LONG WAY HOME

By MELISSA GRACE

Jo Kingsley is having a really bad day, and nothing is going according to plan. After her life goes up in flames-literally-she returns home to Nashville to figure out her next move. Soon after she arrives, Jo finds herself alone in a bar licking her wounds when a knight in a shining leather jacket unexpec

• Language: English
• Publisher: MELISSA GRACE
• Release date: Oct 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781735564647

Book preview

ONE

Jo

Convention attendees I spoke with remain hopeful they’ll get a refund, but they don’t expect it anytime soon. The CEO of Geeks and Ghouls Fan Fest, Josh Freeman, could not be reached for comment, but we’ll keep you updated as more details become available on this breaking story. The camera remained focused on me as I prepared to deliver my outro. For Channel Eleven News, I’m Jo Kingsley, reporting to you live from the Donald E. Stephens Convention Center. Back to you in the studio, Neil.

And we’re out, Riggs said, bringing the camera off his shoulder.

Geeks and Ghouls? I rolled my eyes as I handed him the mic. There’s a congressman being indicted on fraud charges right now, and I’m out here covering a Geeks and Ghouls con artist?

"He really puts the con in convention." Riggs flashed me a toothy grin.

My lips quirked. Riggs and his dad jokes got me every time. He’d been my cameraman for the entire six years I’d been a field reporter at WSTQ Channel Eleven, Chicago’s leading news station.

The only people being conned right now are us. I knew I was pouting, but I didn’t care. I can’t believe Kimber is the one reporting on Congressman Tilly. Riggs loaded the van, and I smoothed my hands over my sleek black skirt. I’m never going to make it to CNN like this—let alone get the morning anchor position. I’ll be back doing those fluff pieces, like the one I did a couple of months ago about the Irish Setter.

Riggs hopped out of the van and slammed the door shut. Ruffles? But you loved that piece.

That’s not the point. Ruffles was a well-loved therapy dog, and I had covered her retirement party. I also may or may not have cried. Okay, fine, I cried like a baby. You can’t be Daniel Kingsley’s daughter and report about puppies and rainbows.

Riggs placed his hands on the sides of my shoulders. You’re a damn good reporter, Jolene. You’re one of the best I’ve seen in my fifteen years at the station.

My face softened. It felt paternal when Riggs called me by my given name instead of my nickname, and it reminded me of my mom, who loved Dolly Parton so much she named me after her favorite song. I was never sure what to make of my own mother naming me after one of music’s most-hated man stealers, but she always said she loved the story behind how the song got its name. Dolly had famously looked out into the crowd and saw a pretty little girl with red hair and green eyes—much like mine—and asked her for her name. The rest was history.

You really think so? I finally asked.

Absolutely, he insisted in his thick Chicago accent. You’re a shoo-in. You’ve got the chops, kid. You’ve been here twice as long as Kimber, and you practically live at the station. You’re gonna get that anchor job tomorrow. Harper’s probably taking it easy on ya right now to make the transition a little easier, you know? Give you a break before you take the big job.

I twisted my lips to the side. I hope you’re right.

Harper Leslie was the CEO at WSTQ, and I’d never known him to take it easy on anyone, least of all me. You didn’t get to be my father’s daughter without a certain level of expectation. When you heard names like David Muir, Lester Holt, Brian Williams, and Daniel Kingsley, you thought of groundbreaking news stories, not therapy dogs named Ruffles.

It was bad enough that everyone assumed I was the weather girl instead of the woman delivering the evening news. It wasn’t my fault I had a case of RFF—Resting Friendly Face—and a spray of freckles across my cheeks that made me look far less than my thirty-one years. Whether I was standing in line at the grocery store or had my feet in stirrups at the gyno’s office, everyone saw my face and assumed I was game for a chat. It was one of the reasons I only wore black. My wardrobe could look serious even if my face couldn’t.

We need to get you back to the station, Riggs said, opening the door for me. Isn’t tonight the big night with Aiden?

My stomach twirled like Michelle Kwan doing a triple lutz at the Olympics as I climbed into the van. Yep, tonight’s the night.

Aiden and I had been together for a little over a year, and I knew this was the night he was going to propose. He’d said he wanted to take me to dinner to talk, and we were going to Prosecco, the very same restaurant where we’d had our first date. While that alone wasn’t exactly a flashing sign that he was going to put a ring on it, the three-carat rock I’d found in his coat pocket a few days ago most certainly was.

Riggs got in the driver’s seat and started up the van, and a sweet voice sprang to life on the radio over a melancholy melody. Caught somewhere between who you want to be and who you are. Your dress in shades of gray, trying to blend in with the walls of this crowded bar.

