My Unexpected Hope 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

  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

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PRAISE FOR MY HOPE NEXT DOOR

  “My Hope Next Door is a pitch-perfect romance and beautifully crafted story of second chances in a town where rumors travel quickly and reputations seem written in stone. Although Katie is a flawed and hurting character, her grace-filled transformation will make you root for her every moment and treat you with a sigh-worthy ending.”

  —Connilyn Cossette, award-winning author of the Out from Egypt series

  “Tammy L. Gray is a must-read author for me. Powerful storytelling and exquisite characterisation mark her stories, and My Hope Next Door doesn’t buck the trend. I soaked up the authentic challenges that Katie and Asher experienced in their journey toward God and each other.”

  —Rel Mollet, writer of RelzReviewz.com and an INSPY Awards advisory board member

  “My Hope Next Door contains all the vital elements of great storytelling—conflict, tension, romance, and a fabulous resolve. Make sure you add this one to the top of your list.”

  —Nicole Deese, award-winning author of the Love in Lenox series.

  “This beautiful story of forgiveness and second chances will stay with you long after you turn the last page. My Hope Next door is Tammy L. Gray’s very best yet!”

  —Amy Matayo, bestselling author of The Thirteenth Chance and The Wedding Game

  ALSO BY TAMMY L. GRAY

  My Hope Next Door

  Sell Out

  Mercy’s Fight

  Winsor Series

  Shattered Rose

  Shackled Lily

  Splintered Oak

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2017 by Tammy L. Gray

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Waterfall Press, Grand Haven, MI

  www.brilliancepublishing.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Waterfall Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542045797

  ISBN-10: 1542045797

  Cover design by Jason Blackburn

  For my beautiful sister, Angel.

  You’re my rock, my shining example,

  and one of the best people I know.

  Thank you for always believing in me.

  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

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  Moonlight leaked through the dirt-splotched windows of Joe’s Bar, its silvery rays glinting off the tumbler in front of Laila Richardson’s saddest customer. She’d seen his type too often to be surprised when he tapped the empty glass for a refill. Silently, she switched out his drink for a fresh one and noted the transaction on his open tab.

  The man was like many others who sat alone with their heads hung low and drank until last call. Each one had a story. For most, heartbreak ruled their actions. For some, they’d lost a friend, a family member, or a piece of themselves. And for a few, self-destruction reigned with a never-ending appetite.

  Laila understood their stories because hers had encompassed all three versions, only she wasn’t pouring drinks down her throat to numb the pain. No, her fate was far worse. She stood on the other side, serving the very poison that had destroyed her marriage.

  Perseverance was what she’d called her loyalty to the bar and to her small town of Fairfield, Georgia. But in truth, she’d built a prison with walls of familiarity and steel doors of fear. And now she remained captive in a job she no longer enjoyed, in a town that refused to see beyond her last name, in an existence as empty as her home.

  Laila eyed the faces she’d known for years. Young Billie Huff with his two best friends in the corner. He asked her to marry him every time he walked into the bar, and every time, she reminded him that she used to babysit him in high school.

  Cantankerous Barney Richardson, dressed in dusty jeans and work boots, surrounded by his entourage of employees. He sat front and center every Wednesday. Partly because he considered himself the axis of everyone’s world, but mostly to throw daggered stares at his ex-niece-in-law, aka her. His scowl lines deepened with every frown, aging him well past his fifty-seven years.

  And then there was Charity Ayola, the new waitress with Kool-Aid-red hair and an eyebrow ring. She flirted with anyone who might throw a few dollars her way, which was now a trio of men who were on their fourth round. Charity hadn’t noticed Barney’s calloused hand in the air or the frustrated tap of his fingers on the sticky laminate table. If she didn’t get his order soon, Joe would have to talk down one of his most faithful customers—a sight Laila had witnessed way too many times.

  Her shift at the bar had become as stale and routine as the people inside it.

  Grabbing chilled glasses, Laila filled each one with the cheap draft beer Barney had ordered earlier—a common purchase for the factory workers who made up most of Joe’s clientele. Some were great tippers. Barney, unfortunately, was not.

  The phone rang from the back of the bar, and Charity looked up long enough for Laila to catch her attention a
nd point to Barney’s table. Charity shrugged and turned back to her admirers.

  Swallowing her frustration, Laila jerked the cordless receiver from the wall.

  “Joe’s Bar, can I help you?”

  Silence.

