The Distance Between Stars (Wren Cove #1)

CHAPTER ONE | London

CHAPTER ONE

London

You really know you’ve hit rock bottom when the only food you can afford on the plane ride home is what the airline already gives you for free.

Pretzels and water aren’t exactly what I would call a balanced meal, but desperate times and all.

Though I’m paying for it now because hungry doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel at the moment.

I guess that’s what I get for draining my bank account to zero before finally admitting defeat.

To be clear, I was defeated way before my money ran out.

Right about the time I finally got my big break and was promoted to a soloist in my dance company, I broke something else as well.

My femur. In two places. An injury not even my stubborn butt could come back from. Not that I didn’t try.

Funny enough, when I left for New York, the thing my parents really drove home was to watch out for cab drivers.

I thought they were being their normal, overprotective, always thinking about worst-case scenarios selves.

Turns out, maybe they were onto something.

Though I doubt even they could have imagined I’d actually be hit by one while crossing the street.

And now here I am, in the back seat of an Uber with a driver named Chet, who keeps talking about his cats, knowing that in just a few short minutes, I will be entering the town of Wren Cove.

The town where I grew up. The town where all my old friends still live.

The town that I swore I’d never return to on the day I left.

“I call Rory my little smudgy because she has a black smudge on top of her white head that I thought was dirt but is actually just part of her fur.” Chet continues to ramble on as if I haven’t spent the last thirty minutes completely ignoring him.

“So cool,” I mutter under my breath, my gaze fixed on the ever-growing familiarity of the area.

We’re not far now. I can feel it, even if I can’t see it. An invisible force beckoning me home. Only, Wren Cove isn’t my home anymore. It hasn’t been for nearly seven years.

My stomach rumbles for the millionth time today, from hunger or nerves, I can’t be sure. All I know is that it feels like something is slithering inside me, a pit of emptiness that seems to go on forever.

“And Lunie... She’s my little fat cat. Her name is actually Luna, but she’s kind of a lunatic, so I call her Lunie.”

“Fascinating.” I blow out a hard breath, not sure which is worse—sitting in the car with this man a second longer, or the fact that we just passed the sign welcoming us to Wren Cove.

I can already imagine the look on my parents’ faces when they see me.

My mom has been begging me to come home since the accident and, in truth, I probably should have, but I wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet.

Hell, I’m still not ready, but alas, your options tend to run out when the money does.

No work means no pay, and no pay means you can’t afford to live, and I don’t know about you, but having a roof over my head is kind of important to me.

“Do you have any cats?”

I stare at the bald spot on the back of my driver’s head, imagining drawing something less than appropriate on the shiny patch of skin.

“I’m allergic,” I say bitterly.

Not that I’m actually bitter about it. I’ve never been a cat person.

Now dogs. Sign me up. Though, sadly, I’m also allergic to them, which we didn’t find out until I was ten and my parents gifted me the sweetest lab puppy a girl could ever want.

Needless to say, after three days of nonstop sneezing and eyes so swollen I could barely see out of them, we had to rehome her.

I was heartbroken, of course, but I also had need of my senses, so I knew it was for the best.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Chet scratches at the bald spot that I’m still staring at for reasons I can’t explain.

“Yeah...” I turn my attention back out the window, knotting my hands in my lap, my nerves growing more palpable as we enter the main stretch of town.

It looks exactly as I remember it and yet so very different at the same time.

A lot of the shops that were here when I was a child are gone.

The flower shop that Mrs. Aster owned. The bistro that served the most incredible sandwiches.

The milkshake place where I spent at least three nights a week every summer.

All closed. Replaced by things like Dunkin, Ben & Jerry’s and.

.. wait... is that a freaking Cumby’s gas station?

In Wren Cove? Last time I was here, we had a run-down station run by an older man named Stew who used to scare the crap out of us.

The pumps didn’t even take credit cards, to put things into perspective just how different it is to see a huge chain gas station in the center of a town like the Cove.