I love this song, Riggs said, turning up the volume.

Who is it? I asked as I pulled my phone from my pocket and began going over my notes for the next day’s stories.

He shook his head. How do you not know who this is? It’s Midnight in Dallas. They’re huge.

I shrugged. I guess I don’t listen to the radio much. The name did sound familiar, but I’d probably heard it on TV or something.

My fingers tapped across the screen, the song quickly forgotten, and I shuddered when I got a good look at my nails. Oh Mylanta. I couldn’t get engaged with my nails looking like they’d been gnawed on by a beaver. I tuned out the sounds of Riggs singing along to the radio as I used the front-facing camera to inspect the rest of my appearance.

My eyes looked tired. I was tired. I’d been getting up at three a.m. for the last nine years—first as an intern, then as a news desk writer, then as a field reporter.

At least I’d washed my hair that morning instead of caking on another layer of dry shampoo. I was in desperate need of a blowout, but there wouldn’t be enough time for that. My phone rang as I studied my reflection, a photo of my dad and I smiling inside his office at CNN flashed across the screen.

Hi, Dad, I answered, bringing the phone to my ear.

Are you ready for the big day? he asked. I could tell from the soft sounds of road noise that he was in the car too, though I couldn’t remember the last time he actually drove. My dad liked to spend his travel time working from the back of his Escalade. He planned every single day down to the second. In fact, he’d probably penciled in just enough time for this phone call.

I am, I sang. But I’ve got to get through the big night first!

Big night? Does this mean you’re covering the Tilly case after all?

Unfortunately, no. Tonight is my dinner with Aiden. He’s proposing tonight, remember? I bit back my disappointment. He’d already forgotten about my dinner with Aiden, which wasn’t surprising, really. My dad could remember details of stories he covered decades before, but things like my love life weren’t exactly headline news in Daniel Kingsley’s world.

Ah, right. My dad liked Aiden well enough. Or maybe he liked the way Aiden didn’t complicate my career goals. Aiden didn’t care about the long hours I put in or if he didn’t see me for a few days at a time. He knew my career was important to me and never tried to make me feel guilty about it.

He didn’t ask a lot of questions about my job, but I didn’t mind. When I was with Aiden, I got to unplug from the craziness of my day-to-day life and just exist. Once the new car smell of our relationship had worn off, he’d been content to stay in and watch TV most nights that we spent together, which was perfect for me because I hadn’t stayed up past nine p.m. for as long as I could remember.

I’m headed back to the station to finish up and get ready for dinner.

That’s nice, he said. Well, good luck. There was a brief pause, and I heard his muffled voice giving directives to the driver. And how’s your mother doing?

He asked me this question nearly every time we spoke, and every time it hurt for me to answer. He never said as much, but I knew he missed her.

She’s good. She and John left for Hawaii this afternoon. John was my mom’s boyfriend, and he worshiped the ground she walked on, which was something my father never did even on his best day. For all the ways John was a lovable teddy bear, my dad was a cactus. Or a porcupine. Or something equally as prickly.

That’s good to hear. He cleared his throat. Listen, Jo, I've got to run, but I can’t wait to hear about how everything goes tomorrow.

Thanks, Daddy, I said as Riggs pulled the van into the Channel Eleven parking lot. I’ll keep you posted. I love—

I didn’t bother finishing my sentence because he had already hung up.

Riggs had barely parked the van when I launched myself from the vehicle and scrambled inside to send out a few last emails and tidy my desk. A cluttered desk is a cluttered mind. And I needed to start tomorrow, the day I would be named Channel Eleven’s newest morning anchor, with a clear head.

Hey, Jo. I turned and saw Carina, my friend and one of the best news writers at Channel Eleven, walking toward me. You ready for tomorrow?

I took in a shaky breath. Yep. I’m ready.

You’ve got this in the bag, she assured me. And what about tonight? Are you ready for that? She wiggled the fingers on her left hand at me.

Definitely, I said. Everything is going according to plan.

Carina playfully rolled her eyes. You and your plans.

Well, Confucius said that those who don’t plan long ahead will find trouble at their door.

It was true. If there was one thing my father had instilled in me, it was that I always needed a plan. I couldn’t leave my life, or my career, to chance.

She snickered. You are the only person I know who can quote Confucius and not sound like a total asshat.

The alarm on my phone trilled a sharp reminder that I needed to get out of there if I was to stand a chance at making myself look presentable.

Peas and rice! I’ve got to go. I shut down my computer and grabbed my purse.