  “Hello? Hello? Hello?”

  Still nothing. She wasn’t surprised; they’d been getting a string of hang-ups over the last few months.

  More irritated than she’d been before, Laila slammed down the receiver and loaded a tray with Barney’s drinks, resigned to finish the job Charity had been hired to do.

  “Here you go,” she said with a practiced smile, setting a glass of cold beer in front of each of the four men at the table.

  Barney didn’t bother with a thanks. His familiar green eyes—like chips of painted glass—glared at the neglectful waitress in the corner. “Joe needs to fire that girl.”

  “You’ll have to take your complaints up with him.” Laila refilled the tray with their empty glassware and slipped away before those eyes played tricks with her heart. They were the same ones her ex-husband had. The same ones all the Richardson men shared.

  The tears she’d been fighting all night begged for release, but she had no intention of letting Barney, of all people, see her break.

  Her divorce from Chad had been finalized on February twelfth, a year ago today. She’d filed the papers as a wake-up call, a last resort to pull him from the edge and force him back into rehab. But life never took the path she wanted. After being served, he’d called her from Atlanta and asked for more time, promising to once again get his life together. That day was the last time she’d spoken to him. The last time he’d cared enough to reach out and beg her to take him back. She’d waited a month after his phone call to see if he’d come home and contest the petition. He never did, and after forty-five days of silence, the judge granted her a default divorce.

  Unfortunately, the stack of documents severing legal ties to her first and only love had done nothing to end the lingering grief. Grief so crippling that on days like today, she began to doubt whether she’d ever be truly whole again.

  Sighing, Laila stared out the window, past dimly lit Main Street, to a time when life and love seemed so simple.

  “Hurry. I have to get back before my dad notices I’m gone,” Chad says, pulling my hand and dragging me through the trees. It’s dusk, and we don’t have a flashlight with us. I’m a little scared, but I don’t want him to know because he already thinks I’m a sissy girl, and our best friend, Katie, is so brave that I feel stupid.

  “Where are we going?” I shuffle my feet faster so I can get closer to him and feel his warmth. Chad is bigger than most thirteen-year-olds and so much bigger than me that he makes me feel protected and safe.

  “It’s a surprise.” He glances over his shoulder and grins at me. My stomach flips a little. It’s been doing that lately whenever he’s around, and I’m not sure why. I told Katie, and she said I’m gross and that Chad is like our brother. But I don’t feel like his sister, and when I found out Jenny Harper asked him to the dance, I wanted to punch her in her big fat face. I didn’t, but Katie said she would if I wanted her to.

  Chad stops at a big tree with wood slats hammered in the side. I look up and see a tree house with a door and two windows. He’s so excited. I feel excited too, so I climb, even though the wood scratches my hand. The inside is so huge, I can almost stand, but Chad has to duck and bend his big body over. It’s kind of cute.

  “How did you find this place?” I ask when we both sit cross-legged in front of each other.

  “I got lucky, I guess. I come here a lot when Dad’s on a rampage.” His face falls when he talks about his dad, and I take his hand. I know how he feels.

  He stares at my hand and then laces his fingers with mine. “Laila, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  He pauses, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him nervous around me. I don’t like it. He takes my other hand too. “Will you, um, be my girlfriend?”

  “Your girlfriend?” I’m so surprised I don’t have time to control my voice, and he flings my hands away.

  “Just forget it. You like Bobby, don’t you? He said you did. He said he was going to kiss you.” He starts to stand, but I’m able to stop him.

  “Chad. I don’t want to kiss Bobby. I don’t want to kiss anyone but you.” I think about it and I mean it. “Not ever.”

  He smiles at me again, and it’s one I haven’t seen before. One he’s never given to Katie or any other girl, and I feel so special.

  “Can I kiss you now?”

  I nod because I’m nervous. The only kissing I’ve seen is what my mom does with her boyfriends, and it’s gross. But somehow I know it won’t be gross with Chad.

  He leans toward me, and it’s definitely not gross. It’s soft and gentle. He tastes like gummy bears, and I’m pretty sure the feeling in my stomach is never going to go away. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m going to love him for the rest of my life.

  Laila pushed the memories from her head and trekked back to the bar, each step heavier and harder than the last. Chad had been the holder of her dreams, her hopes, her future. And he’d also been the greatest pain she’d ever known in her life.

  “You’re overthinking again, aren’t you?” Joe’s soothing tone came with a shoulder squeeze.

