Goodbye Secrets (The Lost & Found Series book #2) (36 page)

“Sorry. Go ahead.” I offer a sheepish smile.

“I went through the
backdoor
. I told her all about you without telling her who you are.”

“What did she say?” I’m intrigued.

“Well, we talked about PTSD and the short-term memory loss that can be associated with it. We weren’t sure if it was that, or if you were pretending because of guilt, or both. She explained how to do some easy memory triggers. I asked her if I should have you journal when you were
on
, writing or a video, but she said that that could end up being a good thing or a really bad thing. It all depended on where you were mentally ... you know, what you’d be able to handle.” He slides his right arm around my waist as he shifts onto his side again. I snuggle into him more. “I could lay here forever like this, Becs ... holding you. You feel like home to me.” He gives my forehead a prolonged kiss. I seem to have two homes, and I love and find comfort in both of them.

“Well, did you have me journal or anything?” I ask as I inhale deeply the smell of Ray McNeil and hold it to memory.

“Yes. You know how my mother has a thing with photography?”

“Yeah, she has a great eye. She’s very good at it.” I smile, thinking of the girls calling her “Nanarazzi.” I giggle.

“What?”

“Nanarazzi,” I remind him. He chuckles.

“Well, Nanarazzi put together a whole scrapbook just about you and me. She did a beautiful job journaling on most the pages, describing our mood and where we were. I love that book!” He pauses, I think to collect himself.

“Sounds lovely. I’d like to see it.”

He lets out a frustrated breath.

“Becs, you’ve seen it about fifty times. Christ!” He swats my ass. I inhale sharply. He studies my face and a slow smile forms. “You really do like that, don’t you?” He does it again.

“Stop ... that’s Grayson’s.” I try to steady my breath.

“Yeah, that’s Grayson’s thing. He loves to slap you around and hurt you.” He’s being snarky.

“You hurt me, too,” I say quietly, hoping to prevent a full-blown Ray McNeil explosion.

“I ... have done
nothing
but love you and
be patient
with you for
five fucking years
!” he says through his teeth.

“Now, that isn’t entirely true, is it?” I look him straight in the eye, matching his frustration.

His face softens and he leans his forehead against mine. “No, babe, it’s not. I’m sorry. I should have never done that to you.”

“I’m sorry you wasted so many years on me.” I touch his cheek as he pulls his face back slightly.

“That’s all going to change now—
right
, baby?” He presses his nose to mine.

“Nothing’s changed, Ray. I’m sorry.” I bite my lip to stifle the sob that wants to escape.

“He can’t have you!
You. Are. Mine!
He can’t have you anymore! You belong here with me! You love me. You’re in love with me ... you said it yourself! If you think I’m going to throw away the past
five
years like it meant nothing, you are sorely mistaken, Becca Campbell! You are going to wake up one of these days and you are finally going to see me! You will see us, and you will see the family that we have built and nurtured. I am not going anywhere! I will wait for you. You are
my
forever! He can’t have you! I love you, baby, and I need you!”

There is a mixture of passion and anger in his tone. My eyes stay closed, letting his words absorb. I’m sure they will haunt me from time to time in the future. His lips caress mine gently.

“I love you, Becs ... don’t leave me ... don’t leave us.”

I kiss him back reluctantly, because I know I’m only going to hurt him more today. He caresses my hip, then grasps at my jeans as he deepens the kiss. “I need you, Becs.” He quickly unfastens my pants again and starts to pull at the fabric.

“Stop it! Stop!” I smack his hand and try to get up.

“Baby, wait!” He pulls me closer. “I’ll stop ... for now,” he adds, with a smile full of promise. “Next was your birthday. You know about that.”

Good distraction tactics, McNeil!

“I was sore for two days.” Ugh ... I should learn to keep my mouth shut.

“Jesus, baby, don’t tell me stuff like that.” He closes his eyes tightly, like he’s fighting something back. It’s not sympathy. Most men wouldn’t feel sympathetic toward making a woman sore like that. They are too busy patting themselves on the back and doing a mental fist pump.

“Okay ... next.”

“I felt guilty about what I did, so I was on my best behavior. The only time we kissed was when you looked at the book from my mother. I’d leave it out when you’d come over. It never failed.” He chuckles. “‘What’s this, Ray?’” He imitates me and laughs. I elbow him. “I’d tell you, ‘Oh, my mom made that! You’d be proud of her!’ Then you’d pick it up with a gesture that asked if you could open it. I’d say, ‘Yeah. Let’s sit and look at it together.’ We’d get all comfy on my couch. You’d be smiling all big, like a kid on Christmas morning. You know, babe ... it really doesn’t take much to bring a smile to your face. You always get so excited about the simplest things!”

