A Keeper's Truth (17 page)

Only a few
steps down the hall, I’m forced to stop in my tracks. The obstruction is solid
man.

“Talk to
me,” Thomas says.

I try to
squeeze past him.

“I thought
you hated parties.”

He blocks
my way.

“I came to
see you. To get you to talk to me.”

“This
isn’t the time, Thomas.”

“When is?
And why not now?” His voice is sad and pleading, but his stance is arrogant.
“Were you gonna leave for Florida without talking to me?”

How the
hell does he know I’m thinking about going to Florida?

“Were you
listening in on my conversation? I can go anywhere I want without your
approval, Thomas. Besides, I don’t recall participating in Belize plans, so who
are you to talk?”

“I didn’t
mean you need my permission, and I left to allow you time to grieve. I left for
you, because I thought it was what you needed, not because I didn’t want to be
here.” He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the wall, blocking
my path. “Please talk to me. I’m going crazy without you.”

I feel
sorry for him. For a moment. Until my hibernating anger bubbles to the surface.

“What do
you want me to say, Thomas? Why don’t you talk to your brother? You know, the
guy who lives a few blocks over? Sofia’s uncle?”

He rubs
his eyes. “I want you to say you understand. I want you forgive me. I want you
to say you miss me too.”

I search
aimlessly for the words to describe how I feel. Do I understand? Sort of, I
guess. Thomas’s reaction the night of the pageant, though possessive and
aggressive and not a response I condone, was obviously a character flaw that
Thomas has difficulty controlling. This doesn’t mean I like those qualities,
just that I can see how they can exist. He is a liar, yes, but has part of me
already forgiven him? I know I’m not willing to ruin Abby’s friendship with
Sofia over this. But I can’t deny that the side of Thomas I saw that night
changed my feelings toward him. Did I miss him? Hmm, I don’t think so. But I’ve
been deep in holiday grief and shock over Sonia’s death to feel much else.

“I would
do anything to bring us back to the way we were before that night,” he says,
studying me. “Abby and Sofia are close, and we could have
something . . .” His voice fades, resolving not to go there.

He’s still
after his happily-ever-after.

I juggle
conflicting responses. As much as I hate to admit it, my entire being yearns
for a man to hold, a father for Abby, and more children. I want a baby kicking
inside me, a child shared with someone I love. But is that someone Thomas? I
look into his eyes, which are dark gray at the moment, trying to find my place
in them.

The words
tumble without a conscious decision to speak.

“I
wouldn’t live walking distance from my own flesh and blood and not be on
speaking terms. I wouldn’t deny my daughter a relationship with her uncle when
it doesn’t suit my purpose. And I sure as hell wouldn’t use fists to vent my
frustrations.” I don’t let his tortured demeanor stop me. “We make choices,
Thomas. This life offers us one chance to make a difference and experience love
and you’re throwing it away. Take it from me, someone who would give anything
for a family, there isn’t a reason big enough.”

I step
closer. “Still, I treasure you and want you in my life.” Thomas looks hopeful,
and I cringe at the thought of my next words hitting him hard. “As a friend. I
forgive the person you are because I care for you. And I acknowledge that, as a
friend, your choices might not be the same as mine. But that’s where it ends.”

Surrender
hits his eyes and his shoulders slump.

“Tess, I
know we can—”

“I hope
you find your happily-ever-after, Thomas. I really do. But I doubt you’ll find
it in me.”

Thomas
bolts upright, the movement so fast I barely see it. One minute he’s leaning on
the wall and the next he’s looming over me.

“You can’t
want him,” he says, seething.

“I can
want anyone I choose, Thomas.”

“He’ll
hurt you.”

“How is
that, Thomas? Will he spew mythical rhetoric until I pass out? Flatter me to
pieces?”

“Open your
eyes, Tess. And close your legs.”

I gasp.

Son of a
bitch!

Not about
to be bullied, I scramble for a retort to hurl but don’t get the chance. One
second Thomas is standing in front of me, the next he’s gone.

Lucky for
him.

T
he clock
ticks while I make my way around the room, chatting with friends. Bryce is
nowhere within sight and Thomas, I assume, has left. To dilute outrage over my
confrontation with Thomas, I’ve downed another three martinis and am on the
verge of making a beeline to the bar for another when a set of large hands
casually rest on my hips.

“Hey you,”
Bryce whispers.

His breath
warms my ear.

“Hey you
back.”

I lean
into him, feeling his muscles through my dress. He smells amazing.

All my
thoughts, all my worries, even the curiosities I’d been pondering evaporate to
nothing of consequence. The air between us thins until all that is left is an
energy snapping from his body to mine, releasing gravity’s hold.

Something
has changed; something about Bryce is different. He always stays an
appropriate, almost careful distance from me in public and his hands are
usually behind his back or in his pockets. And what would have been a simple
touch with little meaning had it come and gone in a fleeting moment, instead
lingers until it feels like much more.

Still, I
don’t move and neither does he. Lost in this connection I forget about time,
place, about the circle of people around us.

A familiar
voice pierces our bubble and we both jump.