Carina shook her head. "You know, it wouldn’t kill you to say fuck or shit or damn. It might even feel good—let some steam out of that kettle."

I pretended I didn’t hear her. Wish me luck.

I won’t. She smiled and crossed her arms. Because you don’t need it.

Thanks, Carina. I gave her a quick hug. I’ll see you later.

As I hurried out the door, I knew she was right. I’d never relied on luck. Everything I’d planned for, everything I’d worked hard for, had always been mine. And everything taking place over the next twenty-four hours would be no exception.

Everything is going according to plan.

After you. Aiden held the door for me at Prosecco as the smell of garlic butter and simmering marinara beckoned me inside. His normally broad grin was tighter than the little plastic retainer I wore every night to keep my teeth straight, but I knew he had to be nervous. It was a big night, after all.

He looked dapper in his gray suit, and when he smiled at me, my heart fluttered. As a pharmaceutical sales rep for a company selling cosmetic fillers, he had to be charismatic. It was no wonder he was one of the leading reps in the state, which had afforded him the ability to buy the giant diamond he was about to place on my finger.

Thank you, I said as we strolled inside.

Good evening, a hostess greeted us. Do you have a reservation?

Yes, Aiden replied. It should be under Aiden Christopher.

The hostess squinted down at her iPad, flicking her finger across the screen. Ah, yes. Christopher, party of two. Right this way. She grabbed a couple of menus from the podium and led us through the dimly lit restaurant to our table.

As Aiden took his seat across the table from me, I noticed beads of sweat had already formed along his hairline. He loosened his tie as a server brought two glasses of water to our table with a promise to return for our drink order.

This is nice, I said, reaching across the table and taking his hand in mine. It’s been a while since we’ve had a date night that consisted of something besides me falling asleep during a movie on the couch.

He cleared his throat as his eyes did a quick sweep of the restaurant. Yeah, it has.

I feel like I haven’t gotten to talk to you all week. I took a sip of my water. How was the training?

Hmm? His eyes flitted about as though they were watching an erratic fly buzz about the room.

He’s nervous. This is so cute.

The training you were out of town for? His job had been extra busy, and he’d been out of town more than he’d been home. But that was okay. I spent so much time at the station that I didn’t really mind. In fact, aside from my Wednesday phone chats with my best friend back home in Nashville and the occasional happy hour with Carina, my social life was pretty much nonexistent, and I liked it that way. Less distractions, like my dad always said.

Oh, right, he began, but the server returned before he could finish.

Can I start you off with anything to drink? I can give you a few more minutes if you’d like, he said.

I think we’re ready to order. I’d love a glass of Pinot Grigio and the Calabrese. I smiled and passed him the menu. I hadn’t even glanced at it because I always got the same thing when I came to Prosecco.

To be fair, I did that everywhere I went. If I didn’t venture off script, I wouldn’t be met with any surprises. I had the same protein shake for breakfast and a grilled chicken salad with extra veggies for lunch every single day. I went to the same spin class three days a week, and I’d had the same haircut since I was twenty-three. I even got the same nail color anytime I went to the salon—Blush Crush.

And for you sir? the server asked as Aiden studied the menu, something he rarely did when we came here.

Um, I’ll uh... I’ll have the Petto di Pollo, Aiden answered.

And to drink?

Water, please.

Perfect. I’ll get these in for you, and I’ll be back with your wine in a moment.

I waited until the server had disappeared before I spoke again. No Carbonara this time?

He shrugged. I just needed something different. Something a little lighter.

So, he was going a little off-script. That was okay because everything else was going according to plan. I was about to check two huge things off my life’s to-do list: land an anchor job and get married before I turned thirty-five. Maybe we weren’t getting married yet, but I knew once we got engaged and moved in together that marriage was just around the corner. It wasn’t something we talked about, but it only made sense for that to be where we were headed. We already had the routine of an old married couple as it was. Things had become predictable…comfortable. So what if I got more sleep than orgasms these last few months?

We made small talk over dinner, mostly Aiden rambling on about work, but I struggled to keep up. My mind was too busy thinking about the proposal. I wondered how he would do it. Would the ring appear inside a glass of champagne or atop a decadent dessert? Would his voice drop low so that only I could hear him, or would he gently clink his butter knife against the crystal glassware, politely requesting the entire restaurant’s attention?

The server returned for our dishes and asked if we were interested in dessert.

No dessert, Aiden said quickly. Just the check.

I felt a pang of disappointment. Okay, so it won’t be covered in something sticky or gunked up with a bunch of chocolate. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Aiden’s forehead glistened with sweat. Listen, Jo, I think you’re great.

