Uncovering Officer Smith (The Discovering Trilogy #2)

by Sheena Hutchinson

  “I knew it,” she breathes. “I knew you would do this. You could have just talked to me, you could have literally just called me and explained. You could have done a million other things to tell me how you felt. Instead, you chose to do nothing and walked away. I will not play second choice to the one-that-got-away. I deserve better than that.”

  She turns, glancing away from me towards the football field. Her eyes begin to glisten. The darkness begins to settle over her face and the campus around us. I’m at a loss for words and with a deep breath, she continues. “You walked away, and that’s what I’m doing now. I can’t be here anymore. This place isn’t good for me; too many memories; too much temptation. I need to recover. I need to get my mind right.” She turns to leave, when she changes her mind and faces me for the third time. “Believe me, John, I understand how it feels, – I know all about losing first love.” She shrugs, tears filling her eyes. “Because you were mine.” She bites her bottom lip in an attempt to stop the tears from falling—A fight she is losing.

  You were mine. She leaves me there, watching her blonde hair swish behind her as she goes. I should say something or call after her. Instead, I watch her disappear into the night away from me, forever.

  The ride back to my apartment seems to go on forever. It’s the only time I’ve ever regret living so far away from Angelica. I just want to be alone. After Becca stomped on my apology, I fled, dashing back to my car and zipping away. My thoughts on one thing only: This is all because of me. I turned Rebecca Swanson—An independent, intelligent girl into a heartbroken, damaged woman. She didn’t deserve that. She deserves so much more than me. It will take me years to get over how her face looked at me just before. It will take me years to get over her. And the worst part is – I deserve it.

  My feet mindlessly take me up the three flights of stairs and turn the key to my apartment. The lights are still on and the television is blaring.

  “John?” Ford looks up from his spot on the couch. “What happened? You look like shit.”

  “She left, man.”

  “Oh.” He pauses. “What happened?”

  I walk around the couch and collapse next to Ford. “I told her I was sorry. I told her how I felt. And she still left.” My eyes stare ahead at the television.

  “Oh, man. I’m sorry, bro.”

  “It’s okay. I deserved it.”

  Ford sighs beside me. “Just give her some time. Becca has always been strong. She’ll pull herself out of this. We’ll try again.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I think this was real. I think Becca finally realized I’m no good for her.”

  “That’s a bunch of crap, Smith, and you know it. I’ve never seen you look at any other girl the way you looked at Becca in my kitchen that day. I knew and I wanted to kill you for it.”

  “You’ve been talking to Courtney, haven’t you?”

  “She might have mentioned it.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

  “Don’t give up, bro.”

  “I think its her that’s finally given up on me.”

  I got home a few days ago. It was hard returning to my old room. It was even harder listening to my mother as she berated the college I enjoyed so much.

  The house is a lot quieter than I remember. The cook, Dorothea, has this look in her eye whenever I ask her to make me something. It’s a look of pity; one that screams she knows what happened. The good thing is I barely see my mother. She is in damage-control mode, calling all of her friends to explain away my reappearance before the gossip mill grows out of control.

  Here I sit in my dark room, the curtains still drawn. What now? I ask myself. Where do I go from here? What is it that Becca wants?

  My eyes fall onto a pair of old sneakers in the corner – I want to run again.

  The sensation of my sneakers on my feet feels good. I bounce from one foot to the other just to test them out. Yup, just like old times. I glance up to observe my skinny frame in the long mirror on the front of my closet door. I don’t know who this girl is anymore. But here, with my running sneakers on again, I feel more like myself than I have in months. I toss a sweatshirt over my head and bound down the steps.

  “Becca, dear, where – oh.” My mother eyes the sneakers on my feet while the phone remains next to her ear. “Dinner is at six.”

  “I should be home by then,” I joke, swinging open the door and bounding outside.

  I take the front steps two at a time before dashing across the yard and taking the winding driveway down to the street. It’s a gorgeous November day. New Jersey is littered with fallen orange leaves. Even the smells are different from New York. It’s refreshing; although I have a feeling, it will never really feel like home anymore. The air is brisk and cold as it pumps into my lungs and out again in a tiny clouds.

  The faster my arms pump, the faster my feet take me. My muscles ache as they are used again.

  God, I’ve missed this. I feel at home, I feel like all is right in the world when I run. I feel as if I’m finally in control again. The scenery becomes a blur around me and I focus on my breathing and my pumping arms. The ache in my chest is a distant pain. I’ve experienced worse at this point.

  I don’t keep track of the time, but head home once the sun begins to set. By the time I get there, my muscles scream with exhaustion and pain. My socks have to be peeled off and red blisters cover my feet. But it’s the most alive I’ve felt in so long. I finally feel as if I’m back in control. I don’t know how I let myself fall so far. I was smart, calculated, driven – and yet one guy came in and made me weak. I told myself I would never be like that, but I still fell into every girl’s trap. What is it about men that make women stupid? What the hell happened to me? Never again, will I be that girl.

