I finish off my soda as our waitress sets down another.
“I’m going to take a piss,” I say.
After I relieve myself of the two Cokes I already drank, I head back to our table. Link is standing from his chair and laying a wad of cash down.
“What’s up?”
“Uh, I was thinking we could go back to my place and watch the game.”
“Why would we do that? You still have that crappy small television, and we have free refills here. Hell, I might even want more food before the night is over.”
Sighing, he sits back down and scratches his head, messing up his sandy hair. That was strange.
My eyes are bouncing between a couple of different games airing. The room is loud from the dozen or so TVs hanging on the walls throughout.
One goes to a commercial break, and right when I begin to take my eyes off of it, I catch sight of a body and hair that look familiar. My head whips back, and there is Becca. Fucking Becca is on TV, visibly upset.
“Shit,” Link says.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Dude, I tried to get you out of here. I saw it on another channel.”
My heart’s on the floor, having jumped through my chest. I’m staring at my girl, watching her talk to Clay, and both of them appear distraught. I can’t hear the sound, but words are trailing across the bottom of the screen.
Clay Carlton Jr. was spotted with the same unidentified woman he’s been photographed with on multiple occasions.
Is he whisking her away for a romantic weekend to mend a troubled relationship?
Does this mean the late Senator’s son finally ended his heartbreaking relationship with Alice Sommerfeld?
“Wait. Are they at the fucking airport?” I shout.
“It looks like it to me. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Shoving my chair back, I let out a stream of cuss words. I want to dump this table over, and I can’t help but picture Clay on the other side of it, waiting to be punched in the face.
As soon as we’re in the parking lot, I toss Link my keys.
“Drive for me,” I say before I pull my phone from my jeans pocket and hit Everett’s name.
“Hey, bro,” he says.
“Put Reese on the phone.”
“Alright … We had a feeling you’d call. I guess you were watching the game, too.”
“Yeah, and I saw Becca at the airport with that fucker Clay.”
“Here she is.”
“Hi, Travis,” she says with trepidation in her voice.
“Where the hell is he taking her?”
“That footage was actually from earlier today. He took her to D.C.”
“Did she have this planned and didn’t tell me?”
“No. He sprung it on her. She texted me that she told him about you. He left her alone upset, but then she texted a little later that they were still going.”
“Just fucking great, and what did they mean when they mentioned this Alice woman? Does he have a recent ex? What if he still loves her and is using Becca to gain attention for his election or some shit?”
“Travis, calm down. I don’t know anything about his past relationships, and just because they’re away together doesn’t mean things are good between them.”
“Well, he’s obviously not dumping her if he’s still taking her there.”
“Is that what you want? For him to end things with her?”
I growl, angry that I feel so out of control.
“No. I want her to pick me because I’m who she’s choosing to spend her life with.”
“Then don’t text or call her while she’s there. She’s under enough stress, and once she sees herself on the news, she’s going to flip, so show her maturity, Trav. It’s what she needs to witness from you.”
I blow out a loud breath. “Fine. I won’t call or text her, but it’s going to be the longest weekend of my life.”
“Then you and Franklin come over here and hang out with us. We’ll keep you occupied, and Monday will be here before you know it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Becca
Clay is silent as we ride to his apartment in D.C. Once he proclaimed he’d fight for me at the airport, he had few words to say.
We noticed people in the area staring at us, and some even had their phones pointing our direction, so we sat quietly until we boarded the plane.
As promised, he pampered me, making me as comfortable as possible with drinks, snacks, and a pillow and blanket. His kindness and thoughtfulness are irrefutable.
Once we were in the air, I played on my phone, and he fell asleep. Now, hours later, he’s still stewing, his frustration evident in his sighs, fidgeting and physical distance.
We’re in another sleek black car he says belongs to a chauffeur service. I entwine our hands and take hold of his chin to bring it my direction.
“I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you. I never intended for this to happen. Can we please enjoy our time together? I’m here to give my attention to you, not him, so please don’t think about him, either.”
His fingers slip into my hair, and he pulls me close.
“I don’t want to lose you. I can’t pretend I’m not worried and jealous, but I’ll try.” He kisses my forehead and my cheek, and as if he’s afraid I’ll reject him, his mouth only hovers over mine.
I lean up and press my lips to his. Mine open to him, showing I desire his affection. Getting the signal that it’s OK to kiss and touch me, he clicks open his seatbelt and scoots over closer.
His hand grips my waist as he deepens our kiss. His tongue is harsh, and he begins groping my breast, even with the driver in front. This aggressive side of Clay is catching me off guard.
Pulling his hand down from my chest, I shift away to breathe.
“Driver,” I mumble.
“I’m sorry, but I need to feel that you still want me, especially if it could be the last time you do.”
How could I ever break this man’s heart?
I cup his cheek, and my head slants as I regard him.
“I feel guilty enough, and then you say something profound like that.”
