Return to Me

Book 1: A Covington Cove Novel

by Kelly Moran

Genres: Family Life; Contemporary Romance; Military Romance

Synopsis

A Covington Cove Novel—First in a new contemporary romance series from an award-winning author featuring "two characters you'll never forget." (Carly Phillips, New York Times bestselling author)

With every beat of the heart comes a memory of what could have been…

Ten years ago, Cole Covington was just another rich kid who got everything he wanted—including young and trusting Mia Galdon. Then one night everything changed, and two hearts were shattered. Cole buried his guilt in the military, where love was just part of the past. Now Cole has come back home, emotionally damaged, guarded, and unprepared for what’s waiting for him…

At the urging of Cole’s sister, Mia has returned to the Covington family’s coastal home in Wilmington as a private nurse to help Cole recover. With her uncertain personal life at a crossroad, Mia doesn’t have the luxury of saying no to the job. And she soon finds out that the attraction is still alive. So are memories of betrayal. But Mia will discover more than the power of resilience. She’ll discover a secret Cole has held for years, one that will force them to confront the past and give new meaning to letting go, forgiveness, and a future worth fighting for.

Release date: March 3, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 304

Sample

Acknowledgments

chapter
one

The sand beneath his hand didn’t feel like the soft grains from the beach outside his Wilmington, North Carolina, home. This sand was packed, as firm and unforgiving as the region.

Okay, backtrack. Try to think.

He blinked and focused. There should be pain. That was an IED they drove over, right? He should be in pain.

Cole Covington was flat on his back, the goddamn unforgiving Iraq sun scalding his retinas. God, how he hated this place. He’d kill to see rain again. To smell the salt spray off the Atlantic in Wilmington again.

The last thing Cole remembered was heading back to camp. They were in the Humvee, bringing medical supplies to the unit just the other side of Samarra. Finn was driving. He had insisted after Cole nearly flipped the jeep on the last run.

The pansy ass wuss. He smiled. He might not like his life here, but he liked the guys he served with. He hoped they were okay. Panic started to form in his gut.

“Finn?” He couldn’t hear his own voice. He cleared his throat and shouted out to his commander again. Nothing. Come to think of it, he couldn’t hear anything. What the . . .

He tried to roll, but something was sprawled over his chest. Something heavy. His pack was pressing into his spine. Cole lifted his head, expecting a piece of the truck or part of the cargo.

Instead, Donny lay on him. Donny was almost bigger than the truck and just as stupid. Cole loved him to death. When they got out of there next month, he planned on keeping in contact with him. Donny was talking about signing up again. But hell, three years on this tour was enough for Cole. He was going home. Screw the U.S. government. He’d done his duty.

“Hey, man. Get off. Help me up.”

Still no sound. The blast must’ve shot his hearing. Donny didn’t budge.

Cole sighed and geared up to move the lug. He was probably knocked out. Wouldn’t be the first time. He hoped Finn wasn’t, ’cause no way in hell could Cole carry Donny alone.

He raised his arms and froze. Blood. A lot of it. Everywhere.

His chest tightened. He ran his hands over his arms, smearing the blood, trying to find the wound.

Where? Where was it?

No scratches. No gashes. And it didn’t hurt. It wasn’t his blood.

Oh no. Donny?

He wheezed in air, pressing his hands over Donny’s shoulders to push him off. Donny rolled surprisingly easy, flopping to his right.

Cole edged up onto his elbows and looked in the direction of the Humvee. From forty yards away he could tell the supplies weren’t salvageable. The truck lay on its side in flames, a crater next to it where the IED went off. So much for being safe by taking the same route back.

How the hell were they going to get back to base? There was nothing out here. In a couple hours night would fall. They’d be exposed. Three years here and he still wasn’t used to the frigid nights, the blistering days. Third realm of hell, this country was. In more ways than one.

Hoping Finn had his portable radio on him, Cole set his hands down to stand and go in search of him. His hand slipped, causing him to flop face-first over Donny’s prone body. All the damn blood. So sticky.

Blood.