Here it comes. I took a deep breath and released it, a smile spreading across my face.

You’re driven, focused, and you’ve got such a kind heart, he continued. Which makes what I’m about to say...

Yes, I’ll marry you! I blurted out before he could even ask the question.

Aiden’s face crumpled. Wait, what?

I’m sorry. I got a little ahead of myself there. My cheeks pinked. Go ahead. Ask me.

He looked around to make sure no one could hear him and lowered his voice. Jo, I’m not asking you to marry me.

Oh. I frowned. But…I found the ring.

Aiden pressed his lips together and pushed his hand through his hair. You found that, he said flatly.

I did, I admitted. You were clearly trying to surprise me, and now I’ve gone and ruined it.

There is no surprise.

I shook my head. I don’t understand.

He paused, and in those few seconds I imagined all of the different possibilities he might suggest. Maybe he wanted to get a house outside the city first or adopt a dog. I…we can’t see each other anymore.

My voice came out razor-sharp. What?

He startled, glancing around nervously. Will you please keep your voice down?

You’re breaking up with me? Dear God, I was going to throw up. But I saw the flippin’ ring!

It’s not for you, Jo.

All of the air whooshed out of my lungs, and my entire body went rigid as though the blood in my veins had frozen. What do you mean it’s not for me? Who’s it for?

He closed his eyes for a few seconds before looking at me again. Abigail. My girlfriend.

Tears stung my eyes and my cheeks burned. Stupid. I’m a stupid, stupid girl. You’ve been cheating on me?

He huffed out a breath. Actually, I’ve been cheating on her.

I don’t…

I’ve been cheating on her with you.

The room turned upside down in a sea of red. I pressed my palms to the sides of my face as the cogs in my brain spun wildly before finally clicking into place. "I’m the other woman. I’m a homewrecker."

Did you really never wonder why you’d never met anyone in my life? he asked. Why I never took photos of us and posted them on social media?

I shook my head. No. This can’t be happening. But…you don’t have social media.

"Everyone has social media, he countered. Did you really never wonder why I never brought you to my place the entire time we were together?"

You said you had roommates. That you preferred to come to my place so we could be alone.

"Abigail is my roommate," he admitted.

I seethed. Are your parents even dead?

He looked away and cleared his throat.

Oh my God, I cried. "What is wrong with you? Who does that?"

Will you please keep your voice down?

"I will not keep my voice down," I shouted.

Jo, I’m sorry, he said. I didn’t mean for this to happen.

Which part, Aiden? I shot back. Cheating on your girlfriend for over a year? Breaking my heart? Turning me into the villain of a freaking Dolly Parton song?

At least it’s a good song? he answered, and my nostrils flared. I’m scum. I know I am. But I’m trying to do the right thing here.

Well, somebody should give you a cookie, I spat. Congratulations on finding some freaking morals. How…why...I thought you loved me.

Silence again. My heart sank with the reality that I wasn’t losing Aiden at all. He was never mine to begin with.

You’ll find someone. Someone far better than me. Aiden tried to reach for my hand, but I snatched it away.

Darn right I will, I fumed, rising to my feet. I gave a year of my life to you, Aiden. How could you do this to me?

I’m so sorry, Jo, he said, his face turning as red as the tomatoes they put in the marinara. Please forgive me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a full glass of red wine on the table where two women were sitting beside us. I lunged for it and threw it in Aiden’s face.

What the hell is wrong with you? one of the women shouted.

Sorry. It was an emergency. I was sure I looked positively deranged. This stand-up guy here will buy you another one.

Aiden opened his mouth to say something else, but I cut him off, anger rumbling deep in my chest.

You can go screw yourself, Aiden. I hope Abigail doesn’t like orgasms since she won’t be getting any for the rest of her life.

Oh shit. The lady whose wine I’d stolen raised her brow at me. Is his dick small?

Microscopic, I said, looking at him one last time before turning my attention to the woman. Sorry about your wine.

She shrugged. Sorry about his tiny penis.

My rage grew legs and carried me out the door into the chilly October night. It wasn’t until I was outside that I started to cry.

TWO

Derek

Dude, what is with you? My cousin Dallas threw his drumsticks on the floor, sending them clattering at my feet. You’re playing like you just picked up the bass yesterday.

Jax, the lead singer of our band, Midnight in Dallas, turned and gave Dallas a pointed look. That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?

I shook my head, and Jax gave me an apologetic look. I’m sorry. My head isn’t in the game today.

Yeah, no shit, Dallas fired back. Your head hasn’t been in the game for a long time.

There wasn’t anything I could say to that. He was right.