“Don't feel bad, but please figure out what you want soon.” His hand laces with mine, and we’re silent. I loved him kissing and touching me, but I’m confused as hell beyond that. I can’t find other words to comfort him.
His place is on East Capitol Street, and because of its close proximity to the bustling area of the Capitol, I’m surprised how quaint the community is with its charming homes and small businesses.
The driver drops us off and even carries our bags to the door. Clay has a ground-floor apartment, so we go right in.
As he tips the driver, I look around the space. There is a kitchenette barely big enough to cook in and a small living room. I eye the short hallway to the left before Clay approaches.
“You’re surprised over how small it is.”
“I am surprised. I guess I thought a senator would have a bigger apartment.”
“Not in D.C. You wouldn’t believe the price tag on even this size of a place.” Picking up our bags, he starts toward the hallway, so I follow behind him.
We pass a tiny bathroom on the right and then a modest bedroom. There’s a dresser and a full-size bed inside but not much else. The room is plain with little décor.
“My father allowed other Capitol Hill workers to sleep in here when needed, or my siblings and I would during our visits.”
Clay enters a door on the left and sets our bags down at the end of a queen-size bed. He removes his blazer and lays it over a chair in the corner. This bedroom is larger, but not by much. It too is fairly plain.
“There’s enough space in this apartment to sleep, eat and shower, and that’s what counts,” I say with a smile. “It’s bigger than the one I shared with Molly.”
“Molly. She’s the one who died in the accident this summer, correct?”
“Yes.” I pad over to a window and look out.
Turning to him, I cross my arms.
“Have you told me everything about your past?”
“Becca, I’m only pressing you about this because it’s not good for you to keep it bottled up.”
“So, you do have secrets.”
“There are no secrets–only a past.”
“OK, then same here.”
He sighs and strolls over to me. Taking my cheeks in his hands, he places a soft kiss on my lips.
“I don’t want to argue, and I won’t bring it up again, but please remember I’m here for you if you ever wish to discuss it.” He smiles and grabs my hand. “Come. I have some things for you.”
He pulls me down the hall and to the living room. On the wooden coffee table are three white boxes that are each maybe six inches high. They’re square and stacked, and a few gift bags are resting on the floor next to them.
“All but one of these gifts are from my mother.”
“May bought me all of these? What are they for?”
“Open them, and you’ll see.”
Sitting on the tan leather sofa with Clay, I lift the lid off the top box and pull back the white tissue paper. I stare in awe at the gorgeous wine-colored fabric.
“Let me see it,” he says.
Standing, I pull the article of clothing from the box and hold it up. It’s a long evening gown made up of a sequined bodice and flowing silk beyond that.
“It’s exquisite,” I murmur as my fingers feel along the expensive material.
“There are more dresses in the other boxes. She said these should hold you over until the two of you can go shopping together. She insists you’ll be making a day of it.”
My eyes glance to the bags at my feet.
“Those are for you to open next.”
Once I’ve admired the two other gowns, one black and one silver, I begin looking in the bags. There are pairs of heels to match each.
“How did she know my size?”
“I took a peek at your clothes the last time they were on my floor.” Thinking back to the last few occasions we were intimate, I blush. “The smaller pink bag is from me.”
I pick it up by the black ribbon handles and sit back down. Inside is a long black velvet box.
Taking a slow breath, I pull it from the bag, and the box makes a popping noise when I open it in the otherwise quiet room.
A silver necklace is inside, and Clay helps me take it out. The chain is simple, but what hangs from it is eye-catching. It’s a pear-shaped pendant filled with a cluster of small diamonds.
“Clay, it’s gorgeous and too much.”
“I haven’t given you a single gift until now, and you’ve asked for nothing, which shows how exceptional you are. This is only the beginning if you’ll have me.”
“It’s lovely,” I whisper. Sliding a hand around his neck, I bring him toward me and kiss him passionately, adding a heap of appreciation through a whimper.
Removing the box from my hand, I hear him set it on the table. He grabs hold of my hips and pulls on them until I straddle him.
In the past, Clay’s been reserved with me, but the leader in him is at the forefront today, ready to win. He’s eager and desperate, his groans raw, and as his fingers splay over my ass and squeeze hard, he’s winning my vote.
I rock against his cock that’s stiff behind his jeans. He growls, and I moan while fisting his hair, our kiss so fierce his wire glasses rake my face.
“I have to fuck you before dinner,” he exhales huskily.
“Clay.”
“I’ve held back with you, Becca, but no more. Maybe I haven’t shown you enough how much I want you. I’ve been waiting over a decade to experience this again … This passion, this freedom, and this kind of love. I’ve been afraid of letting go completely, but I’m ready now.”
My body tenses, and I push against his chest.
“Freedom. Wait, what? And what do you mean by a decade?”
Clay’s head turns away from me, so I grab his chin and bring it back. “Why in the world hasn’t someone like you been dating?”
“It’s complicated and doesn’t matter anymore.” Clutching my hands together, he holds them between us. “We’re the present, sweetheart, and all I see is the future we could build together: careers, success, travel and a family.
