“He was always very controlling, but in an underhanded kind of way. He wanted to pick out my clothes, tell me how to wear my hair, decide who my friends were. If I didn’t do what he wanted, he’d pout and if that didn’t work, he’d get nasty.”
Lane’s heart dropped to his stomach. “Nasty? Did he ...” The thought made him sick.
“No, never violent,” Taylor said quickly. “Words were his best weapon. He constantly told me I was worthless and lazy; I’d never be anything without him. I guess if you’re told something often enough, you start to believe it.”
Lane rubbed his hand across her back, his fingertips tracing the faint suggestion of her spine and ribs. “You didn’t deserve that,” he said quietly, clenching his teeth against the churning in his gut.
“I didn’t know what to do,” Taylor admitted. “I started thinking he was right, it was my fault and if I were more flexible, more understanding, things would get better. But then ...” Her voice broke.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Lane said. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, pressing his lips to her hair, feeling her pulse pounding in her temple.
But Taylor shook her head. “Yes, I do. I need to tell someone.”
His heart ached at the way she said it, almost like a child who had carried a terrible secret for too long. “You can tell me anything” he said gently.
Taylor took a deep breath. “Brent had a new laptop and he was trying to do something ... install a program, I don’t know. I was cleaning up dinner while he sat at the center island messing with the computer. It wasn’t working, it had a glitch or something, and he couldn’t fix it. He was starting to get mad and was muttering something. Then ... and it was like it all happened in slow motion ... he screamed a string of really horrible words. I turned around from the sink in time to see him slam the computer shut, pick it up, and start beating it on my marble countertop.”
Lane’s blood ran cold.
“I stood there with my mouth hanging open,” Taylor said. “I’d heard him use bad language before, but he’d never been violent like that. And I guess, it was all so surreal ... I didn’t know what to do so I ... I started laughing. He glared at me and the look on his face made me freeze. He was ... I didn’t even know him. I stopped laughing that instant, but it was too late. He threw the computer at me as hard as he could. I ducked and it went crashing through the window behind me, out onto the lawn. I was just shocked, you know?”
Lane grit his teeth; he wanted to kill the guy. “What happened then?” he said tightly.
“I think that woke him up because he calmed down immediately and felt really bad. He apologized, claimed he wasn’t aiming for me, but we both knew it was a lie. He wanted to hurt me, he’d tried to hurt me. He promised it would never happen again, but ... he’d broken a chunk off the edge of the countertop and I kept it, to remind me.”
“Did you move out?”
Taylor sighed. “Not right away. I should have though. We fixed the window, fixed the counter, and I let him convince me it was a one-time thing. My mom said I needed to be patient with him.”
“And what did your Grandma say?”
Taylor hung her head. “I never told her; she still doesn’t know. I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me.”
His heart clenched at the thought of Taylor, frightened and alone, unable or unwilling to find anyone to help her.
“You could have called me,” he said.
She managed a wry laugh. “You know, I thought about it. But I didn’t have your number anymore. After I saw you that day on campus, I deleted it, deleted everything to do with you, the outdoor club, I guess I thought it was some kind of statement, that I was committing myself to my marriage when in reality, I was cutting myself off from any kind of support system.”
“Were you scared?”
“Not scared, necessarily, but definitely on edge. I was always afraid something else would set him off. Whenever anything happened that could inconvenience him, I always had in the back of my head that this could be the thing, this could be the time he wouldn’t be able to calm down.”
Lane clenched his fists, his hands trembling with anger. The thought of Taylor living that way made him sick.
“Well, there it is,” Taylor finally said. “My deepest, darkest secret.”
“It’s not your dark secret, it’s his,” Lane said gruffly. “He’s a scumbag and he should be in jail.” He wanted to punch the guy right in his stupid, lying face.
“You can’t put someone in jail for being a scumbag,” Taylor pointed out.
“I don’t care,” Lane declared. “I hate him.”
“Yeah, me too,” Taylor said with a wry smile. “See how much we have in common? It’s perfect we’re going to be travel buddies. I’m excited.”
“Me too,” he said softly. “But just to make sure, we’re travel buddies, right? Not that I don’t want more,” he added quickly, “but I won’t push it.”
She nodded against his shoulder. “I know; I won’t push it either. Separate rooms, no expectations, remember?”
They spent the rest of the evening making plans and after Taylor had gone, Lane went to bed and dreamed about white sand beaches and sunshine almost as warm as Taylor’s kisses.
Chapter 13
Lane entered his office on Monday morning and threw himself into his chair. He’d just given his boss his notice and hopefully by this time next month, he and Taylor would be off on an adventure.
Even now he couldn’t believe it. The future, which had once felt so grim, seemed to open before him in a panorama of possibilities. The boxy white walls of his office, where he’d once felt so trapped, were falling away, revealing a horizon filled with endless opportunity.
He grinned and pulled out his phone to text Taylor and let her know the meeting went well. Three more weeks and he’d be free of this place forever.
Moments later, she sent back a reply, filled with hearts and smiley faces. She was just as excited as him.
“Man, don’t you look like the cat who ate the canary,” Roger came into their office. “Guess it went well?”
