“Well, isn’t he a saint?” I swipe the paper from her and stare at the photo. “When I was taking her home from our date last night, she gave me the impression she had a bad time on her trip with Clay, but this photo says otherwise.”
“It’s a picture of them at a bar with Clay’s friends, so she was likely just smiling, being polite. Don’t read too much into it.”
My eyes flit over the article until I read a line that makes my blood boil. The paper crinkles up in my fist.
“Is she going to this damn event with him?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her, but tread lightly, Travis.”
“Yeah, whatever.” I stomp away, restless for some answers.
Becca
Travis storms into my office without knocking.
“Hi,” I say. He slaps down a newspaper in front of me.
“Want to explain the fun time you had last weekend?”
“No. It’s really none of your business.”
“After last night it’s still none of my business, huh?”
“It’s not what you think. I met Clay’s friends, so I was being friendly.”
“It also says you’re going to this charity event with him. Tell me you’re going to cancel.”
“No, I’m not canceling.”
His hands thread behind his neck, feet pace, and if breaths heave from his chest much longer, he’s going to hyperventilate. This theatrical performance could win Travis an Oscar.
“Look at me,” I order. He stops pacing and faces me. “I agreed to accompany him weeks ago. He holds this event yearly, and it’s heavily publicized.
“If I don’t show up with him, the media is going to focus on why he’s there without me instead of focusing on what’s important. This cause means everything to him and also helps with his campaign. I can’t let him down.”
“Why is it so important to him? Tell me what reason he gave you.” His eyes are scrutinizing, yet I see a touch of humor in them.
“He said he had a friend in college who suffered a traumatic brain injury, so I refuse to be the reason less awareness is brought to this cause.”
His eyes relay his disappointment, a look of defeat flickering around them.
“We shared something indescribable last night. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel it in your head, your heart, and your body. I told you to say yes to us, and I thought you gave me your answer when you asked me to make love to you.”
His eyes sparkle like glass as tears blanket them. “You didn’t let my hand go the entire way home after, so I thought you weren’t letting my heart go, either.”
My head lowers in shame, a cry climbing its way to the surface.
“Clay’s a good man, and I don’t know how to tell him goodbye.”
“You don’t love him, Becca. You never have, and you never will, but I’m beginning to think my love would never be enough, either.”
A desperation to alleviate his pain has me jumping from my chair and hurrying to him. I grab his face and hold it close.
“Don’t say that. I do love you.”
“You told me what happened this summer wasn’t my fault, but you don’t believe that yourself.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Bullshit. I wasn’t there comforting you after the accident and miscarriage, so you believe you can’t count on me the way you can count on him.”
He yanks my hands down from his face. “I can’t go back in time and make it right, and the word sorry obviously isn’t cutting it, so I’m withdrawing from the race. Clay wins.”
In a beat, he leaves me alone. I run after him, chasing him down the hallway and through the store.
“Travis!” Customers turn to look at us, but I don’t care. I love him, and I’m not living my life without him. “Travis, wait!” He tears out the front glass door, and it almost hits my face. I push it back open and run out.
“Don’t go. I’ll tell Clay it’s over!”
“I don’t want your damn pity vote. You obviously don’t know what the hell you want!”
Jumping inside his truck, he turns over the ignition. I pound on his window, our rolls reversed, but he won’t look at me.
Sobbing and shouting, I yank on the door handle over and over as a dire need to get inside his vehicle consumes me.
“Let me in. Let me fix this!”
Everything surrounding me dissolves away while panic and fear inundate me. I’m unable to exhale inside this black tunnel where I see only Molly’s burning body in front of me.
Her bloodcurdling screams reverberate in my mind, until the trenchant absence of them are unbearable. The busy street noises and shouts from strangers fill the void.
My nose breathes in the stench of gas, and tire rubber and burnt flesh, but someone’s stopping me from getting to her.
“Let me go! I have to get in and save Molly! Don’t die, Molly. Please don’t go!”
I’m jerking on the door handle with all my strength until I’m plucked from my spot. “Get off of me. I have to get to Molly!”
“Becca, Becca, that’s Travis, not Molly. Listen to me,” someone says. Spinning me around, Franklin’s eyes bore into mine. He’s inches away from me, giving me a pleading look as he shelters my cheeks.
“It’s Travis. OK? It’s not Molly. She’s not in pain anymore, sweetheart.”
I’m turned back the opposite direction, and Travis envelops me in his arms. Breathing in the scent of him on his shirt, I begin to calm.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. God, I’m so fucking sorry,” he says.
“Let her go, Travis,” Reese commands.
“Give us a minute,” he pleads as he strokes my hair and holds me close.
Reese soon pulls me to her side, and the tug-of-war I’ve been a participant in for months continues.
“But she’s not OK,” Travis exclaims.
“She will be, but this is too much stress for her. I’m taking her to my place to rest.” Reese leads me toward her car and away from my future. Maybe Travis wasn’t the only one punishing himself for the events from the summer.