Cole lifted his head slowly, his gaze raking over Donny’s round, boyish face. The kid’s mouth hung open as if he needed to scream but couldn’t. Blue eyes stared blankly into the sky, fixated on the heavens above that he prayed to every night, like the good, God-fearing Southern boy he was.

Cole’s hands shook as reality sunk in. His gaze darted down over Donny’s body. Down, down. Past his chest, his stomach, and to his waist, where he stopped. Literally stopped. Donny’s entire lower half was gone.

“Fuck!”

Cole scrambled to back up but got nowhere.

No. No. No.

“Come on, Donny boy. Wake up, man.” He grabbed Donny’s vest and shook the kid for everything he was worth. Donny’s head rolled and drooped back, bobbing like a fishing float in the Cape Fear River back home.

A claw of terror ripped the beat from his heart. Oh God! His fingers relaxed and dropped to the dirt.

Cole ran a shaking hand over his face and tore his gaze away. The other half of Donny was near the crater. He saw it now. Him now. Him. Donny was a person. Even in two pieces.

Finn. Where was Finn? Cole called out again, but even if Finn called back, he couldn’t hear him through the vacuum in his ears. His gaze searched the expanse of desert surrounding their location.

There! A hundred yards in the opposite direction was . . .

A leg. Part of an arm. More blood.

Adrenaline had him surging up. Searing pain reared him back down. Losing his leverage, he sprawled on his back again.

Fire. He was on fire. His whole left side burned in agony. His hands coursed over his chest. No. His face. No. Over his arms. There. His left shoulder. Marred layers of black flesh riddled the muscle of his shoulder and arm. So much pain.

Okay. Okay. Just the arm. You’re fine, man. Get up. Breathe through.

Fuck. And his leg.

His hand instinctively clutched for the pain and couldn’t reach it. He sucked in a breath and lifted his head. His uniform was shredded and burned, the tatters flapping in the wind. More blood.

His head flopped back down with the exertion of moving too much. He closed his eyes, counted to twenty, and tried again. Half of his left thigh was . . . gone. Muscles and tendons protruded like a morbid plate of spaghetti.

His stomach recoiled. His breakfast MRE came back up. He wretched and heaved until there wasn’t anything left of the ready-to-eat crap.

His head slammed back down, his pack digging farther into his spine. He probably had a broken back. He was in pieces, too. How had he survived when Finn and Donny . . .

“Sweet Home Alabama” had been blaring in the Humvee’s CD player. Finn and Donny were arguing the semantics of whether it was Lynyrd Skynyrd’s best song. Cole was in the back, laughing at their absurdity, trying not to take sides. That was how he survived. He was in the back. Protected.

Finn had a wife and kids at home. Donny a mother and a sister. Why’d Cole make it? He had . . . nothing left to go home to.

Pain flared again, stealing his breath. Fire and ice, pulsing and pounding. He wouldn’t be alive for long either. He’d lost a lot of blood. He was a mangled wreck. He wasn’t aware of anyone who knew they were out there. By the time the base discovered they hadn’t gotten back on time, it would be too late.

Cole swallowed. The cold sensation of shock set in, very different from the empty cold of the past ten years. It settled in his bones before the tremors started. He’d seen guys go into shock more times than he cared to count. No, it wouldn’t be long at all.

Alone. He was gonna die alone.

Once, he almost had it all. Even now, he had more than most. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was going out with a rifle in his hand. He’d give it all up to have her back again. To go back to that day he’d told her to walk.

Tremors turned into violent convulsions as he lay there. So cold. His fingers crawled over his chest to get to his breast pocket. That’s where Mia was. In his pocket. In his memory. The only two places he could have her.

He slid the photo out and raised it. The sun washed out any distinguishable characteristics. All except her eyes. He didn’t need a picture to remember those. As turquoise as the waters near Cozumel, and just as warm.

He’d wanted to take her there once, back before he sucked all the hope out of her. Wanted to show her how the beauty of the Caribbean couldn’t hold a lick to her.

For a moment, warmth enveloped him again, as he remembered.

What he’d give to take back that day again . . . He’d do it all different. He wouldn’t be a coward the second time around. If only she knew how much guilt he lived with, how there wasn’t a day that went by when he didn’t think of her and wish he’d been a better man.