“Pretty well,” Lane shrugged. “He said they’d find someone to replace me by the end of the week, but they’d always be glad to have me come back.” Yeah, right. The sooner he could be done with this place, the better.
“So you get to spend your last weeks training, huh? Lucky you,” Roger made a face.
“I’ll get through it,” Lane said with a smile. Training was a headache, but definitely worth it if it meant he could walk away from here and never look back.
Roger shook his head. “Some people have all the luck.”
Yeah, luck. Lane bit back a reply. If luck was losing both your legs, he’d had more than his share of luck.
Though in a way, luck had also given him Taylor. Lane was sure if he hadn’t been at the hospital that day she came into the chapel, he never would have seen her again. So maybe luck wasn’t so bad.
“So where are you off to first?” Roger asked; he knew about the travel blog.
“We thought the Appalachian Trail,” Lane replied. “But we’re flexible.” He tamped down a small dart of unease. Taylor had had some trouble reaching Holly to arrange the funding of the new prosthetics. She figured Holly was busy with wedding plans and assured Lane he shouldn’t worry, her friend would come through. Just in case though, they’d made alternate plans with Taylor’s boss to start with smaller destinations that would be much less strenuous. Lane didn’t want to try and tackle the Appalachian Trail without full command of his new prosthetics.
There was a tap on the door and Martha, the receptionist poked her head in. “Lane? You have a visitor.” She stepped back so the man could enter the office.
He was taller than Lane by only a few inches, but massive through the chest and neck. His head was clean shaven and he walked with a slight strut, a smile hovering on his lips.
“Lane Carter?” The man looked between Lane and Rog
er.
“Me,” Lane stood up and extended his hand.
“Brent Garnett,” the man said as they shook.
Lane had to stop himself from physically jerking his hand away. What was Taylor’s scumbag ex doing here?
“How can I help you?” he forced himself to smile.
Brent gave him a sheepish smile. “The website is so impersonal, you know? Taylor told me where you worked and I hope you don’t think it rude of me, but I wanted to give you my donation in person. I wish you the best, man, seriously.”
Lane was totally lost. “Uh ... sorry, what?”
Brent blinked in surprise. “The crowdsourcing website Taylor set up.”
“What crowdsourcing website?”
Brent flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, to raise money for your new prosthetics. You know, the really fancy kind, Bluetooth or something like that. Sorry, I assumed you knew. Taylor has it all laid out on the website along with a bunch of pictures of you.” He laughed uneasily. “Great. I’m probably in trouble now. She must have meant for it to be a surprise.”
Lane jammed his fists into his pockets, fighting a rising anger. Is this why she’d been so unconcerned about Holly? She had this crowdfunding thing going all along? “I didn’t know anything about it,” he finally managed.
“Oh man,” Brent muttered. “Look, please don’t tell her I told you, she’ll be so upset. Anyway, like I said, I’d much rather make my donation in person.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. “Here’s ten thousand, but if you don’t raise enough elsewhere, please let me know. I’m happy to cover the rest of the cost.” He patted his breast pocket as his eyes wandered over Lane’s desk. “Do you have a pen? I’ll write my phone number on here.”
Lane ignored Roger’s whistle of surprise and stared at the thick envelope, his mind churning. Ten thousand dollars ... plus who knew how much Taylor had already raised with her little crowdfunding scheme. Anger washed over him. What had she told them on that site, to get them to donate?
“That’s very generous of you, but I don’t want your money,” he said stiffly.
Brent gave him a cajoling smile. “It’s no problem. I’m always happy to help out someone in need.”
Someone in need? Lane ground his teeth. Is that what Taylor had told him? Is that how she was selling him on her site, setting him up for donations?
Poor Lane can’t even walk up a bridge, please give us your money.
Brent eyed him curiously. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Lane grated. “I didn’t know about the site.”
“That sounds like Taylor,” Brent said sympathetically. “She’s a go-getter, even if it means plowing over objections sometimes.”
“That’s not ...” Lane shook his head. He wasn’t sure what he meant, wasn’t sure what to think.
Brent waved the thick envelope. “Please take this,” he urged. “I’m serious, if it’ll help you get better prosthetics, I’m happy to pitch in.”
Lane shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I can handle it.”
Brent frowned as he stuffed the money back into his pocket. “Okay, if you’re sure. But if you change your mind, feel free to text me. Here ...” he grabbed a pen from Lane’s desk and scribbled his phone number on the flap of the envelope. “And here’s the address for the crowdfunding site if you want to see it.” He added a website address and tore the flap from the envelope, holding it out to Lane.
Lane’s fingers closed around the paper as he stared at Brent, unable to think of a reply.
“Well, nice to meet you,” Brent finally said. “Good luck.”
After he left, Lane made his way back to his desk and sat down, stunned.
“Dude, that was ten thousand dollars,” Roger piped up. “Why didn’t you take it? The guy could obviously spare it.”
“I don’t want charity,” Lane snapped. His head pounded.
