One Last Hold, page 3
“Sorry, Wes. Didn’t know she was a journalist. Hell, I thought she was family the way she insisted on speaking with you.”
“How long have you known me? And you just let someone waltz in without running it by me first?”
Adam shrugged. Wesley studied his friend, wondering if he should be troubled by Adam’s shortsightedness. Adam had never in his life tried to interfere in Wesley’s business, but lately he had voiced his concern over Wesley’s lack of interest in women. He wondered if Adam knew more about his past relationship with Caitlyn than he was letting on, but quickly discounted the notion.
“I don’t know all your family,” Adam defended.
“You know the important ones, and you know not to let just anyone in here.”
“She didn’t seem like just anyone.”
“Why? Because she’s pretty?”
Adam raised his hands and stepped back, warding off the next verbal attack. “Sorry, man. How many women have begged me to meet you? And how many times have I let them? I thought she was family. It won’t happen again.”
Wesley nodded then turned and walked away. No sense in talking about it anymore. No sense in vocalizing his pain. The pain clustered in his gut even now. The pain of seeing Caitlyn. The memories she generated. It’d been so long, so long ago, but it still felt like yesterday.
She was family. She was his everything.
But that was the past. Now, they were two different people.
He’d fought hard to keep his gaze from landing on her ring finger. Was she married? Maybe she had kids? Frustration rose in rebellion at the thought.
They had planned on having kids together at one time.
Caitlyn was more beautiful than ever, and Adam could have easily been swayed by those stark blue eyes. Wesley had been swayed by them plenty of time in his past. He’d almost given up everything for her. Might have given up everything for her if things hadn’t gone differently. And now she was a reporter.
She could destroy him with merely a blink.
*
Caitlyn placed her hand on the door to Tim’s Race Shop and jerked away. Heat, cobwebs, or scary childhood stories of what lurked behind these doors would incite less fear.
She worried Tim would be here today. He hadn’t been yesterday, but today Wesley was making an appearance and signing autographs, so it was only expected that he owner of the race team would be here, too. He couldn’t turn her away as a fan.
Blowing out a deep breath, she rejected her fear and pulled the heavy door towards her. She wanted to do this. She had to do this. And Blake wouldn’t take no for an answer.
She’d spent years looking over her shoulder, expecting Wesley to come back. The simple fact was, he hadn’t. When he’d emerged in the racing circuit, she’d tracked his career but never made a move to contact him—until now.
She couldn’t walk away yet. If she did, she’d never see him again, and she needed closure.
Even if it was ten years too late.
She could write about Wesley’s past and hurt him. Blake would be happy and she wouldn’t be forced to spend any more time than necessary with Wesley. She could seek revenge for her broken heart and sell her story to someone way more notable than Blake.
But she’d never stab her family in the back. Wesley, as much as she hated to admit it, would always be family.
Racing memorabilia for sale occupied the waiting area, enticing visitors. She bought a t-shirt to give her hands something to hold when she approached him. Besides, she needed something for him to sign other than her journalist’s notebook.
She worked her way to where a throng of fans stood in line waiting to meet him. Wesley sat at an autograph table, his race car placed strategically behind him. He ruffled young children’s hair, posed for pictures, and took time to talk with everyone. His prideful glow revealed how important he considered his fans.
Her insides lurched. She shouldn’t be here, stirring up bad memories. Not for her, but for him. He’d gotten on with his life. He was happy, well-adjusted, and oh so successful. She would never do anything to destroy that. But her presence could destroy that. She should turn and run.
But she didn’t run. Instead, she moved to the back of the line in case she changed her mind. When they cut off the line, she realized she’d made a huge mistake. Last. Great. If someone had been behind her, he’d have to be nice. For show. Right?
He was dressed in his racing uniform. His dark hair mussed enough to be sexy but not haggard. Stubble shadowed his jawline.
Waves surged over her, flooding her in fear and doubt and insecurity. Why was she doing this?
