The Secrets We Keep

by Hannah Davenport

  “It’s still embarrassing. I’ll give you your bed back tonight.”

  “You’re welcome in my bed anytime.” He winks and then rolls out of bed and sits on the side. His muscles ripple with each movement as he pulls a shirt over his head.

  Looking over his shoulder, he says, “I’ll go get the tea and coffee started.” I watch as he walks out of the bedroom.

  It’s puzzling the way he looks at me sometimes. It’s like he knows me, and at times I see desire in his eyes, and then it’s gone.

  I slowly climb out of bed and head barefoot down the hallway, his long shirt hitting me mid-thigh. Zack stands with his back to me, fiddling with the coffee pot. My eyes roam his length. He’s so sexy standing barefoot in his loose sleeping pants and shirt. He turns, and a smile slowly spreads across his face. He caught me staring.

  “I’ll fix breakfast.”

  “Sounds good.” I head over to the table and slide into a chair. “Need any help?”

  “No, I got it.” He grabs some bacon from the fridge. “Any idea what you want to do later?”

  “Hmm . . . maybe you can teach me how to play checkers.”

  Zack freezes, then his head turns in my direction. “You don’t know how to play checkers?”

  “Who would I have played with?”

  His eyebrows pull close. “Huh, never really thought about it.” He turns back to the hot skillet and bacon.

  A Few Days Later

  Zack

  These past few days have been comfortable. Brylee sometimes sleeps in her bed, sometimes she wakes up in mine, but it’s all innocent. I catch her watching me at times, and I wrestle with my feelings, whether I should act on them. On the one hand, I met her before I knew she was Brylee Nolan, but on the other hand, this is my job. It would be so unprofessional of me to start any kind of relationship with her. Who am I kidding—her sleeping in my bed is unprofessional.

  I’m standing at the stove frying sausage when Brylee stumbles through. She is not a morning person. Neither am I, but it’s ten-thirty. Looking over my shoulder, I smile. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” she grumbles as she slides into the chair at the counter bar.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Yeah, just not long enough.”

  She’s wearing a T-shirt and boy shorts, no makeup, and her tangled blonde hair hasn’t been combed.

  Beautiful.

  With one hand, I crack some eggs over a hot skillet and then turn the sausage with a fork before placing two pieces of white bread in the toaster.

  A few minutes later, I have everything neatly placed on the plate that I set in front of her, along with a cup of hot tea, before pouring myself a cup of black coffee.

  Breakfast is silent. Comfortable. And after a glass of tea, Brylee perks up. After swallowing a bite of toast, she starts. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Maybe.” I grin and take a sip of coffee.

  “How can you have any kind of life of your own if you’re stuck babysitting me for six months?”

  “I work a lot and there isn’t a lot of time left for fun. Occasionally, I’ll meet up with friends for a drink.”

  Her cup to her mouth, her eyes narrow. What did I say?

  “Not the clubbing type?” she asks between sips.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “I know.”

  “I dated a guy who owned a club.”

  “Yes, I know. Luca. I interviewed him.”

  Her lips curl slightly but her eyes look sad. “That’s right, you did.” She finishes her tea and then pours another cup. “What are we going to do today?”

  “I don’t know. What would you like to do?”

  “Hmm . . . I don’t know.” She takes a sip of tea. “I think I’m going to get clean and we can decide later.” She pushes back from the table.

  “I’ll clean up the dishes and then take a shower.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ariel

  His words sound so familiar and I know I’ve heard them somewhere before. But where? If I think about it, everything about Zack feels familiar, like I know him from somewhere. From the beginning, he knew I liked tea. Someone had stocked Apothic Red in the kitchen. And how did Zack know about me? About Luca from the beginning?

  I enjoy being around Zack, and the past several days he’s been wonderful. He’s held me when I cried, made me laugh, shared his bed with me when I was too scared to sleep in my own. It feels like I’ve known him a lot longer than a week. I head to the bedroom with more questions than answers. I know I’m missing something. Something important.

  Staring into the mirror, I grab the edge of the dressing and peel it back for the first time since the surgery. Four perfectly placed stitches stare back at me. A grim reminder that I almost died before I ever lived.

  I can’t pull my gaze away from the incision, the one that almost killed me. If Davie had pressed a little harder, he would’ve severed my artery and I would have died within minutes, maybe seconds.

  I’m supposed to wait a few more days, but I want a shower. A nice . . . hot . . . shower, and I’m going to take one. All my life, I’ve done what I’m told, stayed out of trouble, and now I want to do what I want to do. There’s nothing wrong with that, and there’s no one stopping me.

  The hot water feels like heaven as it gently runs down my back. I just stand there with my arms at my side, not washing, just thinking.

  I miss Luca. I miss his overbearing ways. A smile teases my lips when I remember how he pushed his way into my apartment, passed my boundaries, and demanded to be let in. But I’m sure he’ll move on. Why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t know where I am or when I’ll be back. We made no commitments to each other, and he’s a sexy man.

  And then there’s Altruist, my first friend when I moved to the city. Who knows what he thinks happened to me. I feel as if I’ve let him down. When I went to the club he . . .

