Summer's Redemption Read online

  TABLE OF 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

  EPILOGUE

  SNEAK PEEK AT A Time to Heal

  ABOUT DORA HIERS

  OTHER BOOKS BY DORA HIERS

  SUMMER’S REDEMPTION

  Copyright © 2020 by Dora Hiers

  Published by Grace Legacy Publishing

  Cover Art by German Creative

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events or locales is coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means without written permission from Dora Hiers or Grace Legacy Publishing, except for including brief quotations in reviews along with proper acknowledgement. Unauthorized duplication and/or distribution is illegal. eBook editions may not be copied, resold or given away. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contact information: [email protected]

  Published by Grace Legacy Publishing

  First Edition, 2020

  Published in the United States of America

  Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

  Quotation Credits:

  Mistakes are proof that you are trying. Jennifer Lim

  There’s no elevator to success. You have to take the stairs. Zig Ziglar

  Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you imagined. Henry David Thoreau

  Let your past make you better, not bitter. Unknown

  Dedication

  For all those hiding behind a wall of grief and blame.

  May you find Comfort and Peace.

  “In his heart a man plans his course,

  but the Lord determines his steps.”

  Proverbs 16:9

  1

  “Have a seat, mr. tomlinson. Ms. Owens will be with you shortly.” The receptionist for the guidance office waited until he stepped into the room before closing the door.

  Trace Tomlinson blew out a nervous breath and sank into the hard chair in front of the counselor’s desk, his gaze sliding around the space. He’d visited this very office a time or two—or twenty—with Gramps back in the day. Even so, he’d logged more trips to the principal’s office. Same for both of his brothers.

  A couple of green leafy plants perched on the corner of the desk near where a wood-grain vase, empty of flowers, pumped out a thin trail of smoke. He leaned over and sniffed. No, not smoke. He picked out the faint hints of lemon and cloves in the mist.

  Huh. Okay. His gaze wandered. Several black framed posters were a new addition to the otherwise bland vanilla concrete block walls. Motivational quotes on white paper gave the space a classy look.

  Mistakes are proof that you are trying. Didn’t he know that? He’d sure made enough of them.

  There’s no elevator to success. You have to take the stairs. Sixteen years of back breaking labor working his way up the ladder at Tomlinson Investment Properties had taught him that. Gramps didn’t believe in elevators. Not even for his beloved grandsons.

  Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you imagined. Huh. Not always possible, but hey, kudos for any kid who tried.

  Let your past make you better, not bitter. Ouch.

  He squirmed in the chair, crinkling the loose cushion on the seat. Wasn’t that the reason for his visit today? To get advice on how to guide his son down a better path than the one he’d taken. Not that he regretted Trip. He just didn’t want his sixteen-year-old to make the same life altering choice, one that he couldn’t take back, one that he’d live with forever.

  The door opened, and light footsteps paused near the entry. A hint of summer peaches and jasmine drifted into the room, taunting him with another life altering choice. One that he wished he could take back.

  “Trace?”

  At the high pitch of surprise in the sweet voice, he swiveled in the chair, feeling as if he was a character in a slow-motion movie. Jaw dangling, he pressed a thumb and forefinger over his eyelids to clear the image. Surely after a sleepless night burdened with worry over Trip, his mind was playing tricks on him. But when he opened his eyes, the vision of loveliness had moved to park a shapely hip next to the desk in front of him, arms folded over her chest.

  “Bristol.” Why did his normally bass voice sound so throaty, breathless even?

  Maybe because beauty didn’t even come close to describing his ex-girlfriend. The one he’d broken up with two years ago because she’d slipped past a chink in his armor and gotten too close. Because he’d dared to imagine a future with her, and that was…unimaginable. Especially now that his son lived with him.

  He swallowed hard and, like a starving man facing his last meal, braved a longer look. She was dressed casually in a pair of jeans that snugged her hips. A white blazer covered the same color tee, dressing up the look. A couple chains of different lengths hung from her neck. Her normally straight hair was twisted in a messy knot and fastened on top of her head.

  “What are you doing here?” She slid into the chair behind her desk, the charms from her chains jingling together.

  Good thing. Because he’d been sorely tempted to reach out and pull her onto his lap, to bury his nose against that silky neck and fill his lungs with the fruity and earthy fragrance she always wore.

  A tremor rumbled through him, and he gave his head a little jerk to shake it off. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “Okay.” She drew out the two syllables and hiked that pretty chin, her lips quivering slightly. Arms crossed, she cast a pointed glance toward the door. “Look. It may be summer, but school’s in session. I’m rather busy right—”

  Ouch. “I’m sorry, Bristol. That didn’t come out right. I meant I didn’t realize you had switched schools.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “What does it matter?”

