"Are you in love with him, Shannon?"
Startled, she watched MaryJo push chicken salad around her plate. "I—why . . . do you want to know?"
Shoving her sunglasses to her head, her friend leveled intense, brown eyes on her. "Because I love him—like he's my own brother. He's my family now. For six years, I've watched him take two steps forward . . . and five steps back."
Her face heated. Did MaryJo not—like her? "I don't understand how I-"
"He's been through a lifetime's worth of hell."
"I know—that." Heart suddenly pounding, Shannon summoned her courage. "Do you—have concerns about me . . . being with Curtis?"
Fiddling with her straw, MaryJo raised her gaze to hers. "I've never seen him as happy as he is with you. Travis has never seen him like this. He's a different person-"
"He's an amazing guy." The weight of her confession felt like a rock in her stomach. Shannon wished they could change the subject. There was the very real possibility Curtis would dump her that night.
"You don't understand, Shannon—I'm saying . . . in six years of knowing Curt—I've . . . we've never seen this before." Her voice laced with worry, she forced a smile. "We're in uncharted territory here."
"I would never hurt him, MaryJo."
"Perhaps not intentionally."
She dragged in a breath, an undercurrent of tension suddenly palpable in the air. "Are you angry with me? Have I done something wrong?"
"Do you love him?" She leaned forward in her seat, an indefinable emotion shimmering in her eyes.
"Yes. I-I . . . love him. I would do anything for him." She released a gusting breath.
"When are you going to tell him, Shannon?"
MaryJo's whispered voice penetrated the anxiety swirling around her. Startled, she knocked her fork to the table. Staring into eyes that reflected both knowledge and sadness, Shannon experienced a crackle of awareness. "You know."
"Shannon Elizabeth McCarty," she emphasized. "You're Jane Marshall's granddaughter."
"H-HOW DID YOU FIND out?" Her mind veering in a dozen directions, Shannon twisted the napkin in her hands.
"It's what I do." MaryJo shrugged delicately. "I'm a detective. And a hacker. I'm good at finding people."
A hacker? From where she sat, MaryJo presented the picture of a relaxed, confident, sexy, working mom. Casually athletic, carelessly pretty. Several heads had turned when they passed. "You were researching me?"
She shook her head. "Curt asked Trav for help finding Elizabeth," she emphasized. "I guess with Cindy reappearing it awakened old memories. He's always wanted to find her."
To exact revenge on her vicious cruelty? Ice crystallized in her chest, spreading slowly outward to her limbs. "And you found me, instead."
"Yeah." Flopping back in her chair, MaryJo sighed. "So—you're going to tell him?"
"Tonight." A desolate chill invaded her skin, despite the lemony brightness of the sunshine washing over them. "I-I've wanted to tell him for weeks. But, I knew he had to be well enough to hear it."
"Why?" MaryJo reached across the table to squeeze her drumming fingers .
As long as she didn't linger on the compassion in MaryJo's eyes, she might be able to get through it. "I couldn't—do it when we first met." She released a gusting breath. "And then . . . I was helping him to prepare for the surgery. He was so worried about Four Seasons. And then I couldn't do it while he was recuperating."
"So, why have you waited?" MaryJo's eyes widened as she answered her own question. "Oh—Cindy showed up."
She nodded, swallowing hard. "He was . . . I've never seen anyone like that. He was so overwhelmed. I just couldn't-" Telling him only helped her. It removed a burden of guilt she'd carried for a decade—once she'd finally matured enough to admit it. "He's . . . probably going to h-hate me once I tell him." She blinked back tears. "I wanted him to be h-healthy. Back at work . . . managing Four Seasons again, so he . . . so he can—fire me."
"Shannon—he's not going to-"
"Let me finish." Her anguished plea stopped MaryJo. "You know about the letters?" When her friend nodded, Shannon released a breath. "I was horrible to him. I've been haunted by how cruel I was. All because I . . . wanted revenge. For taking her. When I needed her so badly-" Her voice choking, she paused. "That time in my life . . . was terrible. I was too young to handle it . . . like I would if it happened now. Curtis took the blame for everything that was wrong in my life . . . my grandmother's death. My parents divorce—tearing our family apart."
