Guilty Needs(42)

Glaring at her, he snapped, “That damn journal is the whole f*cking problem. No, f*ck that, that isn’t the problem. The problem is that you couldn’t just let things be. You had to go after Bree and ask her for something you had no right to ask.”

“I asked her to go after the one person she’s always wanted,” Alyssa said, her voice thin, reedy, getting ever more distant. “You!”

Gruffly, he told her, “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about my best friend, and trust me, I damn well know what I’m talking about.” Her voice wavered, thinned out, disappeared altogether and for a second, so did she, her misty form winking out.

A cold breeze shuddered through the room, followed by something that sounded like a sigh. Alyssa shimmered back into view, a pained look on her face. “I’m running out of time, Colby. If I don’t cross over soon, I don’t know if I’ll be able to. I’ll end up trapped and I don’t want that. Will you shut up and listen to me?” Her head cocked, long curls spiraling over her shoulders. “You didn’t read the last entry, did you?”

His mouth twisted. “That’s the whole f*cking problem, Lys. I did read it.”

She cocked a brow and said, “Apparently not, not if you think Bree was with you for any reason other than the fact that she wanted to be.” Her eyes closed and she shook her head. “Take another look, Colby. And stop being so blind.”

Then she was gone.

And somehow, deep inside, he knew this time, it was for good.

“Goodbye, Lys,” he whispered. Exhausted, depressed, he started toward his room.

But then he stopped and looked back at his office. The journal was still sitting on his desk, exactly where he had placed it the night Bree had walked away from him.

A muscle jerked in his jaw as he took it. Something vile and ugly pumped inside him but he made himself open it, made himself flip through to the last entry. Made himself face how damn foolish he’d been.

Take another look, Colby.

Alyssa’s words echoed in his ears and he turned the next page, but it was blank. As was the next and the next…and the next. Disgusted, he started to flip back. Then, for some reason, instead of flipping back, he flipped forward, toward the end of the book.

And there it was. On the third to last page.

She told me. I could tell she didn’t want to, but I guess Bree just couldn’t lie to me. Part of me always knew that she loved him, but I never let myself think about it. How could I? My best friend in love with my husband. She acts so guilty, keeps apologizing like she’s done something wrong, like she thought I suspected her of putting the moves on him.

I don’t know. Maybe I’d feel the same. It can’t be easy falling for the guy who marries your best friend. She kept telling me she couldn’t do it, that Colby didn’t want her like that. Not now, he doesn’t, but I think he will. Maybe I should have just kept out of it, let whatever will happen just happen. I just hate to think about Colby being alone and I hate to think about her loving him like she always has but never doing anything about it.

She’ll do what she can to help him but I don’t know if she’ll do what I asked her to. She just kept telling me ‘no’. Man, I hope I didn’t screw this up. I just want them to be happy.

That was it. Dated the day she died. Each word was successively fainter than the previous and by the time he read the last word, the print was so light and shaky, he had to squint just to make it out.

Carefully, he closed the journal. Just as carefully, he laid it aside and then he braced his hands on the desk, shoulders bowed forward. His head slumped and he stared downward but he wasn’t seeing the journal, wasn’t seeing the desk, wasn’t seeing anything but Bree’s face.

One memory after another flashed through his mind.

It was like a movie reel. The day of the funeral. The day Alyssa had sent him out for lime sherbet she could barely eat. The look on Bree’s face when she crashed into him just outside the bedroom. How she looked when she saw him after he finally came back home. The careful, guarded way she held herself around him, as though she was hiding something.

Was she?

Shit.

Had Alyssa been right?

Is that what Bree kept hidden from him?

There was only one way to find out, but considering she didn’t want to speak to him, didn’t want to see him, probably wanted nothing to do with him, getting that answer wasn’t going to be easy.




He didn’t bother calling.

Didn’t bother knocking.

In fact, he didn’t even drive his car over to her house. He called a cab and paid the ridiculous fare just so he could use his key and let himself into her house while she was still working. If she saw his car, he wouldn’t be surprised if she just drove right on past. So he just headed that possibility off.

This way, at least if she still didn’t want to talk to him, she’d have to deal with him long enough to get him out of her house. Give him long enough to apologize…and hopefully get an answer to his question.

He settled in her library, sitting in an overstuffed armchair that smelled of flowers and Bree, with a full view of the driveway. He’d see when she drove up and hopefully, he’d have the time to prepare some sort of apology, some way to ask her what he needed to know.