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“What?” Trey demanded caustically. “You got a fu
Travis grimaced. “No. I didn’t have a fu
“Why the fuck would she say anything to you?” Trey stared at him, while a flicker of something—hurt, distrust—flashed through his eyes.
I should have just gone to bed, Travis thought, frustrated.
“She pegged me for a cop or something—I’m not—and don’t ask anymore because I’m sick and fucking tired of lying, but I can’t tell you.” Wearily, he leaned against the wall, head falling against it. Absently, he touched his side as the pain there radiated out. Wet heat met his hand and he looked down at the blood that had already soaked through. He needed to get to his room and dig out the medical kit. He had some butterfly bandages that would help close it back up.
“Can’t tell me?” Trey’s voice dripped with scorn. “How about you won’t tell me?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Snarling, he shoved off the wall and that sent another lance of pain ripping through him. Which only served to make him madder. “Would you use your damned brain? You’re not an idiot. Can’t means just that. I can’t. There are reasons. Now put your brain to use.”
Trey opened his mouth, a sneer quivering on his lips. At the same time, Travis was mentally kicking his ass. The pain, the frustration, all of it was making him stupid. Too many years of lying to people he loved, who loved him. There were reasons why most of the people in his line of work didn’t have families. Slowly, he turned to the door. “If I was in trouble, I’d tell you, okay?”
No. He wouldn’t. But he wouldn’t come here if he was in any sort of trouble. No way in hell. He’d never risk his family and his family was the number one reason he was getting out.
He hadn’t quite cleared the door when Trey’s voice stopped him.
“So I guess this means you’re really not a forensic accountant.”
He rested a hand on the door jam, closed his eyes. “Sure I am. It says so on my tax return, doesn’t it?”
“That doesn’t mean jackshit.” Trey was closer now and Travis glanced over his shoulder. “If you’re not in trouble then why the hell are you leaking blood all over yourself?”
“I got hurt. I just tore some stitches. It will be fine.”
Their gazes locked and held. Then Trey looked away. “You’ve been lying to us for a long time, haven’t you?”
He couldn’t even respond to that. Not just because it would take another lie, but because there was nothing he could say that would make it better.
But he had to say something. “It’s not going to be like this much longer,” he said.
And saying those words, it was like a weight fell from him. A knot loosened within him and he blew out a breath as some of the tension he’d carried for years just faded. “It won’t be much longer. I just have to . . . handle some things.”
With that, he headed down the hall.
He’d clean himself up. Wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. Then he’d get some rest.
And next time his brother was brooding over a woman, he’d leave him to it.
Who in the hell was he to offer advice on it anyway? The last time he’d had a serious relationship had been . . .
He pushed the thought of it aside.
Yeah. It had been that long ago, and look at how that had ended.
Chapter Twenty-five
A week passed and every single day, she felt the absence of him.
She made plans with Mama Ang to go see Kiara the following Saturday, and each day she dreaded the trip more and more. Each day, she opened her eyes and thought about getting through another day without talking to Trey, seeing him.
They were supposed to be thinking about things.
The only thing she could think about was how much she missed him . . . and how much easier everything wasn’t with him gone.
Oh, she saw him a couple of times—hard to avoid it when they both dropped the kids off at school. Trey in his gleaming truck and her all but slumping down behind the wheel of the Mustang so she didn’t have to face him. They’d seen each other in the drop-off line more than once, and on her day off, she’d seen him in the pick-up line, although she doubted he’d seen her.
“Are you mad at Mr. Trey?” Neeci had asked.
“No, baby. Why?”
“Because you don’t talk to him anymore.”
Oh . . . but I want to.
“We’ve just been busy.”
Busy . . . yeah, right.
She thought maybe it was just the right thing to do, let things cool off while she thought everything through.
The question is . . . can you?
Those words reverberated through her head, tying her up into knot after knot, and she was already a mess over Kiara. Mama Ang said she’d gotten a similar call from her and they made the plans.
Although Angeline hadn’t said anything, Ressa knew the call had taken a toll on her.
Maybe Trey had tried to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but she still carried the blame. And much of it was because she saw what it had done to the kind, gentle woman who’d changed her life—who’d given her a life—one worth having.
Maybe Mama Ang didn’t blame her, but Ressa sure as hell blamed herself for the trouble she’d brought into the lives of her aunt and cousin.
Her aunt had ended up asking her next-door neighbor to help with Neeci. When Neeci heard she’d be spending the day with Miss Latrice, she’d sulked. Can’t we ask if I can go play with Clay? I wa
That only made Ressa feel worse, because this was straining the friendship between two kids who clearly adored each other. So I’ll fix it. She made herself that promise. But first . . . she had to get through seeing her cousin. Get that off her plate.
Saturday rolled around and although the sun gleamed golden in a clear blue sky, Ressa felt like she was trapped in a bank of thunderclouds.
She was miserable.
She missed Trey.
The question is . . . can you?
She was starting to realize she’d have to deal with it, because she didn’t think she could handle anything else that didn’t involve having him in her life.
There was a knock at the door and Ressa groaned, rolling her head over to stare at the clock. But first, she had to figure out why her aunt was nearly two hours early.
Because it wasn’t like it was anybody else.
“Your fault, girl,” she murmured as she climbed out of bed. “Your fault.”
She grabbed her robe and tugged it on as she went to answer the door. A glance through the peephole showed it was indeed her aunt.
“Latrice is sick.” Angeline sailed through the door, looking around the house. “Where’s Neeci?”
“She’s asleep . . . we weren’t leaving for a while yet.”
“Well, we need to find alternate arrangements or cancel.”
“Gra
Mama Ang met her eyes. Angeline MacAllister was five feet four inches of softness and steel and for a moment, a thousand unsaid things passed between them.
Then Angeline looked up the steps toward the little girl.
“Hey there, baby. Come give me a hug.”
Neeci plodded down the steps, her Frozen pj’s rumpled, her hair mussed.
A few minutes later, Angeline had Neeci on her way to the kitchen, giving the two women a moment of peace.
“We can’t cancel,” Ressa said softly. “Kiara is up to something . . . or there’s something we need to know. I have to know what it is, for Neeci’s sake.”