  He . . .

  My mind skims through a few of our conversations. When I worried about going to the club he said I might have fun. “I’m not the clubbing type,” I said. When I asked about . . . he said . . .

  I twist the knob to turn off the shower, quickly step out, and yank a towel from the rack, roughly drying my body. I’m pissed. I throw on a sweatshirt and sweatpants and storm through the house. Zack’s cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

  Even though I have a million things to say to him, I contemplate what to say first.

  He turns, the smile dropping when he sees the anger burning in my eyes. “When were you gonna tell me?” I stand with my hands on my hips, tapping my foot.

  “Tell you what?” He averts his eyes and slowly dries his hands on a dishtowel.

  “Let’s see,” my chest is heaving, “You know I like hot tea and not coffee. My favorite wine is Apothic Red, and then you said there’s not a lot of time for fun. You said that exact same thing to me in the chat room!” I’m almost yelling, but that’s okay. I’m tired of being used. “Tell me this, was it planned? Was the FBI looking for Frank Stone’s missing daughter?” For a moment I’m afraid I might cry, but I tamp it down. And then it hits me. With a sardonic smile, I say, “You were after the thumb drive.”

  He’s right in front of me now, hands on my shoulders. I step back, but he doesn’t let me as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me in for a hug. “It’s not like that, Brylee.”

  I feel so confused right now. “Are you Altruist?” My voice is shaky, and even though I already know, I need to hear him say it.

  Zack hugs me tight, and in a low voice, he says, “Yes. But I didn’t know who you were, not until you went missing.”

  “How did you find out?”

  He releases me and then rubs his forehead, clearly frustrated. “Let’s have a seat in the living room.” He extends his arm in that direction, wanting me to go first.

  Zack sits on the couch. I sit in the chair and face him. I feel like such a fool. It’s all been a façade, or at least it feels
like it.

  “When we started talking, I didn’t know who you were.” He leans back and crosses his ankle over his knee. “I stay busy with work, but one night I was home alone with nothing but my computer. That’s when we started arguing over movies.”

  I remember that night. He made it clear he had a girlfriend and it was just anonymous chatting. “And your girlfriend?”

  Looking at the floor, he says, “I lied.”

  I may have left a lot of things out, but the only lie I told him was that Luca and Matt were names I made up. The situation was real.

  “When you told me they’d found you and that you would have to move again, I acted on a hunch.”

  I lean forward. “What do you mean?”

  “Me and my partner, Tyler, headed to New York. We started searching for a club owner with the first name Luca. When we found him, we found you.”

  My mind is reeling. With such little information, he found me in a city with millions. Millions! “How did you know I was in New York?”

  He’s tight-lipped when he says, “We have our ways.”

  “When Alex kidnapped me, you were already in New York because I told you they had found me and I might have to move again?”

  Zack takes a deep breath and says, “Yes.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Near DC.”

  I’m trying to understand, to straighten the facts out in my head. “When did you realize who I was?”

  He looks uncomfortable, his eyes darting all around before landing on me. “I searched your apartment. My partner and I saw the picture of you and your mother. We recognized her right away.”

  “You know Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh my God! There’s so much information, I can’t think. I need to think. “Wait . . .” I rub my head, trying to understand. “How did you know I was Syrah?”

  “Your computer was sitting on the counter. Our last conversation was still on the screen.”

  “That’s right. I was talking to you when I got a call.” I glance at him. “You were already in New York that night?”

  “Yes.”

  I don’t know how to feel. I’m angry that everything he told me as Altruist was a lie. Although I remain still, only blinking and breathing, my heart is pounding in my chest. Everything I thought I knew about him, everything I felt has just shattered. My friend seems more like a stranger, and yet he’s been so kind and gentle with me the entire time.

  “Brylee, say something?”

  But I can’t. My mind’s on overload as it sifts through everything he’s ever said. A few minutes later . . .

  “Elena?”

  “Someone I would see from time to time.”

  “You didn’t date her?”

  “Not really.”

  “Your job?” I chew on my lower lip, thinking.

  “FBI.” Yes, he’s FBI but he told me he was a police officer. They’re not even close. All good men, but . . .

  All lies. Everything he ever told me has been lies. How can I trust what he’s telling me right now? Think . . .

  “Where’s Frank?”

  “I told you. He’s in prison awaiting trial.”

  “Davie’s dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know Mom?”

  “I do.” He licks his lips before he starts to talk. “Caroline wanted a better life for you. She agreed to help us in exchange for the witness protection program for the two of you. She copied Frank’s computer files, but before she could get out, he somehow found out and threatened to kill you if anyone came looking for him. That day, he threw Caroline out of the house. By the time we had enough evidence to search, you were gone.”

  “Where’s Mom now?” My heart’s pounding with anticipation. I can’t wait to throw my arms around her neck, tell her that it’s not her fault. It’s Frank’s.

  “Gone.” My heart shatters with the one word. “She thought Frank had killed you, and then she worried he had sold you into the sex industry. The grief was too much, and one day she disappeared.”