Spasms almost made him lose her. Well, the picture of her. It was the only personal item he had brought from home. He fisted the photo in his fingers, grasping it as long as he could.

His eyes were so heavy. The sun so bright. It wouldn’t hurt anything to close his eyes and sleep. Maybe he’d die that way instead of in a heaving pile of pain, fighting to live. Survival was a basic human instinct, but even he knew there wasn’t much for him to hold on to anymore.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, losing track of the blackouts after the fourth episode. Disappointment reared each time his eyes reopened. Still alive. Still here. He had no idea how much time had passed, but the sun was dipping lower now. The air was colder.

And then, without so much as a warning, sand kicked up, plastering his face. Damn sandstorms. He’d be buried. They’d never find any of their bodies. Finn’s and Donny’s families deserved the closure of burial. He struggled to cover his head with his arm as the grains cut at his skin like glass. Just as quickly, the wind died down, only to return moments later.

He was going numb. His limbs were blocks of ice. Not much . . . longer now. He was oddly at peace with dying. He’d atone for his sins to God. Maybe then he could forgive himself.

Just one more look at her first.

Shadows spun overhead, splitting the sky. Black, white. Black, white.

A helicopter propeller. Someone had found them.

He wished they’d leave him here to die. Hell, it didn’t matter. He’d never make it as far as the medics.

Someone shoved his face in front of Cole’s, a blurry mass. The face reared back, mouth moving with no words. The guy turned, waved an arm their way, and then the face was back in his. Cole didn’t recognize the soldier, but he was one of theirs. His helmet had the U.S. flag on the side. Good ole Stars and Stripes.

He couldn’t feel anything. Didn’t even know if he was still shaking. Still breathing. The heli blades spun slower, until all that remained was the black. So this is what the end felt like. A void. No white light. No tunnel. No angels beckoning from beyond. Maybe he was going to hell. Except, he could’ve sworn that was where he’d been the past ten years.

Cole opened his eyes, and with the only strength he had left in reserve, he grabbed the soldier’s sleeve and opened his mouth. “Please, tell her . . . I’m sorry.”

•   •   •

Mia dropped her keys on the entryway table and kicked off her heels. Another interview a bust. This one had had potential, too. Head of nursing at Ridgeway Home. The salary would have been enough to make things a tad more comfortable.

Instead, she got the same story she had at the last ten interviews. She didn’t have enough experience for a department position and they didn’t have enough money in the budget to add another RN. Though there was a nationwide nursing shortage, not many were being hired. A testament to the economy.

She moved deeper into her apartment and plopped on the couch. It was the only item she’d taken from the trailer after Mama died. The only thing worth taking. Now it was falling apart, just like everything else in her life.

Mama wasn’t worth spit when she was alive, but she was worth even less dead. The disability checks stopped coming a year ago. Mia was barely getting by before that. Now, being out of a job, she wasn’t going to have the money to pay for Ginny’s school.

She didn’t know what she was going to do if St. Ambrose kicked her sister out. There weren’t many decent options for severe Down syndrome teens. Her sister had been thriving there, finally getting the education, therapy, and social skills she’d never gotten at home. The public school system had already failed her, as had the state programs.

Mia stared at the stack of bills on the coffee table. After living in her car through most of college, she refused to be a victim of her circumstance, of her past. Because of the cost of Ginny’s private school, Mia hadn’t been able to put much in savings, but she did have a small cushion. She’d worked hard, made something of herself. She was a good surrogate mother to her sister and tried to give her everything. If they could survive on love, they’d be rich.

Didn’t matter. She’d get through this. She was a great nurse with an excellent track record and several recommendations. The hospital’s closing after the merger and Mia losing her job were just minor setbacks. Lord knew she’d been through worse.

She rose, aiming toward the adjoining kitchen. A cup of tea before she headed to the library to check job postings was in order. A computer just wasn’t in her budget right now. She reached inside the canister and came up empty. Out of tea. She opened the cabinet to see if she had any instant coffee. All that lay inside was half a box of generic Wheat Thins and a can of tuna. She mentally added grocery shopping to today’s to-do list. Since the layoff, she’d only been buying what was truly needed until she found another job.