If it weren’t for the fact that I grew up here, I might think that we’re in the wrong place. Don’t get me wrong, there’s still that small, coastal town charm, but it’s definitely not as quaint as it once was.

On one hand, I’m sad to see that we’ve been invaded by the popular chains that seem to be in nearly every town across America.

On the other, I’m happy to have even a piece of real civilization.

After living in New York for seven years, I’ve gotten used to having just about anything I want right at my fingertips.

Chet turns right and as quickly as it appeared, the town center disappears in the distance, replaced by the coastline, sand, beach grass, and dunes. I roll my window down and take a deep breath of the sea air as it hits my face, whipping through my hair.

Now this I missed. The quiet calm of the ocean as it laps against the shore.

The fishing boats off in the distance—the business that keeps Wren Cove running.

I still remember early summer mornings out on the docks with Penn, watching all the boats coming and going as we waited for his father to get back so we could help him with the morning catch.

Penn Kade... Now there’s a name I haven’t thought of in a very long time, though I refuse to let myself linger there, forcing my focus back out to the sea.

Obviously, I still had access to the ocean in New York, but it just wasn’t the same. If I ever said I missed home while I was away, this is what I was referring to. Not the people. Not the town. But this... This is where heaven meets earth. The most incredible portrait ever painted.

The one thing I always loved about my parents’ house is how close to the sea they are.

I can’t remember a single morning that I didn’t sit out on the porch with my mom, watching the tide come in from our elevated vantage point.

Those are some of my fondest childhood memories. Just me, my mom, and the ocean.

“Is this the one?” I turn my attention in the opposite direction, having not realized just how close to my parents’ house we’d gotten.

“That’s it,” I confirm, the knot in my throat growing so thick it almost hurts to speak.

Looking up at the blue house on the hill, I’m struck with a lifetime of more memories. It’s so hard to believe this is the first time I’m seeing it in seven years. The weathered siding. The large porch. The gravel driveway that crunches beneath the car tires as we pull into and up the driveway.

And then there’s my mom, who’s already on the porch with a smile on her face before we’ve even come to a stop.

I’ve never been so happy to get out of a car, and yet so hesitant to do so at the same time.

On one hand, my old life is beckoning me home.

Opening her arms and promising to keep me safe.

On the other, the life I have always dreamed of is still there, begging for me not to give up.

Whispering in my ear that if I just keep going, I can still make it come true.

But the time for dreaming is done. I tried and I failed. There’s nothing left to do now but mourn the loss of the life I so desperately wanted and will now never have and move on.

With that sobering thought at the forefront of my mind, I swing open the door and climb out of the car, having to stretch out my leg as soon as my feet touch the earth. It’s been almost two years since the accident, and it still gets painfully stiff when I sit for too long.

“There she is.”

I’ve barely had time to close the car door before my mom is standing in front of me, tugging me into her arms.

“Hi, Mom,” I murmur into the crook of her neck, breathing in a scent so familiar it’s etched into the very fabric of who I am.

“How was the flight?” She finally releases me before giving me a once-over, assessing.

I don’t blame her. The last time she saw me, I was in much worse shape. Mentally and physically exhausted, fighting against a body that no longer worked the way I needed it to. I don’t blame her for being worried.

“Long.” I cross around the back of the car and grab my bags from the trunk that Chet kindly popped open for me.

Mom takes my suitcase, extending the handle before dragging it toward the house.

“Thanks, Chet,” I call out, offering my driver a little wave as I pass by his door.

His tires once again crunch against gravel as he pulls a U-turn, and by the time I reach the front porch, he’s already at the bottom of the driveway and out of sight.

I would have hoped for a less chatty driver, but as far as humans go, he wasn’t the worst. I’ll be sure to leave him a big tip, on my parents, of course. It was their money that paid for my trip home after all. Otherwise, I’d be lying on a park bench somewhere, hoping not to get offed in my sleep.

Stepping into my childhood home is almost as surreal as driving through town. It feels so familiar, like home, only it hasn’t been my home in a very, very long time.