  Laila’s heart squeezed as well. She’d been wrong. Perseverance wasn’t why she’d worked as a bartender for almost a decade. Joe was. He was more than just her boss—he was the father she never had.

  “Reflecting is more like it.” It had become their unspoken agreement—to not mention her ex. But she didn’t have to say Chad’s name for Joe to know the significance of today’s date on the calendar. Her ex-husband would always be an echo in this town.

  Rubbing his white beard, Joe leaned a hip against the counter. “How’s that going for you?”

  She would have laughed except for the lone tear that escaped down her cheek. With a flick of her fingers, it was gone. Starting would mean she’d never stop, and Laila had already shed too many tears over a man who couldn’t love her more than his addiction.

  Joe’s hand covered hers, and he gave her the same sad, pitying look the entire town seemed to have memorized. She hated that look. It was why she’d begun shopping ten miles away in Burchwood, why she’d found a church there too, instead of going to Fellowship with Katie, why she hadn’t mentioned to anyone that she’d met someone special, and, despite tonight’s breakdown, why she was taking the first steps toward moving on with her life.

  “I’m okay, Joe. Really.” Today was just another dark day, but at least they had been coming less and less frequently. Something had healed inside her when Katie came back to Fairfield after being gone for so long. Maybe it was finally hearing the truth behind why she’d left in the first place, or maybe it was seeing the transformation her best friend had made in the process.

  “You sure?” Joe asked, giving her hand another squeeze before letting go. “You can go home if you need to.”

  Going home was the exact opposite of what she needed. She’d just sit on the couch she’d picked out with Chad or lay on the bed they’d shared as husband and wife. “I’m fine. Besides, who would play interference? Charity isn’t making your regulars too happy.”

  Joe watched as his newest hire continued to ignore the rest of the floor in favor of one table. “Yeah. I may have overestimated her potential.”

  “Well, they can’t all be me: bartender extraordinaire.” She smiled a real smile that time because, as sad as it was, her job was the only thing Laila felt totally confident in. It was the one thing she’d never failed at.

  “And humble too.”

  She twisted a towel and snapped it at his leg. “Watch it, old man.”

  “Fifty-three is not old, little girl. I can still take down half the men in this bar.”

  And he could, even at a meager five foot eight. No one messed with Joe. That was why they’d never hired a bouncer. J
oe commanded a respect most men spent their entire life trying to obtain.

  He picked up a rack of dirty glasses and balanced it on the edge of the counter. “Hey, before I forget, I got a strange call today from a Mrs. Harrington about a lease in Burchwood? She wanted to confirm your employment.”

  Laila casually wiped the already-clean Formica with a bar towel. She’d known it was possible that the homeowner would call but had been hoping the lady would wait a little longer. At least until she’d found the courage to tell Joe herself. “My lease has been up for a while now, and I was thinking it might be time to let the house go.”

  He flinched with surprise, the rack slipping a little in his hand. He pushed it back securely onto the counter. “You’re leaving Fairfield?”

  “No . . . I mean, yes. But Burchwood is only fifteen minutes away. I’d still work here.” For a little while longer, at least. But she’d deal with dropping that bomb when she had to.

  “But then you’d have a commute down back roads in the middle of the night. That isn’t safe.”

  “I know, but this new house . . .” She sighed, the memory so vivid, she could feel the shiplap beneath her fingertips. “It’s like a picturesque cottage, with bright yellow shutters and three small gardens.”

  She wouldn’t mention the other reason she wanted to move, especially since that reason was a guy Joe knew nothing about. She’d met Ben at the church in Burchwood the first time she’d gone. He was also divorced and had a six-year-old son, who stayed with him every other week. And while her relationship with Ben was only a few months old, it was . . . nice. Ben was reliable and steady. Qualities she’d forgotten existed.

  Joe’s brows pressed together. “You really don’t think Chad is ever coming home, do you?”

  Laila closed her eyes briefly, hating that hearing his name still made her breath hitch. “It’s not about him. It’s about me, for once.” Her voice turned pleading, only because Joe’s opinion mattered more than anyone’s. “I’ve loved him my whole life, Joe. Is it wrong for me to want more?” She’d been a faithful wife. She’d supported him through his mother’s sudden death, through his overdose, through three stints in rehab after Katie left town. Even after he ran off to Atlanta, she’d waited months before filing for divorce. At some point, she had to let go of a childhood dream.