Page 23 of Poison's Promise

I haven’t told Rachel about running into Polly.

I sure as hell haven't told her about what we did. But I can’t keep it inside any longer. I need answers.

I need to know why she told me what she did, which is why I invited her over to the house. I shoot her a quick text and let her know I’ll be back home within the hour.

The traffic isn’t too bad and we pull up to the house. I hand the driver a wad of bills before stepping out onto the sidewalk.

I make my way to the gate that blocks off my driveway and input my key code. Within a few seconds, the gate’s opening.

I don’t waste any time getting in the house and plop on the couch, grateful to be home.

But, while I sit here I can’t help but think about what Polly said. It keeps repeating in my mind, and I’m going to grill Rachel the first opportunity I can.

I sit back and close my eyes, hoping to relax for a little while until Rachel gets here. But, relaxation doesn’t last long.

The front gate buzzes, signaling she’s here.

I fumble for my phone, just to make sure it is Rachel.

Unfortunately, some fans know where I live and I have had to deal with stalkers in the past.

Thankfully, Rachel’s car fills the screen.

“Hey,” I say into the intercom button on my phone, trying to sound casual. “I’m buzzing you in right now.”

“Okay, cool.” Rachel replies as I click the button to allow her access.

Only a couple of minutes later she walks in, Tilly in her arms, all sunshine and smiles.

My eyes lock onto my daughter, a small smile breaking through my stressed demeanor.

It’s like she doesn’t feel the weight of what’s going on between me and her mom hanging over us. I envy that. I really do.

Tilly’s chubby arms reach out toward me, and I feel a tug at my heartstrings.

“Hi, Tilly-Bear,” I say softly, taking her into my arms. Her giggle music to my ears. “Missed you so much.”

“She missed you too,” Rachel says, her tone neutral but her eyes revealing the chaos underneath.

She shifts uncomfortably, glancing around the modern mansion that feels more like a cold museum than a home.

“Want something to drink?” I offer, trying to keep things civil. “Coffee? Water?”

“Water’s fine,” she replies, following me into the kitchen.

The silence between us is almost deafening, broken only by Tilly’s babbling.

I set Tilly down on the floor with some toys and grab a bottle of water from the fridge, handing it to Rachel.

Our fingers brush, a fleeting contact that sends a jolt through me, but it’s not a good kind. Instead, it reminds me more of anxiety.

She takes a sip, watching me over the rim of the bottle.

“How have you been?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost hesitant.

“Busy,” I admit, leaning against the counter. “But good. How about you?”

“Same,” she says, glancing at Tilly who is engrossed in her toys. “She’s growing up so fast.”

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