Heartbreaker (Havenbrook #3)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

HUDSON

The last time I awoke to the smell of my momma’s cooking, I’d been nineteen years old and had no idea what it truly meant to be homesick. I knew now. Had felt it down to my very bones over the past ten-plus years. Felt it every time I lay on a bunk in a third world country, dreaming of Mississippi summers and my momma’s peach pie.

I hadn’t been home in too damn long, so all I’d had to keep me company were my memories. My goals in the army had had me on a strict schedule—obtaining my degree by the time I pinned on sergeant so I could put in my OCS packet and work toward the ultimate goal of earning my captain’s bar. That meant little to no downtime.

Because of that, once a year, I’d flown my momma and sister, Lilah, to wherever I was stationed at the time. They got to see the world, I got to see them, and all was right.

Except…

Except for the piece of my heart I’d left in Havenbrook. The piece that had never been the same since the day I’d left.

I stretched, rubbing a hand over the dull ache in my chest, my feet hanging off the end of my childhood bed. At 6’4” and a hell of a lot bulkier than I’d been the last time I’d lain in this bed, I didn’t exactly fit on the twin mattress. Didn’t matter. I hadn’t slept on anything as comfortable as this for nine long months.

After donning a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt and making a pit stop in the bathroom, I descended the steps and followed the scent of French toast. Cinnamon roll French toast—my favorite—if my nose was to be trusted.

I was absolutely fucking famished. I hadn’t eaten much more than a bag of peanuts since midafternoon yesterday. After taking the red-eye from Seattle to Memphis, my copilot, CW2 Caleb Bridges, and I rented a car and drove the hour and a half to Havenbrook. Got in just in time to intercept my sister arriving at The Sweet Spot to start the day’s morning prep.

I’d set Caleb up in the guest room, not bothering to do anything but point and grunt toward the unused space, and fell straight into my bed. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a solid six hours of sleep.

“’Bout time you joined us, sleepyhead,” my momma said over her shoulder as she stood in front of the stove. And, yep, cinnamon roll French toast sizzled on the griddle in front of her, along with a pan of scrambled eggs.

I glanced around, lifting my chin in greeting to Caleb, who sat at the round table, already dressed for the day. He’d obviously showered, though he’d forgone the razor—something we both favored during our time off—a layer of black scruff covering his brown skin.

He lifted a coffee cup in my direction, his eyes clear of fatigue. Looked like the solid six had done him some good, too.

“Hey, Momma.” I wrapped my arms around her shoulders from behind and squeezed her tight.

Her dark hair, pulled up into a ponytail, was streaked with tiny slivers of gray, and I was sure those hadn’t been there the last time I’d seen her. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent that would always remind me of my childhood.

She exhaled a long, low breath and reached up to grip my forearm, her relief at my presence clear in the way her fingers dug into my skin. The way she sagged back into me.

Even though she supported me, sent me care package after care package, and was there to talk to me any time of the day or night I was able to call, she hated that I’d chosen this life. Chosen to devote myself to the army and my country. Especially since her husband had done the same.

But he hadn’t made it back.

Jack Miller had died in combat when I was only ten, and he was a ghost my momma had lived with for almost twenty years. A ghost I had tried to live up to for just as long.

“You makin’ my favorite?” I asked as I gave her another squeeze before letting my arms drop. I needed coffee. Good coffee, not the shit I got in Afghanistan.

Momma hummed in agreement. “My baby’s home for the first time in too long, so he’s gettin’ the five-star treatment.”

“You didn’t need to do all that. I’d’ve been fine with a bowl of cereal.”

She shot me a look over her shoulder that clearly telegraphed are you out of your damn mind? “I beg your pardon, but my son who’s just come home from protecting and serving is not gonna spend his first mornin’ in civilization eatin’ cereal .” She spat the word like one would centipede . “And certainly not when he’s brought Caleb home too. I own a bakery, for heaven’s sake. Quit insultin’ me in front of our guest.”

I held up my hands in surrender, my low chuckles mixing with Caleb’s. Christ, I’d missed this. My momma was nothing if not feisty, and I loved every second of it.

It had been different when she’d visited me in other locations over the years—not as comfortable. Not as easy. And certainly not as familiar.

“Sorry, Momma. I’d eat an entire batch of your cinnamon roll French toast by myself, you know that. I just didn’t want you goin’ to any extra trouble.”

“Hush now. No extra trouble.” Momma placed a plate piled high with French toast and a bowl full of scrambled eggs on the table between the two place settings already laid out, the glasses filled with OJ. “Let me grab the bacon for you, then you boys go on ahead and dive in. I’ll keep whippin’ up more over here, since I’m sure y’all’re hungry as all get-out.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Miller.”

“Now, none of that, Caleb. I’ve told you to call me Marianne a dozen times over the years.”

He tipped his head toward her, his lips twitching the slightest bit. “Yes, ma’am.”

I settled at the round dining table across from Caleb. I forked a few pieces onto my plate then scooped up a pile of eggs and several slices of bacon, having absolutely no interest in being polite and letting my guest go first. Not when it was my momma’s French toast on the line. Not when it’d been years since I’d had it.

“You get settled all right?” I asked Caleb, lifting my eyes from the pool of syrup I poured over the stack of deliciousness on my plate.

