One Last Hold (25 page)

Wesley fingered the book, not quite ready to open it. It was like opening another chapter of his life and if he did, would he ever be able to go back?

Did he want to go back?

He couldn’t mend the chapters he’d already damaged so why not just write another one? Starting with confronting his fears.

His fear of losing. Again. His fear of never being able to get over his pain, his past. His fear of having Caitlyn back in his life only to lose her again.

Loving meant losing, and he never wanted to experience that pain again.

He thumped his chest and opened the book, but almost snapped it closed when sadness seized him. The words waved in front of him, but he couldn’t cry. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to cry.

What if Caitlyn was right? Maybe he did need to talk about things, get them out in the open, before he could get on with his life.

Oh, if only things were that easy.

He scanned the book and reminisced about the things his mother wrote, the pictures she stored, the memories they wrote together. Many pictures of him and Caitlyn.

She’d loved Caitlyn. Did she have some kind of motherly instinct to know Caitlyn was the one for him? The only woman he’d ever love? Or was it wishful thinking on her part?

Samantha, despite her being a hard working woman and a mother, found time to write things, little tidbits of information about him growing up, little notes to him she hoped he would see when he was older. Things she hoped to share with her grandchildren. Grandchildren she would never know.

“She loved you,” Tim said, breaking into his thoughts. “She would never blame you for what happened. She only wanted the best for you.”

“I know.” He blinked, his gummy eyelids burning. The pressure in his throat was almost too much and he jumped from the table to grab another beer. “She wasn’t ready to die. She wanted grandkids. She wanted…”

“No one’s
ready
to die,” Tim said. “It’s a part of life. You can’t blame yourself. Wesley, that guilt is eating at you and it’ll eat at you for the rest of your life if you allow it.”

“Caitlyn tried to tell me that,” Wesley said. “I brushed her off.”

“And that’s why you brushed her off. Because you’ll continue to let it eat at you for the rest of your life. You’ll continue to take chances with your own life because you don’t feel like you deserve to live.”

“Caitlyn tried to force me to talk about it.”

“Women think talking about things help. Sometimes they do. And sometimes you just have to let them talk. Maybe it doesn’t make you feel better, but it makes her feel better.”

“I told her to get the hell out of my life.”

Tim shoved his fingers in his hair. “Why in the hell did you do that?”

“I shouldn’t trust her.”

“Says who?”

“My father.”

“Oh come on,
he’s
the one you shouldn’t trust.”

“You used to agree with him.”

*

Caitlyn slapped the envelope against the heel of her palm and eyed Blake’s door. She’d like to waltz in there and throw her resignation on his desk. It would be a nice little surprise for him to find tomorrow, but that wouldn’t do. He still kept the door locked and he’d wonder how she got in. He’d also wonder how, considering she’d left before him and she didn’t want to explain why she’d returned after hours.

So instead, she stuck the notice in his inbox. It was full enough he wasn’t likely to know she’d added it at close to midnight.

The notice was for two weeks. She’d been offered an opportunity as the press coordinator for an event circuit in Austin, and she couldn’t wait to get out of here. She no longer trusted Blake and wasn’t happy with her job. It was time to move on.

Blake wasn’t fully healed from his wreck. Today was his first day back, and he shouldn’t have even come in. His closed office taunted her, the shadows lining the wall in a dare. She might not have another opportunity in the next two weeks.

It shouldn’t matter to her anymore. Wesley told her to get out of his life. He hadn’t called to apologize, and she didn’t hold high expectations for an apology.

She wouldn’t apologize either. Not that it would do any good. But this could be her last chance to discover what else Blake had in his office concerning Wesley and his family. And why Blake was hell bent on destroying them. In all her regrets, she didn’t want to leave and regret not rifling through Blake’s office.

She rubbed her arms and glanced around. Why was she so worried? Nobody would come to the office this close to midnight. She kept the hallway light and the one in her office on. If anyone were to ask, she’d tell them she was putting in a late night to finish up her assigned stories so she could leave earlier than expected.

After finagling with the lock, she slipped into Blake’s office and made copies. She didn’t have time to go through everything. It’d take hours to figure out what was important or what was just junk.

