Page 12 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
“A friend?” I ask.
“Of my brother, yeah. Joe is a good guy. He hooked us up.”
Rand falls quiet again, and it’s not much longer before we roll into another town, this one bigger than the last. I’ve heard of Granbury, but I’ve never been.
All the old buildings around the square have been converted into quaint little shops and restaurants. In the middle stands the county courthouse. It’s French style, made of white bricks, with a clocktower, circa 1890.
The town is charming. I’m immediately enthralled. “Wow.”
“You like this place? I didn’t think it would be your speed.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I pegged you for more of a Paris-London-Milan type.”
“It was cool…the first few times. Now I just prefer home.” Well, I did. I don’t really have one anymore. I own a house in LA, but it’s never felt like home to me.
He nods like he’s mildly surprised by my answer. “Do you have any family who will panic if you don’t surface for a few days?”
I used to, but… “No.”
Rand stops at another light and whips his stare my way. “No one?”
“My parents divorced about a year after my first top-ten single. My mom remarried and had more kids. My dad…” I shrug. “I haven’t heard from him in about five years.”
Something crosses his face. It’s not exactly pity. Compassion? Definitely. Still, there’s more. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I’m over it.”
His glance says he doesn’t believe me. It feels as if this man can see through me when no one else can. I hate it. It’s unnerving. Yet it’s weirdly comforting to be even slightly understood.
“How often do you talk to your mom?” he asks.
“Once a month or so.” For the past couple of years, the “or so” has been the norm. I think I last spoke to her in February.
He shakes his head and accelerates through the now-green light. Traffic is congested in the town square since they’re kicking off their local Fourth of July festival. Through the windows, I smell the savory scent of barbecue. Maybe I spoke too soon when I said I wasn’t hungry, but I can’t exactly hop out of Rand’s truck wearing barely more than his shirt in a crowd full of people who will likely recognize me.
“Sorry.” He takes my hand.
I’m shocked, but I don’t pull free. “Why?”
“I’ve got a big-ass family. If I don’t check in soon, they’ll all start looking for me.”
“You said you have brothers?”
“Three of them. Ransom is the oldest. I’m second. Then Rush, followed by Ridge. We’re tight.”
I’m envious. My half siblings are all more than ten years younger than me. One of them I’ve never even met. “That must be nice.”
“Mostly. Inconvenient at times, but I wouldn’t do life without them.”
Suddenly, Rand is even more mysterious. How old is he? Where did he grow up? What else is important to him? Who else?
Oh, shit. Is he married?
I release his hand. He plants it on the steering wheel and makes a left, heading into a residential neighborhood full of houses painted in soft colors with mature trees and well-manicured lawns.
He pulls up in front of a yellow cottage with a wraparound porch and a pair of rocking chairs. In the gravel driveway, he stops the truck and hops out, shoves aside some bushes, then punches in a code to unlock a wide iron gate. Moments later, he pulls through the opening and parks under a carport adjacent to the backyard. The big lake shimmers beyond the chain-link fence straight ahead.
“We’re here.” He hops out. “Hang tight.”
