Chapter 32
LANEY
T he rain soaked through my jacket ten minutes ago.
I'm drenched and cold, yet here I stand, watching the water drip from my hair and pool at my feet onto the welcome mat.
I want my mom—need my mom—but I'm scared to go inside, too afraid to face the suffocating memories these walls hold—the same ones I'm running from now.
My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob, only to fall back to my side as my chest tightens with the ghost of a memory—London carrying me through this door the night I fell into the lake.
Fuck. I knew this was going to hurt. I need my mom, but maybe running away to a place where no one knows my name would have been best, somewhere warm and tropical.
My memories might still exist, but at least there, I wouldn't have reminders of him all around me, cutting open old wounds.
How am I supposed to heal when I can't tell if the weight in my lungs is from a past that refuses to let go or the strength that comes from walking away?
The rain drums harder against the covered porch, each drop heavier than the last, out-thundering the rhythm of my heart.
Through the living room window, I catch the soft glow of a lamp beside the couch.
The light means she's home. She's not working a shift at the hospital, which means she's probably in the kitchen, brewing a pot of tea before curling up on the couch to read a book or catch up on one of her shows.
Warmth floods through me. Memories of sitting beside her while I worked on my junk journals, catching up on our days, and sharing bowls of buttery popcorn during movie nights seep in, pushing out the pain and giving me hope, reminding me that it wasn't all bad.
I just need to find the good. I have to find it now more than ever.
With a shaky breath, I raise my hand to open the door, but before my fingers can slide around the brass knob, it swings open, and there my mother stands in her faded blue robe, eyes wide in disbelief.
For a heartbeat, we simply stare at each other in shock.
Then recognition spreads across her face, quickly followed by relief and joy.
"Laney," she says my name like a whispered prayer, and in the next second, her arms are wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me close.
Her hold is fierce and desperate, as though she fears I might disappear if she doesn't hold me tight enough.
It only takes seconds before my body collapses into her familiar warmth, finally allowing myself to be held by the woman I've missed more than I've dared to admit.
Losing London broke me, but losing my mother nearly killed me.
"Come on, Laneybug. Let's get you dry clothes."
It's been hours since my mother walked me to my room and took her time peeling away each piece of my rain-soaked clothing as if I were made of something precious and breakable.
I felt like I was five again and sick with a fever, and she was there helping me into my soft pajamas.
Part of me felt shame, needing her help in a semi-catatonic state, twenty-four years old and unable to remove my own clothes.
However, accepting her help felt like its own kind of strength; it wasn't surrender. It was a courage I'd forgotten existed.
She never once asked why I'd shown up unannounced, soaked to the bone, with tear-filled eyes, on her doorstep. She didn't demand explanations or apologies. She simply did what mothers do—what my mother had always done—loved me unconditionally no matter the circumstance.
Now, lying in my childhood bedroom with rain still pattering against the window, I feel like the worst kind of asshole.
For six years, I carried my anger like armor, nurturing every grievance and all my hurt.
I'd convinced myself that because she chose to stay in Willow Creek, she was somehow a villain in my story and one of the reasons I had to stay away.
But she'd been here all along, keeping my room exactly as I'd left it, loving the ghost of me while I tried to forget memories of this place, even the ones that included her.
A realization settles, one impossible to ignore.
I'd been so busy protecting myself from this town, from this house, from her that I'd never stopped to consider that she might have been protecting herself from losing me too.
"Knock, knock, Laney. I just came to see if you're hungry," she says softly, entering my room.
"I'm not hungry," I say, keeping my eyes trained on the streams of drops running down my window.
I hear her footsteps as they lightly tread across the floor to my bed, where it dips when she takes a seat. "I understand if you don't want to talk. You can take as much time as you need, but I'm glad you're home." Her hand squeezes my ankle. "I've missed you so much."
I don't immediately respond. Instead, I let myself feel the warmth her presence brings to my room.
I'm tired of being alone. Sure, I've had my friends by my side through thick and thin, but no one understands you more than your blood.
