Bound to the Past (Starville Series Book 1)

by Lauryn Michaels

  “Son of a bitch!” Jackʼs hand clenched so tightly around the receiver it almost cracked it. “I donʼt know what the fuck you want, but leave Sara out of this!”

  “Itʼs not Sara Iʼm after, Turner. Sheʼs only in danger as long as sheʼs with you. Leave Starville and nothing will happen to her.”

  Before Jack could reply, he heard a click, then the dial tone. Hands shaking, he put the phone down and slumped against the counter. His heart pounded so hard his chest ached. It took every ounce of will power he had not to punch the wall.

  Hell, no. He wouldnʼt cave in to a damn anonymous phone call. He refused to let a cowardly bastard tell him what to do.

  But Sara could have died because of me.

  That thought hit him like a ton of bricks. It was his fault. Sara was at risk because of him. He would die before putting her in danger, yet it was all heʼd done since he’d met her. Would he risk something happening to her because of his stubbornness?

  With so many loonies out there, lots of bad things could happen to a nice, trusting girl like her…

  Jack shook his head, trying in vain to erase those words, yet he could not ignore the truth any longer: It was time he put some distance between him and Sara. It was time he let her go. He would never find peace, but she deserved to be happy. In time, everybody in Starville would forget about him again—including Sara. Maybe sheʼd even find herself another man.

  He swallowed thickly, fighting against the wrongness of that. Trying to ignore the tight, painful squeeze around his heart. Sara deserved a good man. A man who was worthy of her love, who could give her what she wanted and make her happy.

  And, most important, she deserved to be safe.

  ***

  It was almost ten when David dropped Sara back off at her house. She had to admit that spending the day with her friends had really helped her mood. Not to mention that she loved the brand-new dress she was wearing.

  She was halfway up the stairs when Jack stepped out of the bedroom. “Hey. I didnʼt know you were back.”

  “I just walked in.” Boy, he looked sexy as hell, wearing only a pair of gray sweat pants hanging low on his hips. It took all she had not to lunge straight into his arms, and the only reason she didnʼt do it was the forbidding expression his face.

  “Do you like my new dress?”

  Her question stopped him on his way to the stairs, and he turned around to give her an absent look. “Itʼs all right.”

  Sara refused to let his bad mood get to her. “Good. Then you can help me take it off,” she said, her heart racing as Jack reluctantly followed her to the bedroom. She shuddered as he lowered the zipper on the back, then slid out of the dress and let her hair fall back in what she hoped was a sensual fashion. She couldnʼt help the sigh of disappointment that escaped from her when Jack turned around and lay down the bed without even a glance. Two seconds later, the TV came on.

  Thatʼs when she decided sheʼd had enough.

  “All right, shut that thing off and tell me whatʼs wrong.”

  He raised his gaze to her for a split second before moving it back to the screen. “I donʼt know what the hell youʼre talking about.”

  “Do not play dumb with me, Turner. I tried to be patient, I tried to be understanding, but my tolerance is running out, and I want to know whatʼs going on.”

  “Sara, youʼre hysterical.”

  “Damn right, Iʼm hysterical!” Despite her words, she took a deep breath and tried to calm down as she reached her hand out. “Honey, how can I help you if you shut me out like this?”

  Jack pulled back as if her touch had burned him. “Iʼve never asked you for anything, Sara, let alone your goddamn help.”

  She pushed out another long breath, fighting the urge to shake him. “Thatʼs the problem, Jack. You never ask, you never tell me anything―what kind of messed-up relationship is this?”

  His gaze locked with hers for long moments, but she couldnʼt read anything in his hard, impenetrable expression. “Please, tell me…” She stopped mid-sentence when the phone rang. Glanced at it but didnʼt move.

  “You should get that.”

  Sara scowled. “Fine. But we need to talk, so youʼre staying right here until weʼre done.”

  Jack lifted one shoulder but stood and walked to the bathroom as she grabbed the phone from the nightstand and mumbled an irritated “Hello?” into it.

  “Sara?”

