Guilty Needs(39)

He hadn’t ever looked inside them but now, he found himself opening it, staring down at her familiar, flowery-looking script. Time ticked away from him as he read. The first entry was in February, the last one the day before she died. Most of what she wrote had his eyes burning. How she’d been so afraid most days, often angry. But the last few weeks were different. The entries were shorter, not quite as descriptive, but she’d been so weak that he understood why she didn’t go into as much detail.

He reached the last entry, but before he started to read, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back. When he felt a little steadier, he started to read. But three lines in, he wished he hadn’t.

Wished he had just thrown this journal in with the others or even in the garbage.

I got Colby to leave for a little while. Bree’s on her way over and I need some privacy for this. Can’t exactly have him lurking around while I ask this, right? I don’t think he’d understand me telling her that I want her to hook up with him.

That was all he read.

All he needed to read.

Snapping it closed, he stood up and started for the door, rage churning inside him, a sick sense of betrayal threatening to drive him insane. Bree—

Fuck.

He stopped and looked down at the journal in his hand. Abruptly, he turned and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the ground. He almost left it there. Almost. He stormed down the hall, torn between just leaving again and never coming back and finding Bree, demanding that she confess the truth. That the past month had been a f*cking lie. She’d slept with him, spent time with him because it had been the final wish her best friend asked of her.

He was going to be sick.

But he stopped in his tracks, turned, went back and got the journal.

He had to see the look on her face when she read it, had to see how she reacted when he asked her to explain what in hell the past month had been about. He’d been falling in love with her.

She was f*cking him out of some bizarre loyalty, maybe mixed with a little bit of pity.

What really sucked was that he almost could have handled the pity. He fell in love with a friend, no reason she couldn’t do the same but he knew it wasn’t pity that drove her. How far would she have let it go? How far did her loyalty to Alyssa go?

He didn’t know the answer to that.

But he sure as hell was going to find out.




Sexy dress.

Check.

No panties.

Check.

Hair done.

Check…and she’d actually spent some time on it too.

Makeup.

Check.

Only thing missing was Colby.

Even after an hour had passed and he wasn’t there, she wasn’t worried. If she knew a damn thing about him, he was probably at the house, debating about the proposal he’d mentioned. She basically knew what one was and she also knew that he would drive himself crazy trying to get every last word exactly right. Which meant she just might need to go and get him, otherwise another two hours could pass before he bothered to check the time.

She got her purse, slid her feet into a pair of black heels and headed out. A breeze was blowing and she flushed as it blew the skirt of dress over her bare rump. She wasn’t the type to go without panties and the feel of the air caressing her under the skirt was both discomfiting and erotic.

The drive to the house was quick. His car, that junky looking clunker he had yet to get rid of, was parked in front of the house. It was getting late but the only light on inside the house was the one in his office. With a grin, she shook her head and headed up the stairs. The front door was unlocked. She didn’t bother knocking as she slipped inside and called his name.

No answer.

She frowned, pushed a hand through her hair, unconsciously messing up the style she’d spent nearly forty-five minutes on. Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked to the office. He was in there all right but he wasn’t working. He was sitting at the desk. As she stepped inside, his gaze cut to her, his eyes hard and cold.

“Hey.” Licking her lips, she took a few steps toward him, although something inside her whispered a warning.

He didn’t say anything.

The black slip dress she wore seemed terribly inadequate now. She was cold, goose bumps roughing up her flesh. Her palms had gone damp and automatically, she smoothed them down her skirt. “Something wrong?”

In response, he tossed something he’d been holding onto his desk. Bree frowned, cocking her head. It was a journal, an embossed leather cover…recognition struck. Alyssa’s journal. Bree had seen it at a street fair and bought a couple of them, one for herself, the other for her best friend’s birthday. Bree’s was at home, tucked inside her night stand, a few scattered entries, either from a really bad day when she just needed to vent or cry or rage, or a really good day that she just had to commit to paper.

Alyssa had been almost religious about her journal writing though.

Something cold settled in the pit of her belly as she picked up the journal.

“Interesting read.” He finally spoke but he sounded nothing like himself. Too harsh. Too cold. Too brittle. “The last entry is a real eye-opener.”

Bree tore her gaze from his face and opened the journal. Her fingers felt thick, awkward as she turned the pages, seeking out that last entry. It was dated the day before Alyssa had died.

The pit of her belly dropped as she read the first few lines.