by Elle Kennedy
Chapter Two
Rachel stormed out of the department store, working hard to keep her pace under a full-throttled run. She attributed her fluster to her half-naked stint through the store. It certainly had nothing to do with her reunion with Travis Gage. If anything, her encounter with him should have left her exhilarated. After fifteen years, she’d finally had the opportunity to tell the creep off, to let him know she hadn’t forgotten what he’d done to her sister. But instead of feeling thrilled, she was overcome with a desperate need to get as far away from that store and everyone in it as quickly as possible.
It was Sales Boy Chris and that tent in his pants that had left her hot under the collar. She was sure of it. Not that she had a fetish for horny teenage boys. It was just difficult to see the extent of a man’s lust without feeling something.
And that something couldn’t be attributed to Travis Gage.
That would be insane.
That would be despicable.
She couldn’t have feelings for the man who had been single-handedly responsible for the death of her sister. Her body had a better memory than that.
Her rattled nerves began to calm as she approached her car, but her relief turned to fear when she rummaged through her purse in search of her keys. They were nowhere to be found. She checked her pockets, looked through her bag, then began emptying the contents of her purse onto the hood of her car when she heard that smoky voice behind her.
“Looking for these?”
The sight of Travis dissolved her previous notion that anyone else had been responsible for that tingling sensation she’d felt in the store. It returned full-speed when she turned and saw him standing behind her, her keys dangling from one long finger.
“Where did you get those?”
“You left them at the counter.”
Relief, anger, and that pesky quiver in her gut mixed to create another cocktail of heated fluster. She reached out to grab the keys from his hand, but he snatched them out of her reach.
“Answer one question,” he said, twirling the keys on his finger before clutching them tightly in his hand.
“I’m not playing games with you. Just give me the keys.”
“I get the feeling you despise me. Why is that, Rachel?”
She tried to ignore the thoughtful narrowing of his eyes. He knew damn well why she hated him, and if he didn’t, he was too stupid to warrant an answer.
“You know the answer to that question.”
A wisp of remorse crossed his expression. “Rachel, I’m sorry I never came around after Carrie’s death. You’re right. It was cruel of me to stay away. I should have been there for you.”
Her mouth dropped open. How he could possibly think she’d wanted him around after her sister’s death was simply incomprehensible. She’d heard that men were dense, but up until now, she’d never truly believed it.
“Trust me. You’re the last person I wanted to see then, and you’re the last person I want to see now.” She reached for his hand. “Give me my keys.”
He pulled them out of her reach. “You can’t say something like that and expect a man to walk away, sweetheart.”
She ignored the husky endearment and the way it made her heart skip a beat. Instead, she shot back, “Obviously, shattering a girl to the point of suicide means nothing to you.”
He took two steps back. Stumbled was more like it. She could tell he didn’t see that comment coming. Every feature on his handsome face hardened. His big shoulders stiffened, and he stared at her warily, as if she’d just uncovered a secret he’d hoped to keep buried forever.
Her lips curved into a satisfied smile. “Yes, I know what you did, so you can stop with the innocent act, give me my keys, and let me go home.”
“You think I drove her to suicide?” Utter disbelief lined his tone. “Considering she broke up with me, that doesn’t make much sense, does it?”
Now Rachel was the one left stupefied. “She broke up with you?” She had to laugh. “That may be what you told your friends, but I know exactly what you did to Carrie. It’s all written in her diary. All the promises you made, you were going to take her away, help her start a new life, and then you smashed all her hopes like it was nothing to you.”
The deadly look on his face told her she’d just shot and scored. Another sour chuckle emerged from her chest. “Yes, Travis. I read all about it. So you can stop playing dumb.”
“You know what, Rachel? Your story is so farfetched that—” He laughed humorlessly, not bothering to continue.
Since her keys now dangled limply in his hand, she took the opportunity to snatch them from his grasp. She’d intended to take them and flee. She was through reminiscing about the most painful period of her life with the man who was responsible for it all. Unfortunately, she noticed that the contents of her purse were still scattered over the hood of her car. She grabbed the black bag and began collecting her things.
“You’ve concocted quite a tale,” he remarked, his deep voice steady. “But did you ever stop to examine its merit? I never told Carrie I’d take her away. How could I? I was just a kid on my way to college. And she broke up with me two days after prom. We never had time to talk about what would happen after we graduated.”
“It’s in her diary. All the arrangements you were making to take Carrie and me away from here. Then the phone call telling her it was all off. That was the day she…”
She picked up her pace, shoving the last of the items in her purse. She didn’t want to have this conversation, and it was officially time to get out of this parking lot, away from this man, and away from this part of town forever.
She grabbed her purse then moved to unlock the door when Travis’s hand slapped against the door, holding it in place.
“Do you still have it?”
Rachel froze in place. She could practically feel his breath wafting against her neck. She could hear his heart thundering in his chest. His arm had brushed against her shoulder, sending heat splaying through her veins, and the sensation was unwelcome. Travis Gage was a man she should despise, and her body’s reaction to the closeness of his touch, his musky scent, the determination in his voice, just angered her more.