The young boy and his mother ahead of her stepped up. She forced air out of her lungs and straightened her spine.
Wesley posed for a picture with the boy and his mother then ruffled the boy’s hair before they left.
Caitlyn hobbled forward on wobbly legs.
Wesley glanced at her. She clutched the shirt to her chest. His smile tightened but didn’t fall as he returned to his seat and grabbed his marker.
Too late to run now.
“May I have your autograph?” Her hands shook as she handed Wesley the t-shirt and dropped her purse to the floor. His fingers grazed hers as he took the shirt.
She hadn’t expected a smile. Even if it was fake-as-hell.
“Certainly. Where do you want it?”
She fumbled with the button on her jacket and gave a stupid grin. His friendliness was unnecessary. Nobody was around to impress.
“Whoa, wait a second. Maybe you should show me later.” He held up his hands, his smile wide across his handsome face. Caitlyn’s cheeks flamed. Not only her cheeks, her entire body. For a moment, she forgot his act was all a game.
He signed the t-shirt and handed it back to her as if that would end their connection, but she didn’t leave.
“Looks like that’s everyone,” Tim said, stopping beside Wesley. He folded his fingers over the back of the chair and studied Caitlyn, his presence dominating the room.
The two were so much alike they could have been brothers. Tim’s face was fuller, ripe with deeper lines, a lighter complexion and thinner mouth but then that could have been the sneer he wore as he perused her.
Wesley rose to greet his uncle. Caitlyn hid her trembling hands behind her back.
“You remember Caitlyn?” Wesley asked.
Tim smiled, sending a slow burn of dread into her belly. A caustic smile, like shards of glass fused together for the sole purposes of nicking its recipient. She cocked her head and returned his scowl. She’d be damned if she’d retreat.
“To what do we owe this honor?”
“She’s a journalist now,” Wesley accused. Caitlyn cringed, feeling like an idiot for not speaking. Tim would like that news even less than Wesley. Why did he feel it was necessary to tell Tim?
“Obviously now isn’t a good time to talk,” she said to Wesley, her words raspy from holding them back for so long. “Maybe we can meet up later?”
“What’s wrong with now?” Tim’s voice pierced her spine like the shards of glass she’d imagined on his face.
“This is very awkward,” Caitlyn replied. “And I didn’t come to make an already awkward situation worse.”
“Then why did you come?” Wesley asked.
Instead of force-feeding Wesley politeness, she glared into his eyes and let the emotion they held over her erupt into anger.
“Look, I already have enough shit on you from your childhood to write a novel. If I wanted to do that, I would have. I have no control of what assignments my boss gives me. He wanted me to interview you. That’s what I’m attempting to do whether you like it or not. Instead, I could write what I already know and save myself a huge headache.”
“Wesley’s at the pinnacle of his career and doesn’t need you to screw it up again,” Tim interrupted. “Stay in his past.”
His words bit into her. She wanted to retort. Wanted to tell him she hadn’t screwed up his life. But that would be a lie, so she swallowed the lump in her throat and pretended his words hadn’t hurt.
“He wasted four years in law school after what happened, thinking it was a sign,” he continued.
“From what I’ve heard, he spent those four years racing on the side and getting better. I wouldn’t call that wasted. Plus, now he has a professional degree to fall back on, which is not a waste.”
“He was going to forfeit his dream for you and you would have let him.”
“He didn’t forfeit anything for me,” Caitlyn spat. Wesley’s glower dug into her skin. She couldn’t believe he was letting Tim treat her like a child. But then again, Tim always had treated her like she wasn’t good enough and Wesley had never noticed.
“He was angry, hurt, and a hell of a lot of other things when he was driving that night. He was distracted and that’s why he wrecked.”
“Tim, that’s enough,” Wesley scolded, surprising Caitlyn.
Caitlyn still remembered it like it was yesterday. Still had nightmares. And she still blamed herself. Hearing it from Tim’s mouth didn’t help. He damn sure didn’t need to tell her what happened or why.
