To Bring You Back Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Emily Conrad

  Published by Hope Anchor, LLC

  PO Box 3091, Oshkosh, WI 54903

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2021909802

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, or actual events is purely coincidental. Any real locations named are used fictitiously.

  Scripture quotations are from The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  ISBN 978-1-7360388-0-2 (Paperback Edition)

  ISBN 978-1-7360388-1-9 (Ebook Edition)

  Cover and title page design by Okay Creations, LLC

  Edited by Robin Patchen, Robin’s Red Pen

  Author photograph by Kim Hoffman

  Visit the author’s website at EmilyConradAuthor.com.

  For Danielle, my sister and my first biggest fan.

  Your support means more than you know.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  The story continues!

  Discussion Guide

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Emily Conrad

  Did you enjoy this book?

  1

  At the sight of the food trailer’s next customer, Adeline Green coughed on the bacon-scented air. Tattooed Middle Eastern script ran down the inside of the man’s left forearm. Half visible beneath his sleeve, an elaborately inked lion roared on his biceps.

  She’d know those tattoos anywhere. In other contexts, half the nation would, since Gannon Vaughn and his band, Awestruck, had spent the last few years releasing one hit album after another. But only someone who had known him long before he’d grown famous, someone whose thoughts for him reached beyond his songs to a tragic shared history, would dare to imagine he would surface here, in a small tourist town in northern Wisconsin.

  Was it really him?

  Yes. His tattered baseball cap featured the mascot of their high school, two hours south of here. The numbers stitched on the side matched the year they’d graduated.

  More than a decade had passed, but the events of those days remained painfully fresh.

  At five-five, she had to look up at most men, but standing inside Superior Dogs gave her the height advantage. The added stature, combined with his hat’s visor, blocked eye contact while allowing her to study the man she never should’ve loved.

  Though his hat wouldn’t earn a penny at a garage sale, Gannon’s T-shirt and jeans fit better than they had business doing, somehow looking expensive and out of place in Lakeshore, Wisconsin.

  What was he doing here?

  Maybe his mom had dragged him up for a quiet vacation. The food trailer dominated three of the parallel parking stalls along the curb on Main Street, serving customers who stood on the sidewalk. Adeline scanned the pedestrians but didn’t spot Mrs. Vaughn.

  Gannon stepped closer to the window and pulled out his wallet.

  Her face burned as if she’d pressed her cheek to the grill. When she’d imagined their next encounter, she’d hoped to prove how well she was doing without him. To that end, she’d never planned to let on that she served hotdogs for a living. Or half a living, anyway.

  Maybe if she played it cool, he wouldn’t recognize her, and whenever they crossed paths in the future, she wouldn’t smell like a beef frank. She gripped the metal windowsill of the food trailer, willing him not to place her. “What can I get you?”

  The baseball cap’s brim pointed toward the menu. “What do you recommend?”

  His voice. She’d forgotten the way it resonated through her. Recoiling, she bumped into Asher, the owner who manned the grill in the cramped space behind her.

  Ever the willing salesman, Asher braced an arm against the top of the window. “The Super Superior is our namesake. Hotdog—local, natural casing—topped with barbecue pork, cheesy macaroni, and bacon. Can’t go wrong.” He projected the description, and a few more tourists slowed.

  Gannon glanced up. His hazel eyes seemed to note her in the dim corner between the grill and cooler, but he focused on Asher. “Sold.”

  Of course he wouldn’t recognize her. Photos of her weren’t plastered everywhere like pictures of him were.

  If only the images had been wrong when they’d showed how well he’d grown up and filled out.

  “And a water, please.” Gannon lifted a twenty as a group of three lined up behind him.

  Asher’s plastic gloves crinkled when he removed them to take the payment. Handling money was her job. Any moment, he’d ask her to take over, forcing her from the shadows.

  That couldn’t happen. Gannon couldn’t see her. Not now. Not like this. “I need a quick break.”

  Asher shot her a questioning look, the faint wrinkles on his forehead creasing. The line behind Gannon had grown to five people. Hundreds had come for today’s event. The shops and art galleries along both sides of the quaint Main Street had coordinated special, lake-themed displays. Superior Dogs, which didn’t operate in the cold, snowy months, depended on days like today.

  “I’ll be back soon.” She’d make good on the promise right after Asher had cooked Gannon’s order and sent him packing.

  Asher waved permission, so she popped open the door opposite the serving window and hopped onto Main Street. No sooner had she shut the door and stepped away to cross the street than a blaring horn backed her against the side of the trailer. She pressed her hand to her chest as the car swerved past.

