeing.

What does that have to do with the rent?

She was short on cash.

Okay… then we’ll scrounge together what we have, pay Hamid, and this’ll blow over. Besides, Hamid can’t kick us out over a month’s rent and I’m pretty sure he has to give us time to vacate.

I expect Cruz to jump into action, digging into his pocket for his wallet and counting out what he has. Since we have the agreement and I haven’t been paying rent, I’d been able to save a few bucks from working random jobs the past few months.

Instead, he stands there like someone just told him his puppy died and suddenly, like a flash in my mind, I realize, it’s not going to be that easy.

How much do you owe Hamid?

He shrugs like he didn’t fuck up, like we aren’t about to be out on our asses. Three months.

Three months! Goddammit, Cruz. What the hell? Where are we going to come up with that kind of money?

I don’t know.

You don’t know? I run my hands through my hair trying to think of a plan. I don’t want to go back to couch surfing or worse, sleeping in my car. We need to figure this out. There has to be an answer… a way to fix this. Can you get an advance at work?

Doubt it.

Well what the fuck are we going to do? This is bullshit!

What the fuck are you bitching about? You don’t even put money toward the rent.

I motion a hand to my arm. Because I let you use me like a freaking canvas. That was the agreement. If you had a problem with it then you should have said something.

I’m saying something now.

"Now? It’s a little too late for that."

Then I guess we have to pack our shit and leave.

That’s just great. Where the hell are we supposed to go?

We? Sorry, but you’re on your own. I have too much shit to deal with.

Is he serious? Was he not bullshitting with me and inking up my arm with a fucking book juggling octopus a few minutes ago?

I have to make some calls. Take what’s yours and good luck.

Good luck? Fuck you, Cruz.

Whatever, dude. Cruz heads into his bedroom and slams the door.

I slump onto the couch, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. If he needed rent money, why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t he tell me he needed help? I would’ve tried. I would’ve given him something. I sure as hell wouldn’t have let him get three months behind.

I look down at my arm. Luckily, Cruz was mostly done. He had started on the book names. I stare at the one he started. Where the Wild. Perfect. Unfinished, just like Dad’s life.

What the hell am I going to do?

There has to be someone who can let me spend a few nights on their couch until I get things figured out. Hell, I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to. Anything is better than the small, uncomfortable confines of my car. Besides, we’re past the comfortable cool of fall and have slammed full force into winter. I’ll freeze to death if I don’t keep the car running which is not good for my gas gauge.

I scroll through my contact list, but I overstayed my welcome with every single person in there. Tommy’s girlfriend got sick of me, and because he liked sex more than his friend, he gave me the boot. Felix kicked me out after I ate his leftovers—how was I supposed to know he was looking forward to it all day? Then there was Rachel whose boyfriend was uncomfortable with the fact that she had a guy staying at her place. Insecure douchebag, if you ask me.

I go to toss my phone onto the cushion beside me when I click open my sister’s text.

Are you ever coming home?

There’s a thought. You can always go home, right? But what happens when home is your own personal hell? A reminder of everything you’ve witnessed, everything you’ve lost and all the bad shit that has happened? What then? Can you still go home? Is it even home at that point?

Desperate and with no other options I let the thoughts fall away and finally respond.

Soon.

CHAPTER 2

KATIE

My eyes can barely stay open on their own as Mrs. Goode babbles on and on about…I’m not even sure. Whatever it is, it’s boring as hell. I twirl my hair around my finger and look at the split ends. Maybe Sonia can squeeze me in for a trim when I go into work tomorrow.

The bell finally rings, and I jump up from my seat ready to get as far away from Mrs. Goode’s monotone voice.

I’m halfway to the door when I hear my name. I roll my eyes before spinning on my heel. Did you call me? I ask, forcing a smile.

Mrs. Goode nods. I did. Can I have a minute of your time, please?

A few people push past me to the door, and I’m tempted to fall into the crowd, but instead I nod and head back toward the old bag.

