by Toni Blake
And he did. Like her. She knew that now, for sure. It was sex, but it was…more than that, too—whether or not she was mentally equipped to deal with it.
She next went about clearing the kitchen table and recorking the wine bottle, remembering how she’d felt when she’d first walked out to see the makeshift dinner he’d put together. All she’d really wanted was to know this was more than a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am arrangement—and when she’d seen the candles and tablecloth, her heart had fluttered in her chest and it had been better than any five-star restaurant.
Walking through the living room to see if they’d left any other messes behind, she straightened some throw pillows on the couch, and now that the lights were on—shining in from the kitchen—she looked around the room. It was typical—typical furniture, typical widescreen TV, typical Sports Illustrated on the coffee table next to some unopened mail. But it only took a few seconds before Rachel realized the one thing in the room that really stood out. The pictures.
They were on the mantel, and on bookshelves. They hung on walls. And it wasn’t the number of them—maybe a dozen total—that struck her; it was the subject matter. His sister.
She didn’t remember what Anna Romo had looked like, but she knew this was her. In some, the little dark-haired girl was alone—in others Rachel got to see Mike and his brother, Lucky, as kids with Anna, and their parents, too. In one, a younger Grandma Romo held Anna on her lap. But there were no other pictures. None of, say, Mike in his police officer’s uniform, or more recent pictures of Mike or his parents. It was like the room was stuck in time, more than twenty years ago. Stuck in time—and in mourning.
As Rachel walked around studying each picture, her stomach went hollow. Because this was Mike’s house. Mike’s world. Strong, tough, brusque, capable Mike Romo. And sure, Amy had blamed his personality flaws on his past, but Rachel had just never dreamed he was…stuck there.
Padding on bare feet over the hardwood floor, Rachel stopped at the bedroom door and peeked in. Mike still appeared fast asleep. A dim lamp had lit the room during their sex and it still did now. And part of her wanted to turn out that lamp and crawl back into bed next to the man who’d just rocked her body into oblivion…but first—she couldn’t help it, and she knew it was nosy and he’d probably want to kill her, yet she suffered the urge to look around a little more.
After all, he wasn’t exactly a guy who went around pouring his heart out to anyone. If she wanted to know anything about Mike, she’d have to glean it on her own. And she felt she’d learned more about him tonight, since coming into this house, than ever before. Besides the pictures, there was just something about seeing a man’s home, how he chose to live. With Mike, tonight, she’d learned that he liked things simple, utilitarian—but clean and even sort of homey. She’d learned he didn’t place much stock in changing things. And she’d learned he was still heartbroken over Anna.
And to discover more, she found herself wandering back to the entryway, and glancing up the old, polished wooden stairs that led to the second floor. A wall switch turned on a light that invited her upward, and even though it officially felt like snooping now—something Rachel usually liked to think herself too mature to do—she slowly climbed the steps.
At the top, she found a short, wide hallway with five doors. Three were shut.
Walking to the first open one, to the left of the stairs, she looked in to find a simple bedroom with a double bed, dresser, and chest of drawers—clearly the spare bedroom where Mike had told her his parents sometimes stayed when they came home. He’d mentioned over dinner that it had been his room growing up. Now that she was here, she was a little sorry no remnants of Mike’s boyhood remained to give her more insights into her lover.
The other open door, directly across the hall, led to another bathroom.
Which left the closed doors.
And…it was really snoopy to go through someone’s house opening doors, but…well, she wasn’t planning to steal anything or trying to uncover any big secrets—so she decided to just think of it as self-guided tour.
The first closed door, at one end of the hall, turned out to be a linen closet filled with towels and cleaning supplies. Simple enough.
But when she opened the second closed door, to the right of the stairwell, she flipped on a light—and then let out a sigh. It was…Lucky’s room. She’d barely known Lucky Romo, even though he’d been only a year ahead of her at Destiny High, yet it was easy to tell. Posters of motorcycles and rock bands and scantily clad girls papered the walls—no one had ever taken them down. Apparently, no one had ever changed anything. Atop an old desk in one corner lay a couple of magazines with fast-looking cars on the cover. In front of an old TV rested a black Harley-Davidson beanbag chair.
She was a little afraid to open the last door now. Because she almost knew what she would find. She just didn’t want to believe it. She didn’t want to believe that Mike’s parents, and Mike now, too, had left Anna’s room untouched. Please don’t let that be the case. It had been over twenty years. But after seeing Lucky’s room, it seemed inevitable.
Turning off the light in Lucky’s bedroom, Rachel closed the door, then moved to the one across the hall, turning the knob and easing it open. She easily located the wall switch, illuminating a perfect little girl’s room—decorated from top to bottom in a pink ballerina theme. A fluffy pink canopy covered the white bed. Stuffed animals and brightly colored pillows rested beneath it. A wallpaper border featuring ballet shoes circled the room, at just about the right height for a five-year-old girl to enjoy. And—oh Lord—a little pair of black patent leather shoes still sat on the floor next to a toy box.
