Chapter Ten
Gwen
N ostalgia had assaulted me the minute I saw that small brick house with the white railing. Memories flooded my system—good, bad, incredible, horrendous, euphoric, soul shattering, and everything in between. Seeing Danny again had been a nice reprieve from the pressure mounting in my chest. But as much as I would have liked to have forgotten, I wasn’t there for a reunion.
“We need to talk,” I said to Truett. “Inside would probably be best.”
Indecision stormed in his eyes. “Things are kind of a…mess right now.”
“I’m not worried about the cleanliness of your home. I promise I didn’t bring my white gloves to check for dust.” I started inside, but he sidestepped, blocking my path. I barely managed to keep from running into his barrel chest.
“You can’t go in there,” he snapped.
I wanted to ask why. I quite literally had to purse my lips to keep the words from flying out. But it wasn’t my place to question him. When I’d seen him alone at the diner, I’d assumed he didn’t have a family. But maybe I’d been wrong. He didn’t wear a ring, but he could have had girlfriend or something. It was early, but for all I knew, he could have been having a party or…an orgy. With his brother? Yuck. Never mind. None of my business.
I swallowed hard and tried not to think about the latter. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, it’s just—” He quickly pulled the door shut. “Let’s sit out here.”
I glanced around his porch. It wasn’t big by any means, but it would have comfortably fit two rocking chairs or a bench swing. As it was, it was empty, not a potted plant or woman’s touch to be seen. Not that I was checking for that or anything. It was just an observation.
He scrubbed his hands on his faded jeans and then pressed a palm to my back, ushering me toward the stairs. There was something so comforting about his touch—a familiarity my body recognized immediately.
As if teaching me how to sit, he slowly sank down on the top concrete step, and then he peered up at me expectantly to follow his lead.
Fucking hell, this was not where I wanted to drop this bomb on him. Not that inside the house—especially that house —would have been any better, but privacy would have helped.
He patted the space beside him. “Come on. The fresh air will be nice.”
Yeah. Until that damn producer pulled up, bombarding him with arrows disguised as questions. Shit. Truett would have been a sitting duck on that front porch.
Nerves reignited inside me. I swung my head from side to side, searching up and down the street. “Can we sit on the back porch? Or stand in the backyard? Or…behind the bushes? Or…” I didn’t realize I was knotting my hands until he reached up to still them. For some reason, that too felt comfortable. I had no idea how to process that.
His eyes bored into me with a tangible intensity. “What’s wrong?”
I considered myself a damn good actress. God knew I’d had enough practice hiding my emotions from Jeff through the years. You didn’t survive a narcissist if you didn’t master the ability to smile even when they were breaking you.
But not with Truett. I’d never had to hide with him, and it seemed my body remembered that on instinct too.
Telling him this was going to feel every bit as good as kicking a puppy.
But why me ? Why did I have to be the one to break this news? I didn’t have the best success rate when it came to Truett. Too many times, I’d tried to keep him from falling apart. Too many times, I’d failed. Too many times I’d sacrificed parts of myself in the name of helping him. Yet there I stood, cracking open the history books all over again, when I’d sworn all the pages had already been shredded.
“Gwen,” he prompted, his patience waning.
Rip off the Band-Aid, Gwen. Just rip it off.
And then get the hell out of there and back to real life in the present.
I didn’t sit down next to him. That would have taken too much time, and I feared if I didn’t spit the words out right away, I’d be trapped on that porch forever. “A producer named Taggart Folly visited me today. They’re filming a documentary on the Watersedge Mall.”
“What?” he snarled, shooting to his feet. His brown eyes flashed a scary shade of dark as he took the step up, closing the space between us.
My breath hitched and my nose stung. This was so fucked up.
So fucking fucked up. Eighteen years later and we were back at that house, facing the repercussions of that damn mall.
My body hummed as he loomed over me—tiny sparks prickling my skin as if it had fallen sleep and finally awoken. I told myself it was nerves and had nothing to do with the man in front of me. Lying to myself was far easier than processing that clusterfuck.
I tried to keep the shake out of my voice as I answered him. “He said he’d spoken to some of the survivors. Then he asked if I still kept in contact with you.”
“That motherfucker.” Truett stabbed a hand into the top of his hair, the muscles on his neck straining the fabric of his black T-shirt. “What kind of questions did he ask you?”
“Nothing really.”
Murderous, he stared down at me. “That’s not an answer.”
Eying him cautiously, I hesitated. I’d expected this to go over like a knife to the gut—surprise, pain, panic. But the all-consuming rage emanating from him was unexpected—and oddly intoxicating.
“Start at the beginning,” he ordered. “No more of the ‘nothing really’ shit. I want to know every word he dared to speak to you.”
