Hidden Read Free Page B

snuggled up to his warmth, buried her face in his neck, inhaling the musky scent of his aftershave—a cheap drugstore brand she’d bought him for Christmas.
    A drugstore brand when he’d probably been used to several-hundred-dollar-an-ounce varieties.
    He’d shaved before he’d come home that morning. The skin on his neck was smooth, soft. She kissed him. A small caress that lingered.
    God, let this all go away.
    Scott held on to her, saying nothing, but there was a sense of things left unsaid. Of more things coming.
    She had to get a San Francisco paper. It was going to tell her that Leah had turned up, healthy and happy, though embarrassed as hell for having fallen prey to the consequences of some inane idea she’d had. Wasn’t it? She’d promised herself, sometime during the long lonely hours of the night, that it would.
    â€œTaylor’s going to want his walk,” she said into Scott’s shoulder, making no move away from him.
    It was during those morning walks that Tricia usually picked up the San Francisco Gazette from a stand at the food mart a couple of blocks away. And unless Scott was on twenty-four-hour duty at the station, she read it at the Grape Street dog park, where no one would pay attention or ask questions. And where Taylor could squeal at the four-legged creatures.
    In another lifetime he’d have had a dog. Or three. In another life, her son would’ve had anything and everything his little heart desired.
    â€œI don’t think he’ll be too upset about exchanging a walk for Blue. ” Scott’s lips nuzzled her neck, sending chills down her spine. Good chills. And chills of warning, too. She’d never have believed it was possible to experience such opposing thoughts—emotions—sensations—all at the same time.
    She had to take that walk. Get away from Scott. She had to buy the paper.
    And she had to stand up, face what was before her, move on. Taylor’s life depended on her ability to take the next step. And the next.
    Reaching up to release the ponytail that was giving her a headache, Tricia pulled back from Scott and shook her head, letting the long brown strands fall around her. She’d never had long hair before.
    She’d gotten used to it. Maybe even liked it if she could get past how unfashionable it looked.
    â€œThe fresh air’s good for him.”
    â€œYou’re angry.”
    She turned away. Dropped the ponytail elastic on the Formica dresser top.
    â€œNo, I’m not.”
    Turning back, Tricia met his gaze briefly, and then glanced at the blue fake-down comforter on the bed behind him, covering what she knew were sheets with such a low thread count that the only way she’d been able to make them soft was to wash them repeatedly with tons of fabric softener. The throw pillows she’d sewn herself from fabric remnants left over from her contract job as an independent alterations specialist at a Coronado dry cleaner. Behind the bed were walls so thin any insulation that might’ve been there had probably deteriorated years before, and windows whose frames were bent enough that if the wind blew just right during a storm, water would come in.
    His body, leaning against the bed, captured her attention for a second. And then she looked him in the eye.
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    He shrugged, didn’t ask what she meant. “It’s a long story.”
    â€œI can always start Blue over if I have to.”
    He gestured to the bed. “You want to sit down?”
    She didn’t. Her nerves were stretched too taut. Tricia peeked out the bedroom door, down the hall to the living room where she could see her son happilyplaying, his little chin raised as he stared at his idol on the screen in front of him.
    And she turned back. As much as she didn’t want to hear whatever Scott had to tell her, she had to. She loved him.
    With one hip resting on the bed just below her