Been There Done That Read online

  Been There Done That

  The Leffersbee Series Book #1

  Hope Ellis

  www.smartypantsromance.com

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.

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  Copyright © 2020 by Smartypants Romance; All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author.

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  Made in the United States of America

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  eBook Edition

  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

  About the Author

  Sneak Peek: The Treble With Men Book #2 in the Scorned Women’s Society by Piper Sheldon

  Also by Smartypants Romance

  “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”

  Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God

  Chapter One

  Nick

  12 Years Ago

  “They should be here soon,” Sheriff James said.

  The hospital intercom overhead came to life, squawking something undecipherable.

  I didn’t stir. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, I was numb. Numb to the squeaking of nurses’ soft-soled shoes that passed outside the open doorway of the family consultation room. Numb to the dreaded hospital smells—both the antiseptic and what they wiped away. Numb to the updates from the doctor with the pitying eyes and the heavy weight of Sheriff James’s stare.

  Even the torn, bleeding flesh of my fingers and knuckles no longer stung. I’d entered an alternate universe, a different reality that mercifully blunted the pain of this one. I could almost believe that my mother wasn’t several hundred feet away in a hospital bay.

  Maybe the past three hours hadn’t happened . . .

  It was an empty hope.

  Just as well. It would be a shame if I had no recollection of the first and only time I’d gone apeshit and done exactly what I wanted to do.

  I could claim I hadn’t known what I was doing—temporary insanity—but the truth was I’d relished every downward swing of that bat as it shattered mirrors, bent chrome, dented metal. I’d been euphoric as I braced myself and tipped over the row of motorcycles, using my legs to finish what the bat started.

  The jarring impact of each blow singing through my arms had almost compensated for an entire year of feeling helpless as I watched my little family capsize into dark waters.

  “They should be here soon,” Sheriff James repeated. He’d sat in the corner for the last hour or so, mostly silent. His face was expressionless, but his voice was warmer than I would’ve expected considering he’d had to fish me out of an enraged mob of Iron Wraith bikers.

  I grunted. I didn’t have the energy to work up any other response. All-consuming rage and sorrow had wrung me out, left me empty.

  As if on cue, there was a flurry of activity in the doorway.

  Ezra and Ellie Leffersbee, faces full of worry, skidded to a stop. They were bizarrely dressed. Mrs. Leffersbee was as undone as I’d ever seen her outside her home. A dark scarf covered her usually perfect hairdo. Grooves from the fabric of a pillowcase were deeply imprinted across one cheek. The hem of a frilly nightgown peeked out from under her coat. Mr. Leffersbee wore mismatched sweats, socks, and sandals. It was not the attire anyone would expect for a bank owner and one of the richest men in the county.

  Seeing them here, people who knew me and cared, brought huge relief. And shame.

  Mrs. Leffersbee said my name in a sleep-roughened voice and started forward, but Sheriff James stood up, raised a hand.

  “Ezra. Ellie. If I could have a minute with you first.”

  Both Leffersbees shot one last glance in my direction before they followed Sheriff James out into the hallway. I lowered my head, unable to meet their gaze. The sight of my bloodied hands filled my vision again. Revulsion churned in my gut. A distant memory pulled at the back of my brain, then registered.

  My father.

  I hadn’t seen him in many years. Not since my mother had finally had enough of him and the tirades that usually accompanied the end of his workday at the mill. Since then, it had just been us, thank God. But I could remember my father in this very position, head bowed with regret, fists bruised. Telling us he’d finally lost his job after getting into a fight with another millworker. Again.

  I spent my entire life fighting against any comparisons to that man and his temper, proving to myself that I would be a better man, was a better man, and had a better future in store.

  And here I was with the same bowed head, mouth salty with the same regret. I’d have to atone for what I’d done, while my mother was at her most vulnerable.

  The life I’d planned with Zora was gone now. I couldn’t be sure that I was actually any different than my father before me. And there was no way, after what I’d done tonight, that I’d make it out of Green Valley unscathed. Never mind the plans we’d made together. Eighteen years old, and in one night, I’d ruined my future.

  Our future.

  How could I even begin to pick up the pieces? Where would my mother and I go next?

  And what were these hands capable of?

  I had to do the right thing, for everyone involved.

  The Leffersbees rushed back in, mouths set in grim lines. Mrs. Leffersbee blinked back tears as she settled in the seat next to me. Her arms went around me, but I was a block of ice—too cold, too stiff to lean into the embrace. Mr. Leffersbee came to a crouch in front of me. His bloodshot gaze met mine.

