“Yes, and what’s he doing here? Everett’s not home from fishing yet. Surely he texted or called him and knows that.”
The farther I pull into the driveway, the closer the porch comes into view. I throw my hand over my mouth when I see Travis stretched out across their front porch.
I don’t know what he’s doing with his hands, but they’re above him, and he’s moving them in front of his face.
“Shit, there are beer cans on the porch. I bet he’s drunk,” Reese says.
“Has he been drinking a lot?”
“Ever since you two broke up, and it only gets worse with each passing day.” Reese finds her phone in her purse and calls Everett.
“I need you to come home right away. Travis is stretched out on our porch, and I’m pretty sure he’s wasted.”
I hear his angry voice replying before she ends the call. “This is not gonna go well.”
“I’m getting out with you,” I say.
“No, Becca. You don’t have to. I can handle him.”
“I can’t leave you here alone with him when he’s trashed.” I park and get out of the car, trailing a bit behind Reese as she approaches the porch.
“Travis, what are you doing here?” she asks.
His head whips our way, and as soon as he sees me, he sits up and messes with his blond hair. The mussed up look makes him too attractive for his own good.
“Reese … Becca. I’m waiting for Ev.”
“He’s on his way home. Why don’t you and I go inside?”
He stands and points to me. “What about Becs.” His emphasis of my nickname makes my heart hurt all over again.
“She was just leaving,” Reese says. “Go inside.”
Ignoring her, he takes the few steps to get off the porch. He stumbles on the last one, almost falling face first before he regains his footing.
His eyes are locked on mine, and once I realize he’s coming toward me, I begin to shuffle my feet backward in the grass.
“Becca … you’re still gorgeous.”
“Shit, Becca, get in your car.”
I should listen to my sister. I know it, but he’s looking at me with vast emotion, and my feet are frozen, his words sweet and loving, like the way he used to be.
He gets within inches of me, and I’m trembling.
“Becca,” Reese says.
“Go inside, sis.”
“He’s drunk.”
“Shut the fuck up, Reese,” he says. “Go inside and leave us alone.”
I cross my arms. “Don’t talk to my sister that way.”
“She needs to leave so I can talk to you in private.” His words are slurred as his fingers graze my cheek. The glassy blue eyes staring intently into mine glow in the moonlight.
“You’re all I’ve been able to think about, beautiful. Maybe I fucked up by pushing you away.”
Tears bathe my eyes, and I want to reach out and hug him, but then I remember the pain he caused me only hours ago.
My wall goes back up as I glare at him.
“You made it crystal clear how you feel about us both last night and this morning. The copious amount of alcohol you’ve consumed won’t change that.”
“Are you on your way?” I hear my sister ask on her phone. “Hurry. He’s out of control.”
“I want to taste you again and hold you.”
I cover my ears. “Just stop.”
His hand cradles my face, and he swipes my tears away. His eyes are still locked on mine, but the evidence of his intoxication is revealed from his body swaying and his breath saturated by alcohol.
“I can’t stop. I was trying to get you to see you deserve better than me, but then you got all up in my fucking head and gave me a taste of your sweet mouth. Now I want you whether I deserve to or not.”
He eyes my lips before he leans in to kiss them.
“No,” I say, jerking back from him.
He steps forward and grips my arms.
“Beautiful, let me touch you again. I’ve missed you so much. I need to feel your soft skin. I need more, Becca.”
“No. You’re only saying this shit because you’re drunk. Go inside and to bed.”
He releases me and balls his hands into fists.
“I’m sick of everyone telling me what to do. I’m a fucking adult.”
“Yeah, then start acting like one,” Reese spouts.
“This isn’t over,” he says to me. His tense gaze is comprised of an array of emotions from anger to confusion, remorse and affection. It’s rapidly changing from one to the other.
Without another word, he quickly staggers to his truck.
“Wait, Travis, you can’t drive!” I yell.
Reese hurries toward his truck, too, but he’s already firing it up by the time we reach him.
While we scream for him to get out, I yank on the door handle. He throws the truck in reverse, and my fingers catch in the handle as he starts to drive off. I barely get them free and suck in a breath from the sting of it.
He backs out through the grass, riding up onto the driveway just behind my car. His tires throw gravel in the air, and I’m panicked as I run to my vehicle.
“Becca, what are you doing?”
“I’m going after him.”
“It’s not safe for you to be on the road with him.”
“Someone has to ensure he makes it home safely.” I start the car, but she stands behind it, so I lean out and look back at her. “Get out of my way, Reese. This is my choice.”
“I swear you two are killing me.”
She steps aside, and I back down the long gravel driveway. I think of the way he’ll probably take to Reese’s old apartment and floor it.
He might not love me anymore, but I still love him, and I have to see he’s OK.
It’s pitch-black as I drive down the two-lane country road. Trees thick with leaves line both sides and create an even darker canopy over me.
I get about three quarters of a mile down the road when my headlights cast a glow on my worst fear. Travis’s truck has veered off the side and is smashed against a colossal tree. It looks like he’s trying to get out of the smoking pickup.