  He swallowed hard. How could it not matter? She was his son’s counselor. The only woman he’d ever loved. The only one he’d ever regretted letting go. Lord, I asked for forgiveness. I thought You hurled our sins as far as the east is from the west. Is this my punishment? Seeing her every time that I need help with my son. Knowing that I made the biggest mistake of my life. “You remember my son Trip?”

  Another nod.

  “He goes to school here.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “You know?”

  When her tongue came out to lick her lips, he squeezed his eyes closed again.

  “We’ve had a few conversations already.”

  His lashes jerked up with that news. “You have? He never mentioned that.”

  “I asked him not to.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  She lifted a shoulder, pinning him to the chair with a defiant look. “Why not? He can trust our conversations to be confidential. I just asked him for the same. Besides, you broke up wit
h me, remember?”

  Remember? Yes. Every painful detail. Not a day passed since their breakup that he didn’t think of her. Didn’t yearn for his fickle heart to be different.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes. I remember. I’m sorry for that too.” But she’d left him no alternatives. Other than to slide a ring over her finger.

  His older brother Mannix and Gramps were the only Tomlinsons to walk down that particular aisle, and he’d tried to talk sense into both men. Ha. As if that had worked.

  Gramps just got married last weekend, and now that Rowan was back in town, he suspected his older brother would be tying the knot again before summer’s end.

  His lips were parched, so he wet them, praying silently that he wouldn’t mangle the words and damage any chance to help his son. “Trip lives with me now. He’s gotten awfully tight with my neighbor’s daughter. Just yesterday I got home from work and found them together in his bedroom.”

  She propped her elbows on the desk and rested her chin on steepled fingers. “What were they doing?”

  “Studying.” This time. But how many times could they stretch across the bed before they did something else? Something much more drastic.

  “And how did you react?” She regarded him.

  Was this a trick question? He lifted his eyebrows. “Judging by how quickly Kiwi packed up her stuff and left, probably not as calmly as I should’ve.”

  A smile softened the corners of her mouth. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Ouch. That hurt.”

  “It’s just that you can be a tad…” She glanced at the ceiling as if searching for the right word before meeting his gaze again. “Intimidating.”

  “Intimidating?” Him? Of all the Tomlinson brothers, Mannix was the one who commanded respect, at times sparking fear in their employees. Not him.

  She cocked her head, appearing nonchalant as her eyes trailed the length of him. “You’re probably closer to seven feet than six, Trace, and sometimes your expression is as dark as a thundercloud.” She scrunched her face into a good imitation of him.

  Which only made him realize how cute she was. And how truly stupid he was.

  “I blew it, didn’t I?” Not just with Trip.

  She shook her head. “You could never blow it with your son, Trace. You love him too much. He knows that.”

  “So, what should I do now?” As VP for Tomlinson Investment Properties, he trusted the qualified people who worked for him to give him accurate and timely advice. He’d lived by that creed under the rentals program, and now on the construction side, more so since he hadn’t worked the trade in close to a decade. He trusted Bristol’s knowledge and experience with high schoolers. All he needed was a list, and he’d follow it to a T.

  “Have you tried talking to him about it?”

  “Talking to him?” He wrinkled his nose and adjusted in his seat, but that only crumpled the cushion more under his bottom.

  “Yeah. You know. Bring it up in conversation. Maybe even apologize for your overreaction.”

  “Apologize?” Surely, he hadn’t heard her correctly. She wanted him to apologize?

  Her eyebrows hiked nearly to her hairline.

  Okay. So maybe his hearing was still good. He blew out a breath. “But—”

  “You can work on the ‘but’ after you apologize. You’ll get more mileage that way.” She rose from the chair and walked to the door, a clear sign that this meeting was over.

  But he still didn’t have a list.

  He lifted off the chair and glanced at the mangled cushion. Reaching down, he flipped it back to its original position. When he looked back up, she stood next to the open door, her head bent, thumb scrolling through her phone. “Bristol, I’m not sure—”

  She looked up and straight at him. “Of course, you’re not sure. Nothing is certain with teenagers. Every day, every situation is different. And that bothers your analytical brain.”

  “Do you have a—”

  “And you came here expecting a list of things to do and not do. As if that would solve all your issues.”

  Well, wouldn’t it?

  When he clamped his jaw, her expression softened. She set a hand against his shoulder. “There is no such list, Trace. But if there were, the only things on it would be love and grace.”

  ****

  Bristol Owens stared at the back of the man walking down the hall, his spine straight and tall, his shoulders wide under the uniform polo, his long-legged stride confident. A man accustomed to being in charge, to issuing orders and expecting them to be followed. A man who wouldn’t know how to handle not knowing what to do.

