Page 77 of True Confessions

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There was nothing she could say except, “You’re right, maybe I should have told you.”

“Yeah, maybe. The very first day you drove into town, I wondered what would bring a big-city girl to a wilderness town like Gospel. I guess I finally know, and it has nothing to do with Bigfoot or aliens or corrupt sheriffs. You found out about Adam and came here to snoop into our lives.”

“Do you really believe that?”

His mouth settled into a grim line and he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

“I told you I wouldn’t do that to you, and I won’t, but I guess you’ll believe me when you don’t read about it in the papers.” She looked at him one last time and walked out the door, passed the backpacks they’d leaned against the house before they’d raced inside and fallen into bed.

The Idaho sun burned her corneas and she shaded her eyes as she headed down Dylan’s driveway, passed a car she didn’t recognize, and went out into the street. She’d tried so hard not to fall in love with him. Deep down she’d known he would break her heart. And she’d been right.

From the moment Dylan had opened his eyes and glanced at Adam at the foot of his bed, his life had gone straight to hell.

“What do you think she’ll do?” Julie asked him.

“I don’t know what she’ll do,” he answered truthfully. He wanted to believe Hope. He wanted it real damn bad, but he didn’t. “We have to tell Adam we were never married. Before he hears about it from someone else.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if that could suppress the sudden pounding behind his eyes. He’d told Hope so much about his life. A tabloid reporter who’d lied to him. “He needs to be told before he walks into the M & S to buy a pack of gum and reads about it off a tabloid at the checkout counter.”

“Yes, I guess it’s time you told him. Do you suppose there is any chance your girlfriend won’t report this?”

He lowered his hand and looked at Julie. She was worried about her career. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought Adam home.”

“I know. Why?”

She folded her arms beneath her breasts and took a deep breath. “Well, remember when we were in the airport and I told you I needed to talk

to you?”

He didn’t remember, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t mentioned it.

“You probably know I’ve been spending a lot of time with Gerard LaFollete,” she began, assuming he kept up with her business.

“No, I didn’t. Isn’t he a French actor?”

“Yes, and he asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

“What does Adam think of all this?”

“Well, I thought you could tell him.”

Of course she did. Dylan sat on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Under normal circumstances, he might not have minded the responsibility of telling Adam about his mama marrying the French dude. That would have made it easier for him to talk to Adam about Hope, but now he didn’t know if he had or wanted a relationship with her. He knew only two things for certain about Hope: one, she worked for a tabloid, and two, he loved being with her. The two shouldn’t have been mutually exclusive, but they were.

He looked up at Julie, standing there as if she expected that he would just naturally handle Adam for her. “No,” he said. “You’ll have to tell him.”

“I tried. Gerard met us last week so Adam could get to know him before I told Adam my plans. Well, Adam behaved so horribly I didn’t get the chance to talk to him about it. I tried to call you, but you were never home.” She sat in the rocker-recliner and shoved her hands between her knees. “He called Gerard the f-word.”

“Whoa! He called your boyfriend a fucker?”

“No. A fag.”

“Oh.” From what Dylan had seen of him on television, the guy did look like he had the potential to swing either way. The few times Dylan had spoken with Adam on the telephone, he’d sounded like he always did.

“I’ll talk to Adam about that, but you’re going to tell him about your marriage plans. Sounds to me, though, like he has a pretty good idea and that’s why he’s acting up.” He leaned back against the couch. “We’ll both tell him that we were never married. If we handle it right, I doubt it will be a traumatic deal for him. The timing could be better, but I don’t see that we have a choice.”

He shrugged; how much worse could it get? His son had been home less than an hour, he’d seen Dylan in bed with Hope, and he’d been yanked out of a chair and sent to his room. Things could only get better. “I’ll go get Adam from his room,” he said, but stopped by the bathroom first to down four aspirins.

Two hours later, he figured he should have just run his head through a wall, for all the good those aspirins did him.


Tags: Rachel Gibson Fiction