“Yeah, okay, keep going.” I swat his arm.

“Okay, okay. So, you’d open the book and your Christmas smile would become more of a caught-off-guard one. The first page is titled ‘The Story of Us,’ and it has a close-up picture of our profiles. We’re laughing. Then under it, it says:

RAY AND BECCA

Laughter and Love Since 2007

Y’all met at Annie and Morgan’s first parent-teacher night on September 5
th
, 2007. You two were laughing with each other before you even knew one another’s names. You’ve been laughing with each other and loving one another ever since. I’ve enjoyed watching you two grow as a couple and seeing how happy you make each other.

Love, Mama

You always look up at me like
, huh?
I just ignore your expression and stifle my smile ‘til you focus back on the book. Sometimes I have to turn the page for you. The next page is titled ‘Our Family’ and it has a collage of us with the girls over the past five years. That distracts you, because you focus on how much the girls have grown. The next page’s title freaks you out a little.” He makes the
uh-oh
face.

“Why? What is it?”

“‘We Were MAINE for Each Other.’ There are several pages of us in Maine. We’re holding hands in some. A lot of us sleeping in each other’s arms. Swinging on the porch swing, laughing. Fishing, my arms around you helping you reel a fish in. Then I’m smiling down at you and you up at me. Me giving you a piggyback ride down the beach in the early fall. Us kissing on the beach. Your favorite page is titled ‘You Are My Dream Come True.’ We’re both asleep on the hammock. Then I’m awake and smiling down at you. Then you’re smiling up at me. Then we’re kissing. It’s all in black and white.”

“Your mother is quite the stalker, huh?” I laugh.

“Yeah, she is.” He laughs with me.

“Well, how do I handle all of this?”

“Most of the time it gets you thinking. You’re so cute. You always look at me, unsure, but I can see the lightbulb is on, so I inch closer and start showing you pictures that I love. I point to us kissing and tell you I love how soft your lips are. That usually is the key to you letting me kiss you.” He leans forward and captures my lips.

“So, what happens when I don’t handle it well?” I pull away.

“That only happened once. You said, ‘Ray, why did your mom do this?’ I replied, ‘Because you taught her to scrap things through her eyes and heart. This is how she sees us, baby.’ Then you asked, ‘Well, how do you see us, Ray?’ And I said, ‘I love this book, Becca. I love you.’ I was honest.”

“How did I reply?” I wince.

“Yeah ... not good. You’re not remembering this at all?” I shake my head. “You said, ‘Well, I’m sorry, Ray, but I don’t love you like that. It makes me very uncomfortable, looking at this.’ I snapped at you and said, ‘Well, don’t fucking look at it, Becca! It’s not yours!’ And I took it from you. You said, ‘Don’t you think your mom is leading you? Making you believe there is something more than there is?’ I said, ‘Well, I don’t know, Becca ... let’s see.’ And I opened the book back up and found pictures of us kissing or looking very intimate. ‘Nope, not my mother’s tongue down my throat. She’s definitely not the one leading me on!’”

“Good for you!” I interrupt, forgetting that he’s actually telling me off in this story. We both laugh over this. “What did I say?”

“You went pale as a ghost and said, ‘Ray, I don’t remember any of these moments. Did she use Photoshop or something?’ Well, needless to say, I went apeshit! I called you every name in the book and told you to get the
eff
out of my house. You were really upset. I feel bad about it, because you ended up in the middle of this shitstorm you weren’t aware you started. You don’t remember any of this argument, babe?” His brow furrows.

“No. Not one second of it.” I shake my head again.

“Well, I’m glad, actually. It wasn’t pretty.” He sighs.

“Why? What happened?”

“Let’s just move on. So, the next time ...”

“No, Ray! Tell me—what happened?” I raise my head.

“Becs, you have to understand ... I just ... I reached my limit. I wanted to hit you. It actually scared me. I grabbed your face and shook your head. I called you a number of things and said I wished I had never met you, then I pushed you away a little too hard. You fell on your butt. I didn’t even ask you if you were all right. I just yelled at you to get out. You did. I thought that was it. We were done. I’m sorry I did that, Becs.” He pulls me in for a hug and kisses my hair.

“Well what happened? How did we make up?” I yawn.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lucy ... are you just joining in on this story now? It’s about a very forgetful woman named Becca,” he teases, which warrants another slap on the arm from me.