  Her brows knitted at Brentʼs concerned voice. “Hey. Is everything all right?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  She heard every single word he said after that, but their impact hit her so hard she dropped onto the bed, her needs wobbling. By the time she hung up and Jack walked back into the room, she was pale, breathless, and shocked, and he couldnʼt help rushing to her side, dropping the toiletry bag he was holding as he crouched in front of her. “Whatʼs wrong?”

  “It was Brent.” She inhaled deeply. “Max is dead, Jack.”

  He sprang back up, his head shaking without him realizing it. His mouth opened and closed before he found his voice. “What… When? How?”

  “Tonight. Layla was supposed to have dinner with him, but when she went to his house…” She raised her teary eyes to him. “Oh, Jack! Layla was the one who found him. Can you imagine?”

  He blinked at her, still dazed. “How did he die?”

  Sara rubbed her hands over her face. “He shot himself. He was sitting at his desk when Layla found him, the gun still in his hand.”

  No way! “I cannot believe it.”

  “I know. Poor Layla.”

  They were quiet for the longest time, both of them lost in deep thought, barely moving. When Sara finally stood again, her eyes were still damp with tears, but there was also something else in them.

  Hope.

  “Itʼs over,” she said, the sweetest smile on her face.

  Jack frowned. “What?”

  “This whole ordeal. Everything. Itʼs over.” She swallowed before continuing. “Max was the killer, Jack. Brent said they found a note on his desk, right beside him. A note for Layla.”

  His frown deepened. “So?”

  “He asked her to forgive him for everything.” Sara walked up to him and took his hand. “The police think it was Maxʼs way of confessing. Guilt killed him. He couldnʼt take it anymore.”

  Jack couldnʼt help it. Before he knew it, hope started rising in his chest, too. Soothing. Gentle. Warm.

  Could it be true? Could Max really be the killer, after all? That certainly would explain his hatred toward him, why heʼd attacked him so brutally. But would it explain why he might have killed J.T.? And Charlene and Carrie? Not to mention the dream―or rather, the nightmare―he kept having, the one with him fighting with J.T. in front of that damn window. What did that mean, if Max was the one who allegedly killed J.T.? The truth was, so many things were still unclear, and Jack was afraid to hope yet. Hell, he was even afraid to move. He was hardly breathing. Thatʼs when a sudden thought slammed into him. “What time?”

  Sara withdrew her hand from his and gave him a confused look. “What time, what?”

  “What time did he die?”

  “Oh. They donʼt know for sure yet. Layla found him around seven thirty, but Brent said heʼd been dead for a while. A couple of hours, maybe longer. The autopsy will tell.”

  Just as quickly as it had come, the faint ray of hope dissolved, leaving him so cold that Jack was sure his blood had turned to ice. He had received the threatening call a little after seven. Not that this proved Max wasnʼt the killer, of course―but he certainly wasnʼt the one whoʼd made threats against Sara. He was dead. Which meant Sara was still in danger.

  A fierceness rose in him, violent, suffocating. Nobody would hurt Sara. Nobody! Heʼd make sure of that, but he needed to get the hell outta there. Now.

  “Jack? Please, say something.” At Saraʼs hesitant words, he raised his gaze and gave her a long look.

  “Well, hell. What do you want me to say, Sara? G
ood riddance.”

  “Jack!”

  “What?” He shrugged at her outrage. “Max died, and Iʼm sorry for Layla, but donʼt expect me to be heartbroken over his death.”

  Sara stared at him, her eyes wide. “Who are you?”

  “I don’t know why youʼre so surprised,” he scoffed. “After all, Iʼm nothing but a cold, heartless robot, remember?”

  “Iʼm starting to wonder,” she mumbled, sitting back on the bed. When he walked to the closet, though, rage made her spring up again. “Hey, Iʼm trying to have a conversation here!”

  “Iʼm listening.”

  “No, youʼre not! Something huge just happened, Jack. Stop pretending you donʼt even care!” she burst out, frustrated at his indifference as he grabbed a pile of shirts from the drawer.

  Jack gave an annoyed sigh. “Iʼm not pretending, Sara, I really donʼt care. And if you havenʼt noticed, Iʼm trying to pack.”

  Sara lowered her gaze, and for the first time, she noticed the bag open at the foot of the bed. His bag. “What? Why?”