She refused to turn around, afraid of what she might feel if she looked him square in those gorgeous brown eyes. Through clenched teeth, she replied, “I’m not showing you my dead sister’s diary.”
“Rachel,” he spoke roughly into her ear. “If I’m responsible for Carrie’s death, I need to know.”
“I told you what I read.” She held her breath, trying to keep that manly scent from drifting through her thoughts.
“She mentioned me by name?” He moved closer, raising the temperature in her veins.
She pressed her body to the car, attempting to put some space between them. “I know what I read.”
“She said I’d called her the day she died?”
“Yes…well.” Her thoughts grew confused, and suddenly Rachel had her own interest in seeing the diary again. Her sister hadn’t exactly mentioned Travis by name. She’d never put names in her diary, but Rachel knew the codes. She had called him BF. That always stood for boyfriend. And Travis was her boyfriend. There was nothing in there about a break-up, she was certain of it. Or at least she’d been certain.
“Show me the diary, Rachel.”
Against her better judgment, she turned and what she saw left her stunned. His face was pained, and in his eyes there was nothing other than raw confusion. She’d always believed Travis was the BF Carrie had been referring to in her diary. She needed to believe it. She needed to have someone to blame, and as silly as it seemed, she had actually sought comfort in knowing who was responsible for shattering her sister to pieces.
If it wasn’t Travis, that meant someone else was out there, some unknown person who had destroyed her sister and walked away unfettered. Who was it? And did that person know what he or she had done?
Fear began to tremble in her hands. Her body went cold with the
thought that the answers she’d always held on to may not be answers at all. If she was wrong about the diary, if it wasn’t Travis, then the closure she’d thought she had was suddenly gone.
She didn’t want to believe it, but somehow he’d succeeded in leaving her riddled in doubt.
“It’s at my mother’s house.”
“Fine, give me a minute to head back into the store to reschedule an interview. I can follow you—”
“No,” she said sharply.
Her mother’s house was not a place for visitors. Hell, it wasn’t a place Rachel went very frequently. The memories were too painful, the sights too sickening. And, depending on her mother’s state, she didn’t need the additional embarrassment of someone standing witness to the impurity from which she was born.
“I’ll get it myself. We’ll look at it at my house.”
Travis backed away, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a business card.
“I can be reached at the cell phone number,” he said, handing her the card. “Can you get it today?”
Rachel never knew what she’d find when she went to her mother’s house. One of these days she was certain she’d find the woman dead, which meant her afternoon could be spent with the coroner. Or worse, her mother could be entertaining one of the many suitors who stumbled in and out of her house in a drunken stupor. Rachel learned long ago to steer clear if she found a strange car in the driveway. Lord knows how many days it might be before the coast was clear enough to enter her childhood home.
“I don’t know if I’ll make it over today. I’ll try and I’ll let you know.”
A heavy sigh released from his chest as he lowered his hand from the car and opened the door for her. She tossed her purse on the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel.
Holding the door, Travis gave a grim smile. “Thank you, Rachel.”
This bad day was just getting worse. Not only had Rachel’s beliefs been ripped out from under her, she was now on her way to the one place she avoided like sour milk.
Visits to her mother were never fun-filled events. Long ago, Hattie Foster had forgotten she’d had more than one child, and every time Rachel confronted the woman, she had to convince her that she wasn’t her dead daughter returning from the grave.
It was actually for the better. Hattie was a woman Rachel was happy to forget, and the fact that her mother was barely conscious of her existence made it easy to stay away. Whenever she felt that tug of obligation that coaxed her to stop by, the confused look in Hattie’s eyes reminded her there was really no reason to return. Instead of seeking comfort in the daughter she still had, Rachel’s visits would just set off delusions that Carrie had never died, and her ensuing attempts to remind the woman who she was just left both of them in a worse state than they’d been before she’d arrived.
But Travis Gage had stirred a pot of doubts Rachel couldn’t ignore, and she knew she’d be tormented by the words in that diary if she didn’t go back and see for herself.
It had been years since she’d looked through the pages. Many of the passages were forever burned in her mind. But, she had to admit, Travis’s claims of a break-up had left her wondering if there was anything she’d overlooked, and despite the dread she felt at returning, she had to get hold of the diary and see for herself.
Slowly, she turned the corner, relieved to see the driveway was vacant. At least, if her mother was there, she would be alone.
She pulled up to the curb, got out of the car and proceeded to the door, shaking her head in dismay when she found it unlocked. It was just like her mother to leave the latch unturned. Heaven forbid she’d need to leave her bed to allow passage to the brothel she called her home.
She reluctantly pushed open the door and stood for a moment, wondering what she might find when she walked inside. The house was deathly quiet. Was her mother gone, passed out, or had she already taken her last breath?
She stepped over the threshold and jumped at the sound of tinkling glass. Looking down, she saw she had accidentally knocked over an empty bottle of bourbon that had been left by the door. The echo of the glass left a morbid tone against the dusty hardwood floor. She closed the door behind her, then crossed the room and headed for the stairs. She climbed them quietly, hoping that she could grab the diary and leave without notice.