Travis
The knock on my front door stirs me, but I ignore it. The pounding continues, so I yank my pillow out from under me and put it over my head. The knocking stops, and I settle into my bed again.
“Get the hell up. We need to talk,” Everett says. I roll over and look at him.
“I want my damn key back.”
“When you can act like an adult for an extended length of time, I might consider it.”
Sitting up, I brush my hair back with my hands.
“What do you want?”
“I’m saving you from misery like you did for me when I was a dumbass with Reese. Have you been in this bed for two days? Tell me you haven’t been drinking.” His eyes flit around my room, searching for the evidence of my failure.
“I haven’t had a damn drink. Now, could you please leave?”
“Not until you talk to me about Becca. She’s doing much better if you were wondering.”
“I’ve been calling her mom to check on her, so don’t act like I don’t care. I ended things with her because she doesn’t know what the hell she wants, and that’s when she lost her goddamn mind outside my truck.
“If I had been there for her this summer, then maybe all that shit wouldn’t be coming back up, haunting her.”
“Reese said Becca stopped her counseling too soon, but she already had a session yesterday and will continue them. It was her PTSD, and panic attacks are common with it.”
He comes over and sits on the side of my bed. “Bro, you’ve come too far to go backward. Don’t blame yourself for this.”
“We had a perfect date Wednesday, so when she said she was still going to that charity event with Clay tonight, it pissed me off.”
“Becca chose you, Trav. The moment you denied her, her decision was made, but like you do when you’re angry, you wouldn’t stop to listen.”
“She said that? S
he’s choosing me?”
“She did, and she told Reese that once she couldn’t get your truck door open, it triggered her panic. She felt she was losing you for good like she lost Molly.
“She’s pretty tore up, thinking she was too late, but I know better. Call her to come over and talk tomorrow, and she’ll be yours once and for all.”
Everett smacks my leg and grins.
“Be sure to shower first.”
Rolling my eyes, I smile, feeling hope once again.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Becca
Glenn, Clay’s driver, is taking us to the charity event in downtown Atlanta. Clay and I are in the back seat of the luxury Jaguar XJ. It’s another vehicle I’m assuming he owns.
I’m wearing the black evening gown May purchased for me. It’s the most extravagant dress I’ve ever fit my slender body into.
The scalloped bodice and sleeves are made of a delicate lace, and the rest of the gown is satin, beginning just under my breasts.
To prevent my hands from trembling, I’m holding my silver clutch purse in my hands.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Clay asks.
Giving him a reassuring fake smile, it hits me that I’ve been doing this for months now, trying to be someone I’m not in a world I don’t belong in.
“Holding this event yearly is admirable of you.”
He takes my hand and places it between his.
“I’m sorry the press will be present. I’m hoping they’ll focus on what’s important instead of asking questions about our relationship. Don’t worry if they do. I’ll promptly shut them down.”
“It’s fine. Surely, I can get through a minute of chaos. It will be worth it to be a part of this special evening.”
Clay said we’ll first be served a delectable dinner. A female musician I love is singing one of her ballads, and a well-known actor is speaking, too.
A famous baseball player is accompanying children onto the stage. They’re confined to wheelchairs because of their brain injuries, and he’ll present them with signed balls and a surprise trip to a game.
There will be a slide show about how the funding is put to use, and Clay will be giving a speech. He’s given me the whole inside scoop.
His phone rings, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“Who the hell gave them access?” Clay barks. “A new intern … You know the reporter from that trashy gossip show is going to ask me personal questions. The bitch follows me everywhere…. Yes, well, I’m holding you responsible if it happens.” He ends the call and growls.
“What’s wrong?”
“My campaign manager said an intern didn’t know better and gave VIP access for the event to that despicable show On the Inside.”
I entwine our hands. “It’ll be OK. You can tell them we’ve been dating and even give them my name if it will bring the attention back to the event.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about them mentioning,” he mumbles.
The pangs of anxiousness leave my stomach queasy, and the thought of what I must do tomorrow isn’t helping my uneasiness, either.
This night is too important to Clay for me to give him bad news, but tomorrow morning I’m telling him it’s over between us.
The disappointment and desperation I felt when Travis surrendered his hope for us smacked me with the realization that I could never give him up.
Whether he’ll give me another chance or not doesn’t change what has to happen with Clay. I don’t see a future for us, and what saddens me the most is that we won’t be able to maintain the friendship that has developed between us. Maybe someday we could be friends again.
The car pulls up behind a line of others at the entrance of the Atlanta History Center. Elegantly dressed guests are parading up the steps to the two-story, glassed-in lobby.
With shaky fingers, I brush wisps of hair back toward the beaded silver barrette in my French twist. My stylist put my hair into the updo earlier today, along with doing my makeup.
Once we’re let out of the vehicle, Clay clenches my hand.
