Page 22 of The Engagement Party

She got it but still hated every word of that explanation. Arguing that he continued to let his mom’s and Tyler’s terrible actions define him would have to wait. She didn’t have the bandwidth to keep her mind clear enough to tackle his issues right now.

“Sierra... would you...” His fingers trailed over her back. “Please stop.”

Face it.The words echoed through her. Holding on to her anger only depleted the energy she needed to get through whatever lethal darkness lurked ahead. She stopped and turned to look at him. “What?”

“I didn’t tell you about Tyler coming to see me because I knew you’d worry.”

“You make me sound like a grandmother.”

He leaned against the wall with the handrail digging into hisback. “You’re the one person I don’t want to disappoint yet I continually do it.”

She sucked at being pissed off. After a lifetime of listening to her practical parents talk about the things they wanted to do once they retired only to have those dreams derailed by her father’s colon cancer then her mother’s losing fight with the same, she’d vowed to appreciate the moments and the people who mattered. To be a caretaker, despite the potential downside, and a voice of reason. Mitch was the recipient of all that.

She sat down two steps from the third-floor landing. “Stop being a martyr. You’re not that bad.”

“And right on cue you’re defending me.” He shook his head. “I don’t deserve it, you know. Even I know I do things that rightly piss you off.”

“Amen to that.” If only she could hold on to the frustration for an extended period of time. “Did you know Tyler would be here?”

Mitch sat down next to her, squishing their bodies together on the narrow step. “I didn’t kill him.”

“I know that, you jackass.” Not having anywhere to hide or any room to shift and put some space between them, she balanced her head against the wall. “I’m trying to figure out if this Tyler guy has been following you around or if someone killed him and deposited him here for you to be blamed. Even though, scary enough, both of those things could be true.”

“He hasn’t called or tried to see me, that I know of, since that time at the copper refinery. I’m sorry I was an ass—”

“You were.” He always apologized. She wished he would stop inflicting the pain that required the groveling in the first place.

“—and hid that from you.” He knocked his leg against hers in the playful way he did things. “I really was trying to protect you... and maybe protect myself, too.”

There. “Was that so hard to admit?”

“Actually, yes.” He stared at his hands as he turned them over and back, rubbed them together. “I’ve spent years trying to forget and failing. Existing, eking out the smallest degree of stability. So, when Tyler tracked me down at work, my one place of peace...” He sighed. “I don’t know. The thought of opening the door and inviting him back into my life threw me. I’ve wanted to kill him for so long, and feared I would, but I swear someone beat me to it.”

Living with hate. The idea was so far off her radar she had trouble imagining it, but from his stark expression she could tell it cost him something to admit it.

She tried a joke even though this moment, this weekend, called for the opposite of amusement. “Let’s not lead with that last part when we talk to the police.”

“Forgiven?”

“Always.” Which she now believed would be her downfall.

He stood up and reached a hand down to her. “Onward and upward into the creepy attic.”

She accepted the help up, relishing the last few seconds before reality intruded. Her drumming heartbeat had nothing to do with love and everything to do with dread for the night ahead. “We’re calling this the third floor because attics are terrifying, and I’ve hit my maximum in the terror department today.”

“Fair enough.”

They got to the top and stepped into an open section. Therewas a makeshift sitting space at one end of what likely once was little more than a storage area that had been built out with drywall. The other end of the gabled room had two twin beds and a rocking chair. Practical rather than cozy and welcoming.

An overflow space with questionable ventilation and white walls... and hundreds of photos pinned and pasted on those walls and hanging from the ceiling.

Mitch’s smile collapsed. “What the hell?”

Sierra’s eyes refused to focus. All she could see was a sea of pictures. Most looked like copies or prints, not originals. Sierra picked out the same face of a woman in every single photo. Sometimes by herself and pensive but most times not. Some of her as a teen. Some from later years. Many of her laughing.

Mitch unpinned one photo. This one showed a teenage girl in a soccer uniform and included a caption about a regional award.

“Oh, shit.” He doubled over with his hands balanced on his knees. “I don’t... what is this?”

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