Page 86 of Sex Coach

Twenty-Nine

Jake

M y coffee tablewas littered with newspapers, gossip rags, anything and everything that had a few lines about Whitley. I'd skimmed so many of them my eyes were about ready to cross, and I could quote the details by heart .

What I couldn't do was find one single article that had Michelle's name on it – her byline .

Most of the information stemmed from a female reporter with the Associated Press, but tracking her down had proved near impossible and in the ninety seconds I'd managed to pin her down on the phone, all I'd gotten out of her were the words, "I don't reveal my sources ."

Apparently, nobody revealed their sources .

But one thing was clear. There wasn't a single article that had Michelle's name in it – or on it .

Wouldn't she want to have her name on it? In it? Hell, if she was the one behind it, wouldn't she want the name exposure or whatever in the hell they called it ?

She sure as hell hadn't had issues putting her name on every other article she'd written .

Of course, none of those had anything to do with exposing people. More than a few were about women's rights and equality in the work place .

The more of her stuff I read, and the harder I looked to find a connection between her and the mess surrounding Whitley, the worse I felt .

What if I'd been wrong ?

What if I'd gone after her like that and she'd been innocent ?

Jake, I don't know what ...

I blocked the memory of her wavering voice from my mind, just as much from a need to focus and get through the last stack of her articles as much as to keep from having to deal with the guilt that was slowly building inside me, day by day .

Hour by hour .

I'd talked to Whitley twice .

She was fine .

She actually sounded...confident and happy. Like she'd neededthis .

No, she didn't know anything more about what was going on, but she didn't need to. She was glad it had happened. I wished I could have been glad, wished I could have known this was how she'd react, because then I could have reacted differently myself .

Brooding, I got up from the couch and made my way into the kitchen to make some coffee. It was days like this when I wished I would have taken up drinking. But the taste of alcohol left a bad taste – and memories of my mother – thick in my mind, and nobody wanted that when they were trying to kick back and relax .

Not that I wanted to kick back and relax .

I wanted to talk to Michelle .

I wanted to see her .

I wanted to touch her, hold her ...

The memory of the tears in her eyes was living with me, like a weight settled square in my chest, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw those damn tear tracks .

What had I done ?

What if I'd been wrong ?

* * *

I t wasa thought that nagged me, burning inside my skull like a hot coal .

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