She closed the cabinet and pressed her forehead to the aged, scarred pine.

She couldn’t let Ginny down. Mia had to be the mother she herself never had. Someone had to love and care for her sister like no one had for Mia. The bubble of tears formed. She sucked in a breath and straightened. Tears were useless. Feeling sorry for herself was useless. Both had gotten her mother nowhere but an early grave. She looked at the phone on the counter. The answering machine light blinked. More bill collectors. More job rejections. Maybe good news?

Needing a pick-me-up, she dialed to check on Ginny. It was a bit earlier than she usually called, but hearing her voice would clear away the sadness and remind her what there was to lose if she gave in to pity.

Ginny’s favorite teacher, Faith Armstrong, picked up on the second ring. “Oh, she’s having a pretty good day today. Do you want to talk to her?”

“Yes. Thank you, Faith.”

“I’m supposed to tell you when you call that her tuition is due Friday.”

Mia pressed a hand to her forehead. The tuition would eat nearly the rest of her savings, but at least she would have another month to find a job. “I know. Thank you.”

“Here’s Ginny.”

The slur of Ginny’s voice came on to greet her and Mia nearly wept. She remembered when Mama came home from the hospital with her, just a bundle of pink blankets. She made squeaky noises and smiled when she pooped.

“Hey, pretty girl. Did you have art class today?”

“Uh huh. I made a bird.”

Mia smiled. Before St. Ambrose, Ginny was almost completely nonverbal, never mind able to wield a crayon. Mia had worked with her as much as she could back then, but she worked two jobs and went to college to make a better life for them. And she had. “You did? What color?”

“Green. It flies.”

“I’ll bet it’s beautiful. I’m so proud of you.” Every chance she got, Mia repeated the words she would’ve given anything to hear. Just once. From anyone.

“When’re you comin’ to see me?”

St. Ambrose was clear on the other side of Charlotte and so was the home Ginny resided in. Mia was trying to save on the expense of gas so she only visited once a week. It killed her. “I’ll come on Sunday, like always. I promise. I’ll be there.”

She never broke promises to Ginny either. Promises had been empty words for her growing up. They wouldn’t be for Ginny. Ginny would know she was loved.

As always, Ginny hung up before Mia could say good-bye. She held the receiver and stared at it before setting it in the cradle with a smile.

The answering machine reminded her of reality. As long as it kept blinking, there was hope her résumé had gotten a hit.

She pushed Play and turned to fetch a glass of water.

“Ms. Galdon, this is Mark from Credit Services about—”

Delete.

“Hello. This message is for Mia Galdon. This is Faye from Human Resources at UNC. I wanted to thank you for your résumé, but we’ve hired internally for the position.”

Delete.

She turned on the faucet and began filling the glass.

“Mia? This is Lacey. Lacey Covington.”

The glass fell out of her hand, shattering in the sink.

“I know it’s been a long time. It took me a while to find your number.” Mia’s gaze whipped to the machine and stared as Lacey’s voice paused. “I . . . need to talk with you. Please. It’s important. I know you probably don’t want to hear from us, but . . . Oh, Mia. Please call me back. My number is . . .”

Mia’s hands shook. Her mouth grew as dry as cotton.

She rewound the message and played it back twice more until her fingers were no longer numb. Until it sank in that the call was real. Until she was capable of writing down the number.

Covington. She hadn’t heard a Covington voice in ten years. She’d never expected to again.

What could they possibly want with her now? She wasn’t some seventeen-year-old kid with stars in her eyes anymore. She wasn’t a doormat for them to wipe their feet on. They’d made it quite clear what they thought of her the last time she saw them.

She should ignore the call. She should grab her pocketbook and march right out to check on more jobs.

Lacey had been decent to her back then. At least more so than the rest of them. She sounded upset. Distraught. What had happened that she needed to contact Mia? What was so serious they resorted to calling her?

She was scraping the bottom of the barrel, but she still had her dignity. It had taken ten years to get that back. One phone call, one voice, and all that vulnerability returned. All the pain and embarrassment.

She looked at the door and then the phone, caught between the past and present. Between curiosity and common sense.