“I know but, how? When?” I ask.

“You called me the next day to see what I was up to. You had a few hours free, wanted to know if I had lunch, that you would stop by the office.” He smiles and shakes his head.

“What did you say? How did you feel about me calling?” My head pops up.

“Um, I was shocked yet happy for the do-over. I told you that I was working from home and I didn’t have lunch yet. You said you’d bring something. I told you I’d make it.”

“Gourmet peanut butter and jelly, Ray?” I laugh because Ray’s not one that should be allowed in the kitchen. He’s gotten a bit better over the years with my help, but still, I don’t jump at the chance to eat over there except when I know it’ll be takeout.

“Close ... grilled cheese. Burnt grilled cheese, which is why I was glad that you brought a backup lunch. You were so cute with your picnic basket. I was like, ‘Babe! I told you I was making lunch!’ as I fanned the smoke out of the kitchen. You raised your basket and said, ‘I know,’ and laughed. You set it down on the counter and opened a window. You started cleaning up my mess. I loved watching you.”

“You loved watching the ‘little woman’ clean? How chauvinistic of you.” I nudge teasingly.

“No, no. It was watching how comfortable you were in my kitchen—like it was yours. You just glided around, knowing where everything was—where everything went. It was like watching my wife. It sounds silly.” He waves at the air.

“It sounds sweet, but Ray, the reason why I’m so comfortable in your kitchen is because I reorganized it like four years ago. It’s set up exactly the way I like it.” I smile.

“Pop!” Ray pokes the air. I give him a strange look. “You, bursting my romanticized bubble.” He smirks. “Do you remember this, babe?” He raises an eyebrow. I think for a moment.

“No, Ray. Hmm, it seems the closer the memory, the less I’m remembering. That’s strange.” I sigh, a bit frustrated. I’d rather relive each memory so it becomes mine. It’s weird having him tell me about these things like I wasn’t there.

“Okay, well, stop me if it does come to you.” His knuckles graze my cheek. I nod in agreement. “So, after you cleaned up, you grabbed plates and handed them to me. You smiled and asked me why I was looking at you like that.”

“Like a lovesick puppy?” I smile.

“Yeah, basically, baby.” His lips peck my nose. “I said, ‘I just appreciate you, babe, and I’m grateful for you.’ I came around the counter and hugged you. ‘You all right?’ you asked me. ‘You rarely work from home. Are you feeling okay?’ You felt my forehead. I remember closing my eyes, just enjoying your touch of concern. I said I was fine, just felt like playing hooky. We set the table. I touched you every chance I could get. You know ... the whole touchy-feely effect you have on guys,” he says. I slap him, but am unsuccessful at hiding my smile. “We ate your wonderful lunch, then decided to head to the living room to relax. You asked me if I wanted you to leave so I could get back to work. I said, ‘I never want you to leave, babe, you know that.’
You gave me one of your half smiles ... you know, big enough for your dimples to pop out?” He looks at me for confirmation.

“No, I don’t know.” I smile.

“Yeah, it’s cute, baby. So, we were heading into the living room, and you noticed my mom’s book on the floor by the built-in bookcases. You went over and picked it up. ‘Here, I got that,’ I said, trying to take it from you. I didn’t want a repeat of the day before. You pulled it away from me. ‘What is this?’ you asked, and opened it. ‘Stop,’ I said again, but you’d already saw. You studied the first page as you walked over to the couch with it. ‘C’mere,’ you said, and patted the seat next to you. ‘Who did this?’ you asked me. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I just pointed to the part that says ‘Love, Mama.’

“‘Oh,’ you said, and started reading it. ‘This is beautiful. Ray, why was it tossed in the corner like that? It looked like it was thrown.’ I told you I did throw it, which was the truth, but I said I was mad at something and just grabbed the closest thing. ‘And you didn’t bother to pick it up later?’ you asked, and looked disappointed. I said I got distracted. You just nodded. I leaned my chin on your shoulder and looked at it with you. You pointed to your favorite page and commented how beautiful it was. You were saying how you loved that she chose black and white for the pictures, and you turned as you finished your comment. You licked your lips and kissed me, then pulled away quickly and said, ‘I’m sorry, Ray. I don’t know why I did that.’ You were so flushed and seemed quite mortified. It was difficult for me to keep a straight face. I brought your face back to mine and said, ‘What a coincidence ... I have no idea why I’m going to do this.’ I kissed you, then said, ‘Maybe Mama knows something we don’t.’ I kissed you again. I laid you back on the couch and we had a nice full-blown make-out session.” He laughs.