“Most
murders are committed by someone the victim knows, someone close,” says Thomas,
glaring over my shoulder at Bryce. “I heard you were close with Sonia
MacKinnen
.”

Bryce
clears his throat, removing his hands from my hips. “You are not helping your
case, Thomas.”

“You
attract trouble. Had you stayed away—from Sonia that is—trouble
wouldn’t have come to this small town.”

The crowd’s
gaze darts from Bryce to Thomas, surprised by the sudden friction. Some realize
this isn’t heading anywhere good and slink away in search of a less hostile
environment. Curiosity gets the better of the few remaining and they hover to
watch the show.

“I met
Sonia once,” says Bryce. “I was at the restaurant where she worked. I
was—”

“Picking
her up. Typical Bryce style, of course. You have a way with the ladies. She
went home with you, right? And then what?”

What the
hell?

“Suggesting
Bryce was involved in Sonia’s murder is pretty dark, Thomas,” I say.

“You have
no idea what my brother is capable of.”

Bryce
turns me, gently, drawing my attention. “Tess, Thomas knows I had nothing to do
with Sonia’s death. I was at the restaurant waiting for him. I asked him to
meet so we could talk, work out our differences, but he never showed. Sonia was
drunk and—”

“All over
you, no doubt.”

“Thomas,
you shouldn’t—”

“No, Tess,
you shouldn’t. You need to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Yes, she
does,” says Bryce, calm and controlled. “I’ve been telling you that for—”

“That is
not what I mean, Bryce. I don’t want that shit here.” He moves closer. “Keep
your mouth shut.”

“Thomas—”

“She needs
to be warned,” Thomas grumbles, a finger in Bryce’s face. “She needs to know you
haven’t had a relationship outlast a season. And that you’ll crawl under
another skirt the minute you’re bored.”

Bryce
steps forward, guarded. “You are way over the line and you know it.”

“I’ll
cross countless boundaries to keep her away from you.”

“You need
to stop.”

Thomas
sneers. “Worried she’ll realize you’re a player? That you wine, dine,
and—”

“If you
care about her at all you’ll stop right now,” says Bryce, suddenly cross.

“Man, you
two really know how to clear a room,” says Karen from the doorway. She’s
clearly displeased.

I sweep
the perimeter. A few spectators loiter in corners, eagerly waiting fists to
fly.

“I’m
sorry, Karen.”

“I don’t
blame you,” Karen says, placing a pity pat on my arm. “But you
two . . .” Her irate eyes drill
the men
. “Get control
over yourselves. You fight like toddlers but with much higher stakes. Now, I
don’t know what this argument was about,” she pauses, looking at me, “but I’m
sure it could’ve been conducted with more respect to the guests in this house.”

“You’re
right, Karen. I apologize,” says Bryce. “We should go.”

Bryce
reaches for my hand and Thomas, moving like lightning, swipes him away.

“Thomas!
What has gotten into you?” I say, astonished.

Bryce
stands tall. “That is enough.”

“I should
say so,” says Karen.

My head
starts to pound. “No more,” I mumble. “I’m heading home.”

Karen
wraps an arm around my waist. “You don’t have to leave.”

“I do,” I
say, glancing at Bryce. “And I’ll call a cab.”

I leave
all three of them in the almost empty living room and slam the front door
behind me.

Minutes
later, I’m
pacing on Karen’s porch, vigorously rubbing my
arms, cursing my impulse to flee.

“I cannot
believe that man,” I grumble.

My breath
billows in the night air. I left without my coat and didn’t bring my cell to
call a ride, but I refuse to go back in there. I’ll wait out here all night if
I have to. I stare into the darkness, contemplating the atrocities my satin
shoes would endure if I were to attempt the hike on foot. “Eventually someone
has to leave this party,” I say, looking at my Jimmy
Choos
,
“and when they do, we’ll catch a ride.”

“Are you
talking to your shoes?”

I look up
and see Bryce. He’s three feet away with my coat folded over one arm.

“Don’t
judge me.” I attempt to grab my coat but he swings it out of reach and points
his chin at my hands. Surrender comes quickly. I’m freezing. I sigh and slide
into warm sleeves. “How did you know which coat was mine?”

“Karen.
She would have come out here herself, but she didn’t want to leave Thomas and
me alone.” He brushes the hair from my face and places a silver tiara on my
head. “She asked Thomas to wait inside while I check on you. Actually, asked is
a nice way to put it. That woman has claws. She told Thomas if he took one step
out this door she would tell the entire population of Carlisle he has a temper
problem and cannot be trusted.”

The night
air nips my skin so I retreat into my coat, bundling tight. I study Bryce’s
face. His chiseled features are accentuated by the glow of the porch lamp, and
I’d be rapt if not for the absence of silver in his eyes. The sizzle is gone.
He’s worried about his brother.

“She
wouldn’t do that you know. Karen. She’s all talk.”

“I know. I
doubt Thomas will take any chances though. Besides, he knows he needs to
chill.”

Bryce
reaches out, the tips of his fingers touching the wool collar of my coat. His
gaze follows his fingers down my front. I swallow and a ball of air idles in my
throat. He slips a finger into a buttonhole and pulls me to him. I ricochet
softly off his chest, coming to a standstill against him, staring into his
eyes. So close.

