The Long Way Home

Book 7: Corps Security

by Harper Sloan

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

There's a price to pay for a life with a greater purpose. The healing of time is a damn liar when you're living a life as a dead man with no true home, and the silence couldn't be more deafening. Counting the days, good and bad, I exist as the world keeps spinning. I can never look back. All I can do is hope I took enough out of that life to carry me forward on those dead legs. Everything that was meant to give the tragedy of my life meaning ended up holding me prisoner in this wreckage of my past.



Until now.



One look into her eyes and I'm completely disarmed. It's only everything I thought I gave up. These walls I've built to protect and shroud me crumble more whenever she’s near. I've spent years waiting for a reason to breathe again, and now that I have her within reach, I'm not sure I can keep her. Is it possible to find both the missing piece of my soul and the remedy to my healing in one set of bright green eyes? Everything I thought I would never have is staring back at me saying . . . yes, I can.



Contains mature themes.

Release date: March 14, 2023

Print pages: 321

Content advisory: 18+

Sample

Chapter 1

Olivia

“Save Me” by BTS

 

“Livi.” My beautiful niece’s sing-song voice breaks through the silence in our condo, pulling my attention away from cleaning the kitchen island clutter and over to her inquisitive gaze. “You’re going to be super-duper unhappy when you see what the sky looks like today.” She cocks her head to the side in an overexaggerated jerk of the chin toward the full-length wall of windows showcasing our spacious balcony and the stunning city view beyond.

“That bad, hmm?” I question with a smile, loving that she still does this as a part of her routine in the mornings. Every morning since she could stand, she’s pressed her adorable little chubby cheeked face against the glass to check the weather. She’s so cute … even though the smudges on the glass she leaves behind will drive me insane, I can’t imagine my morning not starting off with a Riley weather report.

To this day, it still shocks me that she is such an intuitive five-year-old. Much more so than my sister and I ever were at her age. If I didn’t know better, I would say she could feel my moods almost as if they were her own. However, it wouldn’t take an empathic soul to know and understand how much her aunt’s moods are affected by weather like this. Thankfully, she doesn’t understand just how much it impacts me or the actual cause. To her young and innocent eyes, it makes me all the more lovable.

“I’ll have you know, little bean of mine, I have the best reason to be upset with my pal Mother Nature. Her rainy day messes up our plans.”

Her little button nose turns up, and she purses her lips.

“Never fret, pet … I have a feeling that, together, we’ll be able to find all sorts of fun adventures to go on. We may miss a day outside, but who wants to walk around with boots full of puddles and wrinkly toes? You don’t like wrinkly toes, do you?” Her giggles bubble up her throat, and she covers her mouth.

I give her a wink and think back to my morning when I realized it would be a gloomy, depressing day. My energy always seems to wane on days like this, making it almost impossible to motivate myself. I heard the sounds of raindrops dancing across the glass windows well before I was even fully awake this morning. For a moment, I couldn’t even force myself to open my eyes, let alone get out of bed. If it wasn’t for Riley being in my life and the need to get her to school on time without getting yelled at again, I likely would have just accepted defeat and waved the white flag. Unfortunately, responsibility won out, so here we are.

It’s been a slow-moving morning ever since. It will take some effort for this not to be a down in the grump’s kind of day.

She laughs softly, my serious little Riley bean, and turns away from the window. Her eyes assess me the whole walk across the room, seemingly slicing right through me and seeing way too much. I’ve always thought she was an old soul, wise beyond her years, stuck inside her tiny little body.

I watch out of the corner of my eye with a smile tipping my lips as she huffs while climbing up on the stool at the island. She sits back with her arms crossed over her chest, watching me with an e

xpression laced with pure exasperation.

Wearing a small smile, I move around the kitchen island toward the wall of cabinets next to the fridge and reach up to open the one where we store the bowls.

As much as I prefer her getting a warm and well-balanced meal to start the day, you can count on one thing with rainy days like this … we always have cereal for breakfast. However, the overthinker in me pauses before I can get my fingers on the bowl, realizing she doesn’t hate rainy days like I do and might prefer a nice warm breakfast of her favorites instead: cheesy scrambled eggs and cinnamon sugar toast.

