Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 07 - Mucky Streak (14 page)

“Any idea who was behind the threats?”
I rushed, not ready to finish this conversation.

“Didn’t know. Didn’t care.
”

The man sounded like a real winner. Where had Garrett found him? Why had Garrett
chosen him out of all of the other P.I.s out there? He certainly didn’t seem especially astute or determined.

“Just one more question. Please.”
I expected him to refuse.

“Yeah, yea
h. You’re on overtime hours now. I’m only saying yes because I’m a gentleman.”

I pressed onward.
“Did you discover anything of interest? Anything that’s not in the files?”

“Besides the fact that the family was shadier than they let on?  If I were you, I’d check out
Edward’s past.”

“I talked to his coworker
and polo partner. What other part of his past are you talking about?”

“Probe deeper. There’s more there. I didn’t have time
to dig in like I wanted. I had other priorities, like keeping my family alive.”

Then there was me. I didn’
t have anything to lose, did I? I didn’t really have anyone to live for. Who depended on me. Who needed me at home.

Was that really true?

That was something I was going to have to decide.

CHAPTER 16

As soon as I hung up with the P.I., my
cellphone rang again. My heart raced when I heard “That’s Amore.” Riley. Riley was finally calling me. Both anxiety and excitement spread through me.

I took a deep breath before answering.

“Hey there.” I tried to keep my voice light.

“Hey, Gabby. How’s my favorite girl?”
His voice rolled over the line. Man, did I ever miss that sound.

My
nerves calmed but only slightly. Riley had called me his favorite girl. That was a good sign, right?

“I’m hanging in,
” I responded.

No need to go into all the details with him of everything that had happened. I had to try and keep his stress level low, so he could heal quicker. I had to keep reminding myself of that. I was so used to sharing my life with him.

“I’m glad to hear that. You won’t believe this, but I lost my cellphone. I thought I’d turned if off before therapy and left it at the office. Turns out it was in my suitcase the whole time.”

“Glad you finally found it.”
I leaned back into the bed, trying to relax—something I wasn’t very good at doing. I had to focus this conversation on Riley. “The bigger question is: How are you?”

“I have to say that I’m doing better.
I feel calmer and more single-minded. I think being up here has been good for me. I can just focus on my recovery.”

My heart squeezed. I was so glad he was doing better, but
at the same time sad that he wasn’t doing better with me.

“That’s great.”
I forced the words out. I meant them, but my emotions still rebelled.

He paused. I gave him time to formulate his thoughts. Tried not to rush him.

“I was talking to my therapist today, Gabby. You know, more about the emotional stuff that guys never want to talk about.”

My heart squeezed even more. I desperately wished I was the one he was talking to about all of this. “Okay.”

“She thinks we should indefinitely postpone the wedding.”

I nearly choked on nothing but air.
I lurched forward, a physical ache in my chest. “What?” Certainly I didn’t hear him correctly.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear. But she thinks the wedding is putting too much pressure on me.
She said I needed to focus solely on my recovery.”

“I thought the wedding would give you something to work toward.” If I were in his shoes,
getting married would motivate me. At least, in theory it would. But I hated that my voice took on the injured tone it did. I tried to tamp the emotion down.

“I feel too much like I’m letting you down
,” Riley said. “I feel like my recovery is hindering your life. It’s hindering you from moving forward.”

“You’re not letting me down,” I insisted. “I want you to get better.”

“Then you understand why we need to call off our engagement for a while?”

I bent over
again, the pain that spread through me nearly too great for me to contain. I forced down a few deep gulps of air. “You’re serious?”

“I’m sorry, Gabby. This isn’t what I wanted, either.
But my therapist says that oftentimes people with brain injuries change. She said if we stay together, we’ll need to start over with dating again and see where it ends up. If we decide to do that, we should wait a while. Wait until I finish therapy.”

“You’re not serious.”
Even the professionals were against me. That’s how it felt, at least. This only made me hate Riley being in D.C. even more.

“I don’t
know anything anymore, Gabby. She did say my injuries weren’t as serious as the other cases she’d seen. But she warned me that I can’t expect things to go back like they were. At least not for a while.”

I couldn’t find the right words, either, so I decided to own up to that fact.
It seemed the safest bet at the time. “I don’t know what to say.”

“
Don’t read too much into this, Gabby. I love you.”

If you loved me, you would marry me. You would believe in our future and think it was worth fighting for.
I voiced none of those thoughts, though.

It seemed that keeping his stress level low meant mine ricocheted to dangerous levels.

“I know this is difficult,” Riley continued. “The doctors are still expecting me to make a full recovery. I just need some time.”

“Does this mean we’ve broken up?”
I didn’t even want to ask the question. But I did. I had to know, I had to have some clarity.

“It means we’ve taken some steps back.”

“I see.” It was all I could manage to get out.

“Please don’t be upset.”

I was upset, but I couldn’t let him know that. “I just really want what’s best for you, Riley. If this is what your therapist says you need to do, then I support you. Your health is more important than anything else right now.”

I meant it. I did. But I couldn’t help but think that there had to be another way. A better way. A way that didn’t involve my heart hurting so much. But I supposed that was asking too much.

“You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that.” Riley’s voice took on a softer, more relaxed tone. “I’ve been dreading this phone call, putting it off. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Too late!
I twisted the engagement ring on my finger and then pulled it off. I stared at the diamond solitaire, a picture of what could have been.

And so the story of my life continued.

“I know, Riley,” I whispered. “You just get better.”

As soon as we hung up, I fell back on the bed. I didn’t cry. No,
crying would be too much of a relief. I just stared at the ceiling as an achy heaviness spread through every part of my body. Then I resigned myself to a life where everything I wanted was dangled in front of me, only to be snatched away before I obtained it.