More than likely, it was all junk. But she’d make that call later.

Rayma’s ring tone belted. Her pulse soared, shadows growing smaller. She snatched the phone from her purse.

“Hello?”

“Caitlyn.” Rayma’s harried voice incited chills down her spine, up her arms, tighten behind her neck.

She pressed a knuckle into her cheek, expecting the worst. “What’s wrong?”

“I was talking to my PI friend and found out that Johnson had a twin brother.”

Caitlyn’s legs buckled. She sat amongst the papers she’d dug out of the file cabinet. Although this was shocking, she’d expected something far worse. “A twin?”

“Yes, a twin.”

“What happened to him?”

“We don’t know yet. Oh, and Esther was a prostitute.”

A harsh sound escaped her. “Keegan’s mother?”

“Yep, Keegan’s mother. Mrs. High and Mighty Uppity Webb. Was a prostitute.”

Caitlyn grabbed a handful of papers and set it in the box. “So you’re investigating Johnson and his wife?”

“I’m investigating Keegan more than anything, but they just happen to be a part of his life.”

“You can’t keep doing this to every boy you meet.”

“I don’t. I just do it to the boys I don’t trust.”

“Oh, Rayma. You don’t trust anyone.”

“Keegan is getting too serious. I have to know I can trust him before I give him my heart. Especially after…”

Caitlyn dropped papers in the box. Maybe it’d be easier to go make copies elsewhere and bring them back later before her last day. Or maybe she wouldn’t even bring them back. Would Blake even notice?

She let out another harsh laugh. “Before what, Rayma? Before you found out Keegan is Wesley’s step-brother?”

“You act like it’s not a big deal.”

“And you act like you have a choice on whether or not you give your heart away.”

“I do,” Rayma said.

“If only it were that easy,” Caitlyn muttered.

Rayma ignored her and continued. “Oh, I’ve got the guy’s name. Jack Forrester.”

Caitlyn closed the file drawer and opened the one below. The longer she tried to lecture Rayma on relationships, the more Rayma would blow her off.

She could hear her now.
This coming from the girl who sleeps with the smell of her ex-boyfriend’s cologne on her pillow.

“Jack Forrester, huh?” She hadn’t come across that name yet.

“Where are you?” Rayma asked.

“At the office. Doing research. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Be careful.”

Caitlyn ended the call and yawned. She stood and placed her hands on her lower back, arching backward, then forward to touch her toes.

What to do next?

Wiggling her fingers, she let out a breath as she rolled upward. Might as well grab the box and get going before she fell asleep in Blake’s office. She wasn’t sure she’d last much longer, even after Rayma’s call, and the last thing she needed was to be found in the morning slumped over Blake’s file cabinets.

As she reached for the box, she stopped at the weathered newspaper resting on top. Jack Forrester’s name caught her attention. His picture bore a stark resemblance to Johnson.

He was dead. Gunned down in his own home twenty-five years ago after hooking up with some trouble makers in prison. She read the article twice, but Johnson Webb was never mentioned.

Wesley would have been three. The time he said his dad left.

She rummaged through the box in search of the birth certificates. Wesley’s, Johnson, Samantha, Jack Forrester.

Yep, he was Johnson’s twin, judging by the dates and times.

Disgusted, she dropped the pages, letting them flutter to the box and was just about to grab the lid and go when she spotted the next birth certificate.

Jonathan Keegan Forrester. Son to Esther and Jack Forrester.

What the…

She fished for her phone, dialing Rayma back. But Rayma didn’t answer, so she left a message.

“Hey, call me, it’s important.”

The only Keegan Caitlyn knew was dating Rayma. Keegan Foster. Esther Foster.

Johnson had married his dead brother’s wife? Creepy, creepy, creepy. Wesley said he’d left to search for his family, and Caitlyn wondered if he’d found his family, found that Jack had died, and met his wife then? Maybe they kept in touch and decided to get together after Samantha’s death. Maybe they’d had an affair for years. Maybe…maybe…

Too many questions, not enough answers, and not near enough sleep to figure it all out tonight. She locked up the file cabinets, grabbed the box, and made slow and careful steps outside, her minuscule light pointing a path to her car.

