There's Only Been You by Donna Marie Rogers Read Free Book Online
Authors: Donna Marie Rogers
loaded with chunks of white and milk chocolate. He wished he'd bought two.
You can always go back for another .
He crushed the bag and pitched it toward the garbage can.
It took some effort, but he managed to push thoughts of Sara aside—only to have memories of the night before flood his mind. He closed his eyes, wishing he could forget last night ever happened, only he had the throbbing jaw to prove it had. What a cosmic joke that he should end up at the same place, same time, as Garrett Jamison, the last person on earth he'd have ever wanted to run into.
"As if I could ever forget what you did!"
"And I suppose it was her fault you were sleeping with her best friend?"
Sara had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to convince her brothers she'd been totally devastated over their breakup. But why? Why had it been so important that everyone believe the worst of him?
It didn't make any damn sense. He'd never treated her badly—he'd never hurt her in any way.
The rational part of his brain said it was pointless to spend even another second thinking about Sara, Nicky, or the rest of them. But his cop's instincts drove him hard to figure out exactly what it was he was missing. It'd been so long he shouldn't even care anymore. But he did.
Lord help him, he still cared.
Despite the damn videotape.
He reached up to knead the back of his neck. When Rachel had showed him the tape—Sara in bed with Rachel's brother, Jimmy—Mike had been devastated. Like a knife plunging through his young heart, the pain had been unimaginable, worse than anything he'd ever experienced before, including the many lumps and bruises his old man had doled out over the years.
So he ran.
Funny thing is he would have run long before then if not for Sara. And Nicky. They'd made him feel like part of their family, and Mike had soaked up that feeling like a sponge.
Maybe that's why Sara's betrayal had hit him so hard.
He tapped his knuckles against the tabletop as he tried to recall those few seconds of videotape. It'd been shot from the doorway of Jimmy's bedroom. They'd both been under the covers, Jimmy on top, Sara's flaming hair spread out across the pillow.
Jimmy moving over her. Humping her.
"As if I could ever forget what you did!"
"And I suppose it was her fault you were sleeping with her best friend?"
A bad feeling mushroomed in his gut. Something was staring him right in the face, but he'd be damned if he knew what. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to remember something—anything—he might have been too young and emotional to catch at the time. Just one detail, no matter how small, could open up a world of possibilities.
He recalled he'd only been able to see Sara's head and hair with the covers pulled up to their necks, and Jimmy had been moving in a rhythm that seemed ... hell, he wasn't sure. Like he'd been doing The Worm instead of the jerky, unsure movements of a teenager having sex. Almost as if he was starring in a porno flick or something.
The hand holding the coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth. No . No frigging way had his life been ripped apart by a staged videotape.
He set the cup down with more force than necessary, sloshing coffee onto the table. Could Rachel and Jimmy have set that whole scenario up? But how? They would've had to ... Christ, they would have had to drug Sara to pull off something like that. The thought sent a shock of fury through him. It seemed so goddamned inconceivable he almost dismissed the idea as crazy.
And he was arrogant enough to want to believe no way someone could have gotten one over on him like that. But he'd only been nineteen at the time, and to say his heart had overruled his head would've been the understatement of the century.
He pushed back from the table and shot to his feet. He paced the house like a caged lion, becoming angrier by the second. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Sara had never shown even the slightest interest in Jimmy. Hell, most
You can always go back for another .
He crushed the bag and pitched it toward the garbage can.
It took some effort, but he managed to push thoughts of Sara aside—only to have memories of the night before flood his mind. He closed his eyes, wishing he could forget last night ever happened, only he had the throbbing jaw to prove it had. What a cosmic joke that he should end up at the same place, same time, as Garrett Jamison, the last person on earth he'd have ever wanted to run into.
"As if I could ever forget what you did!"
"And I suppose it was her fault you were sleeping with her best friend?"
Sara had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to convince her brothers she'd been totally devastated over their breakup. But why? Why had it been so important that everyone believe the worst of him?
It didn't make any damn sense. He'd never treated her badly—he'd never hurt her in any way.
The rational part of his brain said it was pointless to spend even another second thinking about Sara, Nicky, or the rest of them. But his cop's instincts drove him hard to figure out exactly what it was he was missing. It'd been so long he shouldn't even care anymore. But he did.
Lord help him, he still cared.
Despite the damn videotape.
He reached up to knead the back of his neck. When Rachel had showed him the tape—Sara in bed with Rachel's brother, Jimmy—Mike had been devastated. Like a knife plunging through his young heart, the pain had been unimaginable, worse than anything he'd ever experienced before, including the many lumps and bruises his old man had doled out over the years.
So he ran.
Funny thing is he would have run long before then if not for Sara. And Nicky. They'd made him feel like part of their family, and Mike had soaked up that feeling like a sponge.
Maybe that's why Sara's betrayal had hit him so hard.
He tapped his knuckles against the tabletop as he tried to recall those few seconds of videotape. It'd been shot from the doorway of Jimmy's bedroom. They'd both been under the covers, Jimmy on top, Sara's flaming hair spread out across the pillow.
Jimmy moving over her. Humping her.
"As if I could ever forget what you did!"
"And I suppose it was her fault you were sleeping with her best friend?"
A bad feeling mushroomed in his gut. Something was staring him right in the face, but he'd be damned if he knew what. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to remember something—anything—he might have been too young and emotional to catch at the time. Just one detail, no matter how small, could open up a world of possibilities.
He recalled he'd only been able to see Sara's head and hair with the covers pulled up to their necks, and Jimmy had been moving in a rhythm that seemed ... hell, he wasn't sure. Like he'd been doing The Worm instead of the jerky, unsure movements of a teenager having sex. Almost as if he was starring in a porno flick or something.
The hand holding the coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth. No . No frigging way had his life been ripped apart by a staged videotape.
He set the cup down with more force than necessary, sloshing coffee onto the table. Could Rachel and Jimmy have set that whole scenario up? But how? They would've had to ... Christ, they would have had to drug Sara to pull off something like that. The thought sent a shock of fury through him. It seemed so goddamned inconceivable he almost dismissed the idea as crazy.
And he was arrogant enough to want to believe no way someone could have gotten one over on him like that. But he'd only been nineteen at the time, and to say his heart had overruled his head would've been the understatement of the century.
He pushed back from the table and shot to his feet. He paced the house like a caged lion, becoming angrier by the second. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Sara had never shown even the slightest interest in Jimmy. Hell, most