Please have a seat, she says, pointing to the desk directly across from hers.

I slump into the chair and let out an exaggerated sigh. I have three minutes between classes to check my makeup, fix my hair, and talk to my friends before being subjected to another forty-five minutes of academic hell.

Mrs. Goode waits for the last person to leave the classroom then eases the door shut. Her short gray hair is brushed to the side in an off-center part. If you ask me, she’s a few breaths away from being six feet under. I have no idea why she hasn’t retired yet. If I were her I’d get the hell out of here and move to sunny Florida.

She walks back to her desk, her orthopedic flats squelching as she walks. With her hands settled on the desk, she lowers herself into her seat. Her fingers form a steeple before sliding together into one massive ball.

I’m concerned about you, Katie.

My eyes—I swear they have a mind of their own—roll at her words. The last thing I need is a lecture. I get enough of those from my best friend.

You have missed more classes than you’re allotted, and your grades are suffering because of it. What do you have to say for that?

I don’t say anything. What the hell does she want me to say? I’m a loser? I’d rather ditch school and get drunk than have to listen to another second of her boring class?

I see, she says, whatever the hell that means. You might think I’m ancient. My eyes widen and she laughs. I might be old, but I’m not deaf. I hear what the students say about me. And yes, I have many years on you, but I also have many years of experience. I remember being your age. I remember what it was like to want to ditch class and hang out with my friends. I see a lot of me in you.

I almost laugh, but manage to stop it. She has to be feeding me a line. There’s no way she was like that when she was my age. She was definitely more like Anna. Buttoned up, prepared, and genuinely enjoyed being talked to death by a teacher.

Sorry, but I find that hard to believe.

It’s true, but luckily I had a teacher who saw something in me.

Oh boy. Here we go. The you are too bright for your own good speech. The if you just applied yourself a little pep talk. I’ve heard them all before, and they’ve never done any good. So before Mrs. Goode carries on for another second, I plaster a smile on my face and lean forward on the desk. I appreciate your concern, I do, but I like how I am. I’m fine with my C average.

C? Mrs. Goode exclaims.

She folds her hands on the desk and pushes up, coming around the metal frame until she’s standing in front of me. She rests her rear against the desk and crosses her arms over her floral button up shirt.

"Katie, your average is hovering right above an F. And to be honest, with the amount of classes you’ve missed it should be an F."

Shit. I didn’t see that coming. But so what? What if I fail a class? It wouldn’t be the first time. Not everybody can get straight A’s like Anna. Some people just fail. It’s the balance of life.

It’s one class, I say in a sad attempt to make myself not feel like a total loser.

It maybe one class, Katie, but unfortunately for you, it’s a class you need to graduate. If you don’t pass, you don’t get your diploma.

The floor feels like it’s ripped out from under me. A massive lump forms in my throat, and the room around me seems to expand and shrink until I can’t focus on a single thing.

I have to graduate. I have to. I can’t be left behind with the juniors. Oh God, not the juniors. I suck in a deep breath to calm down.

Would Mom even care if I didn’t graduate? I don’t even think she’d notice since she’s too busy with her new family. Not graduating would only be another reason why new is better than old. My brother and sister might be only five and seven, but they’re already smart. It doesn’t take a genius to know they’ll graduate with flying colors. So, if Mom doesn’t get to see me graduate, it’s really no big deal. She has two perfect children who will give her everything she never got from me.

And you will graduate, Mrs. Goode says, knocking me out of my head. You can’t miss any more classes, and you have to do a few extra assignments. I’ll give those to you throughout the rest of the year so I know you understand the material.

I shake my head. So, I have to do even more work? Can’t I make up what I’m missing or retake the tests I failed?

Mrs. Goode lets out a loud sigh. Katie, you had your chance like the rest of the class, so no, I can’t allow that. It’s either this or no diploma. It’s your choice.

That’s bullshit, I mumble under my breath.

