There's Only Been You by Donna Marie Rogers Read Free Book Online Page A

of the time she'd seemed uncomfortable around him, although after seeing the videotape he'd assumed it had been an act—or a guilty conscience.
    "Son-of-a-bitch!” He slammed his fist through the wooden louvered doors that housed the furnace and water heater. Oblivious to the gashes across his knuckles, he stalked down the hallway to his old bedroom.
    He swiped Sara's picture off the dresser, clutched it in both hands and slumped down on the edge of the bed. He stared at it, hard, his mouth drawn with a combination of rage and longing, anguish and regret.
    But mostly regret.
    He'd spent the past eight years believing the worst in Sara. Now he couldn't think of a single reason for having doubted her, regardless of that damned tape.
    Or was he merely grasping at straws because he wanted it to be true?
    Head throbbing, he stood and set the picture back down on the dresser. It wasn't until he flexed his right hand that he realized it stung like hell. He had busted up knuckles, a swollen jaw, and no idea what to believe anymore. Had Sara betrayed him, or had they been set up? He wasn't leaving town until he uncovered the truth. Something he should have done eight years ago.
    But first, he had to face his father one last time.
    * * * *
    Staring down at the man who'd given him life, only to make it the most miserable existence any young person should have to live through, Mike felt as cold inside as his father's lifeless body.
    He was alone in the funeral parlor, as he knew he'd be. John Andrews had no friends or family. Basically, not a soul in the world would mourn his passing. It'd be sad if it were anybody else lying in that casket. But his father hadn't given a damn about anyone, and there wasn't anyone who gave a damn about him.
    Most especially his own son.
    The funeral director murmured a few words as he shook his hand. While Mike made a genuine effort to at least appear to be grieving, the truth was he couldn't have squeezed out a tear to save his life.
    The rotten old man lying in that casket had never shown him even the smallest amount of affection. He'd never ruffled his hair or patted him on the back. He'd never shaken his hand or said, “Good job, Mikey!” when he'd brought home yet another Little League trophy. And he'd certainly never heard the words “I love you” come out of his father's mouth.
    Mike stretched his neck from side to side, trying to ease some of the tension. He'd given up long ago trying to understand how a man could hate his own kid. Mike knew that if he ever had children of his own, he'd show them in every way possible how much he loved them.
    He checked his watch before lowering his tired limbs onto the cream-colored arm chair in the farthest corner of the funeral parlor. Three o'clock. In another half-hour his lone car would follow the hearse carrying his father's casket to the cemetery, not bothering to stop at the church for even a short service.
    Mike had lost his faith a long time ago.
    Hands folded in his lap, his mind drifted to thoughts of Sara. It had only been a few hours since he'd discovered he and Sara may very well have been set up. The problem was, he had no idea what to do about it. Or if it was even true. He could confront her...
    Hell, who was he kidding? It'd be a miracle if she didn't spit in his face, let alone sit and listen while he explained what a moron he'd been. And what did it matter to her anyway?
    "He's the love of my life."
    With a silent curse, he popped a couple of antacids in his mouth and started crunching.
    * * * *
    Mike was on his way back to the house when his cell phone rang. He glanced down, recognized the number of his superior officer, Lieutenant Stoddard, and answered the call.
    "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"
    "Mike, I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I? I'd just finished dialing when I, uh, remembered what day it was."
    "No, it's perfect timing. I'm on my way back to the house as we speak."
    Lieutenant Stoddard cleared his throat. “I'm