My brain fired off roughly four million smartass retorts in response to him ordering me to do anything. But when I spoke, my traitorous mouth overrode my brain. “He knocked on the door and asked if he could talk to me.”
“Were you at The Grille?”
“Yeah.”
“Alone?” He ominously inched closer—and truthfully there wasn’t a whole lot of close left for him to inch.
His proximity clouded my thoughts, but I managed to shake my head.
“Did you let him inside?”
“No.”
“Good girl,” he whispered, his breath feathering across my skin, leaving a trail of chills down my neck. “And after that?”
I couldn’t breathe, his hypnotizing gaze holding me captive. “I told him no and then lost my mind on him for digging up the past.”
His jaw clenched. “And how did he take that? Did he get aggressive or loud? Because I swear to God, Gwen, I will—”
“Hey,” I whispered. “It’s fine. He was a dick but nothing I couldn’t handle.”
He glanced off to the side, mumbling, “Fucking piece of shit.”
I rested a hand on his chest, his heart pounding beneath it. “He’s gonna show up here, True. You need to be ready.”
His gaze snapped back to mine. “Oh, I’m fucking ready. I wish that spineless leech would drag his ass to my door. I told him months ago to stay out of Belton. It’s bad enough they call me every goddamn day. Leaving messages morning, noon, and night. But showing up like that? You better believe I’m gonna shut that bullshit down real fast.”
A staggering betrayal stopped me cold. “You knew about this?”
“Journalists have been trying to get their talons into me for years. Folly’s not nearly as original as he thinks. He’s just a bigger asshole than most. I’ll call my lawyer and see what we can do to stop him from coming back.”
I blinked at him—annoyance roaring to life and thankfully silencing the hum he’d caused inside me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His forehead crinkled. “What?”
I shoved at his chest, forcing him back. “Why didn’t you warn me? I was blindsided today when he showed up. And you know what? All I was worried about was you. I ran all the way over here panicking that you were going to lose your mind. I should have known something was up when you pulled that sexy voodoo hypnotism shit.”
He quirked an eyebrow, but I was on a roll, so I ignored it.
“What the hell was the point in the cranky caveman routine? This wasn’t news to you. You’ve known for months and never thought to mention it?” I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest.
Okay, so maybe I was more than annoyed. I was flat-out pissed.
And worse, this jackass smiled.
At me.
Those perfect lips curled at the corners of his mouth. It was a masterpiece and so classically Truett it made me want to kick him. That was also another lie I told myself. What I really wanted to do to his mouth definitely started with a K, but with him, it would have been the worst four-letter word possible.
The kick was safer.
“You done yet?” he asked.
Like the mature adult I was, I mocked, “You done yet?”
His smile grew. “You were worried about me, huh?”
I scoffed. “Truett, you’ve had a panic attack every time I’ve seen you the last few weeks. Yeah, it’s safe to say I was worried.”
That made his smile fall, and much to my dismay, it didn’t feel nearly as good as I’d hoped. Actually, it made me feel like a total jerk.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I muttered.
He hung his head. “You don’t have to apologize for the truth.”
“I don’t have to be rude about it, either.”
The side of his mouth hiked as he peeked up at me through thick lashes. “That’s true too. You can be pretty rude.”
I leveled him with a glare, but it only succeeded in making the other side of his mouth hike too.
He moved to the step and sat down again. Tipping his chin to the spot beside him, he bargained with, “Humor me for a few minutes? No panic attacks this time. I promise.”
My shoulders sagged as the anger ebbed from my system. I had a laundry list of things to do. A contractor to harass. A restaurant to demolish. But against my better judgment, I sank down beside him.
The stairs were only so wide, and he was a big guy, so I was extra careful not to touch him.
Reading me like a book, he interlocked his fingers and rested his elbows on his thighs in an effort to make himself smaller. It worked to an extent. Our bodies weren’t touching, but there was still a connection that had nothing to do with the physical.
“I didn’t know you would want me to warn you,” he said. “We hadn’t spoken in years, and after the way things ended, I thought me reaching out to you would be even worse than someone like Folly.”
He had a point. A few weeks earlier, I’d have chosen an entire documentary crew showing up on my front lawn with a mariachi band at three in the morning over a phone call from Truett. I couldn’t put my finger on why that had changed. Given how my emotions had been a pendulum of highs and lows since he’d made a reappearance in my life, I wouldn’t say it fell under the “time heals all wounds” category. Maybe over the years, I’d callused over enough that the mere sight of him didn’t rip open the scars of my heart anymore.
Or maybe Jeff had shown me how awful the people who claimed to love you could really be to the point that Truett didn’t seem so bad anymore.
The thought made guilt churn in my stomach. There was no comparison between a monster and a man.
I tugged on the hem of my stupid shorts, trying to make the legs the same length. Anything for a distraction. “I shouldn’t have blamed you for that. It’s not your responsibility to keep me informed.”