Flashbacks to my accident flood my mind, but I shut them off and turn on my car’s flashers before I jump out to help him.
“Travis!” I shout. “Are you OK?” As soon as I reach him, I see the blood pouring from a gash at the top of his forehead.
He’s choking on vomit that is seeping from the corners of his mouth, and his white t-shirt and khaki shorts are spattered, too.
Pulling my cell phone from my pocket, I dial 911, and before I can grab Travis, he falls backward, smacking the concrete.
I drop to my knees while spouting off our location to the emergency operator. “Travis, Travis, wake up!” Needing to help him, I drop my phone to the ground and use all of my strength to roll him over. I’m not losing him, too.
Everett
Reese has called and text me multiple times to get home, so I’m doing my best to get there. I round a corner a little less than a mile from my place and spot an accident.
Shit, is that Travis and Becca?
My brother’s truck is smashed against a tree, and Becca’s headlights behind it are spotlighting her and Travis as they rest on the ground near his pickup.
I pull off and hurry over to them.
“Is he OK?” Flashbacks of Krystal dying on the side of the road come rushing back to me.
“No, he’s not. Hold him on his side while I clear his airway.” Becca has him facing her, so I hold him still while she crooks her fingers and pulls vomit out from his mouth. “Check his pulse,” she orders.
I do it while she leans over to listen near his mouth. “God, no. Ev, he’s not breathing.” She works at clearing his airway once again.
“He has a pulse,” I say, hearing the sirens in the distance. Becca leans down to Travis to listen to his chest.
“I think he might be breathing.”
I can’t help but shak
e his shoulder.
“Travis, wake the fuck up. You’re not dying on me, too!”
The ambulance and a police car fly up on the scene. It’s only seconds before he’s being lifted onto a stretcher.
It’s then that I notice what Becca’s been through. She has vomit on her shirt, and her hands are coated with it, too. It’s in her hair from where the strands had fallen over her shoulders, and her face is streaked with tears.
“Becca, let me take you to the house.”
“No, I’ll follow you there, and then I’m going to the hospital with you.”
The cop on the scene insists on questioning Becca and me. She hesitates to tell the truth but finally admits Travis was drinking.
The officer says he’ll arrange the tow truck for Travis’s vehicle, so once we’ve been questioned, we leave, and I begin the calls to my family. My baby brother has to survive.
Chapter Eight
Travis
Feeling something on my head, I open my eyes. My mouth is stuck together when I try to move it, and looking around, I realize I’m in the hospital. I struggle to breathe, and it’s impossible for me to inhale deeply.
“You’re awake,” Mindy says. Her fingers are in my hair, lightly stroking it.
I glance to her and furrow my brow.
“What are–are you doing here? What happened to me?” My voice is rough, and the pain in my chest as I try to speak is intense.
“Your nephew, Franklin, was at the restaurant last night when he got the call about your accident, so I came to check on you this morning. Everett went to get a cup of coffee.”
Trying to moisten my throat, I swallow. I look down and see I’m hooked to an IV, and my chest hurts badly when I make another attempt at a deep breath.
“What happened?”
“You don’t remember? You crashed your truck into a tree after leaving Everett’s house.”
“No, I don’t remember.” I think back, and the last memory I recall is of me waiting at his house for him. Wait … Reese … Becca. Did I see them?
“You have stitches in your head, and I don’t think your lungs are in the greatest shape, but I believe you’ll be OK.”
“I want out of here before Everett returns.” I start to sit up and become dizzy. “Can you take me home?”
Becca
Once we were given the news last night that Travis would be OK, I came home and got about four hours of sleep.
I’m now sitting in my car in a Walmart parking lot organizing in a gift bag some of the snacks Travis likes. I finish arranging the tissue paper and head to the hospital.
I’m nervous, unsure of what to expect from him. I’m hoping we can find peace with each other and get him on the road to recovery. Everett admitted to me how much Travis has been drinking.
He said his brother is going to rehab no matter what. The day should be interesting. Travis might wish he died after Ev chews his ass.
Once I arrive at the hospital, I text Reese for his room number. She replies, and I work up the nerve to go inside.
I get to his room and hear voices as I enter the wide-open door. A curtain is half pulled closed, and I stop at it when I hear a girl’s voice. Shit. As quietly as possible, I peek around it.
My heart feels as if it’s tumbling to the floor when I spot a woman holding Travis’s hand at the side of his bed.
I can’t see his face or hers, but I can hear the woman’s concern and sweet words. She’s insisting he stay in the hospital.
Turning around, I pad away as cautiously as I came, but this time my heart is left behind. I don’t think he could stomp on it any harder.
***
“Hello, are you OK?” I glance up and a man in glasses is standing next to the bench I’m crying on. I couldn’t even make it to my car without crumbling, so here I sit in the front lobby of the hospital, making a fool of myself.