My mother used to be my best friend, and I turned her into a stranger.
When my words don't come quick enough, I feel her stand. "Mom… "
"Yes," she answers gently.
"He asked me to marry him," I say, my voice trembling with nerves.
"Oh, honey." She reclaims her spot on the foot of my bed.
Once I completed my hours and received my certifications, I called to let her know I'd be staying in Bardstown.
I caught her up on all the cases I worked on over the summer and told her how Asha asked me to work for Fairfield full-time.
I had discussed all the easy stuff before finally telling her that my neighbor was once again London Hale.
I could hear it in her voice. That detail caught her off guard.
She could hear the happiness in my tone, and at the time, I read her trepidation as normal mom worries.
She didn't want to see her daughter's heart get broken again.
I dismissed it, and now I wish I hadn't.
"You said no?" she treads lightly, trying to understand and not push.
"He took me to the cabin his great-grandfather built for his wife.
It was beautiful, not only the property but the sentiment behind it.
The love they shared and the legacy they left for their children.
It was perfect, only to be made unforgettable when he asked me to build a life with him in that very same spot and be his wife…
" I pause as the sweetness of the memory tightens around my throat.
How could we go from that to him sharing a bed with Madison in less than twenty-four hours?
I blow out a breath, needing to finish the story and get it off my chest, release the pain so I can get through it.
"I said yes… I said yes, and then the next day, when I came over after running errands, I walked in the front door and found his ex walking out of his bedroom. "
I didn't even know Madison was back in town.
After Gypsy was cleared to leave Hale Ranch, she and Abbey were back on the road, traveling the country and doing shows.
Since London and I were officially a couple again, and she didn't have any roots in Bardstown, I didn't expect to see her again, but then there she was, just as pretty as ever, and there he was, standing in a towel.
I feel the contents of my stomach rise, and I sit up, trying to push it back down.
Her arms are around me before I can blink. "Oh, Laney, I'm sure there's an explanation. London loves you. I know he does."
"No, Mom, I asked him." I pull out of her hold. "I said, 'Tell me this isn't what it looks like,' and he looked me in the eye and said, 'I can't do that.'"
"Oh—" A loud knock at the front door silences her response. "Now, who could that be? There's practically a monsoon coming down outside." She gets up. "I'll be right back."
No sooner than the front door opens do I hear him. "Where is she? I know she's here," he says, his voice laced with panic.
"London, I don't think she wants to see you right now," I hear her say seconds before my door swings open, and he's standing there soaked to the bone, with a bruised temple, dark circles under his eyes, and a thousand apologies written across his face.
I drop my eyes to my lap, unable to stomach seeing him. It hurts too much. I love him, even after he hurt me in the worst possible way. I love him. I will never stop loving him. But I have to love myself, and that means letting him go.
"Laney." He drops to his knees before me, giving me no choice but to look into his wild eyes.
"I didn't cheat. I promise you. You have to believe me.
It was the perfect storm, and I capitalized on it.
I knew you'd think that. I knew what it would look like, but God, I swear I didn't touch her.
I could never do that," he says, chest heaving.
"I asked you… I looked you in the eyes and begged you to tell me differently, and you didn't," I say, my words stronger than I feel.
"I know… I know, okay." He reaches for my hands, but I pull them out of his grip.
"Maybe you didn't cheat, but you still chose to hurt me. You hurt me with the worst possible lie ever, and I don't see how that's any better." This time, my voice cracks.
"No, no, no." He starts to lose it, tears pooling in his eyes before he drops his head in my lap, hands fisting the material of my sweatpants. "You don't understand?—"
"Don't you dare." My voice is steel now.
"Don't you dare give me that excuse again.
That's the same bullshit that tore us apart before.
I'm done, London. I can't keep doing this with you.
This isn't just about us anymore. I know that's why you're here now.
You were fine pushing me away again, sacrificing us for whatever fear is eating you alive, until you found out about the baby. "