The Plan (Off-Limits Romance, #4)(52)

“You know what I heard?” she asks.

I sigh, still smiling in an effort to be patient. “What did you hear?”

“My friend who works down at the drug store said he came and printed pictures of a little girl. His daughter. So I asked my other friend, and she said it’s not his. Her mother-in-law told her it’s all over the tabloids, how he thought he had this daughter, but it wasn’t his.”

It’s a struggle not to grit my teeth. To keep my face neutral as I shrug. “I don’t know. That’s really sad if it’s true. Fate is going to be the worst place for him,” I say with a pointed look at Carolina.

“Yeah. It’s true.” She has the grace to look a little bit ashamed of her big mouth.

I hold the folder up in parting wave. By the time I’m off work that afternoon, I have an idea.





3





Gabe





Cora’s tail wags as she lopes along the wooden railroad tracks. This is the second time I’ve brought her here, down to the running trails around the boardwalk. But instead of doing trails, we veer into the woods and follow the tracks through the tall grass.

The sky is gray today, with clouds that hang down near the top of the tall pines. Real fucking uplifting. I remember these winters from high school. Playing football helped me get through fall, but then it would be Christmas, and I’d get lost in the clouds. Christmas was the worst time of the year. My dad would sometimes try to dry out for a few days—motivated, I guess, by the idea of giving me a nice Christmas. But those days were always awful. He’d stagger around the house with trembling hands, holding his aching head, in the blackest mood, trying to figure out on Christmas Eve what he should buy me. By my senior year—the last time I spent Christmas in Fate—we’d settled on the tradition of him just giving me money. He’d hand over what little he had, ask me to swing by the liquor store on the way home, and send me out.

I have this memory of Dad sending me out to the donut store one Christmas morning. For some reason, he wanted donut holes. Marley was in the line in front of me. I remember that her jacket was shiny and green, almost metallic, and she smelled like something sweet, I guess like that food lotion girls were always wearing back in high school. I remember staring at her long, reddish brown hair…and then her thick ass. Marley always had a fucking awesome ass. Back then, she always seemed a little bit annoyed. Sort of defiant…like aloof, but with some attitude. After I saw her at the donut shop, I would think of fucking her when I jerked off. Her big ass. My hand around it. And the noises she might make.

I’m getting wood right now when Cora barks, and—fuck, a snake!

I jerk her back just as the fucker lunges for her. After that, we backtrack to the nearest open space and head back toward the marked trails.

The running trails are stripes of round, brownish-red pebbles winding through the dense pine forest. Fate’s not big—only 25,000 people live here—so it’s never crowded. But the first time I came down here, right after I moved into Fendall House, a woman jogging past me did an actual double-take, whirling back around to gape at me before laughing and heading on her way. That was before the motherfuckers at Page Six blared the Geneva story to the world. I’m sure one of Fate’s nosey residents got wind of that shit, and by now it’s spread to everyone around these parts.

When Cora and I turn a corner and I hear voices, that’s what I’m thinking about—so I pull my ball cap down over my face. I hear a squeal and grit my teeth. Cresting a slight hill and coming into view on the straight stretch of path in front of me is a little kid. At first, she’s just a streak of color, but then she slows, and I see pig-tails flap around her face. She catches sight of Cora and me and runs toward us.

Fuck.

“Is this your dog?” she asks, blinking up at me with huge, brown eyes.

I nod slowly, trying to give her a polite smile.

“Can I touch her?”

“Laura,” someone calls. I lift my gaze a spot a man a little older than me on her heels.

“Sure. Her name is Cora.”

“Is she a German Shepherd?”

“I don’t know. I got her at a shelter.”

“Laura. We don’t talk to strangers,” the man scolds. He nods at me. “No offense to you.”

“None taken.”

“This is my Daddy! His name is Keenan and he’s wonderful.” She gives him a brown-nosing grin, and the man gives an embarrassed laugh. “Thanks,” he nods at me, and pulls his kid along.

“Thank you,” she calls as they head off.

I refuse to let myself look on as they walk off, so I look at the ground while Cora whines beside me. I keep moving, just keep walking like it’s fine, it’s cool, like everything is normal, like a man on a walk with his dog, like a regular man on a walk who feels nothing but annoyance that the day is so damn gray.

Like a man who doesn’t want to take a drink or punch a wall or scream.

I blow my breath out. Then I start to run. I’m wearing shitty shoes for running—boots. I take a sort of pleasure in the way they make my feet ache from the first few strides, and later, further down the trail, they rub at spots along my ankles. I run harder, faster as we near the water, and I think of that day Marley first pulled up and I jumped off a spot not far from here, and then I jumped again that other day—to get away from her.