He’s holding out a white handkerchief toward me. My eyes stare at it as I sniffle. “Please, take it. My mother buys them for me in bulk.” He flashes me a bashful smile, realizing what he confessed.
Swallowing, I take it from his hand and wipe my nose as ladylike as possible.
“Thank you.” I take a glimpse of his expensive shoes and the silver watch around his wrist. His khakis and white button-up shirt look starched, and I think he’s at the wrong location for his GQ modeling gig.
I catch him looking at my scarred hands and arms as I hold the handkerchief to my nose. Will that always happen when someone notices them for the first time?
“Can I sit?” He motions toward the small space next to me. Straightening, I scoot over farther to make room for him.
“Did you lose someone who was important to you?” he asks.
I think about his words, knowing he means “did I lose someone from death?” and I guess I did. Molly less than two months ago, and the Travis I once knew. They both died.
“Yes ... I did.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” I wipe my nose again, and since he’s being kind, I look back at him. “I’m Becca.” Now that we’re sitting close, I take in his handsome features.
His hair is coal black, and behind his black wire-frame glasses, I notice his eyes are a unique hazel color, a mixture of earthy tones. His jawlines are sharp, and his nose is perfectly narrow and straight. He’s an attractive man in a conservative, nerdy way.
“I’m Clay Carlton.”
My forehead scrunches. “Aren’t you supposed to be much older?”
He shakes his head and smiles.
“My father is Senator Clay Carlton. I hope to be Congressman Clay Carlton in the future.”
I finally find my own smile. “Let’s see ... Don’t new Congressman get voted in not this November but the next?”
“Yes, and I hope you’re a Republican voter, or I’m going to need that handkerchief back.”
Shit, he’s flirting with me. He’s much older than I am, and I have to look like hell after a sleepless night and my parade of tears. What gives here? He asked me a somewhat personal question, so I’ll throw one back at him.
“Uh, why are you here at the hospital?”
“My father had heart surgery yesterday, so I just arrived to see him.” He motions toward the revolving glass doors before us. “It took me a minute to get past the slew of reporters.”
“Aren’t you a little young to be a Congressman?”
“I’m thirty-five. Just old enough. What do you do for a living?”
“I graduated from The Art Institute in the spring and took the summer off to, uh, travel. I’m looking for work at the moment. I want a position that focuses on media marketing and graphic design.”
“Sounds interesting. Congratulations on graduating.” His grin this time is more roughish. “I need to check on my father this morning, but would you like to meet me at the cafeteria after? I’d love to buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Thank you, but I need to be going. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
His leg is crossed over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. He stares down, picking at the hem of his pants, and it’s the first time he doesn’t appear calm and collected. Looking back to me, he exhales a deep breath and smiles.
“Listen, it would be in poor taste to ask you out while you’re grieving, but if I don’t do something, you’re going to disappear out that door, and I will never see you again. I’d hate for that to happen.”
He pulls out his wallet and hands me a business card from it. “I’ll leave it up to you. I hope you’ll call when you’re feeling better.”
Standing, he shoves his hands in his pants pockets. “The grief does ease over time, Becca. I’m aware that doesn’t change how you feel today, but maybe it will give you a little hope for tomorrow. Take care.”
Once he gives me a gentle smile, one that’s immensely comforting, he meanders farther into the hospital.
I’m only twenty-two. Why would he want to take me on a date? I
don’t have a prestigious job, nor do I have a family lineage that would mean something to the political community. I imagine he picked that up just from the looks of me.
It’s been an eventful few days, and frankly I’d like off this chaotic ride. I push out the front doors and my eyes flit to the reporters hanging out near the door.
They spot me and rush my direction. A microphone is shoved near my face, so I take a step back.
“Ms., we saw you speaking to Clay Carlton Jr. Can you tell us your relationship with him? Do you know the condition of his father, Senator Carlton?” a woman in a navy pant suit asks.
Stunned over what’s happening, I shield my eyes and hurry without comment to the parking garage adjacent to the hospital.
Thankfully, I’m not followed. Once inside my vehicle, I lean my head back against the seat.
“Lord, am I going to end up on the news over this?”
Shaking my head, I start my car and drive to my parents’. I can’t wait to find a job and get out on my own.
The thought of rooming alone, instead of with Molly or Travis, causes my heart to ache again. When will my life change for the better?
Travis
Mindy is still holding my hand in one of hers and stroking my hair with the other. It’s getting too personal, and I don’t want to have to break it to her that we’re not going to be a couple. That’s never happenin’.
Everett walks around the curtain in my room, and I’m actually relieved to see him because Mindy needs to leave.
“I want to talk with my brother in private,” he says not so kindly.
She nods at him before looking back to me.
“I work tonight, but if you need anything at all, have your nephew text me, and I’ll get someone to fill in for me.”
“His family will be here for him,” Everett says.
Her hands release me in an instant.
“OK. I hope you get to feeling better.” She leaves the room in a flash.
“You could’ve been a little nicer.”
“Who is she?”
Fail to Trust (The Casteel Trust Series Book 2) Page 5
