Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Holland

I t's been nearly eighteen hours since I left Zurich, with layovers that felt longer each time. The exhaustion clings to me like a second skin, the desire for a hot shower and a decent meal growing with every minute. Luckily the process to pick up my rental car was fairly easy and the exit out of the city was well before rush hour, so traffic isn't bad.

My mind drifts as I take in the lush green expanse of the Kentucky hills welcoming me home. It's been so long and though I now live in one of the most beautiful places on earth, I can't deny that the rolling pastures and neatly fenced horse farms tighten my chest with nostalgia. Despite having left all this behind years ago, a lump forms in my throat as the familiar beauty tugs at something deep within. I haven't missed it, not consciously, but there's an undeniable pull now that I'm back.

My phone rings through the car's Bluetooth, the screen flashing a Zurich number. It's Annika, one of my team members back at Global Strategies Ltd., where I work as a senior business consultant. "Holland, sorry for the early call, but we've got a slight hiccup with the Milan project." Her voice is crisp, tinged with urgency. She's a Brit who just moved to Zurich last year.

I switch to autopilot, the business part of my brain kicking in despite the jet lag. "What's the issue?"

"There's a discrepancy in the projected budgets versus the actuals. The variance is outside acceptable limits, and the client is questioning our oversight."

"Run a full audit on last quarter's entries," I suggest, navigating the winding roads that lead deeper into Shelby County. "Flag any outliers for review and schedule a Zoom meeting for us to go over everything. I'll make myself available anytime tomorrow."

"Will do. Cheers, Holland."

Annika disconnects without another sentiment and I love her for it. She's the most efficient assistant I've ever had and I'm not sure I would have actually come home if it weren't for my confidence that she will keep my office running while I'm gone.

I settle back into the car's silence, broken only by the soft hum of the engine when I accelerate. I don't bother with music, wanting to drink in every green blade of grass and inch of blue sky before me. I want to lie under a sprawling shade tree, and it's then that I realize I'm driving past Blackburn Farms.

The sight of the expansive estate, with its majestic barns and the historic house peeking through the oak trees, sends a rush of yearning through me. I remember days spent running through these fields, the laughter of the Blackburn kids—my forever friends—echoing around me, the safety and warmth of a family that wasn't my own.

My first ride on a horse was here, a gentle saddlebred that seemed as tall as a mountain to a frightened girl from a troubled home. Riding became my escape, a passion that got me through the toughest times.

A flood of sharp, clear memories hits me so strongly it robs me of my breath. Tears prick my eyes for the loss of all that happiness when I left. I try never to think of those times and yet I can't seem to stop myself from spiraling down into a memory rabbit hole.

The late-afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rolling pastures of Blackburn Farms as I sat tall on the chestnut gelding. I'd been riding here for the past four years and this particular horse Tommy Blackburn put me on was being a little difficult. But the smell of fresh hay and leather filled the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the horse beneath me, and I knew there was no place I'd rather be. Mr. Blackburn, with his kind, patient eyes, watched me intently as I guided the horse through the last few minutes of my lesson.

"That's it, Holland. Keep your heels down and your hands up," he instructed, his voice firm but encouraging. I adjusted my posture and felt the horse respond to the subtle changes in my body language, doing exactly what I asked of him.

As I approached the large gate that led outside, I saw Kat Blackburn. Her dark hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and she had dirt smudged on her cheek. She stood on the fence, leaned over it, her green eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Come on, Holland! Hurry up, everyone's waiting!"

My head twisted to see Mr. Blackburn, hoping he wouldn't be mad at the interference. I was on lesson time and that meant my time was with him, but he merely chuckled as he shook his head at his oldest twin daughter.

"All right," he said as I halted the horse next to him. "Good job today. You're getting better with each lesson."

"Thanks, Mr. Blackburn," I replied as pride swelled in my chest. My parents never complimented me on anything. I swung my leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. Even though I just turned ten, it was still a long drop for my short legs, and I was always proud when I stuck the landing.

Kat was there to meet me. "Come on," she whined.

Kat and her twin, Abby, were younger than me by two years but we became close friends when I started riding at Blackburn.

"I have to put Chester up," I said, taking hold of the reins.

Mr. Blackburn took them from me, winking at his daughter. "I'll handle his tack. You girls go on ahead and have fun."

"Thanks, Daddy," Kat crooned at him and grabbed my hand, pulling me out of the barn. I managed a wave back to her dad and then we were running through a sun-drenched pasture, the grass tickling our legs. We made our way down to the pond, the main place we all hung out during the warm months. Trey, Wade and Abby were there waiting for us, the still waters shaded by the surrounding oak trees that swayed in the gentle breeze.

Trey and Wade had fishing poles in hand, casting from the bank while Abby sat on a blanket with a picnic basket that had been put together by their housekeeper, Miranda. She made the best chocolate chip cookies and I hoped there'd be some in there.

"About time you got here," Trey called out, his longer black hair falling across his green eyes as he cast his line into the water. He was older than me by four years and the leader of our motley gang. "The fish are biting."

"Yeah, we were starting to think you'd forgotten about us," Wade said with a grin. He and I were the same age, although he was a lot taller than me.

"Shut up, you two," Kat retorted, sticking her tongue out as she joined Abby on the blanket. "She was finishing up a lesson on Chester and she did amazing."

