Archer's Voice (A Sign of Love Novel)(63)

Amanda went on, "I own a clothing boutique in town–Mandy's." She smiled. "Creative right? You come in and visit me sometime and I'll give you a friend discount."
I smiled at her. "That's awfully nice of you, thank you, I will."
"Good. It was lovely meeting you, Bree."
"You too," I said as she walked away.
I unpacked the bags of groceries and then got in my car, sitting there in the parking lot thinking about a sweet girl who came to a new town, and the brothers who loved her–and how the one she didn't love manipulated her into choosing him, and how it had all ended in tragedy. And I thought about the little boy that sweet girl had left behind, and how my heart ached for what we might never have again.


**********


I spent the next couple of days working and then holed up in my cottage, reading mostly, trying to make the time pass more quickly. I hurt. I missed him. And strangely, I wanted to comfort him. I didn't know exactly what had happened at that club, other than that Archer had gone to some back room with one of the strippers and had sex with her–which I didn't even realize was on the strip club menu, but what did I know? But what I did know was that Archer wasn't happy about it. So why had he done it? I tried to put myself in his shoes, tried to understand what it must have been like for him to be in a strip club of all places. But thinking about it too much just made it hurt more.
On Friday as I was getting off of work, I saw Travis across the street in his civilian clothes, and as I squinted into the sunshine, watching him chat casually with an older man, rage filled me. He had been there–he had taken Archer to a strip club. He had planned it.
Without thinking, I stormed across the street, a car horn blaring at me. Travis looked over and started to smile, but saw the look on my face and went serious, turning to the older man and saying something before heading to meet me where I was heading toward him on the sidewalk.
As soon as I reached him, I slapped him hard across his face, the sound reverberating through the mild fall air. He closed his eyes and put his hand up to his cheek, rotating his jaw slowly.
"What in the hell was that for?" he hissed.
I got right up in his face. "You're a mean, selfish *, Travis Hale. What in the hell were you thinking taking Archer to a strip club? I thought I could trust you to take care of him!"
"Take care of him?" he asked, laughing softly. "What is he a damn child, Bree?"
"What?" I sputtered. "Of course he's not a child. But you know that he needed you to look out for him a little bit. He's never been out socially before! He needed you to–"
"Is that what you want? You want someone who has to be looked out for all the time? Is that the man you want?"
I was seeing red now, my hand itching to slap his face again. "You're twisting this! You're making him sound like he's mentally incapable of getting the hang of things he's never done before. He just needed you to–"
"What? Hold his hand all night so that he didn't f*ck another woman?"
My mouth dropped open and I gaped at him.
He breathed out, running his hand through his hair. "Jesus, Bree, I wasn't trying to create a situation where you got hurt. I was just trying to show the guy a good time–make him feel like a GUY, give him some confidence so that he didn't feel like he was so far out of your league! All right, it obviously wasn't the best plan–I figured that out after he went in the back with a girl he liked when we were teenagers and f*cked her, all right?"
"God, stop saying that!" I said, tears coming to my eyes. I swiped at them angrily, mad at myself for crying in the middle of the damn street in front of Travis Hale.
"He's not for you, Bree. He's… too different… too sheltered, too apt to make choices that will hurt you. I'm sorry you found out the hard way."
I shook my head back and forth. "You're twisting this."
"I'm not," he said gently, pulling me toward him and putting his arms around me. "I'm sorry, Bree. Really, really sorry."
I pushed away from him and turned to walk back to my car. My head was swimming with hurt and anger–at Travis, at Archer, at myself. I just needed to get home.
"Bree," Travis called and I stopped walking, but didn't turn. "I'm here if you need me."
I kept walking, noting that people all around us were stopped and staring. Wow, subtle. But we had just put on a show, or rather, I had.
I walked quickly to my car, got in and drove numbly home, dragging myself into my cottage and collapsing on my couch.