  One year later…

  The house is filled with distant caroling and wreaths the size of me. My parents spared no expense for this year’s holiday party. It seems like ages ago I rolled my eyes at these kinds of things. Now, I welcome it. There was a point in time when I might have never seen them again. It took months of therapy for me to come to grips with things again. My parents were a godsend. They saved me. College life just isn’t meant for some people. That’s what I tell myself. I still refuse to be one of those stupid girls that let a guy get to her.

  “Oh, Becca, dear, guests will be arriving soon. Do put a dress on.” Victoria Swanson, the control freak as always. We all have to be putting on our fake smiles and Swanson family presentation that she thrives off. I can’t complain. That’s my mother.

  “Okay.” She disappears around the next corner as fast as she popped up. I wander back into my room to change again.

  The party is in full swing by the time I walk down the spiraling staircase. The marble floors shimmer against the twinkling lights strung around in garland. The huge Christmas tree in the foyer glistens with all the red and white lights. My mother should have been a party planner, instead of a housewife. She has such talent. The red dress I’m wearing is tight. Therapy taught me to use my frustration for something productive. I chose working out as a crutch. My old clothes always seem to fit snug now against my newly formed leg muscles. I tug the dress down as I continue my descent into fake-dom.

  “Oh, Becca, dear!” My mother’s voice carries its way across the crowd. People turn to look. Of course, they have all heard about what happened, but will still put on a smiling face and ask me what I’ve been up to.

  I take my time walking over to my mother and Mrs. Carolyn. This is the first of many interactions I’ve had to come to grips with.

  “Becca, so good to see you.” Mrs. Carolyn’s condescension is evident with every syllable. It’s as if she’s speaking to a child.

  Plastering on my fake smile, I respond, “You, too. How are you?”

  “I’m wonderful, darling, how are you doing?” She leans forward at the question, as if she doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

  “I’m doing really great, thank you for asking.” I nod w
ith an even faker smile across my face.

  “Becca here, has been taking online classes,” my mother butts in. She will feel the need to explain. They begin whispering, so I take the time to turn to someone else and thank them for coming. I sneak further and further away from my mother as I work the room.

  I’m saved only when my brother comes swinging in the door. Perfectly dressed in his navy suit, he bounds inside with handfuls of presents.

  “Mother!” he calls across the room. He stalks down the stairs and drops the presents in front of the tree, before dashing across the room and pulling her into his arms. Thank God, now I can silently slip into the background again. I will never match Bedford’s charm and success. Her huge smile tells me all I need to know: he is her pride and joy. I am just another embarrassment.

  “Bedford, dear, you’re early. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow!”

  “I couldn’t miss the party of the year!”

  His eyes scan the crowd until they meet mine and he shoots me a wink. My brother took way too many years of drama class. But who can blame him with this lifestyle.

  “Mother, I hope you don’t mind, but I brought a friend.”

  “Beddy, any friend of yours is a friend of the family’s.”

  Their voices grow quieter as they talk to each other. My eyes trail back to the open door. The lights on the front of the house play across the snowy front yard, until someone walks into view. Presents are piled in his arms, blocking his face from me. They shift slightly as he descends the three stairs into the foyer. When they lower, I recognize the friend immediately. His hair is slicked back, his suit is perfectly pressed and tailored, and his blue eyes scan the crowd. They were probably looking for my brother but they stop when they meet mine.

  I lose all ability to breathe. I haven’t seen him in… months—Over a year, to be more precise. He still takes my breath away. How can he still have this control over me? Even after all this time? Time heals all wounds: that’s what the therapist told me. He said I would get to the point where I could see him again, and all I would feel is pity for the man that would never open his heart to love. Today is not that day.

  My mother’s voice slices through my haze. “Becca.” She sighs. “Go help Bedford’s friend.” She sounds disappointed once again.

  “Um, okay,” I mutter, walking to meet him at the bottom of the steps.

  “Hey.” John awkwardly gets out, while shifting a few presents into my hands.

  “Hi, how are you? Welcome to my home.” My practiced speech comes spilling out.

  “You’re looking good, Becks.”

  I take the presents to the tree and place them on the floor before turning back to him. “I told you I just had to get away. That place was no good for me.”

  “That place, or—”

  We both know what he wants to say but he never gets the chance. My brother comes bounding over, putting his arm around John. “Becky, you remember Smith, right?”

  I nod. “Yes, I do.”

  “I’m sure you do.” He leans in from prying ears and winks to me. I playfully punch him. “Becca-roni, you’re looking awfully svelte! Have you been working out?”

  “Only so I can kick your ass.”

  He pinches my growing bicep. “Oh, I’d like to see you try.” With that, he turns and starts making his way through our guests as the perfect son.

  John looks a little nervous as he glances after him. “I, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

  “It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting to see you,” I murmur, tugging at the bottom of my dress again.

  “If this is weird, I can leave. We just ran into each other and Ford told me to come. I didn’t even think –”

  “No.” I sigh. “No, it’s really good to see you.”

  Then I turn and walk away. I’ve walked away from John Smith for the second time. He is my kryptonite and I am finally strong enough to let him go. I’m in a good place. I don’t think he was ever intentionally trying to hurt me, but I don’t think he was ready for me. I certainly wasn’t ready for him.

