Page 17 of Keeping Secrets

They had no idea that he had been there that night. They were no threat to him.

He just had to keep moving forward.

Once everyone had their drinks, he left the other bartender to man the ship for a moment while he went in search of something to eat. There was a still warm plate of fries on the counter that some customer had sent back because they were dotted with tiny pieces of parsley, so he wolfed those down and then went to check on Scot.

"You are here," he said lightly when he opened the door to the office and peeked in.

"You should be at the bar." That slight, almost imperceptible slur was back in Scot’s voice again, and he looked more tired than Travis had ever seen him. Travis stepped into the office and shut the door behind him.

"Scot," he started, but Scot interrupted him.

"I know that I look like something the cat puked up. I don’t need you telling me."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You can get back out there and man the ship."

"All right." He was halfway out the door when Scot spoke again.

"I’ll call the doctor’s office on Monday."

"Good," Travis said simply. He looked back at Scot with a worried smile, and then he left the office and shut the door behind him.

Things were getting backed up again at the bar, so he dove back into the fray.

He was making a mojito when a woman pushed her way through the crowd and stood at the bar directly in front of him. He glanced up at her face, and his heart stopped. Stopped for a full second before it began to be again. For another few seconds, he was wondering if he was hallucinating, or if he was still at home asleep, having a nightmare. Then she spoke.

"I found you." She seemed pleased with herself. If her face hadn’t been so firmly etched into his conscience, he might not have recognized her. She looked worlds better than she had that night.

That night in the woods, she’d had streaks of mascara all down her face. That was what he had remembered most: two black eyes like a raccoon. He couldn’t tell if it was makeup or bruises or both. Her hair was a mess, and she had been all scratched up.

The scratches were still there. Almost invisible now, like white lines on her skin – the ghosts of past hurts. She had healed quickly.

"It’s me," she said when he didn’t reply.

"I know," he said gruffly.

"I’m two weeks clean," she added proudly. "No alcohol for me, but I’ll take a ginger ale."

He refused to look into the corner where Adam‘s friends sat, but he was excruciatingly aware of them. Were they watching?

What if they recognized her? What if they saw them together?

He handed off the mojito and looked at the girl.

"Follow me," he said in a voice too low to reach any ears but hers. He led her through the crowd, past the bar, and into the small hallway that led to Scot’s office.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I just wanted to see you." Her gaze went from hopeful to hurt, and her lower lip stuck out in a pout. He doubted that she was more than twenty years old.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I saw you. Last week, I came to dinner with some friends, and I saw you. I didn’t want to talk to you in front of them, so I came back." She swallowed, and her carefully manicured eyebrows pulled together in a frown. "I wanted to thank you. For saving me."

Travis took a deep breath and put a hand over his eyes. "I don’t even know your name."

She brightened. "Rachel."

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