  The trailer door clunked open, and Asher stuck his head out. “You okay?”

  She gulped to return her heart to its place in her chest. People exiting the souvenir shop across the street peered in her direction, probably wondering why a grown woman didn’t know better than to step into traffic. Beyond them, visible between buildings, the serene blue of Lake Superior beckoned her.

  “So it’s that bad.”

  Her eyes sank closed at the timbre of the million-dollar voice.

  Multi-million.

  Hoping she’d imagined it, she peeked. Sure enough, Gannon had followed her around the trailer to the street.

  Adeline’s fist tightened, knuckles pressing against her collarbone. She fixed a pleading gaze on Asher. If anyone could intimidate Gannon into leaving, it’d be her tall, imposing boss. But Asher assessed her and Gannon, then retreated, shutting the trailer door behind him. She should’ve expected that. Asher hated drama more than anything.

  She had to escape. She took
a step to cross the street, but a strong hand caught her arm. Her hair shifted with the breeze as a truck she hadn’t seen flew by.

  “Settle down, okay?” Concern that looked genuine enough filled Gannon’s eyes. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “Ironic.” She shrugged out of his grip, abandoned her plan to cross the street, and opted for the closer sidewalk. “Since when have you cared about people getting killed?”

  He hadn’t missed a beat when Fitz died.

  “That’s not fair, Adeline.” He said her name confidently, as if perhaps he’d thought of her as often as she’d thought of him. If so, this encounter wasn’t a coincidence, and walking away wouldn’t ensure he’d leave her in peace in the future.

  She turned. “Why are you here?”

  He swiped his head as if he wanted to pull off the hat, but he left it in place, his brown hair sticking out underneath. “This is the first I could get away.”

  “In eight years.”

  His mouth tightened. “Since John said he saw you at Christmas.”

  Though she’d lost touch with the rest of the band, she still considered John, the drummer, a friend. When she’d seen him back home over the holidays, she’d wondered if he would mention their brief conversation to Gannon. As months slid by, she’d realized it wouldn’t matter if he did. Gannon wouldn’t be curious about her anymore, and seeing him again would accomplish nothing for her.

  And yet, here he was.

  “Christmas was seven months ago.”

  “Our schedule’s crazy, and you moved to the middle of nowhere.”

  Excuses.

  She couldn’t do this again.

  He lowered his face so the hat shielded him as a pair of college-aged girls passed. Gannon’s voice may have made him famous, but now he also acted as a celebrity judge on a reality show. People might need prompting in this setting, but it wouldn’t take much for them to recognize him.

  And once they did, he’d be forced to deal with them.

  Hope of rescue allowed her to take her first satisfying breath since he’d appeared at the window.

  She moved back and pointed. “Look! It’s Gannon Vaughn.”

  Heads swiveled.

  He lifted his hands as if she’d pulled a gun. “Come on. Really?”

  Still pointing, she stepped toward the college students. “Do you have a pen? I need an autograph.”

  “It is him!” A middle-aged woman hustled up. “Can my son send his demo? He and I never miss Audition Room. You’re our favorite judge.”

  One of the students pulled a marker from her tote and advanced toward Gannon, but a man with thinning blond hair blocked both her and the middle-aged woman. He motioned the lead singer to cut down an alley. After a glance toward the food trailer, Gannon obeyed.

  Adeline and the tourists stared after them. When had a bodyguard last ushered a client off Lakeshore’s Main Street?

  Or maybe the second man hadn’t been a bodyguard. He’d looked soft around the edges. A friend? Someone Gannon worked with? It didn’t matter as long as they were gone.

  Except even in their absence, her peace didn’t return. Maybe she’d been wrong to rebuff him instead of finding a way to get closure.

  Closure? She scoffed, ran her hand over her ponytail, and headed back to Superior Dogs.

  Some wounds never healed. She’d done the right thing.

  On the narrow shelf by the window, steam wafted off a waiting Super Superior.

  “He won’t be back for that.”

  Asher arranged a bun in another cardboard boat, loaded a hotdog, and scooped on macaroni. “What’d you do to him?”

  “Wrong question.”

  “Okay. What’d he do to you?”

  “He killed my fiancé.”

  Asher held the hotdog in front of his customer but didn’t hand it off.

  Okay. She deserved as much blame as Gannon for what happened to Fitz, but she was doing her best to live a good life now. Meanwhile, Gannon pretended to deserve all the fame and fortune the world laid at his feet.

  Face hot with shame—over the past, over mentioning it so carelessly—Adeline took the hotdog from Asher and completed the transaction with the man at the window. After the customer left, she glanced at her boss.

  Still waiting for an explanation.

