“That’s not the only consideration here.”
One of his eyebrows arched high. “What else?”
I rose on an elbow to stare down at him. “My aunt, uncle, and godfather are co-conspirators in a murder cover-up.”
“If that’s not a reason to get away, I don’t know what is. I don’t know about you, but I could use a couple mental health days. For real. Trust me, all this bullshit will be here when we get back.”
Foreboding gnawed deep. “But Mother’s killer is still out there. We’ve got to hire a lawyer. Contact the prosecutor’s office. I expect Uncle Sears to launch a vigorous defense. There’s a massive amount of new information. Mrs. Campbell, Uncle Jackson, what I remembered from Dr. Rosen….”
He levered up, balancing on a forearm. His eyes were like searchlights. “What’s really going on here?”
I felt cornered, flustered. “I’m estranged from my family. Uncle Sears is in the hospital—”
“With a wicked case of indigestion. Least that’s what you said last night.”
“Yes, but it’s what put him there that concerns me. It wasn’t a heart attack, but his stomach problems are stress-related. He’s scared because he knows I’m not backing down. Wait until he and Auntie find out about our visit to the sheriff’s.”
“You didn’t say anything at the hospital?”
“How could I? He and Auntie were at each other’s throats. More than usual. They had to sedate him, it got so bad. And I was upset about the fight with you. Numb about Darien.”
“It was a lot to deal with,” he said in a hushed voice.
“Then Mead shows up and starts pointing fingers at me. Darien arrived just as I was leaving. I ignored him.” I sighed. “When it rains it pours.”
He stared at me with sober eyes. “None of that should stop this trip. Don’t you think we could use the time away to clear our heads? Maybe get a handle on how we should move forward?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?” I lowered my eyes and he nodded to himself. “Oh, I get it. A romantic weekend with me would set tongues waggin’, wouldn’t it?”
Seconds passed. Finally, the angry silence yanked the truth out of me. “All right! All right!” I scowled. “Look, it’s just the timing, okay? I’m about to cancel my wedding, so if I go running off with you now, I’ll be the one wearing the Scarlet Letter. Nobody will care about the details, they’ll just see Lilith Bradford’s daughter doing what comes natural. My God, Darien’s been carrying on for months behind my back. All the guilt I’ve suffered about us…and what was he doing? Screwing Kate Sims the whole time! Why should I be the one—”
“To look bad?” He cocked a brow. “If you think that’s scary, wait’ll your bridge club pals hear about our screaming match last night. We likely woke the dead. Not to mention, I gave the whole neighborhood a peep show.”
I looked away.
“Forgot about that, didn’t you?” When I didn’t answer, he jiggled my hand. “It’s not that you’re ashamed of us. You just want to make sure you come off smelling like a rose.”
“Why do you have to say it like that?”
“Am I wrong?”
“Yes,” I said with certainty. “I’m not ashamed. Just scared.”
“Then write it in the sky. Slap it on a billboard. Tell them you don’t give a damn what they think. That’ll kill the fear for good.”
I looked into his eyes, marveling at how beautiful he was, and how unworthy I felt. I’d hurt him again. And why? Because old habits died hard. Because it would take much more than words and good intentions to erase a lifetime of fear.
Trace peeled the condom off. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and snatched his underwear from the floor. After he’d tossed the condom in the trash, he yanked the boxer-briefs over his hips, and stalked toward the door, but swung back around mid-step.
“I may be free and clear of disease, but there are other concerns.” When my face fell, he said, “Once is all it takes. I mean, you’re not on birth control, and, as I recall, I came inside you twice.” He quirked a brow, then flashed two fingers. “Last night when the condom broke, and again in the shower. We both know I didn’t pull out in time.”
As if on cue, a damp reminder seeped between my thighs.
His gaze dropped to my abdomen. “My little soldiers are in there right now, looking for one thing.” At my widened eyes, he said, “Oh, yeah, we may have created a new life. Now wouldn’t that be somethin’? Think of the headline they could run.” He thrust his hands in front of him. His long fingers curved to form a mock marquee: “Bradford Bears Butcher Boy’s Bastard.”
I flinched. He’d hurled the words like knives. “You know I’d be honored to carry your child.”
“Sure you would.” Trace rolled his eyes and snatched a clean pair of boxers from a drawer, then pulled a shirt and Levi’s from his closet. “I need to get to the flower shop before work.” He stalked down the hall and slammed the bathroom door. The house shook.
I threw his robe on and scrambled after him, getting to the bathroom in a flash. I didn’t bother to knock, just burst through the door, only to freeze in my tracks.
Head bent, he’d set one hand against the tiled wall. With the other hand, he gripped his penis while a steady stream of urine splashed into the toilet bowl. He didn’t even spare me a glance, just continued relieving himself.
There was an intimacy in watching him do this, and strangely enough, it was then that I realized what I had to do to make things right again.
When he was done, he gave his penis two shakes and tucked it in his boxers. After he’d flushed, he tried to move past me, but I blocked his way to the shower. Tying my arms around his waist, I pressed my cheek to his chest. But he didn’t hug me back. His body was as stiff as a pole in my arms.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know,” he said staring past me. “You can’t help it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s nothin’ I haven’t said before.” He set me away from him, tugged his underwear down, and flipped the shower on. “I used to think you were one of the bravest people I know, and you still are, to a degree. But here’s the problem. You’ll stand up to bullies, but you’re terrified of standing up to yourself.”
That went right over my head. “Huh?”
“Remember my brain box? Well, you’ve got one too. The fancy name for it is repression. I learned that from Doc. You repress your emotions and the way I figure it, you operate on some kind of…weird autopilot. Anything that feels too real, you shove it down—or you run. That’s how you stayed in denial about us for so long.”
I shook my head. “I’m glad you’ve got this all figured out.”
“I do.” He looked at me for a long while. “I spent twelve years in an iron cage with wardens, guards, sharpshooters, and psychopaths. And what were you doin’? You’ll likely say, living your life out here in freedom, right?”
Any answer I gave would probably be wrong, so I held my tongue.
He stepped into the shower and grabbed a well-used bar of Ivory soap. “You’re not ashamed of me, you’re just afraid. And I get that. I really do. But the truth is, you’re in bondage, wasting away in a platinum cage you built. Trying to live up to your own impossible standards. You talk about not being ‘enough’ for other people, but this is about you.” Steam rose as he ducked beneath the hot spray and cracked an eye open. “I may be on parole, but you’re still the warden of your own penitentiary. So, between the two of us, who’s the real prisoner, darlin’?”
He yanked the shower curtain closed.
SHANNON
____________________________
I slowed as a crossing guard led a line of middle school students across the street. Since I couldn’t stand the thought of going home, I’d picked up some toiletries at Walgreens and checked into a motel. I glanced at the dashboard clock—8:05 a.m.—fifty-eight minutes since I’d last seen Trace.