The woman next to me snores so loudly, she wakes herself up. Her head jerks from side to side as she wipes drool from the corner of her mustache.
“What’d I miss?” She leans over me to look out the window as we approach the bus station.
“Nothing,” I reply as I pull my baseball cap over my eyes and readjust my sunglasses to hopefully cover my black eye where the makeup is wearing off. Thankfully, she hasn’t recognized me. I’m hoping my iffy luck will hold until I’m off this bus, and she won’t have a clue who she sat next to on this long ride from LA.
When I left in the back of that limo, only one of us was famous then—Ricky Rango, rising rock star who was destined to become a rock god. Now he’s six feet under, and I’m the famous one because I’m the Black Widow who killed him. Or so they say.
I know the truth, but no one else cares about anything so mundane as that. The fall from wife of a rock god to the most hated woman in America has been a rocky one, and to be honest, I’m lucky I made it out of LA alive.
The Greyhound’s brakes squeal as it slows to a stop, changing the direction of my thoughts. It’s time to stop thinking about what I’m running from and put it behind me, if that’s even possible. I’m ready to think about what I’m runningtoward.
I just never thought I’d be running toward Gable, the place I spent so many years desperate to leave. But now everything has changed. All I want is a simple, quiet life. Something normal. Away from the paparazzi and accusations. Away from the guilt and fear. I’m hoping Gable can be my safe haven, but I’m also not holding my breath.
I glance out the window, expecting the old wooden train depot, but we’re on the wrong side of town for that. Ahead is a glass structure that looks much too new to be part of Gable’s historic charm, but sure enough, it hasRiscoff Memorial Bus Terminalin large letters on the side.
Riscoff. That’s one major reason I don’t know if I’ll ever find peace here.
As soon as we hit the city limits a few minutes ago, my heart jacked up to aerobic rates and my skin started feeling too tight for my body. It was like every part of me knew we were in close proximity tohim.
I force my breathing to slow and try to look at the name without feeling anything.
Fail.
So instead, I glare at it, like that’s going to help me find some inner strength that I haven’t already used up defending myself against the press and angry fans. Of course the bus terminal is named after their family. It would match everything else in this town emblazoned with the Riscoff name.
The hospital that’s probably only a mile from here. The courthouse that takes up one side of the town square. Then there’s Riscoff Bank and Trust two blocks over, near the Riscoff Art Gallery. And of course, there’s the granddaddy of them all on the other side of the river from downtown, Riscoff Timber.
The only thing that doesn’t have their name is the town itself. I’m pretty sure my ancestors are still smiling in their graves about snaring that honor—right before they jumped the Riscoffs’ gold claim and started a feud that’s lasted over 170 years. During that time, both families have proven over and over how capable they are of sustaining such hate and bitterness.
I did my part too, and I’m not proud of it.
I wait my turn, specifically for the woman beside me to move, so I can haul my ass off the bus. The driver unearths my luggage from underneath and leaves it on the sidewalk near the glass-fronted bus station. The bus rumbles to life again, and I watch as it rolls away. I’m left surrounded by the sum total remains of my former life, in the form of ridiculously overpriced Louis Vuitton luggage, while I wait for my chronically-late-from-birth cousin to come get me.
If it hadn’t been for Cricket begging me to come back to Gable, I probably would have stayed on the bus all the way to Canada. I hear they’re friendly up there ... unless they’re Ricky Rango fans. At least in Gable, there’s no love lost for the hometown boy who made good. He managed to burn that bridge when he went off during a concert, ripping this whole town a new one.
“Ohhh, baby! Look at that sexy thing just waiting on a ride. You wanna come on up with me, girl?”
If the catcall had come from a man, I would have tensed and prepared to bolt, but no. That’s a voice I’d recognize even if it had been eighty years since I’d been home instead of ten.
For the first time in months, a genuine smile stretches my lips. “You know I don’t get into a stranger’s van unless someone offers me candy first.”
“Well, get up here, little girl. I’ve got sugar for you.” Cricket puts the van in park and hops out, running around the front of the giant Econoline. “Jesus Christ, you look just like a real celebrity—who forgot to tell her chauffeur where to pick her up.”
I rush to meet her. We collide in a hug. “I thought you were my chauffeur. And early too. I was prepared to wait an hour for Cricket Time.”
My cousin smells exactly the same as the last time I saw her—like pot smoke, coconut, and sunshine.
“God, I missed you, girl. It’s been way too fucking long.”
I pull back. Her tawny eyes dance, and her dark brown hair is braided around the crown of her head like she’s a perfect flower child. And she’s right.
My heart squeezes at her smiling face. I’ve missed her too. I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”
Cricket rolls her eyes. “Shush. You’re here now. That’s what matters. And you’re going to be my maid of honor!”
My stomach clenches, and I’m sure my face looks like I just stepped on a downed power line.”Wh-what?”