“Dammit. They’re like vultures in there waiting.” He’s speaking of the reporters we can see inside the lobby. A man in a tux approaches us. He looks close in age to Clay, but his hair is blond instead of black.
“Becca, this is Steve, my campaign manager.” Exposing a nervous smile, he examines me before shaking my hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Becca. Please get this man a drink once inside.”
Clay shoots him a glare.
“I’ll intervene if necessary,” Steve adds.
“I can handle it.”
“I thought you were used to this from campaigning,” I say in a hushed voice as the three of us begin walking.
“I normally am, but I’ve majorly fucked up.”
“Clay, what’s wrong? You’re starting to scare me.” Stopping abruptly, he turns to me and takes hold of both of my hands.
Glancing around, he steps close to me and ducks his head to look straight into my eyes. The cold December air shows his smoky breath.
“There’s something I haven’t shared with you that I should have. It’s going to unfold tonight, thanks to that intern, and I promise to explain everything on the ride home.”
“You’re telling me this now? Right before we have to be on television.” Steve is standing next to us, making the moment that much more awkward.
“It’ll be OK,” Clay whispers, and I think he’s trying to convince himself more than me. Clutching my hand a little tighter in his, he begins leading us toward the door again.
“I’m sorry, Becca,” he utters. His voice is sincere, but it’s a little late for that.
Reaching the entrance, I inhale and do my best not to hold the air inside my lungs. The reporters from local television channels spot us, along with a couple of national networks.
They flock our direction, and their cameras flash. Clay’s confidence was to be my support for the evening, but instead I feel abandoned.
“Mr. Carlton, do you expect this year’s fundraising total to exceed last year’s?” a female reporter asks.
“We sold out five hundred seats this year at three thousand a ticket. With the addition of private donations, it was a very successful year.”
Three thousand a seat! I’m sitting in one of those chairs.
A male reporter shoves his mic in front of Clay.
“Mr. Carlton, can you tell us who the beautiful woman is accompanying you this evening?” The man looks to me and smiles.
“She’s Rebecca Abbott, and we’ve been close friends for a few months now. One last question please.”
A female reporter to my right steps up and reaches her microphone across me to Clay. I look at her, and the conniving smirk she’s brandishing is a contrast to the classy appearance her black pant suit gives off.
Could this be the reporter from the gossip show? My eyes close for two seconds as a sense of doom smothers me. I’m getting dizzy and wondering if my heels can hold the weight of my panic.
“Mr. Carlton, I assume this mean you’ve ended your long-standing relationship with Alice Sommerfeld. Was the breakup due to her condition, and will it have an effect on the future of this event?”
Steve steps right between me and the reporter, cutting off her accessibility to Clay.
“Let’s keep the focus on the point of this evening, which is to raise awareness and funding for research of traumatic brain injuries.
“Obviously this evening shows Mr. Carlton has no intentions of ending his astounding contribution to this cause,” Steve says before he turns and practically pushes us toward the doors opening up to the ballroom the event is being held in.
As soon as my feet hit the cherry-wood floors inside, I exhale a slow breath, letting out some of the steam from the pot of anger I’m carrying.
Alice Sommerfeld. I’m sick of her name coming up and the vagueness it brings with it. He better have answers tonight. I deserve that much.
&
nbsp; “Are you OK?” he asks, his mouth hovering over my ear.
“What do you think? You’ve said on multiple occasions that the past is just that–the past, so why does Alice’s name come up every single time we’re around someone?”
“I told you I’ll explain later. Let me grab us drinks from the bar.”
“I’m sure my stunned reaction to hearing that you’ve been in some mysterious long-term relationship with my fucking doppelganger will now be broadcasted for the world to see. You humiliated me, Clay.”
He glances around and grips my bicep.
“Becca, I’m sorry, but now is not the time to discuss it. A responsibility of living in the public eye is having the ability to show some dignity and grace. If we’re going to be a couple, then you need to show both right now.”
I wriggle out of his hold and cross my arms.
“You mean don’t cause a scene. Fine. I’m finding my seat.” If he wants to act like a parent, then I can act like a child.
Three hours. I’ll show grace with a smile for three damn hours, but that’s it. We might be ending things tonight after all.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Travis
Once Everett left earlier today, I texted Becca to let her know I wanted to talk. She replied that we could tomorrow and added she was happy to hear from me.
This was promising other than I had hoped to speak to her before her date with Clay.
Her last damn date with him.
I ended up cleaning the entire apartment and went to the mall to do some Christmas shopping. I was willing to do anything to kill the time.
It’s now five, and I’m on my couch surfing the internet and waiting impatiently for the news to come on. I’m still digging, too, searching for more dirt on Clay.
I’m in my socks, and my foot is propped up on the edge of my coffee table. Either my arch is rolling forward and back, or my other heel is tapping on the floor. It’s going to be a long night.
Fail to Trust (The Casteel Trust Series Book 2) Page 21