  My eyes follow her around the room. That red dress is hard to miss amongst the black tie event. She looks great. There is color in her cheeks again. Her hair falls well down her back and is curled into little perfect ringlets. Her body has changed, as well. She’s been working out, her arms defined, her legs tighter. The biggest change of all has to be the smile on her face. Not the fake smile she gives to her parent’s friends. The smile she gave me, the laugh she gives her brother when they pass in the mass of people. She’s really happy. All she had to do was get away from Angelica, away from me. I was right – I wasn’t any good for her.

  “Have you talked to her?” Ford’s voice breaks my daydream.

  “Um, not since before.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  “I… She looks so happy. I don’t want to ruin that.”

  “Smith, I know my sister. I see the way you are looking at each other. There is more left unsaid between you guys than you realize.”

  “She hates me.”

  “Hate is just unrequited love.” With that, he leaves me next to the eggnog. I’ve probably had too much already, but I ladle another cup.

  It’s been at least an hour and I still haven’t gotten the nerve to talk to Becca again. I was wrong. I’ve been wrong all along. April wasn’t the one that got away. It was Becca. The worst part was, I let her leave. I wander down the vast hallways. This place is huge. I never realized how much money the Swanson’s had. I slip into an open door. Bookshelves line the walls and a huge mahogany desk is the centerpiece of the room. I make my way to the leather couch in the center and collapse. I think I’ve had too much eggnog for one night. I have a feeling I’m not going to be able to drive home. How am I going to spend a night here in Becca’s family home and not even be able to speak to her?

  “John?” As if answering my prayer, she appears from the shadows. “Are you hiding from the vultures, as well?”

  “I never realized how much you had to deal with at home.”

  “This is only the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “We didn’t exactly have a deep, confiding relationship.”

  I nod even though the words hurt me. I want her to confide in me. I crave to be her everything. “You’re right. We didn’t really have a relationship.”

  “We did for a little while.” She leans on the edge of the desk beside the couch.

  I have no words, so instead I sit there wallowing in the unspoken for a little while. “I’m sorry,” I finally get the nerve to say.

  “It’s okay. I’m in a better place now.”

  “I see that. You look great, Becca.” She blushes; almost as red as that dress she’s wearing. My eyes wander up the sexy legs to the high hem of that dress. My own body starts to sweat. God, I’ve missed her. “I guess I wasn’t good for you after all.”

  “It just wasn’t the right time, for either of us.” She fumbles over her words too. I see her pick up a glass of what looks like whiskey.

  “Bec—”

  “Don’t worry, it’s only iced tea.”

  I watch as she sips it before placing it in her lap. “They say time heals all wounds,” she pauses, “But they leave their scars, John.”

  “I’m so sorry, Becca,” I interrupt. “I never meant to hurt you. I was only trying to protect myself.” It seems like our months apart have made me bolder than I thought, or it’s the alcohol. “In the end I hurt us both.” My head falls. “I didn’t see that you were hurting. I didn’t even notice what I was doing. I was so wrapped up in protecting myself that I–”

  “I don’t understand, because there were times you were trying to protect me, as well.”

  “I couldn’t help how I felt. I would never have let anything happen to you. I just wouldn’t allow myself to feel.”

  “To feel? We had a whole summer of feeling! We felt all over the pace, if I recall.” She smirks
, bringing the glass to her lips again.

  “That we did.” I smile and meet her eyes again—So blue, so perfect. “I never meant to hurt you, Becca. I’m sorry.”

  “Why did you just stop talking to me?” Her voice is pained, even after all this time.

  “Your brother.”

  “Bedford?” She gasps.

  “Yes, he saw you leaving my apartment that last time. He told me if I ever touched you again he’d kill me.”

  She’s silent. “I had no idea.”

  “He was right. I was no good for you.”

  “You could have just talked to me, John. We could have worked things out or ended amicably.”

  “I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to feel, and I didn’t want to hurt.”

  “And how’s that working out for you?”

  “It’s not,” I answer truthfully. “Becca, you’ve left your scar, as well.” She pauses in her drinking to place the cup down on the desk as I continue. “You’ve left a scar on my heart; a deep one—One that I don’t know will ever close.”

  “John.” The way she whispers my name makes my insides twist.

  “You were never second to anyone, I want you to know. I felt more for you in a few months than I had with anyone in my entire life, and that is exactly what scared me. You had more power over me than anyone ever had. You had the power to destroy me and I couldn’t allow anyone to have that. But I didn’t realize that it would hurt me even more to let you go. It ripped me apart. I may not have shown it to you, but it did. You left your scar, Becca.”

  “You caused me a lot of scars,” she finally responds.

  “I know.”

  “You… had so many opportunities, you could have—”

  “I know.”

  “You let me go.”

  I’m on my feet. “I know. I replay that moment repeatedly inside my head. I could have said a million things; I should have said a million things. If I could do it over, I would have chased after you, called after you, told you not to leave. But I can’t. I can’t change time. I can’t go back.”