  “What do you need, son? We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”

  I worked to bring the words up. “Is Zora with you? Does she know?”

  They exchanged glances. “No,” Mrs. Leffersbee said, very quietly. “We didn’t tell any of the kids, we just left as soon as we got the call. The sheriff just filled us in.”

  I nodded, returning my gaze to the floor. Good. I couldn’t do what had to be done with Zora here. If I set eyes on her, I wouldn’t be able to leave her. I had to do what was right.

  The inevitability of this moment and the decision I had to make finally burst the bubble. Suddenly I felt everything. The pain in my ribs, ache in my jaw, hitch in my breathing, dull ache in my chest.

  I couldn’t see Mr. Leffersbee anymore when I finally lifted my gaze, not with the film of tears in my eyes. Someone’s hand re
sted on my knee. I took in a breath and relished the resulting burn. I welcomed the pain. I hoped it stayed with me forever. It would be all that I had left of Zora.

  I ran my forearm against my eyes and met Mr. Leffersbee’s eyes like the man I had to be, and I said the words that would seal my fate.

  Our fate.

  “I need your help.”

  Chapter Two

  Zora

  Present Day

  My brother called the musky, tangy, sharp body-smell after working out eau de sweat, and this description usually cracked me up. Everybody sweats. Everybody stinks after working out. No big deal. I’d like to think I had a good sense of self-deprecating humor about life’s inescapable imperfections.

  Usually.

  But usually, I wasn’t sitting in my office at the university post-gym, wearing my rattiest workout clothes, grimacing at my computer screen like an angry, sweaty, grimacing shrew. And yet, here I was, reading the latest message in my email inbox, and feeling—deep in my bones—all hopes for new grant funding plummet and then die a gratuitously violent death in the canyon of despair. Again. So, the fact that I could smell myself—eau de sweat—filled me with a strange and unreasonable amount of irritation.

  My grandmother Leffersbee used to say, “Life isn’t perfect, but that’s what makes it so interesting.” Then she’d wink before adding, “Do you want interesting? Or do you want boring?”

  Right now? I could use some boring perfection. Just a little. Just a smidge. Please.

  “Zora.” A vaguely familiar-sounding voice said my name from someplace in the vicinity of my office doorway. I ignored it, hoping they’d take my silence as an invitation to go away.

  You’re almost out of time.

  My eyes stung, but I wasn’t going to cry. There is no crying in clinic communication research; there is only more research, more grant applications, more trying, more doing. But, damn, I really thought we had this one in the bag. Folks’ livelihoods depended on it. My tenure, my job, depended on it. Not to mention the research itself was important—so incredibly important.

  “Zora,” that voice said again, firmer this time. Closer.

  Given my present state of mind and eau de sweat fantastique, I couldn’t help barking out, “Now isn’t a good time.”

  The man didn’t respond for a beat, but then once more said, “Zora,” this time with a hint of grit and impatience.

  My glare cut away from the offending rejection email and I opened my mouth to volley something scathingly polite and dismissive, but then every nerve and muscle in my body seized. The clouds outside my office window parted at that very moment, emitting a biblical shaft of light that illuminated my overstuffed bookcases—and the breathtaking specimen of man standing in my office doorway on the fifth floor of the medical research building.

  What the . . . ?

  Shock choked me. I couldn’t breathe. The cracked vinyl of the office chair’s armrests bit into the tender flesh of my palms.

  I recognized him immediately, even though he looked very, very different. All the awkward lankiness and unformed promise of his youth had been ruthlessly fulfilled in the intervening years. But after twelve years of empty, aching absence, of wondering and worrying, of resignation and sadness . . . he was here.

  Was he real?

  “I thought . . . I thought you were dead.” The whispered words left my mouth at the same time they formed in my brain.

  Nick Armstrong stood silent and unmoving, a stolid sentry, looking at me. Just . . . looking.

  The width of his shoulders filled the doorway, leaving a scant space between his head and the doorframe. I couldn’t help devouring the sight of him, half-wondering if he were a mirage. Despite being as fashion challenged as I was, I easily identified the perfect fit of a bespoke suit, noting how the high-quality fabric closely followed the muscled bulk of his shoulders and arms. The unassuming dark jacket, white dress shirt, and trousers did little to hide his tapered waist and well-developed thighs.

  His hulking presence alone ensnared my attention, but his face arrested it. He was striking. Thick, ink-black hair just starting to curl over his collar matched the dark stubble shadowing his square jaw. His slightly off-center nose, likely the result of a break, ruined the pure symmetry of his features. But his eyes were a startling shade of green, the same showy, verdant hue of summer leaves under an ominously gunmetal sky.