***

“You okay?” Holly asked. “You seem a little distracted today.”

I’d texted her last night and told her I was turning in early. Then I’d stayed in my room with the lights out, trying to make sense of life.
It didn’t do any good because this morning I felt just as confused as ever.

Right now, w
e cruised down the road, on our way to meet with one of Cassidy’s old boyfriends. I’d given him a call this morning, and he’d agreed to meet. Holly had offered to come with me, and I didn’t refuse. I could use some company since being alone with my thoughts felt like torture.

I reached for the empty spot
on my finger where my engagement ring used to be. “My fiancé called off the wedding last night.” My voice sounded as dull as my soul felt.

“Oh, Gabby. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I had no idea either.”

“Did he say why?”

I stared out the window at the urban buildings we passed, at life as it continued on as usual. “It was his therapist’s idea. She said he needed to focus on getting better and to eliminate any sources of stress in his life.” My voice took on an unfortunate mimicking tone, one of my not so fine qualities and defense mechanisms.

“Ouch. Was the therapist
implying that you were a source of stress?”

I shrugged. “The wedding was. Apparently, he felt pressure and that pressure was hindering his recovery.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“He claimed he still loves me, and that he hates doing th
is.” I shook my head, dumbfounded. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I don’t know him, Gabby. And I’m only getting to know you. But give him some time. Men like to be strong for their women. They don’t want to be seen as weak. Maybe he just needs some space to get his masculinity back.”

Her words made sense. Guys did have their pride. Maybe I was reading too much into this. Maybe the stress of everything had worn my spirit down to the breaking point.

I said nothing.

“I know this is hard for you in the meantime, though,” Holly continued. “The uncertainty has to make you feel insecure. If I could go back to two years ago and talk to myself, I’d remind myself that emotions aren’t bad, but that I need to take things in stride.”

I glanced at her, curious now.
“What happened two years ago?”

She glanced over at me and frowned.
“I was engaged, actually.”

“Were you?”

She nodded. “But it was right when my dad had been diagnosed with cancer. I didn’t want anything to hinder my time with him, so I put off the wedding.”

“What happened?” She obviously wasn’t engaged now.
Nor was she married.

“My fiancé got tired of waiting, got tired of being second place. He broke things off with me—a month before my dad died.”

“Wow. That had to be hard.”

She
nodded. “It was. But looking back now, I see it was for the best. Boy, did I wish I could see it back then. But I was blinded by too many emotions. I was pulled in too many directions. I couldn’t see anything clearly—except for my dad. Our emotions can be a wonderful thing, or they can lead us astray.”

“Yes, they
can.” I’d been thinking a lot about that lately.

“I know it sounds cliché
and that I’m repeating myself, but with every closed door, there is an open window. We just have to look for it. We have to know that everything that happens in this life is for our best. It’s all about trusting God.”

“It
sounds like you’ve got that down pat.” My words were sincere; I only hoped that sincerity came through in my voice. “She said genuinely,” I added at the end, just to clarify.

Holly threw me a quick smile before continuing.
“I had some very frank talks with God when I was diagnosed. There was a lot of pity. A lot of whys. But I’m trying to focus on the eternal and not on the temporary things of this earth.”

“I wish I had your faith, Holly.” I was no better than those people I’d accused of going to church but showing no evidence of transformation in their lives.
Garrett Mercer and I were more alike than maybe I wanted to admit.

And that was a fact that I hated.

“Faith is a choice I make every day. I’m not perfect. I’m nowhere near perfect, for that matter. Just ask my family. They’ll tell you that I’m idealistic and impulsive and too much of a dreamer. But, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: Dying can put living into perspective.”

For a moment
, I pictured myself being given an expiration date. If I knew I only had a month to live, would I be wallowing in self-pity? Definitely not. I’d be trying to live to the fullest.

And the truth was that none of us knew how long we had left here on this earth. Maybe it was time to stop bemoaning all that had gone
wrong and start looking for the things that were going right. I had to get rid of this negativity in my life.

Her words caused a new
determination to settle over me. I was going to start trusting that everything did happen for a purpose—even this stalled engagement. I didn’t know where that path would take me, but I was going to have faith that all things did work for the good of those who were called in Christ Jesus.

Holly pulled to a stop in front of a surprisingly humble home—at least for the likes of
the Mercer family. “We’re here,” she announced. “Marty Alvin, AKA Cassidy’s boyfriend’s house. You ready for this, Sherlock?”

I nodded, ready to focus on something other than my troubles.
“Let’s go, Watson.”

***

Marty Alvin had probably been handsome in his younger days. Today, he was 27 and he looked like he’d lived a rough life. Probably, if I had to guess, he’d been mixed up in too many drugs and too much alcohol. Those addictions could age a person more quickly than they’d ever want to admit.

Based on the glazed look in his eyes, those rough days weren’t behind him.

His hair was too long, his whiskers too unshaven, and his clothes too unlaundered.

Some people could get away with that look, but only if they did it on purpose.
On a positive note, he bore a faint resemblance to Marky Mark, from Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch back in the 90s. The comparison was both because of his physical features and his hip hop culture attitude.

As soon as
he appeared, I could smell body odor, something frying in the kitchen, and the stale scent of a house that didn’t get enough air circulation.

“
Marty?” I asked.

“That’s me.”

“I’m Gabby, and this is my friend, Holly. Thanks for agreeing to meet with us.”

He grunted and shoved the door open. He
offered no smile—just a vacant kind of stare—and waved us inside. The interior of his home looked like a dump, and one glance at the man and woman in the background seemed to indicate that he was still living with his parents.