She’d been there. He hadn’t.
“Maybe that dream you say was his wasn’t really his.” Caitlyn ignored the fact that Tim’s frame loomed over hers as she stepped forward to aim a finger at his chest. The table stood between them, but that didn’t stop her. “Maybe it was your dream. You’re obviously the reason he became a race car driver.”
Wesley cleared his throat and skirted the table to grab Caitlyn’s elbow before she sliced Tim open with a lone fingernail. “Excuse us,” he said to Tim.
Caitlyn pulled out of his grip and gathered her purse from the floor. “Don’t bother. I know my way out. And I’ll write the story my boss wants. I came here to give you a chance so I could leave out the bullshit of your past life. But I don’t know why I bothered giving you a chance.”
Wesley snagged her purse and settled his hand on her lower back, ushering her out the door and away from Tim’s comeback. He wouldn’t even give her a chance to graciously walk away.
Her thighs trembled. She wanted to wiggle out of his touch, but she’d not dare let him see how he affected her. She refused to cry. Anger would leave her more content in the long run, so she let the anger fuel her.
She wouldn’t write the story that would condemn him, but he didn’t have to know that. Let him worry and fret the way she’d worried and fretted over the years.
“So now you’re going to threaten me?” Wesley asked once the door slammed behind them.
She stepped away from his burning touch. “I’m not threatening. Just stating the facts.”
“Tim’s right,” Wesley said. “I don’t need this. And with Chad’s death, the last thing I need is the media on my ass.”
“Right now might be a good opportunity to get someone in the media on your good side. Maybe if you played nice, they’d write nicer things about you.”
“I don’t have a problem with them writing bad things about me. I’d prefer they not write anything at all.”
“If they aren’t writing anything, it means you aren’t getting noticed. If you want to succeed, you have to be noticed.”
“That’s not true.”
Caitlyn flicked her hair aside and tempered her nostalgia. “How so?”
“I’m already successful. My talent has gotten me noticed. Not brownnosing reporters like you. I’m at a different place in my life. I don’t need you trying to pick up things where we left off.”
“I didn’t come here to start where we left off, you egotistical jerk.” Caitlyn yanked her bag from his grip and cradled it to her chest. The way things were going, it wouldn’t be hard for this assignment to be her cleansing. Purge Wesley and realize she no longer needed an excuse to avoid other relationships. What she felt for him was in the past. A past love. Nothing else.
He was nothing like the man—the boy—she’d loved.
*
The smell of construction tickled Wesley’s nostrils as he entered the door to his new home. Sawdust carpeted the entryway and the scent of fresh pine lingered in the air. Not much longer before the house was move-in ready.
He climbed the wooden staircase to the open loft and stepped outside onto the deck. The scene paid homage to the feelings raging within his body. Peaceful, yet conflicting, emotions. Pine trees whipped in the wind. Unrelenting snow nipped at the mountain tops. A deep and restless energy plagued Wesley, yet at the same time he wanted to fall on his bed and sleep.
Unfortunately, his bed wasn’t set up and he had no electricity, so it’d be out to the travel trailer for him.
The last few days had been stressful with Chad’s funeral and Caitlyn’s appearance. Images of Caitlyn still haunted him.
He wondered if he should call her to make amends before she slandered his name all over the internet. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. Like she said, he could use a friend in the media after Chad’s death. He’d kept checking to see if she’d made good on her threat, but so far he hadn’t found any defamation of his character. Didn’t mean she wasn’t working on it.
Caitlyn had been his inspiration in the beginning of his career. When he began racing, he used the fire that consumed him when he thought of her and their past together to become better until thinking of her no longer benefited him. She became a memory. A painful, distant memory.
Born in North Carolina, Wesley moved to Texas when he was six, where he met Caitlyn. They quickly became friends, lovers, and he’d planned to stay in Texas until he learned life couldn’t be planned or bargained with. Now, he moved around constantly and was happy that way.