  Tears flood my eyes when I think of the fear and heartache my mom had to endure. “Mom,” my voice quivers, “I knew she didn’t leave me.”

  Zack is off the couch and scooping me up in his arms before too many tears can fall. He carries me back to the couch and sits with me still on his lap.

  “I’m so sorry, Brylee.”

  I sniff, and with my head resting on his chest, I ask, “You don’t know where she is?”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I had better news.”

  “It’s okay.” I wipe my eyes. “At least now I know she’s alive.” I raise up and look into his blue eyes. “I always thought that Frank or Davie had killed her.”

  I climb off his lap and get to my feet.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “To the bedroom. This is a lot to take in and I need to think.”

  Zack

  By the look on her face, I know she’s figured it out. Time to face the music.

  In the living room, when she asks her questions, I know I sound like a lying asshole. Only when I have to answer them honestly do I realize I hadn’t told her anything truthful.

  When she walks away, I rub my forehead in frustration. I seem to be doing a lot of that these days.

  The silence grows deafening and I desperately need to change things. Pushing up from the couch, I head to her bedroom. Lightly knocking on the door, I say, “Brylee, can I please come in?”

  She doesn’t answer. I knock one more time for good measure and then I twist the doorknob and head inside.

  She’s lying on the bed in a fetal position, tears streaming down her face. I stride over, sit down, and pull her up into my arms. “I’m so sorry, Brylee.”

  She doesn’t respond, and I hear her quiet sniffles from a runny nose. Stroking her hair, I try again. “I’m so sorry. My job requires that I travel all the time. I thought that if I didn’t get close to you, keep you from getting close to me . . . I’m just so damn sorry.”

  After a few minutes, she pulls away. Sniffing, she says, “I looked forward to talking with you every night. And it’s all been a lie.”

  “Not everything.” I try to get her to look me in the eyes. She won’t. Lifting her chin with my forefinger, I say, “Worrying about you going to a club, worrying about someone being after you, that’s real.”

  She stares at me with heartbroken eyes, and I hate that I’ve caused her pain. “I don’t know you,” she says.

  “Yes, you do. I’m the same man who’s been with you this entire time. This is me.”

  “Maybe.” Tears spill over when she says, “I can’t believe Mom thinks they sold me. I can’t imagine the hell she went through, may still be going through.”

  I hold her until her tears slow, her sniffing stops, and then I lean back to look at her delicate face. Gazing into her eyes, I slowly lean forward, giving her time to make a decision. When her eyes dart between my eyes and lips, I close the distance and press my lips against hers. It’s slow at first, but when her lips part for me, I deepen the kiss, my tongue seeking hers. With tender touches, my hand roams the length of her back. The other one cups the back of her neck. The kiss lasts a lifetime until I come to my senses.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and swallow hard. I’m hard, but this is wrong. She’s in a vulnerable state and I can’t . . . I won’t take advantage of her.

  “Why are you sorry?” Her eyes pool with confusion and I could kick myself for starting this.

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

  “Okay.” She lies back down and I feel like an asshole.

  “Rest, and when you’re ready, I’ll fix us some lunch.”

  “Okay.” That seems to be the only thing she’s saying right now.

  When I walk out, I shut the door behind me.

  Back in the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water. I’m glad she knows everything, but I’m the ultimate asshole. I can’t imagine how she feels because I told her kissing
her was a mistake. A mistake! Not in those exact words, but they might as well have been.

  I drain the water and then grab a beer and head to the couch. I shouldn’t drink, but the chances of someone finding us are slim to none. Nobody, not even Tyler, knows where we are.

  It’s not even noon, but I decide to fix the two of us some lunch. Brylee will be getting hungry soon.

  Thirty minutes later, she ambles down the hallway. Red splotchy skin, swollen eyes, and I know I’ve done this to her.

  “Brylee,” I say as I walk over and pull her into my arms. She doesn’t hug me back, and I feel like an even bigger asshole. Stepping back, I give her a tentative smile. “I made lunch.” Taking her hand, I lead her over to the kitchen chair and set a plate in front of her.

  “PB&J?” A smile teases her lips.

  “Yes. It was my favorite comfort food growing up.”

  “Why did you need comforting?” She takes a small bite.

  Swallowing hard and trying to be honest, I admit, “My mom and dad used to argue a lot.”

  “I’m sorry.” She takes a bite of her sandwich and after swallowing it, adds, “Mine did too.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “How did you know?”

  “Caroline told me.”

  She swallows hard and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. I keep messing up with this girl.

  It’s strained and awkward, and I desperately want to fix it.

  Looking at Brylee’s neck, I say with concern, “You took your dressing off.”

  “Yeah, it was bothering me. And I wanted a shower.”

  “It looks like it’s healing well.”

  “If you can get past the black stitches.”

  “It’s not so bad, and we can take the stitches out next week.”

  “That’ll be good.”

  After lunch, I gather our plates and place them in the sink. We head to the living room and switch on the TV.

  With the remote in hand, Brylee curls up in a soft blanket on the couch and clicks through the channels. It’s clear that she doesn’t want to curl up next to me today.