  He grabbed a pile of jeans and tossed it carelessly into the bag. “Because Iʼm leaving. Why else do people pack?”

  She frowned, trying to ignore the shiver of dread that chilled her entire body. “But…I thought we decided not to leave for Chicago for another couple of weeks―”

  “There is no we, Sara. Iʼm leaving. By myself.”

  Her breath caught. Her heart seemed to shatter in a million pieces. Her legs went weak again, and once again she dropped back onto the bed with a choked-out, “W-why?”

  “Because Iʼm done with this damn town. Because things are not working between the two of us, and itʼs stupid of me to stay. Need I say more?” Jack turned around, a sarcastic look on his face.

  She tightened her fists, struggling between pride and desperation. “Oh yes, you do, since I donʼt believe a word you just said! I know that something is going on, Jack, and for some reason, you donʼt want to tell me.”

  With another infuriating shrug, he grabbed the last pair of jeans from the drawer and tossed it in the bag. Sara watched him in disbelief as he looked around to make sure he didnʼt forget anything. Then, with blood-chilling calm, he closed the zipper. Their gazes locked for a moment, but try as she might, she couldnʼt read his shuttered expression.

  Sensing that he was about to turn around and leave, she sprang up from the bed, wrapped a hand around his nape, and pulled his head down, slamming her mouth to his. Jack resisted her for a while, but she knew the exact moment he surrendered, because his hands clung to her hips to press her against his, and a violent shudder passed through him. Relief poured through Sara like warm honey, starting to heat up her chilled heart. Jack still cared for her. She knew it. She could feel it.

  She wasnʼt sure how long the kiss lasted, but when their lips parted, neither of them seemed to be able to breathe. As she searched his eyes again, however, she realized that they were totally blank. The ground crumbled under her feet all over again. “Now tell me you donʼt feel anything for me,” she whispered desperately. “Look me straight in the eye, Jack, and tell me that you donʼt love me.”

  He hesitated. Then he burst out laughing. “Sweetheart, this is sex, not love. Attraction, desire, lust. Call it whatever you prefer, but its name wonʼt change what it is.”

  “Bullshit! I felt you tremble the last time we made love. Dammit, Jack, you just trembled when we kissed a second ago!”

  He shook his head, his eyes somber again. Harsh. Forbidding. “Itʼs not a secret that Iʼm attracted to you, and we both know damn well that our chemistry is fantastic. Iʼm not denying it, and if this is all you want, thatʼs fine with me. But please, donʼt fool yourself confusing it with love.”

  She held his gaze, refusing to let his words discourage her. “Youʼre lying.”

  His expression seemed to soften a little as he slowly took a step closer to her. “Sara, you know Iʼve never made any promises to you.” He sighed. “Look, I do care for you. I never wanted to hurt you, and Iʼm sorry if I misled you somehow. The thing is, you caught me in a time of confusion, when I was trying to hang on to the only certainty I had left…and that certainty was you. Your kindness, your warmth, are what kept me going all this time, and I was―I am,” he amended, “extremely grateful to you. But to be honest, if I could take back time and start over again, I would never get involved with you.”

  Stab, stab, stab, stab, stab!

  Sara kept staring at him for what felt like forever. Damn him, could he possibly hurt her so much? Sheʼd never heard him speak so much at once and, for the very first time since sheʼd met him, she wished heʼd kept quiet instead. It wasnʼt even what he said, but the honest regret and pity she heard reeking from his voice. How could she have been so stupid? Sheʼd been fooling herself, but sheʼd known the truth all along. Men always left her. From her father to Fabrice, their alleged love for her had never lasted. If anything, at least Jack had never lied to her, heʼd never pretended to love her. And yet for some reason that thought only made her feel worse. Her head spun. Her heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach, and a terrible nausea immediately started choking her. She gripped the back of a chair for support, waiting for the tears she knew were about to well in her eyes. But they never came. Suddenly, she felt…nothing. No pain, no anger, no regrets, just nothing. She was completely empty.

  Jack watched quietly her as she straightened and walked to the window. Arms wrapped around her body, she stared out, her back to him. “You really donʼt love me, do you?”