Rachel almost couldn’t breathe looking at it all. It was too much. And she knew that if she started opening drawers or the closet, she’d likely find little Anna Romo’s dresses and play clothes and little socks and underwear. God, no wonder Mike’s parents had had to leave—they’d…refused to let their daughter die. And they’d refused to accept Lucky’s departure, too, apparently.
What she couldn’t imagine, though, was being Mike. What had it been like for Mike and Lucky to live up here next to Anna’s untouched room—to come home to it every day after school, to wake up to it every morning. And what had it been like for Mike after Lucky had finally left, too—to live up here alone…with the ghosts of his brother and sister? No wonder he was haunted by the loss.
As Rachel quietly walked back down the steps and turned out the upstairs light, she remained a little stunned. What she’d seen up there was so…horribly sad. It made her feel Mike’s loss in a way that…possibly nothing else could have.
Catching her breath and feeling glad to be back downstairs, she walked over to a bookshelf and picked up one of the pictures there—this one of Anna and Mike. An adolescent Mike stooped down, putting his arm around her; she wore a Smurfs party hat and held up four fingers, apparently celebrating her birthday. God, they couldn’t have known what was coming. They couldn’t have imagined there was anything but good times ahead. Somehow, having just seen her room made her feel so much more real to Rachel than when she’d looked at the pictures a few minutes ago.
“Hey, Farris—get back here. I’m not done with you yet.”
Rachel lifted her head to see Mike, rumpled and sexy as ever, coming from the bedroom, wearing nothing but a playful grin.
But when she looked up—maybe it was something in her eyes—he dropped his gaze to what she held in her hand.
She didn’t know what to say. They’d only barely, briefly discussed Anna. And yet here she was, all around them.
All the humor left Mike’s expression—suddenly he looked sad, almost childlike, and a little lost. Rachel’s heart felt like it would burst as she whispered his name. “Mike…” And as she let her gaze sweep over all the many pictures around them. She hadn’t quite meant to do that—but it seemed impossible to avoid at this moment.
Mike hadn’t thought of this when he’d decided to bring Rachel here—
the way his past, Anna, was plastered all over the house. Usually, no one came here except Logan, his parents when they were in town, or occasionally Grandma Romo. It made him feel painfully vulnerable, raw, for her to see just how open his wounds still were after all this time. And there was no way to hide it now, no way to put the lid back on the box that was his life.
“You still miss her,” Rachel said.
He nodded. “Yeah.” Yet all the pictures—somehow they required he say more. “But it’s worse than that.”
“Tell me,” Rachel whispered, setting the frame she held back on the shelf. And she spoke in such a calm, sure, quiet way that he almost wanted to tell her. Everything. The whole story.
Only…he never had. He’d never told anyone. Except Logan. And that had been right when it had happened, when it was fresh, when everything was falling apart around him.
No one else had ever asked him for the story. No one else dared, he supposed. There were perks to being a gruff cop no one wanted to piss off.
But when he thought of telling her, his throat began to close up. It became difficult to swallow. Shit. What had he been thinking, bringing her here? He’d just done it…naturally. It had seemed easy, and right. He’d forgotten that Anna wallpapered his house almost as much as she wallpapered his heart.
“I…” he swallowed again, hard. “I can’t, Rachel. I…can’t get it out.” Damn it. He hated how weak he sounded. Like the twelve-year-old kid who’d lost his little sister in the first place.
He realized he was looking down, at the Steelers logo on her shirt, so he made himself meet her gaze. And what he saw there was…compassion. True, deep compassion. Something he couldn’t have imagined ever getting from Rachel Farris when they’d first met—but things had changed. Her voice came out warm, gentle, as she reached to take his hand. “I want to know the things that hurt you,” she whispered.
“Why?” he asked, then found a little room for humor, albeit dark, as he leaned over, letting his forehead touch hers. “To torture us both?”
She returned the small smile he’d given her. Then bit her lip and said, “No, because…I care. About you. And it’s probably good to…you know, get things off your chest once in a while.”
It was sorely tempting to point out that the things she’d just said completely contradicted all her claims that this was only casual sex. Yet so had a lot of things that had happened tonight, and…well, he didn’t want to argue with her right now, so he let it go. He let it go and he…soaked it up. Rachel Farris cared about him. Hearing that made something in his muscles, in his bones, feel stronger somehow.
And he still didn’t know if he could get the whole damn story out, but to his surprise, again, he almost…wanted to. He didn’t want to have to remember it, to relive it in all its painful details, but he…wanted her to know. What had happened to him.
“Come lie down with me,” he said, low, then took her hand and led her back to bed. Together, they crawled under the sheets, pulled them up to their chests. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain. Rachel reached out beneath the covers, pressing her palm to his stomach—like silent encouragement. Or comfort. It gave him both.
“We used to camp a lot when I was a kid. The whole family.” He glanced over at her—then stopped, swallowed, letting his mind go back there, really back there, to the day Anna disappeared. “We…we were camping at Bear Lake. It was just far enough from home to feel like we were someplace else, but not even an hour away. That day, after we set up the tents”—another tough swallow; shit, it was hard to talk about this—“Mom and Dad took the car to go get some ice and other stuff we needed, and they left me there with Lucky and Anna. I was the oldest, twelve—I was in charge of keeping an eye on them.”
