If We Could Go Back, page 1
If We Could Go Back
Cara Dee
If We Could Go Back
Copyright © 2019 by Cara Dee
All rights reserved
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment and may not be reproduced in any way without documented permission of the author, not including brief quotes with links and/or credit to the source. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction and all references to historical events, persons living or dead, and locations are used in a fictional manner. Any other names, characters, incidents, and places are derived from the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the trademark status and owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction. Characters portrayed in sexual situations are 18 or older.
Edited by Silently Correcting Your Grammar, LLC.
Formatted by Eliza Rae Services.
Proofread by Tanja.
Contents
Camassia Cove
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
More from Cara Dee
About Cara
Camassia Cove
Camassia Cove is a town in northern Washington created to be the home of some exciting love stories. Each novel taking place here is a standalone, with the exception of sequels, and they will vary in genre and pairing. What they all have in common is the town in which they live. Some are friends and family. Others are complete strangers. Some have vastly different backgrounds. Some grew up together. It's a small world, and many characters will cross over and pay a visit or two in several books. But, again, each novel stands on its own, and spoilers will be avoided as much as possible.
If We Could Go Back is a complete standalone novel taking place in the Camassia Cove universe. It is not required to read previous Camassia novels to get the full enjoyment of this one, but if you're interested in keeping up with secondary characters, the town, the timeline, and future novels, check out Camassia Cove's own page www.caradeewrites.com. There you will also see which characters have gotten their own books already as well as which books are in the works.
Dedication
To the guy who perfected the ketchup heart.
You’re still there for me, and you show it every day.
Chapter 1
Bennett Brooks
Maybe you should try cocaine.
My mood soured as I opened my laptop and took a sip of my coffee. The train departed. I had an hour to kill but was more likely to kill myself.
“This seat taken?” someone asked.
I flicked him a brief glance and shook my head.
Bloody hell, I was only twenty-eight. Wasn’t I too young for misery?
It was official. Sitting still for forty-five minutes every morning was giving me too much time to think—that was the problem. I tried to work and couldn’t get into it. Forty-five minutes wasn’t long enough to get settled, so it was time going to waste. I needed my cubicle that would hopefully soon turn into an office if I could get that promotion. I was driven and hanging on to a shred of hope that this summer would get me to where I wanted to be.
And if it doesn’t…
I didn’t want to think about it. I couldn’t stomach it anymore.
Checking my watch, I chastised myself for being impatient. It never ceased to amaze me how spoiled we got. It was a new train, a two-stop route between my little town in northern Washington and Seattle, a route that’d shaved at least forty minutes off my commute. Yet, two months into this new transit, I grew restless after a few minutes.
I closed my laptop, giving up on the notion of getting anything done. The six-thirty train from Camassia was an express departure, so I was surrounded by men and women in suits working on their way to the city. They could get into it—work, or whatever they looked busy doing.
I completed the crossword puzzle I’d started last week instead. I made reservations and confirmed another, read the local paper, and drank from my travel mug. This had become my everyday life, starting in April when my boss told me there was a promotion on the horizon. I was getting close, though I knew how quickly a deal could fall through.
My hopes were almost as high as my expectations, no matter how hard I tried to keep my thoughts leveled.
I had to get out of here.
A promotion would fix my worries and shake up the dreariness of my regular routine.
Or you could try cocaine.
“No, sir, I’m on my way now.” I jogged up onto the platform and held up a finger to the guy signaling that the train was about to leave. He spotted me and stepped aside so I could board the car.
“Close call, kid,” the man commented gruffly.
“Let me know if you need assistance, Bennett,” my boss told me. “I didn’t expect you would be commuting daily.”
Neither had I, to be honest. But there were bigger fish in Seattle, and out-of-towners preferred a meeting in the city over going all the way up to Camassia.
“I have it covered,” I replied. “Did you follow up on the rumor I heard?” Because if Westwater Hotels was looking to launch their new brand of hotels, we’d want to get in on that.
“I did.” Mirth seeped into his tone. “If I get a meeting with them, I’ll send you.”
Fuck yes. A surge of relief and anticipation flooded me, and I had to resist the urge to fist-pump the air. Instead, I calmly sat down in my window seat and wrapped up the call like a professional person. But holy smokes, this made my day. It certainly made up for the failure of yesterday when I lost a potential client to another agency’s bid.
For the fourth day in a row, the seat across from mine was occupied. My brow furrowed, and I took in his uniform. He had to be one of those bike messengers. The long-sleeved black-and-neon-blue shirt was skintight, and I recognized the logo on his chest. I’d seen it around the city. Curious he was riding in business class.