  “Iʼm sorry,” he whispered again.

  “No,” she said flatly, without turning to look at him. “Iʼm the one whoʼs sorry. Iʼve been so stupid and stubborn. I let my love for you blind me from the truth. All this time, I kept telling myself that deep inside you did love me, too, just didnʼt want to admit it. I convinced myself that I didnʼt need to hear those words from you―even though I was dying to.”

  “Sara…”

  “Itʼs not your fault, Jack. You canʼt make yourself feeling something you donʼt. You donʼt love me, and thereʼs nothing either of us can do about it. But thank you for opening my eyes. Thank you for making me realize just how wrong I was. Iʼll get over it. I always do.”

  Jack tried in vain to swallow the fist-sized ball in his throat. He desperately wanted to say something but had no idea what. After all, he’d gotten what he wanted, hadnʼt he? Heʼd done what he had to do.

  God, he felt like dying.

  Sara slanted him an emotionless glance, then walked to the bedroom door and opened it. “Please, get out of my house…out of my life. Now.”

  He did, then opened and closed his mouth―but before he could even think of a reply, the door slammed hard in his face.

  For long minutes, he just stood there, dazed and frozen, staring at that closed door. A sudden low whimper made him look down, and he saw Lance lying on the floor, his muzzle resting on top of his shoe. Crouching next to him, Jack slid both arms around his neck. “Iʼll miss you too, buddy,” he whispered, kissing his head. “Take good care of her.”

  Jack stood up and went slowly down the stairs. He crossed the living room without seeing it and opened the front door. It was the right thing to do, he kept repeating to himself as he walked to the Harley like an automaton and loaded his bag on the back of the seat. He straddled the bike and started it up. Forced himself not to look back as he took off.

  Chapter 30

  “Sara, Iʼve had enough of this crap! Open the door now!”

  Nickyʼs shout, followed by the loud banging of her fists against the front door, made Sara groan. “Go away.”

  “Youʼve been locked in there for eight days! You donʼt answer the phone or return our calls, yet weʼve all been very patient with you. Well, guess what? Iʼve run out of patience, young lady, so youʼd better open this door right now or I swear Iʼll shoot the lock off,” she threatened. “Iʼm not kidding, Sara, youʼve got three seconds. One.” She grabbed her gun. “Two.” The door opened w
ith a creaking sound. With a sigh of relief, Nicky slid the gun back into its holster and walked into the dark living room. It was past noon, but it might as well be midnight, because every single curtain was pulled, and she couldnʼt see a darn thing. She pushed them open so suddenly that Sara, whoʼd just laid back on the couch after opening the door, squinted her eyes with a whimper.

  “Why donʼt you leave me alone?”

  Nicky turned to look at her, her hands resting on her lean hips. “Because Iʼm your friend. Because I love you and I donʼt like this. Good gracious, Sara, you canʼt stay here in the dark, listening to this funereal music!” Ignoring her friendʼs protests, she walked to the cabinet and turned off the stereo, shutting off the wailing of a dismal country ballad about lost love. “I bet youʼre not even eating, are you?”

  Sara groaned again and buried her face into the couch pillow. “Get out!”

  Invoking patience, Nicky sat beside her. “Honey, youʼre just torturing yourself.”

  “I know that.” Sara lifted her head to gaze at her, her eyes overflowing with the tears she hadnʼt stopped crying since Jackʼs motorcycle had left her driveway with a thundering roar that still echoed in her heart. “Jeez, Nicky, look at me. Donʼt you think I know that Iʼm a mess? Iʼve been crying for days, my heart is in pieces, and Iʼm so angry that all I want to do is bang my head against the wall!” she burst out.

  Nicky thought sheʼd rather bang Mr. Jackassʼs head against the wall, but she figured it might be better not to tell Sara that.

  “I know that I canʼt go on like this,” Sara continued. “Iʼm a smart, educated woman…and here I am, bawling my eyes out for a jerk who dumped me after telling me Iʼm not enough for him!”

  Nicky hated the way Saraʼs eyes filled up with brand-new tears as she spoke those words. “Honey―”