“Lucky was…ten, I guess?”
He nodded.
“And Anna?”
His heart wrenched, the same as if this had happened yesterday. “She’d just turned five.”
Rachel propped on her elbow to peer down at him, and he tried to go on. But here was where it got…grim.
“We were camping in the woods, right next to a little cove, just off the road that circled the lake. It was hot out, and we were gonna go swimming—we were supposed to change into our bathing suits while Mom and Dad were gone and then wait until they came back before we got in the water.”
He tried to glance up at Rachel, but he couldn’t meet her eyes now—his chest felt like it was being crushed by some invisible weight. Yet he went on, trying to think how to say this, trying to explain how it had happened so fast, before he even knew it.
“After we all changed, Anna was playing around the edge of the lake, wanting to go in. But I kept telling her Mom and Dad had said to wait. And then…” He had to stop, take a breath—breathing was challenging right now. “Then I heard Lucky, off in the brush, away from the campsite, excited about something, and calling me and Anna over. So I said, ‘Come on, Anna,’ and then I went into the bushes. Lucky had found a turtle.”
This was it. Right now. Crucial seconds passing. While he looked at a fucking turtle.
His breath grew labored when he opened his mouth to continue—and he finally summoned the courage to meet Rachel’s eyes. “That’s when I lost her, that’s when she disappeared. When I was in the trees looking at a goddamn turtle.”
And after that, he talked a little faster, to get it out, get through it. “When she didn’t follow us, we both yelled for her—I remember thinking she’d either love the turtle or be scared of it, but I was surprised she wasn’t answering. So I told Lucky we’d better go get her, and I had that feeling of ‘I know everything’s fine, but I better check just to be sure.’ And I thought I would walk back into the campsite and see her still sitting at the edge of the lake throwing pebbles in the water. But she wasn’t there.”
He shook his head against the pillow, and his heart raced, just like that day. “She wasn’t there. But we weren’t scared yet—we just figured she’d found somewhere else to play. So we’re calling her name and we’re both walking around the campsite, looking around, looking in the tent. And soon I’m saying, ‘This isn’t funny, Anna—you better come out from wherever you are.’”
He stopped then, remembering the moment—the first real hints of fear, the first real sense that something was hideously wrong. “But she didn’t come out. We looked everywhere—all around the edge of the lake and in the trees and bushes. Lucky and I both got all scratched up by thorns because we were only wearing swim trunks and tennis shoes. But no matter where we looked or how many times we called her name, she never came. Ever. She was just…gone.
“We never heard a sound, we never saw anything—not a ripple in the water or footsteps in the dirt or any scrap of her bathing suit. It was like she literally vanished, that fast.” He snapped his fingers.
Above him, Rachel just sighed, looking nearly as lost as he’d felt at the time.
And then he started to feel that angry-at-himself guilt that had been eating him alive all these years. “You know, your parents give you one simple job—watch the other kids for half an hour. But could I do that? Could I actually keep an eye on ’em?”
“It’s not your fault,” she said, leaning nearer, touching his face with her soft hand. “You were a little boy, and even most parents don’t watch their kids that closely.”
“Next to a lake?” he asked skeptically. “I think they do.” He’d heard the it’s-not-your-fault thing before, and it was nice of people to say—but it was his fault.
“That’s what you think happened?” she whispered. “You think she wandered into the lake?”
Mike drew in a deep breath. It was the question that haunted him. “It makes sense,” he said. “It’s the only thing that really does.”
“But the water wasn’t moving at all when you came back? And it had only been a few minutes, right?”
He nodded. “Believe me, honey—I’ve thought through this, probably thousands of times now. Hell—maybe hundreds o
f thousands. The water wasn’t moving. It didn’t even occur to me until later that she might have gone in. Because she was a good little girl. She might complain, but she didn’t do things she wasn’t supposed to. It was only when Mom and Dad came back, and then later, with the police, that it came up. And it seemed like the most logical answer.”
Rachel looked troubled as she asked, “Did they…look? In the water?”
He nodded once more. “They dragged the lake the next day. They didn’t find anything—but they came across deep pockets of water just beyond our shallow swimming area, and a lot of debris under the surface—chunks of trees and other stuff the rescue workers felt her body could have gotten trapped under. So most people still figured it was likely she drowned.”
“I guess,” Rachel offered, “if she’d just roamed away, someone would have found her.”
“Yeah—and she’d have heard us calling.”
“Were there any other theories?”
Mike shrugged against his pillow. “A few minutes after she disappeared, Lucky and I heard a loud, fast car racing by on the road just above the campsite. We never saw it through the woods, and we weren’t paying much attention because we were freaking out by then—but I remember thinking, ‘What if she wandered up onto the road and that speeding car hit her?’ I told the cops that, so they checked the whole area. In fact, people searched the woods all night and into the next day. A lot of people from Destiny even came over to help when they heard.