There was a pause. “I’ll ... I need to go check on my team.” Roger finally said. He slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Lane typed in the website address Brent had given him. He hoped like anything it was a bad joke, but his stomach dropped to the floor when the crowdfunding page came up, “Legs for Lane” emblazoned across the top.
There was a brief description of his accident along with pictures from the news stories of the accident scene and his mauled motorcycle. There was even one of him lying in the hospital bed during the TV interview.
But most of the pictures were more recent—eating ice cream, at the park, at the indoor skydiving place. They were pictures he recognized, all of them taken by Taylor. The fundraiser had been live for less than two days and above the bar measuring the distance to the goal, the text told the truth.
$5,720 to $100K goal. Created by Taylor Medlin on behalf of Lane Carter.
There it was, his name and his face out there for anyone to see. It was like the go to school in your underwear nightmare. Or worse, because this wasn’t a dream he could wake up from and forget about. This was real. Taylor’s betrayal burned like acid.
He ground his teeth. A hundred grand! She wanted one hundred thousand dollars from strangers? Top of the line prosthetics would cost that much and probably more, but Lane wasn’t about to accept any of the money. He scrolled quickly through the list of donors, seeing the amounts and not recognizing any names.
Lane closed his eyes as anger pounded through him. She’d gone and broadcast his humiliation to the whole world. Yeah, she was probably just trying to help, but they’d been over this; she had no right.
He pulled himself to his feet and his fake legs really did feel like lead as he plodded to his boss’s office to tell him he wouldn’t be leaving his job after all.
The rest of his shift passed by with agonizing slowness. Lane did his job mechanically, listening in on sales calls and taking notes that he would use to help his team improve, making a sign-up list for their next team potluck, working on next week’s schedule. With every task, the wave of disappointment rose up again, fierce and fresh, threatening to drown him. He thought he was almost done with this; he’d been so close.
He struggled to concentrate, to keep himself from thinking of Taylor. But each time he thought of the fundraising page, fresh anger simmered in his gut. Hadn’t he been clear? Was she hoping he wouldn’t find out and she could claim the money came from her rich friend? Did she even have a rich friend or had this been the plan all along?
When his shift finally ended, he escaped to his car where he sat for a while in silence, staring at the parking lot without really seeing it. Finally, he took out his phone. They’d made plans for later tonight, but this couldn’t wait.
“Hiya!” Taylor answered on the second ring. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Hey.” Lane replied, not bothering to keep the heaviness from his tone. “Are you home?”
She paused. “Yes, why? Is everything all right?”
“I need to talk to you. Can I swing by now?”
“Sure.”
Chapter 14
Taylor’s heart slammed against her throat. There’d been something off in Lane’s tone, something unsettling. What was wrong?
She waited on the balcony and saw him drive in. Hurrying through the condo, she had the door open before he was even up the stairs.
“Hi.” She stepped forward, into his arms, where she’d been daydreaming about being all day, the only place in the world she wanted to be. But after a quick, perfunctory hug, he released her and stepped back.
“What’s going on?” Taylor’s eyebrows knit in concern.
He glanced quickly around the living room. “Are you alone?”
“Cece’s in her room,” Taylor supplied. “Wanna go outside?”
They settled into the chairs on Grandma’s balcony. “Do you want something to drink, or a snack of some kind?” Taylor asked, torn between wanting to delay whatever bad news he brought and wanting to get it over with.
/>
“No thanks,” Lane shook his head. The silence stretched between them until finally he said heavily, “Brent came by work today.”
Her palms went clammy. Out of everything she’d expected him to say, this wasn’t even on the list. “Brent? Why? What did he want?”
“He wanted to give me some money ... for my legs.” Lane folded his arms tightly across his chest. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”
“No. Nothing,” Taylor shook her head. “I didn’t know he even knew about your legs.” She searched for a way to ease the tension, but found nothing.
“He told me all about your crowdfunding page,” he said, his voice like ice.
“What crowdfunding page?”
“Legs for Lane,” he said bitterly. “I saw the whole thing. Taylor, I told you I didn’t want charity. What’s so hard to understand about that?”
It felt like she was back with Brent, facing his temper, struggling desperately to defend herself from something she hadn’t even done. Taylor took a careful breath. “I know what you told me. I—”
“The entire page is loaded with pictures of me from our dates. Pictures you took,” Lane interrupted. “Was that the plan all along?”
“Of course not! There was no plan, especially not for that. I wouldn’t do that without your permission.”
“Then how do you explain the page?”
“I ... I don’t know.” Taylor wiped her sticky palms on her jeans. “Maybe whoever did it pulled the photos from my blog.”
“That’s funny,” Lane’s voice was sharp. “Because I read your blog, I’ve seen all the posts you’ve done about me, and there are pictures on the fundraising page that aren’t on your blog. Pictures I know you took. How do you think that could have happened?”
She swallowed her rising panic and spread her hands helplessly. “I don’t ... I have no idea what’s going on. I swear, I didn’t set up any fundraising site.”
“How else do you explain the pictures?” Lane demanded.
“I don’t,” Taylor admitted. “But I didn’t have anything to do with it, I promise.”
The Adventurous One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Page 10
