Page 2 of The Lilac River (Silver Peaks #1)
Coming Home – Keith Urban
Nash
T he sunrise was my favorite part of any day. That split second when the sky bled red and gold over the land, before life stormed in again. Sitting on the cedar-scented porch, with the promise of history stretching wide before me, it felt like home.
It smelled like home, too. Earth and woodsmoke, a faint trace of lavender on the morning breeze. Always the lavender.
"Daddy, I'm hungry."
Life stormed in, all right. The little stuff. The important stuff.
I opened my arms. "Morning, munchkin."
Bertie, Roberta officially, Bertie since she turned five, clambered onto my lap, her hair a wild bird's nest against my chin.
"No oatmeal today," she announced.
"Pancakes?" I asked, breathing her in, sunshine, lavender, a hint of childhood magic.
"Even though it's not Sunday?" she gasped.
"I think we can bend the rules."
I shifted her to my hip and pointed at the horizon. "Get ready. Listen closely."
"For the hiss," she whispered back, eyes wide with wonder.
Together, we held our breath, waiting for the soft, imaginary hiss of the sun hitting the earth, a game we’d played since she was three.
"Did you hear it?" I asked.
“Nuh uh.” She shook her head, disappointment in every slumped shoulder. "Maybe tomorrow."
"Maybe tomorrow," I echoed, kissing her nose. “The sun's shy today, so pancake time.”
"Make a lot, Daddy. I heard Uncle Gunner having a pee pee."
Which meant my peace and quiet was officially over. Bertie didn’t count; she was my peace. But Gunner? Different story.
"Better double the batter." I placed her on the kitchen table and grabbed a bowl. "Chocolate chip or plain?"
"Plain with chocolate chips and blueberries. And strawberry syrup."
"Chips or syrup, Bertie. Not both."
She sighed dramatically. "Okay. Chocolate chip."
As she swung her legs, humming a tune from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers , her latest obsession, I got to work.
Gunner shuffled in, kissing Bertie’s head before grabbing a glass.
"Morning, bro," he grunted, pouring himself some juice.
"At least you’re using a glass. Progress."
"Still fucking miserable, I see."
"Language," I warned, even though Bertie was too lost in her show tunes to notice.
"Did you eat a corpse last night? Your breath could kill cattle," I added, wrinkling my nose.
"Must've been your toothbrush I used."
Laughing, I flipped a pancake. This was normal. This was home. The days where my daughter sang old musicals, and my brother insulted me were the good days. The kind of good that snuck up on you. The kind that made you believe things might just be okay.
A door slammed. Gunner and I exchanged a look.
"Uncle Wilder!" Bertie squealed, dashing off.
"Six forty-five," Gunner muttered. "He’s early."
"Maybe he's growing up."
"Or maybe he’s still drunk."
He wasn’t wrong. Wilder, our youngest brother, stumbled in a minute later, hair a mess, bourbon fumes trailing after him.
"No one light a match," I said. "We’d all go up."
"Morning," Wilder rasped. "See you didn't get L.A.I.D. again."
My gaze shot to Bertie, who was mouthing the letters silently like they were part of a spelling test.
"Chocolate chip pancakes, munchkin," I said quickly, sliding her a plate.
She beamed. "Thanks, Daddy!"
Wilder dropped into a chair, smirking. "Whenever you’re ready, big brother."
"I'm not your personal chef."
"You kind of are," Gunner added.
True. If I left it to them, we'd all starve or die of food poisoning.
“I still don’t see why we had to let Marianna go,” Gunner muttered. “No offense Nash, but she’s a way better cook than you. Plus, she doesn’t mind cleaning the bathroom after Wilder.”
“Yeah, well,” I replied, “Dad felt she was an expense we didn’t need.” I scruffed Wilder’s already messy hair. “Even if wiping up after you was worth every dime.”
“I know I’m a joy.” Wilder grinned up at me. "Speaking of starvation," he said, snatching a blueberry off Bertie's plate, "Lily Jones is back."
The words landed like a brick through glass.
Gunner cursed. I dropped the pancake I’d been flipping.
Lily Jones.
The name hit harder than any bourbon hangover. My mind spun. My chest tightened.
Ten years. And now she was back.
Back in Silver Peaks.
Back in my life.
I cursed under my breath and bent to pick up the ruined pancake, tossing it into the trash. Gunner laughed, making some smart-ass comment about me losing my touch, but I barely heard him.
Because for a split second, I wasn’t in the kitchen anymore. I was seventeen again, holding her hand in the lavender fields, swearing I’d never let her go.
But I had.
No. She’d let go first.
My hands braced against the counter as I dropped my head forward, squeezing my eyes shut for a second.
She was back.
I didn’t know what street she lived on now. Was she back living with her mom? Did she still like black coffee with too much sugar? Did her hair still curl at the ends when it rained?
I didn’t know if she hated me. Or worse, didn’t think about me at all. Did she ever think about why she left?
All I knew was that somewhere in this town, Lily Jones was breathing the same air as me, and my goddamn heart didn’t know how to handle it.
"You gonna finish that stack, or stand there looking like someone ran over your dog?" Gunner asked behind me, voice light but laced with that brotherly knowing he never managed to hide.
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Because the second I found out she was back, something inside me had shifted. Not healed, hell no, but cracked open wider. Exposing all the raw, battered places I’d thought I’d buried years ago.
The kind of break that never scars. The kind that stays open.
I wiped my hands on a towel and forced myself to turn back toward the stove. Forced myself to smile at my daughter as she stuffed pancakes into her mouth. Forced myself to be the man I’d spent the last eight years becoming, since Bertie’s mom dropped her on my doorstep because she didn’t want her.
Because even if she was here, even if some miracle put her within reach again, I couldn’t afford to fall apart.
Not with Bertie watching.
Not with a ranch to run.
Not with all the broken promises piled at my feet.
Still...
Still, part of me hoped like hell that fate hadn't brought her back just to leave me shattered all over again.
Because deep down, in some stubborn corner of my heart I hadn’t managed to shut off, I still craved her.
And that scared the ever-loving hell out of me.