“What are you in the mood for this morning, bean? Cereal or would you prefer something warmer on this bleak morning to soothe that wee little wild dancing soul of yours?” I ask, turning my head slightly to look at her over my shoulder.

I almost lose control and laugh when she contemplates my question with a fever pitch of seriousness, forgetting her judging eyes moments before changing plans, and decisively nods to herself after making up her mind. I wait patiently for the little wise one to inform me of her vast knowledge of life, which I’m sure is coming.

“I would have picked cereal, but I suppose cheesy eggs might be nice this morning, Livi. You know, you shouldn’t be thinking about cereal if you want to stay warm in the rain. Which is why eggs and toast should be our pick,” she responds, her proper demeanor that of someone way older and more mature than the five-year-old little princess that she is. How she’s able to channel so much sass and seriousness at the same time is beyond me. It does take a herculean effort to keep my smile to myself, though.

I didn’t have a great childhood, so it’s always been important that Riley’s not be anything close to what her mom and I endured. When I was growing up, in my family, any kind of behavior that wasn’t silent was frowned upon. From the moment my sister and I spoke our first word, we were in finishing school training with the strictest of teachers. Poise and perfection, that was the key. It was drilled into our heads that we must never be children, but mature a

lways, even at Riley’s age. Riley’s childhood experience, compared to her mother and me, has been nothing even remotely close to resembling what we lived through.

Her mother, my late sister, and I weren’t raised by loving parents who were present during our lives at all. We were raised by a continuously changing wave of staff and nannies—seven days a week and twenty-four hours a day. Our parents didn’t want their prime years to be consumed by doing the actual parenting thing. Instead, they chose to travel the world. They had one thing they truly did care about—making appearances at every high-society gala they could find and making sure that our family name and standing never dropped below the upper crust.

Riley, though, has never spent a day in her life outside of the care of her mother or me. That is, until this year. Now that she’s in kindergarten for a handful of hours each weekday, she’s getting another thing that was a big no-no for our family. An education outside of carefully chosen upper-class private schools with the best of the best tutoring us after each day.

The day that I opened my coffee shop—Olde Mug by Bean and Co.—I struggled for a bit getting my groove going. It’s important to me, beyond all words, that Riley never experience the harsh upbringing her mother and I had to endure. Just like that day three years ago, when she came to live with me, she’s been by my side every step of every day. Which is exactly why, when choosing the name of my shop, I made sure my sweet Riley girl had the biggest stamp smack dab on the heart and soul of the business. There will never be a day when she will ever have to doubt her importance over everything in my life. It doesn’t hurt that she runs that place with an iron fist of the toughest dictators. My employees think it’s the cutest thing in the world, which is good because otherwise, I would have to fire all of them. My little bean will always be my number one priority. It’s Riley and me against the world.

I think about my sweet Riley as I place slices of sourdough bread into the toaster oven, smiling at the vision of her flitting through the shop with her raven hair in pigtails as she demands that things get done her way.

I continue cooking breakfast, stirring the eggs. My Riley girl soothes the restless soul inside me that this weather always precipitates. The best medicine, that girl.

I jump, realizing that I must have been completely lost in thought, stuck in my own head and mentally zoned out, when I hear Riley shouting a demand to that know-it-all robot she said we just must have. I’m convinced that a little stalker gremlin lives inside the screen that I’ve come to disdain greatly at times. Who knew a machine that was only supposed to offer simple conveniences could also be used as an annoying torture device as well once a very bright little girl taught herself how to use technology to her advantage?

“Alexa, please play BTS!” she yells with a burst of joy only slightly higher than her normal pitch.

I turn my head in question, watching her bounce in her seat with excitement.

And of course, that little know-it-all machine responds immediately, and I’m convinced that brat Alexa directs her mocking tone at me when she does.

“Okay. Shuffling songs by BTS on Amazon Music.”

And just as suddenly as my calm appeared, it vanishes as the stillness of my beautiful kitchen becomes riddled with music at an ungodly level. My little bean begins to sing along, complete with what sounds like perfectly spoken Korean lyrics. Riley doesn’t even know Korean, so it’s got me transfixed as she just keeps going and going.

