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She extricated herself from her sister’s grasp, and Hank and Sara followed her all the way to the kitchen. No one said a thing, and for nearly five minutes, Morgan stared out the window into the backyard. She noticed the lilacs in the corner near the shed were blooming. The grass needed cutting. The garden should be tilled.
Eventually, she became aware of a few things. One, she’d dug her nails into her palms so hard, they’d drawn blood. And two, her sister stood beside her and was speaking.
“What was that?” she asked Sara, voice calm as she reached for the tap to run her hands under the water. She stayed focused, scrubbing methodically until the blood was gone.
“Are you okay?”
Morgan didn’t ponder the question. Didn’t bother to answer it. Instead, she turned around and smoothed her hands over her thighs. Damp marks trailed across the worn denim, and she rubbed at them, glancing up at her sister.
“How did you know?”
Sara looked at Hank, and the big man shrugged.
“I was over at Hank’s place, and we were, ah, just talking, and I wanted to know what the weather was going to be on the weekend because we were thinking of going to Boston.” Sara waited a few beats as if expecting some sort of reaction, but Morgan stared at her blankly, waiting for her to finish.
“I put on the TV and was channel-surfing for the weather network and I…well, we saw the story on some stupid tabloid show.”
Morgan pushed away from the kitchen sink and headed back to the front room. Sara and Hank followed quietly, and no one said a word as Morgan scooped up the remote and turned on the television.
She didn’t have to look long. Not only were the trashy tabloid sites carrying the story, but other, more traditional outlets were as well. She leaned against the chair and, suddenly cold, wrapped her arms around herself. A young blonde reporter read from her teleprompter as the screen behind her lit up with pictures of a young Cooper Simon and an ingénue, a young starlet named Holly Adams.
A loud knock at the door sounded, but Morgan didn’t bother to look up as it opened. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. She heard voices, Hank, Sara, and…
With a deep exhale, she glanced over to the entryway. Hank stood with legs spread and arms folded, the large body all but blocking Cooper’s way into the front room. She couldn’t look into his eyes, not yet.
“Let him in.” She spoke quietly, and at first no one heard her. She repeated herself once more, this time much louder, and when the voices stopped, she turned her attention back to the television. She knew Cooper was in the room. She felt his gaze on her. And she knew when he turned away, lured by his past and the truths he’d kept to himself.
The reporter’s Boston accent was muted, and the soft cadence of her voice filled Morgan’s head.
“Miss Adams has been living in Switzerland since her parents whisked her out of the country and committed her to a treatment facility that specializes in addiction and mental illness. No word on whether she’s been in touch with her former lover, Cooper Simon, and so far no comment on the sordid details of their split.
As for Mr. Simon, the news that he’s in actuality the elusive Lee Holloway, whose best-selling books have been made into movies, is a surprise. Long heralded as the playboy of the Simon family, he’s been linked to several socialites, actresses, and a model or two. Some of whom were otherwise married. With this new insight into this fascinating member of the Simons, one has to wonder if his new relationship was born out of love or is it just research?”
A picture flashed across the screen, taken the night Morgan and Cooper had attended the hockey game in Boston. The caption below it: Cooper Simon’s New Mystery Lady Revealed. Another photo came up and stole Morgan’s breath.
It was a picture of Morgan after she’d run an Olympic qualifier. She stood there, a huge smile pasted on her face, her lithe body shiny from sweat as she accepted her award. She was young, vibrant, and beautiful. In that moment, she was whole. Undamaged.
“Cooper’s mystery woman is no longer a mystery. Her name is Morgan Campbell. At one time, she was touted as the next big thing in the sprinting world. Sadly, her career came to an end when a car she was driving hit a transport truck, killing her mother and horribly maiming the young woman. She spent several months in the hospital recovering from major burns sustained in the fire and, according to a source, was left horribly scarred.”
The reporter paused as a video rolled, showing the last ten seconds of the last race Morgan had ever run. It segued into video footage of the crash site. A close-up of the mangled car and the blackened road, burned from the fire. Along the side of the road, a body was covered. A body? It was her mother.
Throat tight, she felt her mask slipping. She’d never seen these. Not once.
She stared carefully at the image, aware that Sara was crying and in Hank’s arms. Aware that Cooper stood inches to her left.
The bright orange beanie she’d worn that night lay on the ground, inches from where her mother lay. Odd, but Morgan wondered whatever happened to that beanie. Did she still have it? Would she have kept it?
The reporter launched into more details, but Morgan didn’t want to see anymore. She clicked off the television, and then there was silence. She tossed the remote onto her father’s worn La-Z-Boy and slowly turned to face Cooper. It took a bit for her to manage to get some words out. When she finally did, she was grateful she sounded calm and composed.
“Is all this true?”
Grimly, he nodded.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
Again, he nodded. “Yeah. I was.”
Already cars were pulling up outside, and there was a gathering of people at the curb. All of them from out of town. All of them with Morgan Campbell in their sights. It scared the crap out of her.
