Travis by Mia Sheridan

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

 

Travis

 

Clawdia’s purr rose and fell as I scratched under her chin, her body a warm, slight weight in my arms. I trailed behind Haven, my vision going hazy at the edges as she stretched up on her tiptoes to water the plants on the kitchen windowsill, the curve of her ass cheeks peeking out from the cotton shorts she wore.

She turned, her eyes narrowing slightly as my gaze shot to hers. I grinned, and she gave her head a small shake, a mock exasperated look pinching her features. She looked sexy and mussed, her hair a tangled riot around her face and trailing down her back. We’d woken with the sun as usual and, despite thoroughly enjoying our morning ritual, I wanted to take her back to bed and bury myself inside her. Stay there.

It’d been an amazing, pleasure-filled week. But a busy one too as one of my officers was out with a broken leg after he’d attempted some trick on a jet ski that had failed spectacularly and left the department short-handed. I’d had to work several double shifts, hardly able to focus on my job, so eager to return home to Haven, even if the hours we spent together were far too short.

“That cat is going to grieve intensely when you leave the inn.”

I looked down at Clawdia’s blissful face, scratching the top of her head as she leaned into me and I felt a small twang in my chest. Why, I wasn’t sure. Again, I didn’t even like cats. “Do you blame her?” I asked.

Haven gave a soft laugh but it faded quickly as she tipped the watering can and gave another plant a drink. I watched her profile for a minute. She seemed . . . troubled this morning. Or maybe just introspective. I’d detected the same mood off and on since the night she’d talked about her mother’s substance abuse. But each morning it’d seemed to fall away. Until this morning.

I opened my mouth to ask her what she was thinking about when a soft knock from the front of the house made both our heads turn. I frowned. Who would be here this early?

Betty wasn’t even up.

I walked to the foyer and stopped abruptly, seeing Phoebe’s golden head through the upper glass portion of the wide front door.

What. The. Hell?

I glanced back to see Haven standing behind me, a questioning look on her face, watering can by her side, as she blinked at the woman on the other side of the door.

“It’s Phoebe,” I said.

Haven’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

I stared at Haven a moment. I wasn’t sure what to say. This had been the very last thing I’d expected. Frankly, I’d almost forgotten Phoebe existed. I wasn’t sure that said great things about me, but there it was.

I had this strange, out-of-body feeling like two worlds were colliding, and I was having trouble orienting myself.

“You should let her in,” Haven said. I couldn’t exactly discern what was in her tone, though there was something almost . . . resigned in her expression.

“Right,” I said. “I should. Let her in.” She obviously saw me, was standing there watching through the glass. But my gaze stayed stuck to Haven.

Haven raised her hand, waving it behind her. “I’ll just . . . go shower. Give you two . . . some privacy.”

Clawdia batted at my hand, the one that had ceased petting her and was currently resting on her head. I let out a sigh. Fuck. This was weird. But maybe it was necessary. “Thanks.” I’d go to her afterward, tell her what happened.

I took the several steps to the front door, pulling it open. Phoebe stood there in white shorts and a yellow tank top, her gaze going over my shoulder to where Haven had turned and was scurrying away.

“Hi,” Phoebe said softly, nervousness dancing over her face.

“Hi,” I said distractedly, glancing back to where Haven was just disappearing up the stairs. I wanted to follow her. I wanted to resume the peaceful, easy morning we’d been enjoying.

When I looked back at Phoebe, she was looking at the stairs, a small crease between her perfectly arched brows. Her gaze met mine again. “The maid’s up early . . .” Phoebe noted, her frown deepening. “And isn’t wearing much.”

My jaw tensed. “She’s not the maid. She’s a guest staying here.”

Phoebe looked momentarily confused. “Oh.” She glanced at the cat, her gaze landing on its stump of a leg, features contorting as she drew back.

I set Clawdia down gently, running my hand over her head. “How’d you know I was here?” I asked, standing straight.

“I . . . heard.”

Irritation snaked through me. Damn this small town.

Phoebe moved from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry to hear about your house,” she said, gaze flitting away.

Was she? She’d never liked that house. She thought it was too average. And it was, but maybe—for her—I was too.

And maybe you agreed. Maybe that’s why you needed her to worship you.

Ouch. I felt confused suddenly, uneasy, awkward even.

Phoebe was watching me and some of the color had gone out of her face. She was obviously even more uncomfortable than I was. “I know you get up early,” she said, speaking quickly as though I might throw her out any moment. “I figured I might be able to catch you before work. I thought . . . well, I thought it was better if I just bit the bullet and came over rather than calling.” She let out an uncomfortable laugh that ended abruptly. She hadn’t thought I’d take her call. Would I have? Maybe not. She looked down, bit at her lip, looking unusually meek. When she glanced up through her lashes, her eyes were shiny. “Can we talk?” she asked.

“Sure.” I led her into the sitting room near the front of the house. She sat down on the couch and I took the chair across from it. She stared at me for a few moments and I detected her nervousness, but I also saw cautious hope.

