Page 49 of One More Secret

“Probably not. Wouldn’t have been on my radar. Lucas became a physical therapist for almost the same reason. He was discharged from the military because of a shoulder injury. Once he recovered from that and got help with his PTSD, he went back to school, earned his doctorate, and became a PT for military vets.”

“Did Garrett and Kellan go to college, or was it just you and Lucas?”

“We all did. We also all served in the Marines. Garrett studied political science with a minor in military history. He’d planned to go to law school but changed his mind after serving our country.”

“How did he end up writing political thrillers?”

“He worked for me after leaving the military and while figuring out what he wanted to do with his life. He wrote a book in his free time and queried it to agents. If you ask him, he’ll claim he got lucky. Lucky or not, his debut book did great, hit theNew York Timesbestseller list. It was enough for him to keep writing. Pretty quickly, it became his full-time career.”

“What about Kellan?”

“He designs computer programs. He’s pretty secretive about his work. I think that partly has to do with some of his clients. I’m not sure how much even Em knows about his job, and she works for him.”

I smile at Troy, the movement as real as the sun in the sky, but it’s barely more than a small upturn of my lips. Troy doesn’t see it. His eyes are on the road. “So, you’re all smart guys.” Book smart and street smart, I would imagine.

“What about you?” Troy asks, his eyes flicking briefly to me. Making me feel seen. “Did you go to college, or did you do something else?”

“I have a journalism degree.” That much is safe to tell him.

“What made you decide to move to Maple Ridge? Wouldn’t Washington DC or New York City or something like that be better if you’re a journalist?”

“It’s hard to break into the field, and I decided it wasn’t for me.” That much is also true, especially after being a victim of unwanted media attention. My favorite parts were the writing and research. Those I’ll miss.

“Is that why you decided to write a thriller? Because of your journalism background?”

“Pretty much. It’s given me some wicked research and interview skills that come in handy.” I squirm in my seat at all the lies I’ve been telling him and stroke Butterscotch, who is looking out the side window. “So, you only have brothers? No sisters?”

“That’s right,” Troy says, showing no hint of whiplash from my sudden change of topic. “I have no idea if Mom was hoping for girls and got stuck with Lucas, Garrett, and me, or if she was happy to only have boys. I’m sure there were plenty of times when she wished we’d been girls instead of four hell-raising boys.” There’s a snicker in his tone that makes me wonder what he and his brothers were like as kids.

My journalistic mind whirls with questions. Questions about why he didn’t mention Kellan. His blue-eyed brother. Troy, Garrett, and Lucas share similar likenesses, when you go beyond the dark hair, brown eyes, and tall muscular bodies. Likenesses their blue-eyed brother doesn’t share. For starters, Kellan has a reserve about him the other three don’t have.

“What about Kellan?”Crap. None of my business.

“My parents knew what they were getting with him,” Troy says, not giving me a chance to backtrack. “He was Garrett’s friend even before they adopted him. We’ve known Emily and Zara most of our lives. Our parents were all friends. Simone came into the picture later on, in elementary school. All three women are like sisters to me.”

He steers down a street that’s similar to where I live with the mix of old homes and new infill houses. Tall trees that have been here decades line both sides of the road.

“What about your family?” he asks. “Where do they live?”

For a second, I consider coming up with a wonderful fairy tale about my family. The family I’d wished for growing up. But I’ve already told Troy enough lies. This is one truth—a small window into my past—that I want him to know. Mostly because it recognizes the amazing woman who was the main role model in my life. “I have no idea where my family lives. I don’t have any siblings. That I know of. My father abandoned me before I was born, and my mother dropped me off at my grandparents’ house when I was three, and she never looked back. My grandmother raised me.”

“Are you and your grandmother close?”

“We were. Very much so.” Or we were until my husband prevented me from seeing her. She’d been suspicious about him from the start. Turns out she’d been right. “She died six years ago. My grandfather died when I was twelve.”

Troy’s gaze shifts from the road to me. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

He pulls up to the entrance of a small apartment building. Garrett and Zara are standing at the doorway. I move to the back seat so Garrett can sit up front. Butterscotch pops through the space between the bucket seats and joins Zara and me.

It takes all but two seconds for me to appreciate Zara and Garrett joining us. They carry the bulk of the conversation, and I get to listen. The less I have to talk, the less self-conscious I feel. A lesson my husband taught me.

“You should have seen Troy,” Zara says, trying not to burst out laughing. “It took three days for the blue marker to disappear after Nova scribbled on his face.”

“That’s what I get for not checking first that it was a washable marker.”

I stare at Troy, disbelief and a rush of tenderness surging through me. I imagine Troy with blue marker scribbled on his face and laugh. Maybe not as loudly as Garrett and Zara, but it’s definitely a real laugh.

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