“Save me! Save me!” Riley yells.

Yes, someone please save me.

“I need your love before I fall!” she continues. “Save me! Save me!”

The music picks up, and even in my shock, I have to admit they’re good. She keeps dancing, clearly knowing a good dance break when she hears one.

“Beep, beep!” she yells, her smile getting bigger, and I feel one creeping up on my face, despite my complete confusion. “Save me! Save me!”

“Kim Namjoon! Kim Seokjin! Min Yoongi! Jung Hoseok! Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! BTS! BTS!” She shocks the crap out of me with the weird chant at the top of her lungs, sounding completely possessed as her little eyes are closed tight, smile huge, face pointing at the ceiling. She repeats herself, pumping her little fist in the air when she yells, “BTS!”

What on earth is going on?

Of course, I know who BTS is. You’d have to be living under a rock not to have at least heard about the Korean pop megastars. They’re her favorite group at the moment. It still gives me pause when she, having no prior connection to the Korean language or culture, can sing along to every word in every one of their songs she falls in love with. They don’t have to be my favorite band for me to value the joy that their music brings to her, but maybe I can value them just as much for her with a touch lower volume. I smile, letting her have a little more time with the music playing way too loud. She doesn’t pay me any mind while I keep cooking, completely lost in her BTS-loving world. I’ll never admit it, but I enjoy them almost as much as she does. I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of their fandom, complete with my own bias and wrecker. But it will forever remain my secret, and they’ll never steal the top spot from my favorite band, Queen.

I watch her with a smile while plating her breakfast, tapping my foot to the beat. It takes me longer to cover her eggs with her favorite cheese and put the toast on her plate, too content to watch her close out her performance until the very last line of the song. I love watching this girl shine. As soon as the song finishes, I act quickly before the next song has a chance to queue up.

“Alexa, volume four,” I order her nicely, pretty proud of myself for not outwardly showing how much I dislike that know-it-all bitch of a robot. I see Riley’s lip twitch, and I wait for her to remind me to say please to Alexa. She skips it, though, scowling at the device that’s no longer giving her a mini concert, making me contemplate electronic murder again.

Today, setting an example for the child that will undoubtedly repeat anything I say

stops me. The possibility of that happening and showing the prim and proper teachers at St. John’s Day School some of my gold-star parenting is the last thing I want to deal with. No doubt I would be called into the headmaster’s office to be reprimanded … again. I thought my days of being on the naughty list in school were in my past, that is until Riley decided to yell “shit” when she broke her pencil one day. Now I’m right back on the very top, only on the parent list instead of the student one.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when I hear my phone’s text notification sound, and I glance around the kitchen to see where I placed my phone. It could only be one person this early in the morning, and a burst of happiness hits me, despite the mood the weather has me in. Everyone else would wait until they know the other person is at least halfway through their morning routine and available. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic for seven in the morning, but come on! Sleeping in is the best thing ever. There isn’t a day that I wouldn’t prefer to sleep until noon and then start my day.

Walking over, I pick up the phone from where I placed it well before the sun came up and glance at the screen, confirming the text is, in fact, from Ella.

Ella: Greetings, my bestest friend. All is well here. Sold out of the chocolate chunk muffins right away this morning, but we still have a lot of the other flavors. People keep asking for them, so I had to take the featured item off the wall menu. Wanted to let you know, I think it’s rain and things are slower than normal. Don’t rush in. No need to save us from any fires just yet. Go run some of your errands or something after you drop bean off at school.

Me: Another reason to hate rain—it’s bad for business.

Ella: I wouldn’t say it’s bad for business, per se. The lull gives me time to catch up on the tasks we don’t always have time for during big rushes. We’re prepping, stocking, and cleaning when we aren’t helping customers.

Ella: Do you have any idea how many slaughtered trees we had in this shop just from all the old newspapers left behind? I was momentarily overwhelmed with guilt watching one of the guys pile that stack in the recycling canister.