“You are
always running out on me,” he murmurs, finger still holding tight to my coat.
Tiny silver flecks shimmer in his eyes, fading in from a distance.

Chemicals
churn in my head and blood pumps to my mouth, making my lips tingle.

Bryce
grins, smug. He tugs my arms free and my coat falls open. With concentrated
motions he pulls the top button through the hole then slowly works his way down
my coat, the quintessential gentleman.

“I’m sorry
you had to see that. Thomas and me at odds, again.” His stare hasn’t wandered
from his fingers holding me captive. “It wasn’t always like this, Thomas and I.
No matter what he says or does, I will not leave him to fight his demons alone.
Not this time.” He sighs, gently leaning his forehead to mine. “Are you all
right?”

I am now.
Perfect, I’d say, other than my cold hands with nowhere to hide. This coat has
no pockets.

Bryce
takes my hands in his, squeezing them flat between his palms. Heat soaks deep,
warming my bones.

“I wish
you and your brother would get along. I’d like to be friends with you both, but
with fights breaking out at every turn you guys make it very difficult.”

“I
understand and I’m sorry.”

“I am as
well,” says Thomas, standing coatless in the snow. Footprints behind him lead
to the back gate.

The cold
penetrates my hands floating in midair, suddenly unattended. I don’t know if
it’s the crisp night or the quiet hum of hydro wires but something has made the
atmosphere stable and serene. I look back and forth, between the two men,
taking in their altered states. They seem to converse with their eyes, a
sibling talent no doubt, but a discussion I’m not privy to. I dread the same
argument, the same accusations being rehashed, so I say the first thing to come
to mind.

“I can’t
stand out here and not think of Sonia lying in drifts, freezing to death, only
a couple of houses down. I hope he killed her before he left her in the snow. I
can imagine the hell she went through.”

Both
Thomas and Bryce abandon their stance to gape at me, their expressions making
further explanation a must. “I have vivid nightmares. Have my whole life. I’ve
been brutally beaten and left for dead more times than I can count. I know what
it felt like for her.”

I search
Bryce’s face hoping to find reassurance that my confession hasn’t pegged me a
psychotic freak, but he just stares. I try to backpedal, to lighten the mood.
“Hopefully it was painless and she didn’t know what was coming. Maybe it was a
vampire,” I say in jest.

Thomas and
Bryce flinch in unison but neither utter a word.

“Will you
two lighten up? I’m sorry. I know this is no laughing matter. I really do hope
they find who did this to her.” The solemn vibe has taken on a life of its own,
thick and heavy, pulling me down like quicksand.

Bryce
steps back to better view my face in the light. “Vampire? What makes you think
Sonia was killed by a vampire?”

Shit. Why
did a vampire come to mind? The guy in the café came to mind, the thing with
the girl in his arms, but I hadn’t thought of him as a vampire before.

“I don’t
know. I haven’t been myself lately.” I think up a lie real quick. “I’m reading
a vampire book and it’s got me seeing vampires in my dreams,” I pause,
wondering if I should let go of the precipice I’m hanging from. “And at the
cafe.” I chuckle then stifle it with a cough.

Bryce
lowers his head to gaze directly into my eyes, but I’m so embarrassed I look
away. I peer out into the yard in time to see Thomas turn around, hands
entwined in his hair.

“Please
look at me,” Bryce begs. Even though his voice is delicate and soothing, I
can’t bring myself to move. He draws close, his breath warming my scalp. “Have
you seen something, someone who reminds you of a vampire, here in town?”

“Seriously,
guys, this is stupid. Go back to fighting. Stop freaking me out.”

The men
glare at each other. Minutes pass as I watch them locked in an unspoken
argument, their body language disclosing some of the tension but none of the
facts.

“Leave her
out of this,” Thomas huffs.

“If she
saw him, maybe he saw her,” Bryce snaps back.

Again, two
sets of eyes penetrate my shield of self-preservation. Breath comes in spurts
and my chest aches, experiencing some sort of panic attack. I showcase a
pathetic smile, striving to look like I get the joke.

“Tess,
it’s very important you tell me what you’ve seen,” says Bryce.

I know
he’s referring to my vision in the café, but I’m not willing to play their game
or pretend any of this is real. I look to Thomas for help.

“None of
it is real,” he says. “You’ve lost your husband. You are under a lot of
stress.”

Bryce
glowers at Thomas, a rare show of ire that catches me by surprise. When his
attention returns his countenance is new, resolved, as if he’s decided to
ignore Thomas altogether.

“Please
tell me what you saw in the coffee shop,” he says, resting his fingertips on my
cheeks.

“Don’t
touch her,” growls Thomas.

Bryce
groans, dropping his hands to his sides. “Trust me,” he whispers, his breath
swirling in a ray of porch light.

Trust
him . . . with my secrets . . . The truth
collides with lies in my head as I struggle to find solid ground in a landscape
where I’m released from gravity. Do I entrust Bryce with my private delusions,
my lapse from reality?

“I,
ah . . . I was waiting in line to get a caramel brownie for
Karen . . .”

“Where?
Where were you?”