Caleb gave a single nod, slathering butter on his French toast. “Yes, sir.”

I froze with the fork to my mouth and narrowed my eyes. “Knock that shit off. I told you to cut the sir when we’re not on base.”

My best friend merely lifted a brow. “Hard habit to break. Sir .”

I blew out a breath and shook my head, a wry smile tipping my lips. You could take the soldier out of the army, but you couldn’t take the army out of the soldier.

Momma chuckled under her breath. “You remember Clive?” She didn’t wait for me to answer before she continued. “Your dad used to say the same thing to him the couple times he came back home with your daddy.” A wistful smile swept over her face as she shook her head.

The truth was…no. I didn’t remember. I didn’t remember a whole hell of a lot about my father. At only ten, I hadn’t built up a lifetime of memories with my dad before he’d passed away. Not like my momma had. And Lilah had even fewer than I did.

I cleared my throat. “Were Rory and Nash gettin’ started on the renovation at The Sweet Spot today?”

“I believe Lilah said they were headin’ over there this afternoon to finalize the design.”

“All right.” I lifted my gaze toward Caleb. “I’m gonna run over there after I grab a shower. You wanna tag along?”

Caleb nodded as he chewed before swallowing half his cup of orange juice in one go and lifting the glass in my direction. “I’m just along for the ride.”

It was the same thing he’d said to me hundreds of times before. Every time we took our Black Hawk up, whether in friendly or enemy territory. I had flown with a handful of copilots over the years, but I’d never bonded with one as much as I had Caleb.

In the four years we’d served together in the same unit, we’d become as close as brothers. Which was why the sir bullshit made me uncomfortable as fuck, even if it was protocol.

I held out my hand for a fist bump, then dove into my breakfast. Around a too-big bite, I said, “Y’all haven’t needed to put down a deposit or anything for the work bein’ done, have you?”

Momma raised her eyebrows as she spared me a glance. “I’m not sure why that’s any of your concern.”

“Momma.”

Stubborn as a mule, that woman. Goddamn, I was sick of having this same fight with her over and over again. Without a home of my own to worry about, I had so much damn money, I didn’t know what to do with it. My monthly bills consisted of internet fees and whatever I deemed worthy of entertainment, which meant I’d been socking away the majority of my paychecks for a decade. Which also meant whatever renovations my momma and sister wanted, they were getting, and I was footing the bill for all of it. Period.

“Hudson,” she said back in the same exasperated tone. “Don’t think you can come home and start bossin’ us around like you did after your daddy passed. The army might’ve made you a captain, but around here, you’re still the little boy who used to run around wearing nothin’ but underwear, a cowboy hat, and a pair of cowboy boots.”

Caleb’s lips twitched at that, but he didn’t comment.

“Thanks for that, Momma,” I said dryly.

“Anytime.” She smiled before pointing the spatula at me. “But I meant what I said over the phone. You can’t come in and highjack our routine when you’re only home for a few weeks. Not when it’ll be just me and Lilah again after you go on back to the base.”

Her words didn’t carry any malice, but I still felt a pang in my chest over the thought of leaving. I’d been feeling it more and more lately—something calling me home. I’d thought it was just me tiring of deployment like usual. Except this was different somehow.

I wasn’t itching for just American soil. I was itching for Havenbrook .

And because of that, I’d used the renovation as an excuse to break my own rule—that I wouldn’t come back home until I could come back home to her.

Kenna. Childhood best friend, first everything, and the only girl I’d ever loved.

That had all been good in theory, but when the timing had aligned that I’d be on leave when the renovations started, I couldn’t dismiss the opportunity. After all this time, I wanted to see if what Kenna and I shared was real or if I’d built it up in my mind over the years to this unattainable connection. Because God knew I’d never felt anything like it since I’d been away from her. Not even a whisper of it.

And now, more than ever, I needed to see her. Felt it like an actual tug under my skin.

After two more helpings, I stood from the table, rinsed my plate at the sink, and put it in the dishwasher like I was taught—my momma had enough to do without cleaning up after my ass, too. As I closed the appliance door, I felt her eyes on me and glanced over to find her staring, eyebrows raised.

“Ma’am?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes and tossed a towel over her shoulder before shooing me out of the kitchen. “Don’t ma’am me. Standin’ here, actin’ like you’re not crawlin’ outta your skin to go see a certain someone.”

Caleb’s low laugh rumbled out of him so quietly, it might’ve been missed by anyone else. In answer to the look I shot him, he shrugged. “She’s not wrong. You’ve talked about that certain someone so much, I can tell you her blood type.”

So, I’d talked about her to my copilot and best friend. Sue me. And yeah, I wanted to see her. Was desperate for it, even. But I had no idea how I’d be received. I was a few months early for the pact we’d made all those years ago when I’d enlisted—a promise that I’d be back for her on my twenty-ninth birthday—and I hadn’t exactly warned her I’d be coming now.

In fact, I’d dropped that bomb on my momma only days before in hopes it’d help staunch some of the gossip of my return. It’d been years since Kenna and I had talked in more than sparse text messages or handwritten notes in sporadic packages sent back and forth between us.

All I knew was that I had only three weeks in town, and I didn’t plan on wasting a single day away from her.