"Honey—you were seventeen."
She blinked back tears. "And he was only twenty. I had no right to hurt him like that." Releasing several cleansing breaths, she realized she felt better talking about it . . . with someone who hopefully wouldn't despise her later. "So many times over the years I wanted to apologize . . . but, I was a coward. I lied to myself—trying to make myself believe the letters probably hadn't affected him. Part of me prayed he'd never read them." Her throat clogging with tears, she tried to swallow around them. "But—he did, MaryJo. He remembers all of them. I made his life so much worse." Staring at the fluffy clouds scuttling overhead provided a measure of calm. "Curtis was damaged enough. And I . . . made it worse."
"You didn't know."
"I knew it was a terrible thing to do to him," she countered. "When I saw the opportunity to take care of him . . . I'd hoped . . . there was finally something I could do that might make up for my actions."
MaryJo was blinking back tears, too. She gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. "Shannon, no one could have taken better care of him."
"I didn't count on falling in love with him," she confessed. MaryJo's face swam before her blurry eyes. "I never expected to feel like this."
"What are you going to do?"
"If Cindy hadn't shown up . . . I would have told him last week," she explained, relieved to have confessed the worst of it. "He's already endured so much . . ." Shannon wiped her eyes. "But, I have to tell him—tonight."
"You know I think of you as a friend, right?" This time the tears spilled down MaryJo's cheeks. "No matter what happens . . . I still want you in my life." She noisily blew her nose, making them both smile for a moment. "I'll be thinking about you," she whispered.
Numb, Shannon nodded. "I don't deserve your friendship . . . but I'm so grateful to have it."
Signaling the waiter, MaryJo smiled. "I don't know about you, but I could seriously use a drink."
THE REST OF THE DAY passed uneventfully. After straightening her desk, Shannon trailed her fingers across the top. For a day fraught with emotion, the office had been blessedly quiet. Grateful Curtis had been out all day visiting projects with Felix, she'd wanted to clear her space—readying it for someone else. Between her emotional I love you confession the previous night and the teary, boozy lunch with MaryJo today, she was feeling drained.
"And you still have the evening to get through," she said to the empty, echoing lobby, her heart sinking. More than losing him, Shannon couldn't bear the thought that she would hurt him tonight. Though it was probably crazy—she was now relieved Curtis hadn't said he loved her the previous night. If he'd said the words—allowed himself to feel them—he would be reeling tonight. He might believe she'd set him up. Taken advantage of him.
This might be the last time. Left with time on her hands, she'd organized each file, leaving careful notes for the next person Curt hired. Her heart thundering as she wrote it, she'd left a note on his desk. Part of her had wanted to write out her confession. And then disappear. But—that too, would be cowardly. In the end, she'd simply told him she'd be waiting for him at his place.
A single box contained the few personal items she'd accumulated at Four Seasons. One good thing about being the new person . . . she hadn't had time to amass the detritus people collected after years in one place. Most of it, she'd be leaving for the guys. She didn't want her mugs back. They would only remind her of Curtis. A smile twitched on her lips as her gaze rested on the fruit bowl.
One of her very first changes. She could still hear Felix and Curt joking about it.
"Only nine weeks," she muttered to the empty lobby. Her time at Four Seasons had felt longer. Whether she'd intended it or not, she'd planted roots. The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains she'd made, leaving dancing patterns of reflected light on the freshly painted floor. Her chairs. Crossing the room, she ran her fingers over the fabric one last time. Her gift to Curtis. She prayed he wouldn't throw them out after she was gone. It was easier leaving if she could pretend they would still be here. Something of her—left behind.
With a last wistful glance, she scooped up her box and pushed through the storefront door, locking it for the last time.
CURT HAD ONLY TAKEN two steps into the lobby when he paused. Something felt wrong. Though it was long past closing time, the space felt—too still. Shannon's at home. Pleasure heated his chest. Someone was home . . . waiting for him. Someone who loved him. Though he'd replayed her words in his head all day—it still didn't feel real. For Shannon to love someone like him. Love. Him.