At the top of the stairs, her mother’s bedroom door stood ajar, and Rachel peeked her head inside to see the woman splayed over the bed on her back. Rachel stood and stared, like she’d done so many times before, waiting for the rise of her mother’s chest to indicate she was still alive.
One of these days, Rachel knew she’d see no movement, and the last shred of her painful childhood could finally be put behind her. It was a shame that a daughter could actually feel relief at her mother’s passing, but Rachel had let go of any guilt for those feelings long ago. Too many therapists had concurred she had every right to want her mother gone, and after a while, she had finally believed them.
The slow rise of her mother’s silk nightgown told her today would not be the day, so she quietly backed from the doorway and tiptoed down the hall.
Carrie’s room was the only room in the house left perfectly intact. Aside from a layer of dust, not a photo or hairbrush was left out of place. It had become a shrine for Hattie Foster, the bed made perfectly, Carrie’s things set precisely where she’d left them. Hattie wouldn’t allow it any other way. She was certain some day Carrie would return and be angered if her belongings had been touched.
A swell of pain and rage clogged the passage to her throat. Carrie had been Rachel’s only saving grace, the only bright flower in a garden that had withered and died years ago. Until Carrie chopped off her own stem, leaving Rachel alone in the world.
How Carrie could be so selfish, so unconcerned with leaving her behind, she never understood, and standing in Carrie’s room, all the bitterness returned as if her death had occurred just yesterday.
The dust filled her nostrils, the room went stiflingly hot. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead as a cold shiver left her stomach nauseous with anger and resentment. It didn’t take two minutes in Carrie’s room to leave Rachel’s lunch hovering dangerously close to her throat.
Unable to take it, she dashed to the bed, lifted up the mattress, and began fumbling for the diary. She felt the cold metal of the gold latch that enclosed the leather-bound book, grasped it in her hand then turned to rush from the room.
No longer caring about making a sound, she rounded to the top of the stairs and made her way down. She needed to get out, into the cool afternoon air, to quell the sickness that rose in her throat.
Dashing down the stairs, she heard a murmur from her mother’s room and her need to flee heightened. Soon she would hear her mother calling to the dead sister who never had to hear that voice again, and Rachel wasn’t going to stick around to listen herself.
She crossed the living room and bolted through the open door, slamming it behind her.
Slamming her past behind her.
As she stood on the lawn, gasping and swallowing to keep the sickness at bay, she promised herself she would never return to this house again.
BF called. It’s all set. After graduation, he’s taking R and me away from here. I can’t wait. I’ve so wanted to tell R about it, but I don’t want to ruin the surprise. I can’t wait to see her face when I tell her to pack.
“Rachel, this isn’t me.” Travis’s voice was somber.
“I…I always thought it was,” she murmured. “But…” She flipped the pages of the diary. “Here she says, ‘My bf T is taking me to the show tonight’. But in most other passages, she just referred to you as T. She never mentions T again after prom night.”
“There’s nothing in here about our break-up. I had hoped she would have said something about it, something explaining why she didn’t want to see me anymore.” He sat next to Rachel on the sofa, skimming through the pages.
“She mentions the prom and that’s it,” he continu
ed. “Then she just starts talking about BF and phone calls. There isn’t even an entry for the day we broke up.”
Rachel turned her gaze from the diary to the hard look in Travis’s eyes. She had read the diary over and over before phoning him to come over. She wanted to believe she was right. She wanted to blame Travis Gage for her sister’s death, but the more she studied the words, the more she realized that what he’d said could very well be true.
The thought left her empty inside.
The therapists had explained that no one but Carrie was responsible for her death. She was the one who swallowed those pills. She was the one who made the choice. But the anger Rachel had felt for her sister had become too much to bear. She’d needed another outlet for the pain, someone else to blame. Travis had always been that someone.
Until today.
And now, without a culprit, the strength she had gained over the years dissolved in the pages of the diary. Someone had broken her sister beyond repair, and she had no idea who that person was, or why they had done it. The slightest morsel of closure she had been holding onto had just swung wide open, leaving her feeling angry and exposed.
She took the diary from his hands and rose from the couch. “I’m sorry I unfairly accused you. And I’m sorry you didn’t get the answers you wanted.”
She set the leather book on the counter then moved to the door. “I have things to do, if you don’t mind.”
It was a lie, but the clamp on her throat told her she was pressed to the edge of tears, and she really didn’t want to break down in front of Travis Gage. She’d already stood half-naked in front of the man then all but accused him of murdering her sister. Sobbing on his shoulder would prove to be too much humiliation for one day.
“What are you going to do?” he asked, showing no signs of leaving.
“There’s nothing I can do. The identity of BF died with my sister.”
He crossed a leg over his knee, demonstrating that he was nowhere near rising and leaving for good. Rachel fumbled near the door. She wanted him to leave her to her own self-pity, but she’d already tormented the man enough today. She wasn’t sure how to ask him to leave in a manner that bordered on polite.