You need to calm the fuck down, man, Luca said, lifting his guitar strap over his head and propping the inky black Fender against the amp behind him.

That’s rich coming from you. Dallas rolled his eyes. You can’t be bothered to show up on time, so you can stop with the self-righteous bullshit.

The only one being self-righteous right now is you. Jax pressed his lips together in a firm line.

Jax, you can barely remember the words to songs you fucking wrote, man. Dallas threw his hands up. What is with you people? Am I the only person who still cares about this fucking band?

That’s enough. The voice of Cash Montgomery, CEO of our record label, boomed through the small practice hall. Dallas opened his mouth to speak, but Cash held his hands out as though he could physically stop whatever words he was about to say. I mean it, Dal. You need to knock it off or I’m going to sick Antoni on you when he gets back in town. Antoni was our manager and friend who had no problem letting us know when we were being assholes.

I’m sorry, guys, I said again. I couldn’t even make an excuse, and I definitely couldn’t tell them the truth.

Don’t apologize, Cash said gently. Everyone has an off day.

Dallas huffed. Been a lot fucking longer than a day.

Cash glared at him. That’s it. Rehearsal is over. Pack it up.

What? Dallas exclaimed. We still have an hour left.

Cash crossed his arms over his chest. Not anymore you don’t. You fellas need to go relax. He pointed at Dallas. Especially you.

Fuck this shit. Dallas nearly knocked over his cymbals when he rose to his feet.

That’s real mature, Jax muttered.

Dallas shot him daggers before bursting through the double doors.

Jax turned to me and squeezed my shoulder. I’m sorry, man. He’ll cool down.

I gave him a weak nod as I removed my bass and placed it back in its case.

Or he won’t, Luca added, unhelpfully. But Dallas is an asshole, so who cares?

Pot, meet kettle, Jax joked.

Luca shrugged. "At least I know I’m an asshole. Dallas acts like he’s God’s fucking gift to music."

Look, you guys have some time before the CMAs, Cash said. You’re just a little rusty. Artists go through this all the time.

I’d been going through it for nearly a year. I hated letting Dallas and the guys down, but after letting myself down for so long, I’d become kind of an expert at it.

Cool, Luca said, packing up his guitar. He started toward the door. I’m headed to the bar.

I wrinkled my brow. It’s only noon.

If he heard me, he didn’t let on. The doors closed with a click behind him.

Okay then. Cash raked his hand through his hair and sighed. Get some rest, you two. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and glanced at the screen. It appears Ella is in need of some hush puppies and a Crunchwrap Supreme.

Jax snorted. At the same time?

I swear, my fiancée has a gut made of steel. Cash chuckled.

Liv and I are taking the kids to the park to burn off some of their energy, Jax said as we headed for the door. Liv was Ella’s best friend and Jax’s wife.

What about you? Cash clapped me on the back. What are you getting into this afternoon?

Nothing much. There was no family waiting for me to come home. Just an empty apartment. Sometimes I wished I had someone—until I remembered that was one less person I would let down.

You’re welcome to come to the park with us, Jax offered.

My phone vibrated against the fabric of my jeans. I pulled it out and saw I had five missed calls. That was two more than I’d had when I got to rehearsal. I shoved my phone back in my pocket. I didn’t want to deal with those calls earlier, and I definitely didn’t want to deal with them now.

I have some photos to edit, so I’ll probably work on those, I said. Maybe practice a bit so I’m ready for rehearsal tomorrow morning.

You were fine today, Jax insisted. Really. Don’t stress it.

I’d been in music long enough to know the truth. And the truth was that lately, I’d sucked. Part of what made our music so good was that we played with feeling, channeling our emotions into every note. But it had become clear that I didn’t want to be there. Going through the motions was no longer good enough to hide the dread that weighed me down every time I picked up my instrument.

Thanks, man, I said, starting toward my motorcycle with my bass slung across my back. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.

I climbed on my bike and started the ignition, the motor vibrating to life. As I pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward my condo, I tried to pretend I was driving someplace else. Somewhere that didn’t make me feel like I was suffocating.

Anywhere else.

Anywhere but here.

Thanks again for meeting me, I said to Ella later that afternoon as we walked inside the Nashville Humane Association. Well, I walked, and Ella sort of waddled, her hands cradling the melon-sized bump of her stomach.

Are you kidding me? she asked. I wouldn’t miss it. Sorry I was a little late. I had to stop by the bakery. I had a dream about these mocha cupcakes with candied bacon on top, so Katie made them for me.

I scrunched up my nose. "Sounds disgusting, but if anyone