Her eyes slammed closed. Who was she kidding? They were the Covingtons. There was no choice.

•   •   •

Mia gave the hostess her name and waited. Garden View Country Club was full of Charlotte’s elite, even in the middle of the Friday workday. She smoothed a hand down her yellow sundress, feeling underdressed and inadequate.

She hated this feeling. Like every eye in the place was on her. Silly, because no one in Charlotte knew her past. She’d moved here right out of high school to attend nursing school. No one in this city recognized her as the white trash girl from Wilmington.

No one but the Covingtons. She was an idiot for answering Lacey’s call. For putting herself through this again.

“Your party is waiting for you,” the hostess said. “If you’ll follow me, please?”

Her party? Oh no. No, no. It was just supposed to be Lacey. Her feet followed the hostess through the dining room and out onto the balcony overlooking the golf course, while her stomach flopped like a worm on concrete.

Even amid the privileged members, Mia could pick out a Covington. Lacey sat at a cafe table for two with her back to the door. Alone. Thank God!

At the hostess’s indication, Lacey rose and took Mia’s hands, kissing each cheek. “Mia, so good to see you again.”

Not trusting her voice, Mia nodded and sat across from her. Lacey’s hair was the same champagne blonde and her eyes still just as dark brown as her brother’s. Her face had thinned, making her look more mature. Her outfit clearly could’ve paid Ginny’s school tuition for three months.

A waiter came by and unfolded a cloth napkin in Mia’s lap. “What can I start you off with?”

Anything on the menu would hurt the remainder of her bank account. She glanced at Lacey. “Just coffee for now, please.”

When he left, Lacey reached across the table and patted her hand. “It’s been so long. Look at you! You cut your hair.”

Mia ran her fingers through the short black strands by her nape. She had cut it all off years ago because the length drove her nuts working in the ER. She’d kept it short because it was less fuss. “I did. Keeps me cooler in this humidity.”

Lacey tilted her head. “It suits you. Very chic.”

Mia almost laughed. There was nothing chic about her.

Lacey sat back, her posture that of purebred, old Southern money. “We must catch up. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

Up to? Really? Lacey didn’t call her to catch up. She wanted something. Covingtons didn’t socialize with lower classes unless they needed something.

Yet Mia played along. “I went to nursing school after high school. Other than that, just working. The usual.”

Lacey sipped her water. “I heard about your mom’s passing. Two years ago? I’m so sorry.”

Mia nodded. She just bet she was sorry. Strange thing though, Lacey sounded sincere. She looked sincere.

“Thank you. It was no secret. The years of drinking led to cirrhosis.” Mia refused to hide behind her mother’s shame. She was not her mother.

“And Ginny? How is she?”

Mia smiled. “Great. She’s been at St. Ambrose for a couple years.” Was this the part where she politely asked about Lacey’s brother? She couldn’t even say his name in her head. She wouldn’t ask how he was doing. She told herself she didn’t care if . . .

“I heard. Mother’s on the board of directors at St. Ambrose.”

Mia’s eyes narrowed. “They’re not kicking her out, are they? Please don’t punish Ginny—”

“Gosh, no. Oh no, Mia.” Lacey’s long, elegant fingers closed around Mia’s. “I just meant that’s how I found you. I used Mother’s influence to get your phone number from the school office. My parents don’t know I’m here or that I called.”

Mia removed her hands and folded them in her lap. She drew in a slow, deep breath and let it go.

The waiter came back and asked for their orders. Mia let Lacey handle it as Mia looked out over the manicured green. She didn’t belong here. Not making idle chitchat with Lacey or at a table eating thirty-dollar salads with people who pissed money away.

The waiter left their table.

Mia wanted out. “I was surprised to get your call.”

Lacey’s smile grew wistful. The expression reminded Mia of summers in their clandestine little area of Wilmington Beach, nicknamed Covington Cove by the staff. Her mother used to be one of those staff. But Mia and Lacey were friends once upon a time. She’d watch Lacey play on the expansive estate, dreaming of getting out, while Mia dreamed of getting in.

How foolish they both were.

“I don’t know how much you’ve kept up on with our family. Have you heard Father’s running for governor next term?”