“I’ll buy you the home of your dreams in Georgia and one here in D.C. if you’d like. I want to make lifelong plans with you, Rebecca Abbott.”
Falling over, I lay my head on his shoulder and breathe harshly against his neck. Our hearts are pounding, our desire still fighting for the attention, but I’m distracted by his ambitious confession and kind disposition.
He’s a master of cordialness; a useful skill to win an election. Is this all an act? Is he trying to piece his life together perfectly to create an image?
No, that’s ridiculous. He would’ve picked someone scholarly with a pristine pedigree. I’m reading too much into his sincerity. I sit up and gaze at him.
“You’re sweet, and I adore our time together. I feel safe, loved and desired.”
“But …”
“There is no ‘but.’ You’re an incredible man.”
Smirking, he brushes hair from my face.
“You raise my blood pressure, young lady, but I welcome the excitement … the unknown, but I also meant what I said about the plans. I want to make them with you.”
He presses a faint kiss to my neck. “And as much as I want to ravish you right here in this living room, I can’t, or we’ll be late.”
“Late for what?”
“Your next surprise. You need to pick one of those gowns and put it on. I’m taking you to dinner and to the symphony this evening. Then, if you’re not wiped out, we’re having drinks with a few of my friends. It’s time you meet some of them.”
“Wow, that’s a lot to take in.”
“I have to do some campaigning in a few small towns in Georgia tomorrow, so I’ll get you home early to rest up.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Travis
Since Reese insisted I come over, Franklin and I have joined them to watch the game. I’m stuffing my face again with food so I don’t numb my nerves with alcohol. I hate that I still think about beer when I’m anxious.
I’m trying my damndest to keep my focus on football, but everything I saw on TV at the restaurant keeps replaying in my head.
I’m pissed Becca went out of town with Clay, but more than anything, I’m feeling protective of her. If he’s using Becca to further his career, I’ll beat the shit out of him. I’ll hunt him down and destroy him, and I’ll invite every news channel to witness it.
His heartbreaking relationship with Alice Sommerfeld …
What did the media mean by heartbreaking?
The game goes to a commercial after the third quarter, so I dig my phone out of my pocket and pull up Google on the internet. I’m getting to the bottom of this.
First I type in Clay Carlton Jr. and hit the images button. I scroll through the never-ending photos, and I’m surprised to find few of him with women.
Clicking on one, I read that it’s a picture of his sister. I continue scrolling until a photo jumps out at me. It’s of a young woman who has a striking resemblance to Becca.
She’s in a cap and gown, standing with an older couple that I’m suspecting are her parents. Clicking on the photo, I find a link to a newspaper article. I read it, and it’s tragic.
Damn. The photo is of Alice Sommerfeld, and the article is about a traumatic brain injury she suffered after a fall off of a balcony in Miami, Florida.
It states she was twenty-four at the time of the fall, so I’m guessing the photo of her is from her college graduation.
The article is dated only two days after her accident, so it doesn’t give much information of her condition. I decide to search her name instead of Clay’s, and several pictures
of them surface.
He’s much younger, standing close to her in every photo, and it looks like they’re posing at social functions.
A headshot of them together intrigues me, so I click on it and learn it’s an engagement announcement. A date catches my eye, so I go back to the article about Alice’s fall.
Holy shit. The date of her fall is only two weeks before their wedding day.
“Are you going to play on that phone all night or watch the game?” Everett asks.
“This is more important.”
“What the hell are you doing over there?” Franklin’s inquiring now, always aware when I’m up to no good, but this could be critical in Becca and Clay’s relationship, or whatever the fuck you want to call it.
“I’m researching Clay’s past. I’m going to be sure Becca doesn’t get some bomb dropped on her. He doesn’t need to be pulling her into his political bullshit.”
No one replies, and I figure it’s because they can hear in the tone of my voice that I’m not going to tolerate any advice at the moment.
I go back to the images of Alice and scroll farther down the page. There is one with a woman in a wheelchair, but I can’t tell who it is because Clay is standing next to her blocking the view. All I can see is the long blond hair hanging down her back.
I click on it, and it’s another article.
Clay Carlton Jr. and Alice Sommerfeld make their first public appearance after the tragic accident she suffered while vacationing in Miami Beach only weeks before their scheduled wedding.
Will Mr. Carlton Jr. wed Ms. Sommerfeld, uniting their powerful and wealthy families, or will her lifelong disabilities be a deal breaker for Senator Carlton’s son?
“Reese, how old is Clay?”
“Thirty-five,” she replies from the opposite end of the couch.
Everett, sitting between us turns his head and shakes it at me.
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Shut up. I’m finding good stuff here, and I bet Becca knows nothing about it. Reese, did Becs ever mention Clay having a disabled fiancée?”
She leans over so she can see me.
Fail to Trust (The Casteel Trust Series Book 2) Page 18