You might think so. Dammit, she heard me. But I could’ve let you fail. Instead, I’m willing to work with you, but only if you’re willing to work with me. The door opens, and a guy with too much hair gel sticks his head in. You can come in, Patrick. We’re done here, she says to the overeager kid who can’t seem to wait to get into this classroom. He pulls the door completely open, and the noises from the hallway float in. Think about what I said, Katie, Mrs. Goode says as she pushes off the desk and moves to her chair without another word.

I get up and head to the door a million thoughts running rapid in my mind. How hard could it be to show up every day and do a few extra assignments?

What was that about? Anna asks as she falls into step with me. This is one of the few breaks when we meet up. She’s in all AP classes with the rest of the smart kids.

Nothing. The last thing I want is for Anna to know I might not graduate. She’ll be two steps away from putting a tracking device on my phone to make sure I’m in class when I say I am. She’ll have my nights filled with brightly colored index cards and practice tests like she did back in eighth grade when she tutored me. No thank you. I still have nightmares about those index cards.

She rests her hand on my arm and steps in front of me, stopping me from moving any farther. Her hazel eyes fill with concern and tilt up to meet mine. Are you sure?

I can tell Anna anything, and usually do, but this? This is different. Anna knows I’m not like her, that we come from two completely different molds, but that doesn’t mean I want her to worry about me. Because even if I tell her not to, she will, and she has too much of her own stuff to worry about right now—like choosing one of the million colleges she’s bound to get into, trying to figure out how she’s going to make a relationship with her boyfriend work if she chooses a school that is far away from here. Not to mention her own school work and volunteer obligations. No, she doesn’t need to know about this.

I meet her gaze head on and laugh. I’m sure. Stop being crazy. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and steer her down the hall. So, what do you and lover boy have planned for tonight?

I’m leaving tonight with my mom, remember?

Duh! How could I forget? You’ve only been talking about it every day for the past two weeks. What’s Dean going to do without you? I joke. After those two became a thing they’ve been inseparable, spending every waking minute together outside of school. Sometimes I hang out with them, but it really sucks being the third wheel.

He’s taking Josie and Izzy bowling.

Josie is Dean’s long lost sister he found a few months ago—they were separated in the foster care system when they were kids. Izzy is the daughter of the guy who took Dean in, so I guess in a sense she’s like his sister, too.

Last year Dean had no family and no friends. Now he’s surrounded by them. He was dealt such a shitty hand in life and sometimes when I’m really sad and lonely, I try to remind myself that it could be worse. Life might be far from perfect, but at least I’m not sleeping at the train trestle with a dollar store towel as the only thing to keep me warm.

I’m excited, though, Anna says. I get to walk a college campus, take a tour, go to the library, and see where people study.

Because that sounds like an absolute blast.

For me it is. Don’t judge.

I hold my hands up. No judgment here. I know how much the girl loves a library. It’s basically where her love story unfolded.

Dean and I are thinking of going to the movies right after school before I leave. Do you want to come?

I appreciate the invite, but sitting alone while those two make out is not exactly my idea of a good time. More like torture actually.

I’m good. But you two have fun.

Katie! Scott yells from across the hallway, his hands forming a circle around his mouth. He’s wearing the black and white plaid shirt he stole from the mall even though his parents have more than enough money to buy him whatever he wants. I didn’t even know he stole it until we were already on our way, and if it wasn’t for that stupid guilty grin of his that I know well, I may never even have known.

Erin stands beside him, red hair hanging in ringlets down her shoulders. Her long olive green shirt dips low in the front, revealing just enough cleavage. Paired with dark skinny jeans and those gorgeous camel suede knee high boots—I helped her pick out last week—she looks more put together than she actually is.

That’s the one thing Erin and I have in common—we’re good at making people see the outside so they can’t see the mess we are on the inside. If people knew what I knew about Erin—how she’s addicted to diet pills, how she lost her virginity to her Dad’s best friend after months of purposely flirting with him —they wouldn’t want to be