  “I thought you didn’t like drama.”

  With a grunt, he turned back to the grill. “He left a note in the tip jar.”

  The old pickle jar sat next to Gannon’s abandoned food. A white slip swam among the crinkled bills. She plucked it out. When she read her name in Gannon’s hurried scrawl, she could almost hear his voice again. Beneath, he’d left a phone number.

  “Good thing I insisted on coming.” Gannon’s manager draped his hand over the steering wheel of the rented sedan. “You’d think you’d never seen a fan before.”

  The fans hadn’t erased Gannon’s ability to entertain and manage a crowd.

  Adeline had.

  “So this is about a woman.” Tim smirked. “Here I’d been thinking you were more or less immune.”

  Not at all. Gannon hooked the hat on his knee and pushed his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t expected that seeing Adeline after all those years would revive every feeling he’d ever had for her. Too bad seeing him hadn’t had a similar effect on her.

  He’d hoped she’d forgiven him by now. Or at least come to a point of acceptance so they could talk, each giving and getting closure. Then they could both move on.

  Considering her feelings, closure would be next to impossible. Considering his feelings, he might never move on.

  I’m totally unprepared for this, God.

  Tim checked the rearview mirror and followed the road around a bend, traveling steeply uphill. “Harper’s going to be crushed.”

  The actress flirted, sure, but she had a boyfriend. “Harper knows she and I will never be more than friends, and Adeline’s obviously not even that anymore.”

  “Fair enough, but we’re not staffed for a full-scale inundation at the cabin.”

  “Lakeshore’s population is what, five hundred?”

  “Try eight thousand plus the campus, and there are other factors to consider.”

  He’d allowed Tim along for this kind of advice. Awestruck’s manager was good at running interference, especially during scandals.

  Yet Gannon had hoped he wouldn’t need the help—especially not so soon.

  He scratched his head again, then pulled the hat back on, an act of contrition to soften his next announcement. “Then you’ll be glad I didn’t leave her my number.”

  Tim frowned as he worked out the implication. “You left mine.”

  “I didn’t know she’d make a scene.” Or that at his first glimpse of her, he’d revert into the twenty-one-year-old kid he’d been when he’d last seen her. Every coherent thought had fled. He’d dropped the number in the tip jar, hoping that, if the first encounter didn’t work out, they might have another conversation later. Still, he’d feel a lot better if he’d managed a single intelligent sentence when he’d followed her away from the food trailer.

  She’d never use that phone number.

  The road leveled out. Larger homes, spaced farther and farther apart, dotted the cliff. Soon trees and gates obscured views of the homes and the lake beyond.

  Tim glared out the windshield. “You could’ve gone anywhere in the world to work on the album, and you picked this place instead of a nice, warm beach somewhere. Why the interest in digging up the one person in the world who hates you?” Tim gave him a look probably intended to shame him into relocating to the tropics to overcome his writer’s block.

  A lost cause. He wouldn’t focus on a beach any better than he had in LA. Not after John had come back from Christmas and hinted Adeline wasn’t doing well.

  He offered a wry smile instead of an explanation. “Other people hate me too.” Though only Adeline’s rejection stung like this.

  Tim checked the mirrors again befo
re turning off the main road. “True. And mostly people who love you cause the problems, don’t they?”

  Tim meant fans, but without them, Awestruck wouldn’t exist. Gannon couldn’t blame them for anything. He had caused himself more problems than anyone else ever could.

  God, be merciful to me, a sinner.

  Tim braked for the gate that blocked the drive. At the swipe of a card, the wrought iron parted. A carved sign labeled the property Havenridge Estate. Gannon had first heard the name two months ago, when he’d signed the rental agreement, securing the place indefinitely. Just inside the gate waited the guest house, a cottage about the size of the home Gannon had grown up in. A few more twists in the road landed them in front of the main residence, a sprawling three-story log cabin.

  Tim cut the engine. “There’s a lot on the line here.”

  “I know.”

  According to Tim, there always was, and even Gannon felt the pressure now.

  The band’s first contract would be up in less than two years. Afterward, Awestruck would be free to sign a new deal with the highest bidder. If they could maintain their momentum until then, the new contract would be their biggest payday yet, the stuff most musicians—and their teams—only dreamed of.

  But if the next album bombed, Awestruck could tumble from the charts, and some other band would be right there to take its place.

  Tim grabbed the keys. “I’d be the first to encourage you to let loose and have fun, but you and that girl? Nobody’s got time to scale mountains of baggage that high. Especially not somebody due in the studio in a few months. Have your fun, sure, but don’t get distracted by the past.”