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.
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.
“Colby…”
He stood up, stalked around the desk. Instinctively, she backed away, her hand falling to her side, the journal hanging from her fingers.
“So I guess me coming back made it a little easier for you to keep that promise.”
Bree took a breath and said, “Colby, listen.”
He shook his head. “Nothing really to listen to, is there? It’s the truth, right? At first, I had to hear you admit it, but I can tell just by looking at you. So what have I been? Was it all for Alyssa? Did you ever feel a damn thing for me? Did I even rate a pity fuck or was it all for her?”
Colby stood close now, too close. The heat of his fury all but scalded her, yet she was still cold—cold to the core.
“She’s dead, you know. She wouldn’t have known if you kept the promise or not. I’ve gotta admire the loyalty, Bree, but don’t you think you’re taking friendship a little too far?”
Words—damn it, they were lodged in her throat. She could explain this. Hell, she understood why he was so pissed. She would be too. But he had it wrong—damn it, did he have it wrong. She swallowed the knot, tried to speak, even though her vocal cords felt frozen. “Loyalty doesn’t have anything to do with this, Colby.”
“Doesn’t it? Your best friend is worried about her husband, pathetic shy bastard that he is, and she doesn’t want him to be alone. So she just decides you’d make a good match, a nice little sacrificial lamb.”
Narrowing her eyes, she snapped, “I’m not a lamb, pal. Sacrificial or otherwise. And you’re not pathetic. You need to just chill out and listen to me—”