The orange glow of the sun, piercing in its intensity, skimmed the snow-kissed mountainside and left a trail of incandescent light filtering through the trees. The panorama was beautiful, but the cold seeped into the cracks of Wesley’s jacket and became unbearable. The crack in his soul had been unbearable at one time, but racing had mended him.
As he headed inside, a police car pulled up and two offices exited. He lumbered down the steps to meet them and remained by the door as they approached.
He dreaded another encounter with the cops, but the one in his head involved handcuffs. So far, he hadn’t seen any.
The first officer flashed his badge. “I’m Sergeant Sikes and this is Detective Brew. We’re here to ask you questions about Chad Armstrong.”
“I’ve already spoken with an officer about this. I don’t have anything else to give you.”
“We have more questions. May we come in?”
Tension knotted his gut. “Do I need an attorney?”
“Not unless you’re guilty,” Sikes asserted.
The long-legged officer smirked at his partner, and Wesley bit back a retort.
He shuffled aside and let them enter. He should deny them, hire an attorney before he spoke to anyone, but that would only make him look guilty in the media’s eye. Besides, he still held his law license. He knew what to say and not to say. “My house isn’t finished yet and the electricity isn’t installed.”
The cops stepped past him and into the house. Sikes glanced around and stopped at the kitchen bar. “This’ll be fine.” He laid his bag on the counter and removed a handful of pictures. “Can you tell us why Armstrong had a file folder with your name on it?”
Wesley took the photos and studied the file folder in question. It was an accordion folder, somewhat frayed, and his name was sprawled on the front with a black Sharpie.
“No idea,” he muttered. “What was inside?”
“We hoped you could tell us that.”
Wesley’s gaze snapped to the officers and back to the photo, trying to decipher what the picture was telling him. “Was it empty?”
The officer didn’t reply, and a sinking sensation in his gut told him he’d already been marked as guilty.
“Where did you find this?”
“Armstrong’s residence.”
“His RV?” Wesley glanced up, Sikes nodded, and he resumed his study of the pictures.
“It was empty,” Sikes admitted. “We believe whoever killed Armstrong took out the contents of that file. We have no idea why they didn’t take the entire folder. Could you think of any reason?”
“What’s this?” Wesley ignored the question and waved a photo.
“The crime scene techs took that photo. It’s a diagram of your family tree. Found on the floor, underneath a table, spattered in blood. Must’ve fallen out of the folder.”
Wesley stared at the pictures while a cold, damp hand squeezed his chest. He gasped for breath. He didn’t know what this meant and why Chad had this, but it couldn’t be good.
“We think whoever murdered Chad Armstrong took that folder of information about you.”
“So I could be the next target?”
“Or the suspect, however you look at it.”
Wesley bit back a retort as he returned the pictures to Sikes. Why would he be a suspect? Because there was nobody else? That was a possibility even if the hadn’t found a folder with his name. “Have you seen this diagram?” he asked.
“I don’t need to see it to know it looks suspicious. They’re dusting for fingerprints, testing the blood. We want you to come by the police department so we can get yours.”
Wesley glanced at the other detective, who hadn’t said a word. What was he, a bodyguard? He stood with his hands at his sides, guarding his gun, ready to strike.
Wesley stepped back and raised his arms. “So I’m a suspect now?” he asked.
“Should you be?”
“No, but neither am I an idiot. I don’t know why he had it, but I’d like to find out just as much as you. Maybe he kept a file on all of his competitors.”
Sikes shook his head. “No other file of any kind. Some bills and pictures and what have you, but nothing to indicate he was interested in any of the other racers.”
“None that you found, anyway. Maybe whoever took it wanted to frame me.”
“Maybe,” Sikes remarked.
Wesley glanced out the window. The last vestiges of sunlight tumbled past the mountain, hope sinking with it.
“Are you going to get every racers’ prints?” Wesley asked.