  So unsettlingly familiar. And yet . . . No, it couldn’t be him. There was no way it was Nick. Not after all these years.

  This isn’t possible.

  I lurched up and made a spectacle of myself as I struggled to stand. Panic weighted my feet. Disbelief severed any connection with my brain’s higher processing, leaving me stuck to my chair with my mouth hanging ajar. “Letting in flies,” as my grandma Leffersbee would have said.

  I blinked back confusion as I stared at him, captured by a whisper, an echo of a memory. “Who . . . ?”

  His mouth moved, like maybe he was going to introduce himself. But instead, he repeated my name for a fourth time, “Zora . . .”

  This voice was different from the Nick I had loved. Deeper. But the way he said my name, slowly, as if savoring the taste of something rich? I could never forget that.

  It is him.

  Any remaining oxygen in the room dissipated. A carousel of memories whirled through my mind at a blurring speed. We’d known each other our entire lives until we didn’t, until he’d disappeared. We’d planned to elope, to make what we knew in our hearts official. Legal. There’d been a time when I was incapable of imagining a life without him.

  I still remembered our last words. I remembered the last time he kissed me.

  Why now?

  “You thought I was dead?” Nick’s dark brows inched toward his hairline as he finally spoke something other than my name. “Or you wished it?”

  That statement, and the familiar smirk kicking up one side of his mouth, gave me the strength to push to my feet, to come back to myself somewhat. No, I hadn’t wished him dead, but seeing him here now, alive and obviously just fine? I didn’t know how to feel.

  Trembling, I braced myself against my desk with one hand. “What . . . what are you doing here?” I managed to iron some of the breathy quality from my voice.

  His confidence seemed to slip for just a second at my wavering. He took a small, hesitant step forward. “Z. Are you okay?”

  I held up my hand to halt his progress. My mind was stuck between gears, backfiring, unable to acclimate to this new truth. The current reality. That it was indeed the Nick I knew, standing there, nonchalant, as if an ocean of time hadn’t passed. As if he hadn’t just disappeared.

  Why now?

  “All this time,” I managed to croak, “and now, years later, you just . . . show up.” I bit the inside of my lip. Hold the line, Zora. You will not fall apart over this—or any—man. Not now. Not here. Not ever. “You disappeared,” I said, mostly to remind myself of his betrayal, and my voice grew stronger, underlaid with the faintest bit of steel. “Without a single word. Nothing but that stupid letter.”

  I’d thrown it away and discarded any thoughts of that past. I had moved on. I’ve moved on. He means nothing.

  Perhaps reading the thoughts on my face, he looked away, his jaw working, but whatever he’d planned to say was interrupted by muffled footsteps and voices echoing in the corridor. Nick glanced behind him and then back to me. A tic pulsed under his right eye. “Zora.” Air seemed to seep from him as his shoulders sagged. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Not like this. I tried—”

  “There you are!” Over-bright chirping I recognized all too well reached us, accompanied by the strident staccato of high heels.

  Baffled, I craned my neck to see behind him. What in the world is going on?

  Nick leaned forward. “I wanted to talk to you. Just the two of us.” His voice was tight, his delivery urgent.

  “We thought we’d lost you, Mr. Rossi.” The owners of the disembodied voices mate
rialized at my office door, as three of Tennessee State University’s highest-ranking administrators stood in a half-circle behind Nick.

  “Dr. Leffersbee, you’re here!” Nellie Abrams, Director of Development, stepped forward with her customary toothy grin. “We were just taking our new friend on a tour.”

  This couldn’t get any worse.

  Nick flinched as her red acrylic nails settled on his sleeve as though they were talons. She gifted him with a blinding smile. If I wasn’t already convinced that God had blessed her with more teeth than the standard set of thirty-two, that smile would have cinched it.

  “Yes. Here I am,” I said the words robotically, my chest filled with cement. I’d seen this dog and pony show before. Hell, I’d been the pony. But what were they doing with Nick?

  What alternate universe had I stumbled into?

  Nellie’s smile wilted at my deadpan tone. “Well, we certainly didn’t intend to interrupt. I didn’t expect you to be here.” Her gaze traveled over my third best pair of exercise leggings and the faded Tennessee State University lettering on my oversized shirt. “Campus is always a ghost town this time on a weekday.” She flicked a sidelong glance at Nick. “Just goes to show you how hardworking our faculty is.” She nudged his arm with her own, a somehow intimate gesture.