I dropped down beside them, my heart swelling with happiness. Not only did I have a very good ride that earned the praise of Mr. Blackburn, but this place, these people—they were my safe haven, a world away from the chaos at home. "What are we eating?" I asked, peeking into the basket.

Lunch at my house would have been a bologna sandwich I would have had to make myself because my mom was too busy watching soap operas.

"All the good stuff," Abby chirped, pulling out sandwiches, fruit and… chocolate chip cookies!

We spent the next hour fishing, eating and laughing. Abby and Kat weren't too keen on the fishing part, but I loved it. Loved all the new experiences hanging with the Blackburns brought me. Sometimes it made me feel guilty, but I always had a deep sense of belonging on the farm and that's something I'd never felt in my own home.

As the sun dipped lower and we munched on cookies, my thoughts drifted back to that morning—my dad, red-faced and screaming, his breath reeking of alcohol. His angry words echoed in my mind and made my stomach roll to the point I couldn't finish my cookie.

"How many times do I have to tell you to leave your fucking shoes on the porch?" he'd yelled at me.

I cringed away from the harsh words, waiting to see if a slap would come, but that morning, he held himself in reserve. It was a rarity, but he'd gotten sidetracked by a call that came in from the printshop. Mom hurried me out of the house and drove me to Blackburn Farms where she dropped me off for the day. The Blackburns were always happy to have me hang around after my lessons. They were the best days of my life.

"Want to cast some, Holland?" Trey hollered, jolting me from the acidic memories of my father's harsh words and my mother's indifference.

I nodded, stuffing the rest of the cookie in my mouth, and jogged to Trey's side. He handed me the pole, already laden with a worm which I appreciated. I cast my line with efficiency.

"Great job," he praised, and I preened.

Memories of my dad were long gone.

Trey was ever observant though and must have noticed something because he asked, "You okay? You seem a bit off."

I forced a smile, not wanting to share my troubles. Really, I was way too embarrassed to ever let anyone in this perfect family know how imperfect mine was. "I'm okay. Why?"

He shrugged as I reeled the line in. "You just seemed sad there for a bit while you were sitting with Abby and Kat."

"Nope," I replied, pulling the hook out of the water and launching another cast, this time farther than the last. "Nothing's wrong."

I risked a glance at him, the afternoon sun making those green Blackburn eyes sparkle. I was only ten and he was fourteen, but oh boy, if my heart didn't beat a little faster.

He looked skeptical but eventually we broke eye contact and he nodded down. "Close your bail and start to reel."

He watched me quietly for another few casts before he spoke again. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

It seemed an odd thing to say and at the same time, I'd expect nothing less of Trey. He always seemed to say the right things.

I nodded, the words caught in my throat. I'd never admit how bad things were at home, how scared I was at times. I was tempted to at least thank him for his kindness because it really did mean a lot.

It meant he cared.

But then my line pulled hard and I jerked up reflexively. "Oh my God."

"Holy shit," Trey exclaimed as the rod bowed. "That's a lunker."

"Keep your tip up," Wade shouted from the other side of the pond as he took off running toward us. "Keep reeling."

Both Wade and Trey coached me through hauling in a massive catfish while Kat and Abby cheered from behind.

No matter how the day had started, when it ended, I recall it being one of the best days of my life.

The realization that warm tears are streaking down my cheeks yanks me out of the memories. I wipe them away, furiously blinking back more that threaten. I can't decide if I'm crying because the past is so bittersweet or because it's finally hitting me that my father is dead. Up ahead, I see the driveway to my childhood home.

The funeral will be in three days and the thought of facing the Blackburns knots my stomach. Funny how it's not the stress of losing my dad or having to spend time with an emotionally absent mother that has frayed my nerves.

It's coming face-to-face with the people who loved me the most all those years ago.

They'll be there, of course.

That's just who they are—loyal, unwavering. I cut them out of my life swiftly, a clean incision that was anything but easy.

But it was necessary.

The pain of that decision, made in the turbulence of my younger years, lingers still and I'm thinking that's where the tears are coming from. I lost a lot when I walked away from that family.

And then there's Trey, the one I dread seeing the most. The one whose memory can still cause my heart to skip a beat, for all the wrong reasons now.

I force myself to stay in the present as I pull into the driveway. Thoughts of my father bring a different ache. The sadness is there, muted by years of distance and disappointment, tempered by relief that his suffering—and in a way, mine—is over. I never came back to visit and my dad never asked me to. I rarely talked to him on those weekly calls I made to my mom, sometimes not able to really hold a conversation with her because of his drunken tirades going on in the background.

One time, in a rare instance of concern for me, my mother whispered into the phone, "Don't ever come back."

That may seem harsh, but it was one of the kindest things she'd ever done for me.

Now, here I am, back in Shelbyville, tasked with sorting through the remnants of a life I thought I'd left behind for good. The headache begins just behind my eyes as I think about what lies ahead—reviewing the state of my dad's business, figuring out how my mother will manage it now or even if she can at all.

I have to treat this visit as a job and keep the emotion out of it. I'm going to pay my respects, come up with a good game plan for my mom and then I'm heading home to Zurich to my carefully constructed existence away from the bittersweet call of the Bluegrass State.