Oh, yeah. Mia heard. How appropriate. John Covington had presided as state senator of North Carolina for the past eight years. He could lie straight through a smile. A perfect politician.

“Mother has her hands full with several charities.”

Mia nodded, not giving a damn about Kathryn Covington either.

“And Cole . . .”

At his name, Mia flinched. Lacey paused, staring her down with something close to sympathy. Mia took a sip of coffee, hating how her hands shook when she set the cup down.

“Did you hear he joined the army? Four years ago.”

Mia’s gaze whipped to hers. “Is that a joke?”

Lacey shook her head and stared at the table between them. “I wish it was. The ultimate punishment for our parents. Something they couldn’t control. We kept it out of the papers, but it leaked out a couple years ago when a reporter looked into why he hadn’t been seen at his usual hot spots. Dad spun a positive angle to the story. We’re patriotic and wanted to do our duty.”

Mia tried to picture the Cole she knew crawling through trenches and dodging enemy fire. The image wouldn’t form. “I hadn’t heard.” In all honesty, she went out of her way to avoid press about the Covingtons. What did all this have to do with her?

“He was injured over there.”

Mia’s gaze searched Lacey’s as her throat closed. She might have wished a lot of things on that family through the years, but not that. The seventeen-year-old girl inside her demanded answers. Remembered how much she once cared for Cole. She struggled for the calm she didn’t feel. “Is he okay?”

Lacey shook her head, tears forming. Mia’s heart sank like lead. The Covingtons didn’t show public emotion. Not unless it served a greater purpose. If Lacey was crying, Cole was hurt bad.

Lacey sniffed and dabbed her eyes. “He was with two men from his unit when they drove over an improvised explosive device. I guess they’re everywhere in the Middle East. The other two men were killed.”

Oh, God. “Lacey, I’m sorry.”

“They got Cole stable enough to fly to Germany. He spent a month there before he was well enough to come home. He has an honorable medical discharge.”

Lord knows Cole had no business being over there in the first place. What was he thinking? He’d never had to wash a dish, take out the trash, or do anything else for himself a day in his life.

“At least he’s home now.”

“That’s the reason I called.” Lacey looked Mia in the eyes with what she could only decipher as a plea. “He’s locked himself in the Wilmington estate. He won’t see anybody, won’t go to therapy.”

Mia focused on the first part of Lacey’s statement before she even tried to adjust to the second. “I thought your parents sold that estate.”

“They did. They wanted nothing to do with . . .” As Lacey trailed off, Mia didn’t have to ask why. “Anyway, it was a closed sale. Cole came into his trust fund that year. He purchased it outright. They didn’t know he was the buyer until afterward.”

Why would Cole want that house? Sure, there were plenty of great summers but, in the end, he wanted out. The bad outweighing the good. Nothing could replace the memory of that last tragic summer.

“Okay, and pardon me for being rude, but what does this have to do with me?”

Lacey reached down and then slid a manila envelope across the table. “Don’t look at this now. Hear me out and read this at home later. Think about it and then decide.”

“Decide what?”

Lacey’s mouth firmed into a thin line. “You don’t have a lot left in savings since your layoff. You haven’t made payment at St. Ambrose yet this month—”

Mia stood, knocking her chair backward.

Heads turned their way.

“You have some nerve. You know that? Some nerve looking into my personal affairs.”

Lacey never flinched. Not even a blink. “It was wrong of me, I know. But, as I said, hear me out.”

Mia grabbed her pocketbook. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.” She turned to leave.

“Will you listen to me for Cole?”

She stopped, turned. Her gaze darted around the terrace, at all the faces looking at her.

“Sit, Mia. Please. I don’t want to fight with you. I need your help.”

A war waged inside. Part of her knew she never should’ve come. The other part knew she couldn’t stay away. The Covingtons were her kryptonite. Always had been. She sighed and righted the chair, sitting back down. She’d listen and leave.

“I had to know I could still trust you, Mia.”

“You didn’t trust me back then and I sure as hell don’t trust you now.”

Lacey swallowed. “I had a background check done on you, too.”

Mia’s teeth ground. “You’re not helping your cause.”

“You need financial se