“This is awkward,” she said softly. “But I . . . I know I owe you an explanation.”

I sighed. What was there to explain? I didn’t really require an explanation. Now, anyway. But I was willing to listen to one if she needed to say it. I resisted glancing toward the doorway with a view of the stairs. The ones I wanted to rush toward.

Phoebe nodded once, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “That day . . . I was drinking.” She shook her head. “I’m not using that as an excuse. But I was. And I met Easton and, God, he made me feel worshipped. Like I was the only woman in the world. And it was like a drug. I gave in, and I hate myself for it.” The last few words trailed off, into nothing.

I hate myself for it. For some reason, her statement brought me no satisfaction. I sat back, considering her, considering us. She’d been starved. For someone who worshipped her as much as she worshipped him. It didn’t make her actions right, but that’s what it boiled down to, didn’t it? I looked behind her for a moment, gathering my words. “Listen, I’m not happy about what happened. I wish you’d have talked to me instead of . . . well—”

“I know,” she said, color moving up her neck. “I wish I had too. So much.”

“But the truth is, we were never right together. You obviously felt that too.” I hadn’t loved her. I wasn’t going to say that because I had no interest in hurting her unnecessarily, even despite her betrayal. And I had my own blame to carry. I’d stayed with her for reasons that were less than noble. I’d taken her emotion for me, and given little of my heart in return. I hadn’t realized that at the time, but I saw it clearly now. But there were other reasons we wouldn’t have worked out too. “A small-town cop, even the chief of police, would never make you happy in the long run, Phoebe.”

I saw the pain that skittered over her face. Maybe she still had some feelings for me, even if she knew what I was saying was true. She sighed, shrugged, picking at a thread on the throw pillow she’d moved into her lap, a hideous cross-stitch attempt that declared Home is Where the Hooch is. Whoever had made it had imbibed in more than their fair share. Phoebe looked up at me, her eyes imploring. “I thought maybe you’d want to run for some sort of office . . . there’s a senator who lives up the street from the Buchanans.” Her eyes moved back to that thread, staying there.

I considered what she’d said, remembering that Haven had asked about that. At the time, it’d seemed to come out of nowhere. But sitting there, I realized she’d brought it up right after she’d mentioned that a couple people at the club had been discussing me. Had they also mentioned Phoebe’s aspirations on my behalf? That seemed to fit. And it sounded like Phoebe, planning for things that met her needs, but not sharing them with me.

I sighed, scrubbing my hand down my face. “You never asked me. You never even asked if I wanted that.”

She bit at her lip. “I just figured . . . I could persuade you eventually.”

God. It would have been a lifetime of being maneuvered, the same way I’d always felt when I was under the control of my mother, and even beyond that. I’d let her continue to do it, because it had been habit by that point. Familiar. I didn’t want to be maneuvered or manipulated anymore. I wanted to be asked what I wanted for my life.

The way Haven had done.

And then I wanted to be listened to and supported in those dreams.

And I wanted to do the same for someone else.

But that would never be Phoebe. And deep inside, I had felt that. I hadn’t seen a future with us. Not really. The truth of the matter was that I had never even really known her, because I hadn’t wanted to.

I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my knees. “You wouldn’t have persuaded me. So you wouldn’t have been happy. Or if you had, I wouldn’t have been happy, and things would have crumbled.” I gave her a small smile. “In a funny way, you saved us both a helluva lot more misery.”

She breathed out a smile, but the pain was still in her eyes. “Is there any chance you and me—”

“No.” I paused. “But I wish you happiness. I mean that.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and she nodded, giving me a small, sad smile. “Thank you, Travis. I wish you happiness too. And I hope . . . maybe someday you can forgive me.”

I tilted my head, realizing the truth. “I already do, Phoebe. And you should forgive yourself.” Learn from your mistakes, and I’ll learn from mine.

She nodded, a soft smile tilting her lips. She hesitated for a moment but there was nothing left to say and we both knew it.

I stood, and she did too. We both glanced toward the doorway where half a feline face had appeared, singular eye narrowed as it watched Phoebe with cold malice. Phoebe shrunk away, backing toward the other door that led to the foyer. “I’ll, uh, let myself out.”

I nodded. A pipe rattled overhead, the sound of footsteps coming from the back of the upstairs hallway. The Yellow Trellis Inn was waking up.

Phoebe turned and walked to the foyer and a moment later, I heard the door close behind her.

I inhaled deeply as Clawdia limped into the room, rubbing against my legs. I picked her up and set her on the couch, and then headed upstairs. I knocked on Haven’s door but there was no answer. I thought I heard the shower running from inside and so I turned and headed to my own room. I had to start getting ready for work anyway.

As I stepped under my own shower spray, washing my body, I felt cleansed in a different way too. I hadn’t thought talking to Phoebe was necessary. But I was glad to get the sense of closure. And I’d meant what I said. I hoped she’d go on to find her own happiness too, whatever that might mean for her. 

Dressed in my uniform, I stopped by Haven’s room, but again, there was no answer, and when I walked out the front door I saw that her car was already gone.