Me: I’m certain the recycling center is very happy that we have so many murdered trees. I don’t think the old newspapers left behind are supposed to be the biggest impact on your morning and overwhelm you with guilt. Instead, my precious friend should count her lucky stars and relax while you can for once. Maybe ask one of the baristas to make you a super complicated drink to test their skills and keep them on their toes. Then relax with an old paper while you can and enjoy your beverage. ;) See you in about 30.

Ella: See! Another reason you’re such a rock star. Now I need to think of a tricky order so I can try to throw them off. You know… For training purposes, not to be mean. I guess it’s kind of mean, but justifiable since it’s with good intentions to help them grow and learn and all. Right?!

Me: Insane. You. Are.

I toss my phone in my handbag and glance over my shoulder at Riley.

“Okay, little bean. Let’s shake a tail feather, okay? It’s a short day at school, so let’s get going so I can get back to you. Maybe we can go see Frozen 2 again and avoid the rain?”

Riley screams, shoving the last bite in, and just like that, my girl is ready to take on the day with a burst of energy I wish she would share. Oh, to be young and blissful again.

Chapter 2

Olivia

“The Bones” by Maren Morris

 

Olde Mug by Bean & Co. never fails to give me a massive rush of pride every time I’m walking up Newbury Street and see it in the distance. Each step brings me closer to the little dream I always imagined but never had the courage to break away from the family expectations to build.

Sadly, it took losing my sister for me to take that step. I needed a purpose other than the one drilled into us. The high-society bullshit was never my thing. I played the part and did what was expected of me, but when our parents died, it was just motions of what I had been conditioned to keep up with.

My life had no color.

I’ll never forget the day I bought the building, which had once housed the Cole Haan store. It took an exorbitant amount of money to buy the building from the retail giant to build my coffee shop. The previous owners had been fighting the Historical Society for the changes they wanted to the outside, and it just was my lucky day that I gave them the out they had been looking for. They just moved their store farther down Newbury and knocked out three retail units to give them what they wanted in the end. What their new place isn’t, though, is the gem of Olde Mug.

It took me longer to talk the sweet old man who owned the unit behind the space to let me buy that as well, giving me not just the shop but also the ability to renovate and add a kitchen and living quarters that took up the whole back end and top level of both.

Ella has been living above the shop for two years now as part of the perks of being manager and working such long hours. It also helps so that I can be with Riley.

I wait for a car to pass so I can cross the street, taking me one block closer to Olde Mug. I can see the dove-gray awnings over the outer windows from my vantage point, the glint of the sun shining off the glass intricately designed as a belt, so to speak, wrapping around the whole building between the levels. One more “belt” of copper and then more windows. It was the first thing that made me know it was where I needed Olde Mug—that natural light was a must. But it was the roof that made me crave. I would have paid millions more just to have this building. There’s no other way to describe my pride and joy other than looking like a castle. Two high peaked Victorian-style turrets on either side of the roof, pieced together by some of the finest craftsmanship I’ve ever seen in a gable. Every time I see it, I feel transferred back to the little girl who grew up wishing her prince would steal her away from my life and into one of pure happiness. Which is exactly what I get every time I walk in the door.

Now nothing about my world is colorless.

Between the shop and Riley, the only thing that would make it better would be having my sister back. Unless you ask Ella, and then she’d tell you what I was missing was a man.

With a laugh, I wrap my hand around the iron pull on the door and step into heaven. The first thing that assaults me is the scent. Nothing on this earth is better than the smell of ground and roasted coffee beans. The sweet sc

ent of different foods intermingling make it almost too euphoric.

I step around the eclectic mixture of couches and chairs I hunted down to fill the vast floor area, each carefully placed to break the room into different seating areas. A variety of tables are sprinkled between. A large area serves as a workspace for those who prefer to relax while working as well as ones that take up a decent chunk of the room on each side, just to the side of the front windows. My eyes flit up, and I smile at the three chandeliers above me. So classy, my coffee heaven castle.

“You’re late!” someone bellows from farther back in the room, where the bar of coffee machines and food display counters are.

I shake my head and glance over at our large clock, complete with coffee mugs as number placeholders, and roll my eyes.

“I’m ten minutes early, just like I always am,” I call back to Ella.

“Morning, ...