A trace of unease washed over him. He should've called her today. It wasn't every day a guy heard those words. In his case—it hadn't been any day he'd ever heard them. A dozen times he'd pulled out his phone—but with Felix in the truck beside him . . . he hadn't found a minute alone. And some things weren't meant to be texted. "Flowers." When MaryJo's sage advice popped into his brain, he smiled. Shan loved tulips. He could stop on the way home.
Passing Shannon's desk on the way back to his office, he made it a few feet into the hallway before stopping. Something was different. The office felt empty. Devoid of . . .
Backtracking to her desk, he stood there. His heart beating a little faster, his eyes registered the clean surface. The absence of her pad. Her lists. Her mug was . . . gone. The baseball he'd given her as a joke . . . to remind her of her sports conversations with Billy. "Shit." Covering the steps to his office seemed to take twice as long in the bulky brace. His senses wide open, he was painfully aware of the squeaking hinge on the left side.
Seated at his desk, he ran a shaking hand through his hair before picking up the envelope with his name on it. Shannon's handwriting. All day, he'd thought of her. Of the impact she'd had on his life. All day he'd wondered . . . was he worthy of her? Was he ready to be the man she deserved? Could he finally leave the past behind—and do this?
Now, he sat there . . . staring at a letter from her. A letter probably telling him she'd changed her mind. She'd . . . left him. And the dread slicing through him confirmed what he'd suspected all along. He sure as hell was capable of loving her. Because the haunting sense of losing her had already overtaken him.
Chapter 15
Uncertain exactly how he got there, Curt pulled into the driveway, gravel crunching against his tires. Relief flooded him as his brain registered her car was still there. Shannon was still there. Like a surreal movie, his eyes confirmed the cardboard box perched on her trunk. Another box, haphazardly filled, sat on the backseat. What the hell had changed in fourteen hours?
"Hi."
His thoughts scattered as she stood before him, another box cradled in her arms. Eyes red-rimmed, face hauntingly beautiful. Her note still clutched in his hand, he shoved it in his pocket. "Shan? What's going on? W-what's happened?"
"I have to tell you . . . something I should have told you weeks ago. And . . . once you know-" Her voice faltered. "You're probably going to hate me. So . . . I wanted . . . I needed to be ready for that."
He shook his head. "Shan—whatever it is . . . there's no way I could hate you." Perspiration sliding down his back, Curt wondered whether she could see his heart beating. Because it was thundering like a damned locomotive as he waited for her to announce she didn't love him. That it had all been a giant mistake. That all the plans he'd started making- The future he'd envisioned with her—was dissolving before his eyes. She was leaving-
"I want you to know h-how sorry I am. I hope . . ." Her gorgeous eyes filled with tears. "I hope someday . . . you can forgive me."
"Jesus, Shan—you're scaring me." He wanted to reach for her. Close the awful distance between them. Yet, instinct told him if he moved, she'd take a step back. And he didn't think he could bear witnessing the physical proof of her change in heart. "Nothing could be as bad as you're making it sound."
Easing the box onto the trunk, she withdrew something from inside. A picture in a silver frame. What the hell could she possibly show him that would change everything? "Shan- wait."
She startled, clutching the picture to her chest. "W-what?"
"I don't want to lose you." The truth making him lightheaded, Curt inched a step closer. "Don't show me," he blurted. "I-I don't . . . want to see it."
"I love you so much," she confessed. Her breath huffed out on a startled gasp. "Even more . . . for saying that."
Relief flooded him, but the sorrow in her eyes told him it would be short-lived. "Do I have to know?"
They stood there, staring at each other for what seemed like forever. Her sad, wistful smile made his heart ache. "I-I wish it didn't exist, Curt." Her voice hoarse, she continued. "But, it does." Prying the picture from her chest, her gaze never left his as she handed it to him.
His hand shaking, he accepted it, the burnished metal still warm from her touch. Finally dropping his gaze, he forced himself to look at it. A moment later—something detonated in his chest. His heart. Into a million, tiny pieces. Until there was nothing left inside him to hurt. Yet, he did hurt. Everywhere.