With a shake of my head, I refocused and decided to start a new crossword puzzle.
I nodded absently in greeting to the same men I passed as I boarded the train most mornings, finding my seat in the last car.
A flash of black and neon blue caught my eye, and I looked out the window. That guy again. I narrowed my eyes, then shook my head and refused to—dammit, I was going to want to know regardless of how hard I tried not to.
The man stepped on right before we rolled away from the platform and took his seat across from me.
He nodded hello then got lost in a book.
I didn’t pretend to work. Since the first time he’d sat down there two weeks ago, he’d become my puzzle. It frustrated me, and I knew my questions would sound elitist and judgmental, but he didn’t fit. He was around my age, I was fairly sure, yet he wore ratty jeans and hoodies that belonged to a teenager. For the record, no, I didn’t want to “Go fuck a Monday,” as his hoodie had suggested one day, “because they’re always hard.”
When the sorry men and women wearing similar suits to what I wore guzzled their coffee and tried to work, he sat there in his uniform and a pair of headphones. Sometimes, he had a book, like today.
It was when the weather was particularly cold that he wore his holey jeans over his bike shorts. Or so I assumed, since the body-hugging uniform shirt was always there, with or without an unzipped hoodie.
Late August was giving us heat, so today it was all uniform and…form. The stretchy fabric showcased his physique and made my gut tighten with envy. I hadn’t been that in shape since high school.
I sipped my coffee and discreetly smoothed down my tie. My stomach was showing the results of back-to-back breakfast and lunch meetings. There was no muscle definition, and I could stand to lose five or six pounds. The man across from me had definition everywhere. Nothing too much in a relaxed state, just enough to see it was very there. Biceps, abs, thighs…
He irritated me.
His hair was perhaps a shade or two darker than my own, and his streaks were disheveled where mine were neat. His eyes, even when he was visibly tired, were captivating. Even I could admit that. Green met deep blue and muddled with a little bit of gray. I couldn’t say anything remotely interesting about my eyes. Brown. They’re brown. The man had some scars too. A couple small ones on his jaw, more pronounced when he’d forgotten to shave. Another scar cut into his left eyebrow.
I shook my head. Perhaps one day I’d give up on my frustration and simply ask him. How would that go? I’d sound like an utter fool. Excuse me. I was wondering…how does a bike messenger afford business class every day? While you’re at it, can you tell me your life story? Much appreciated.
No, I couldn’t very well do that.
I started going to the gym the following week and blamed it on the bike messenger. Every time I was in Seattle, I vowed, I was going to visit the gym in the buildin
I grumbled to myself as the strap to my gym bag got caught in something. The train station was packed with people, and it was the biggest downside to this exercise nonsense. The later departure was in the middle of when everyone got off work.
Juggling my gym bag and briefcase, I made it to the platform and stepped onto the train four minutes before we were to depart. My shoulder was stiff and sore, and I pressed a palm to it as I carefully rotated the muscle. I supposed I was shocking my system by lifting weights and dying on an exercise bike.
I entered the business-class section and found a—He’s here. This was the first time we were on the same train going north. And this was certainly a surprise. I sat down across from him, eyeing the suit he wore. His expression wasn’t as open and bright as it tended to be in the mornings. Now he fit in with the rest of us suited schmucks.
The plot thickens, I mused to myself.
He glanced up from his paper when I accidentally dropped my gym bag on the floor, and he seemed a little surprised to see me too.
“Bollocks. Sorry about that,” I heard myself say. Frustration built rapidly, and it annoyed me. His appearance had thrown me. Now I knew even less how to place him.
“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was smoother and richer than I’d expected. An accent that didn’t belong on the West Coast either.
That was that. I rearranged my bags before hauling out my laptop, and he read the paper all the way back to Camassia Cove. All while wearing a bespoke suit.
I couldn’t concentrate, often casting looks his way. When his brow was furrowed, he appeared older. Now I couldn’t even be certain we were the same age.
“You’re late,” Brianna pointed out.
“Sorry.” I dipped down and kissed her cheek, then took my seat and opened the menu. “I haven’t much time. I’m meeting with Ashley around the corner in…” I checked my watch. “Fifty-five minutes.”
“Has she given up on competing against you for the promotion?”
“I hope so.” I decided on a salad because I’d be having dinner with Ash. “Christ, what is this place?” Everything on the menu was vegetarian. “Anyway. How was your own meeting?”