She was too much of a damn reporter. Blake told her she should’ve been an investigative reporter. She couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie until she discovered where they were lying, how and why.

Blake used to tell her it was a blessing. She was now positive it was a curse.

*

“Dinner’s ready.” Tim thumped Wesley on his back.

“Good.” Wesley snapped the photo album closed and stood. He fixed his plate, poured dressing on his salad, and sat at the pint sized table. “I feel like one of those giants at a tea party,” Wesley said, making fun of the small table.

“It’s definitely not a manly table, is it?” Tim said.

“Plus, I’m eating spaghetti and salad. Aren’t real men supposed to be eating meat and potatoes?”

Tim shrugged. “Depends on how you label real men.”

“True, true,” Wesley said.

They ate in a comfortable silence, with silverware clanging against the plates the only sound accompanying them. Even if it wasn’t meat and potatoes, it was damn good spaghetti.

They finished dinner and cleaned up the kitchen. “This is what bachelors do,” Tim teased. “That’s why I urge you to get married.”

“Why? So I don’t have to do the damn dishes?” he asked. “Why haven’t you found someone after Heather?”

“I’ve dated lots of girls, even seriously. I’m currently dating someone semi-serious, but she’s divorced and we both have issues we have to deal with.”

“Just another example of why racing and marriage don’t mix.”

“Oh bullshit.” Tim handed Wesley a plate to dry. “Many men in racing are married. It has nothing to do with that.”

“I have something I want to show you,” Wesley said after they finished the dishes. He retrieved the documents Caitlyn had found; he’d gotten them from his house with the intent of showing his uncle. They sat on the living room floor, and Wesley told Tim everything he knew.

“What can you tell me about my dad I might not remember? I was so young when he left. I remember him coming back when I was six and I didn’t have a clue about him. I often joked with my friends about how he must’ve spent time in prison.”

“It took you awhile to open up to him. But then again, it took us all awhile. Samantha understood he had gone through hell. His parents died not long after he’d learned he was adopted. He took it pretty hard. He left to try to find his birth parents, but came back with the news they were dead, too. She forgave him.”

“I don’t remember my grandparents.”

“No. You were young when they were killed in a car wreck.”

“You knew his parents?”

“Yeah, they were great people.” Tim set aside the family tree but picked it up to study it again. Johnson and Samantha were on there. Samantha’s mom and dad and siblings were also included, but Johnson’s family was cut off. Almost as if the copy machine or drawing had cut it off. “Johnson was an only child, an adopted child, and it really bothered him when his parents were killed. But his family tree,” he handed the paper to Wesley and pointed, “looks like there’s another box, a sibling box, beside him. But it’s been cut off. See that?” Wesley nodded. “And I can’t tell what the name of his parent’s say, if it’s his adopted parents or his real parents. All I see is a box cut off from the picture.”

*

Caitlyn dropped the box of documents in the back seat and locked herself in her car, her heart pounding a ferocious din in her ears.

Rayma still hadn’t answered her phone, and Caitlyn wasn’t about to call Wesley. Not yet anyway. Not until she knew more.

Wesley didn’t care. He said so himself. He didn’t want to dwell on it, he only wanted to race.

She spotted a car trailing at a neat distance behind her, but hoped it was only coincidence. After all, she couldn’t expect to be the only car out on a night like tonight.

She entered the near deserted I-35 and drove a safe speed, watching the other car behind her. It kept a distance of a few car lengths but stayed in the far left-hand side. She drove in the far right. A few other cars passed her, but not many were out this late. The other kept its distance.

She sped up. The car stayed with her, though far enough back that she could be imagining things. She slowed to a crawl but the car did not pass. At first she thought she was being paranoid so she took the next exit to see what the car would do.

Her body temperature dropped when the car also exited. Coldness gripped her. She turned the heater on high, but her body still shivered. An icy, scary tremble. Her throat closed. She couldn’t breathe. The windows fogged, but she was too cold to turn off the heat.

She cracked the window but left the heater on. Maybe the fresh air would help keep her brain functioning. She was going to be sick. Literally she was going to throw up, but she damn sure wasn’t going to stop the car to do it.