“I can do it from now on though.”
I couldn’t tell if it was a statement or a question, but I decided to let him off the hook either way. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I do though. I can’t explain the whole ‘sexy voodoo hypnotism shit’ as you so eloquently called it.” His face warmed playfully, and I was struck, not for the first time, by how damn handsome he was.
My cheeks heated, so I looked down to hide my blush.
He swayed toward me, pointedly bumping me with his shoulder. “But the cranky caveman thing was because I’m livid he went to you. I’ll figure something out so you don’t have to worry about that asshole again.” He held my gaze, a fierce determination blazing in his eyes, sealing his promise.
I believed him wholeheartedly. Contrary to the dense tattoos and thick ropes of muscle, Truett had always been something of a gentle giant. He was older now, but somewhere inside him was still the same kid who’d once pulled over on the highway to pick me a bouquet of wildflowers when he couldn’t afford anything else for our anniversary.
But gentle did not equal a pushover. When it came to his family and friends, Truett had the heart of a warrior and the ruthlessness to match. I found it interesting that I still fit into either of those categories for him.
I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t ask him any more questions. I’d learned the hard way just how futile that could be. But on that step, it seemed he’d finally found his voice. I hoped like hell that meant I could finally use mine too.
“How are you doing, True? Like really doing?” I prepared myself for the same cookie-cutter responses he’d given me since the day he’d come home from his first and only deployment. I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m hanging in there. But for the first time in almost two decades, he spoke words that I didn’t need a therapist to decode.
“I guess that depends on who you ask.” He looked down, becoming fascinated by his bare feet. Meanwhile, I was just fascinated with him. “My therapists check in with me weekly and my doctor makes house calls. I’m pretty sure that’s not normal.”
“Truett,” I breathed, wishing like hell I’d stuck to my no-questions policy. The weight of gravity suddenly crushed me. “You still don’t go out in public? But…I saw you…at the restaurant…in the rain.”
He blew out a ragged breath, slowly peeking up at me. He tried to smile, but it was wholly sad—and completely heartbreaking. “Once a week I go to The Grille, but recently my ex-wife bought it and promptly shut it down.”
“Oh, God,” I whispered, my lungs suddenly on fire. Whether it was a voluntary reaction or not, I couldn’t be sure, but I immediately reached for him. Resting my hand on his thigh, I gave him a squeeze. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.”
“I know,” he mumbled. “How could yo—”
“Holy shit! You’re Truett West.” Lucille’s voice broke through the moment.
My head popped up to see Dylan and Angela standing beside her on the sidewalk.
Dylan was sporting her usual skeptical curiosity.
Angela looked apologetic.
And Lucille, well… Clearly, they’d filled her in, because she appeared unapologetically starstruck. “I’ve been serving Truett West for years and didn’t even know it.” She planted her hands on her hips. “You know, you could have told me. I would have given you a discount. Heroes should never have to pay full price.”
I gasped, but it was too late. The H word had been released like a bag of venomous snakes.
Truett went solid, his thigh becoming granite. “I’m not a fucking hero,” he seethed, rising to his feet.
And she didn’t stop there. Fucking Lucille could not read a room even if she was the only one in it. “Sure you are. You saved all those people at the mall. You should be proud.”
Oh, fuckity fuck. Proud was the only word worse than hero.
I stood and stepped in front of him, not sure if I was protecting him or her. “Lucille!” I yelled. “Please stop talking.”
“Get the fuck away from my house,” Truett snarled from behind me. His anger was so palpable I could feel the vibrations on my back.
“Go back to the restaurant,” I urged, flaring my eyes at Dylan and Angela in a plea for help.
They jumped into action, tugging on her arms.
“All right. Gwen’s fine. Everything looks good to me. Let’s go,” Dylan said.
Lucille argued, “Did I say something wrong?”
“Just come on,” Angela hissed, dragging her away.
I could still hear her arguing as they disappeared down the street when I turned back to Truett. “I’m so sorry about that.”
His mouth was a hard slash as he stared over my shoulder in the direction they’d left. And just like that, he was gone again. Still standing in front of me, but this was the version of Truett West who had abandoned me after six years of marriage.
“You should go,” he grumbled, never meeting my gaze again as he turned toward the door.
“Wait,” I called as I hurried after him, but his impenetrable walls were already locked in place.
He yanked the door open and stepped inside.
Then, in the mother of all role reversals, I used his trick and caught the door with my foot. “Wednesday,” I told his back. “I’ll be there from noon until late, so come whenever you want. Okay?”
He didn’t move.
Nor did he reply.
But the way his strong body relaxed told me he’d heard me.
No sooner than I moved my foot did the door slam in my face.
Yeah. I knew that version of Truett West all too well.
And I fucking hated him.