He staggered against her car. "I—I know this picture." His voice was raw and painful in his throat. "How do you-" He released a shuddering breath. "I have this picture." Elizabeth. Fumbling for his wallet, he retrieved the worn out scrap . . . the creased, faded photo that had inflicted so much pain. So much self-doubt. A girl at a track meet. So much self-loathing over the past thirteen years.
"You know her?" Curt didn't recognize his own voice. If someone had told him he was having an out of body experience, he would have believed it. His ears ringing, he held out a hand to steady himself on her car. "Oh my God." His head jerked back. "This is you. Or . . . your sister? Damn it, Shannon-" His throat parched, he had trouble swallowing. "Who are you?"
His shouted question made her wince. Shaking, she took a step back. "I'm . . . Elizabeth."
The knife twisted in his gut, making him want to double over. "Why—why would you do this?"
"I wanted to tell you . . . so many times."
He listened to her confession because he had to. Unwilling to leave the driveway until it was finished . . . Curt was trapped. With Shannon and her story. Young and afraid. Parents divorcing. Mother abandoning them. How much of it his distracted brain was absorbing, he wasn't sure.
He'd been her 'outlet'. AKA—her punching bag. Tensing the muscles in his thighs, Curt concentrated on remaining upright. On breathing in and out. Until Shannon mentioned the trial. And the memories crashed over him like a churning tidal wave.
"I knew you were there. I felt you," he admitted, sensing heat trickle through him, easing the cold, numbing desolation. "I saw you . . . every day. Felt you staring at me. I felt your sorrow. Your—hatred." He stared at her, feeling nothing when he stared into devastated eyes. "I couldn't bear to look at you—or I knew I would lose it."
"I'm so sorry, Curt."
"You know the worst thing about this? I haven't told you everything, Shan." Her eyes enormous and terrified, she waited . . . looking as though she wanted to run. In a few minutes, he wouldn't be able to see them in the deepening shadows. The damp night air was closing in around them. "I knew I didn't do it." He whispered the truth. "I knew I wasn't driving."
"NO-" ANGUISH OVERWHELMING her, Shannon fell against her car, her legs no longer willing to support her. "No, Curtis." She shook her head. "Please—no." Not the driver? Burying her head in her hands. she fought to contain her sobs. He was innocent? "Why, Curt? Why would you take the blame for something you didn't do
?" Her stomach heaving violently, she forced herself to regain her feet. Forced herself to confirm the anger blazing in his eyes. Feeling faint, she rested her forehead against the cool metal doorframe. All the blame she'd heaped on him-
He shrugged, misery shimmering from him in waves. "Because I would've felt even worse blaming the girl who disappeared." His eyes black with despair, he leveled her with a dangerous stare. "How would you have felt, Shannon," he taunted. "If the guy you were sure killed your grandmother got off because he cooked up a story blaming someone else?"
"Curtis . . . no."
"I could barely live with what we'd done." The raw, painful whisper scraped over her. "There was no way I was going to attempt to get out of it." His head jerked. "A woman still died. I knew I'd rather go to prison than live with that guilt. What Cindy's been living with the past thirteen years. She thinks-" His laugh was toneless. "She thinks by confessing now . . . she'll somehow feel better."
His voice dangerously monotone, the Curt she knew had already disappeared. "If I hadn't been high, I would've been driving. It was my car. My mistake was thinking Cindy was in better shape. By the time I realized she was wasted—it was too late." Staring out into his backyard, he seemed lost in thought. "My nightmares are me jerking the wheel . . . trying to get her to pay attention."
Staring at her, his eyes had become those of a stranger. His mouth twisted with contempt. "Why did you apply, Shannon? Was this some sick, twisted way to get revenge?"
Reading her expression, he knew she'd contemplated it. "At first . . . yes. But, then I met you and I knew . . . right away I could never go through with it." She was losing him. The knowledge weighed heavy in her chest. All she could do now was be honest. It was the only thing she had left to give. "When I saw this job . . . it reawakened all those questions. Part of me couldn't resist trying to find out-"
"Find out what?" His voice was wooden.
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