  She’d known the moment his son walked into her office that she would be seeing Trace again.

  And that seeing him would shred her heart a second time.

  He pushed through the exit and disappeared, and she released the breath banking in her lungs.

  “Who was that?” Shirley Atwater, one of the assistant principals, stopped next to her, bracing a stack of student folders against her chest.

  “Trace Tomlinson.”

  “Trip’s dad?”

  Uh oh. The assistant principal over discipline knew Trace’s son? That couldn’t be good. “Yes. Why?”

  “Wish I’d known. I would’ve popped in and introduced myself.”

  “Has Trip been in trouble?”

  “Not yet. But it doesn’t hurt to be proactive.” The woman smiled and shifted the folders to her arm. “Don’t look so alarmed. I just handled his enrollment paperwork while Judy was out sick.”

  Oh. Relief rolled through her, making her legs weak. She pressed her back against the wall to keep from toppling over.

  Shirley studied her. “Your reaction seems a bit strong for a new student.”

  “Just don’t want Trip getting off track so quickly.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Of course. What else would there be?” Only that the said student was the son of a man she’d hoped to marry. The only man who’d ever made her heart throb with an ache that refused to be satisfied by anyone else.

  But he’d rejected her. He didn’t need or want her in his life, his exact words back then. If she were the vengeful type, she’d tell him to take a hike now. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that for Trip’s sake.

  “He is nice looking. If you like…rustic.”

  “Rustic?”

  “You know. Always looking like he needs a good shave.” Shirley rubbed her cheeks and jaw for emphasis. “The crooked nose that he probably got from some childhood brawl. And those eyes. You’re never quite sure if they’re brown or green.”

  “They’re hazel.” She remembered well how his irises morphed under the lights, exploding into a thousand different hues of green, brown and gold. When he smiled, which he did quite frequently, creases ridged both sides of his mouth and tiny pockets formed under his eyes.

  Why couldn’t she banish him from her memories? From her life? She blew out a frustrated breath.

  Shirley’s eyebrows lifted. “Hmmm. Yes. What else would there be?”

  Bristol cleared her throat and pushed away from the wall. “Well, I better get back to work.” She’d spent far too much time already thinking about the man who’d likely not given her a single thought since their breakup.

  The assistant principal nodded and resumed her trek.

  Bristol hurried into her office and sank into her chair, burying her face in her hands. What am I supposed to do here, Lord? He broke my heart once and now he’s back to stomp all over it again.

  A response sprung up from her depths. Love and grace, my beloved daughter. Love and grace.

  2

  “I’m sorry for overreacting the other day.” Trace licked his dry lips before hiding behind a sip of coffee. He didn’t like this feeling of not being sure. Of not knowing how to handle this parenting gig. Sure, he’d kept Trip plenty of times over the years. Kendra had been quite generous with custody, not just allowing him to take their son every summer but also
for weeks and even months at a time, anytime she’d wanted a break. Now, he understood why. He’d never experienced the tremendous responsibility of being a parent, a role model, twenty-four seven. Lord, help me to do this right. I don’t want—

  Trip’s head shot up. Milk dribbled from the spoon dangling halfway to his gaping mouth and plopped back into the bowl of cereal. “For real?” Shock wobbled Trip’s already-changed voice.

  He nodded. “For real.”

  “So that means Kiwi can come back over?”

  “Of course.” He hadn’t meant to banish his son’s girlfriend, but he had to set some rules, right? “Just keep the bedroom door open.” Was that enough? Should he not allow them to be in the bedroom at all when he wasn’t home? Why hadn’t he asked Bristol these things when he had the chance?

  Trip tipped his head and shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Okay.”

  Okay, then. Judging by the constant shoveling of cereal into his mouth, Trip seemed satisfied with the arrangement.

  Trace took another cautious sip of coffee. Was that it? All it took to keep the peace and get his teenage son to stop giving him the cold shoulder?

  Trip pushed the bar stool back. At the sink, he rinsed out the empty bowl and set it in the dishwasher then turned to leave.

  “Trip?” He halted his son’s progress with a hand to the shoulder.

  A face that reminded him so much of his own stared back at him. “Yeah?”

  “I met with your counselor yesterday.”

  Heavy eyebrows hiked and Trip’s head twitched, but the kid didn’t say anything.

  “She told me that she’d met with you and that she’d asked you to keep it confidential.”

  “Sorry, Dad. I hated not to tell you, but for some reason it seemed really important to Ms. Owens.”

  “Yeah, well about that. We, uh—” How much should he tell his son? If he hoped for a transparent and open relationship, shouldn’t he be the first to model it? “We dated a couple years ago.”

  “Ouch. That had to be awkward.” Trip’s jaw hinged for the second time that morning.