“I signed the contract.” She smiled widely, and I was genuinely happy for her. She’d worked hard to flesh out her studies and turn them into a book. “Right now, we’re just negotiating minor details.”
“What?” I frowned. “You don’t sign anything until all those minor details have been settled.”
She was dismissive about it, and she ran a hand through her short hair. “My agent said there was nothing to worry about.”
“Bullshit,” I blurted, but come on. I worked with contracts on a daily basis. She needed to be careful. “What are the details?”
She disapproved of my foul language, though I’d stopped caring. She wasn’t my mother.
“Go on, then.” I sat back while a waitress came by to take our orders.
She rolled her eyes but answered nonetheless. “I want us to publish before Christmas, and I suppose the publisher is looking at next fall. Or early spring. Anything to avoid summer.”
“That’s not a minor detail.” I shook my head. “You’re talking of negotiating a whole year before you go to print, and it’s almost September. I can guarantee they’re done editing everything they’re putting out before the holidays.”
I’d flustered her, not to mention rained on her parade a bit, and I was sorry for that. However, she knew what I did for a living. She could’ve come to me.
“You got the deal,” I said and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “I’m very happy for you. We’ll have to celebrate.”
That seemed to thaw her slightly, and she launched into the more exciting aspects of the contract, such as PR and royalties. I managed to keep quiet when she revealed she was going to speak at universities and that there would be a marketing team to help her with branding. Again, it was what I did for a living, and no one could blame me for having opinions.
It was of no use to try to sway her. My sister was fiercely independent, and I was damn proud of her accomplishments. The first time one of her studies was published in a medical journal, I’d bought a copy and shown it to my coworkers.
I envied her sometimes. I did realize she was six years older than me, but I couldn’t imagine I’d be where she was today in six years. My future was straightforward and predictable. Meanwhile, Brianna was always off to some conference in New York, seminar at Oxford, or convention in Shanghai.
Our food arrived, and I asked what she was working on at the moment—other than her book deal, and she became excited all over again.
“I’m helping a colleague, actually,” she said. “He’s researching escapism—how far we go to get away from our realities and what tools we use, such as film, literature, and online role-playing.” She lifted a shoulder and took a sip of her wine. “Catfishing, cheating, et cetera. Where the lines are drawn between addiction and indulgence.”
“So…normal, average stuff,” I deadpanned. “Sounds fun.”
She nodded, ignoring my sarcasm. “You’d be a wonderful candidate, little brother.”
“What the fuck?” I was insulted, I was pretty sure.
She gave me a dismayed look for the cursing before diving into a ramble on why I should be part of their study.
For the record, I was doing no such thing.
I managed to squeeze in half a session at the gym after seeing Ashley. Then I had to hurry to make my train. I’d rushed out of the shower at the gym, so my hair was still bordering on wet when I got to my platform. The train was already there, and I had to run the last bit, all while juggling my gym bag, briefcase, and one stack of papers I’d been reading in the taxi toward the station.
I was breathing heavily by the time I made it onto the train and found my spot in the business-class section. The enigmatic suit moonlighting as a bike messenger—or vice versa—was here too. Just lovely. Collapsing into my seat, I dumped the papers on the table between us and tried to untangle my bags. That’s it. I was buying a new bag; this one was absolutely useless.
Perhaps I should get a messenger bag that could hold my workout clothes as well as my laptop. Then, if my papers got wrinkled or damp from the towel… To hell with exercising, I wanted to say. It was that guy’s bloody fault. His and his physique’s.
“Rough day?”
My head snapped up at the sound of his voice, and I narrowed my eyes. He’s talking to me. He looks amused. And tired. I straightened automatically and adjusted my tie.
“I’ve had better,” I admitted.
He let out a low chuckle. “Usually how it goes.”
I tilted my head, then nodded once, even though I wasn’t sure I agreed. For now, I was stuck on his voice. Growing up all over the world had made me sensitive to dialects, and with more than “Don’t worry about it” to go on, I could finally place him on the East Coast. I guessed Boston, though there was a hint of a drawl somewhere too.
I’d spent my high school years in North Carolina, muddling the London accent from my time in England. I wanted to say this man had spent time in Georgia or one of the Carolinas.
I decided that I was, in fact, older than him. Unless his eyes were deceiving me. The color was unforgettable.
“Friday tomorrow, thankfully.” I wanted to learn more about him, and mindless chitchat was safe. “I hope to get friendly with one beer too many.”
