Page 23 of Written with You (The Regret Duet 2)
Reaching over his shoulder, I pulled the manila folder out.
He snatched it from my hand, peeling the brass clasp back before sliding it out and carrying it to my desk. He placed it next to the nondisclosure agreement signed as Willow and then stepped away like a fucking detective examining evidence.
One read:
Caven,
I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. This is our daughter Keira. I’ll love her forever. Take care of her the way I can’t.
Written with regret,
Hadley
The other: Willow Banks.Not exactly the best handwriting sample to compare.
But it was enough.
The Ls didn’t match. The two in Willow were loopy and large. The one in Hadley was nothing more than an angled stick. The slope of the letters was different too. Hadley’s note was slanted hard to the right and messy to the point that it was almost illegible.
Willow Banks was clean, bubbly, and defined.
But it wasn’t fucking possible. Instinct told me to argue. Hadley’s note had been written within hours of her having a baby and in the middle of a PTSD episode. If there was ever a valid reason to have jagged and unusual handwriting, that would be it.
But what I couldn’t figure out is why she had signed Willow’s name.
Her sister’s name.
Her twin sister’s name.
Who had been at the mall.
“Tell me you see that,” Ian whispered. “Tell me you know that’s not the same handwriting.”
“This doesn’t make sense. None of this fucking makes sense!”
“Think about it. What if she didn’t sign the wrong name?” His dark gaze came to mine. “What if she accidentally signed the right one?”
“That’s impossible. Willow was shot at the mall. She would…” Oh, fuck me. This was not happening. This was not happening. My throat closed, oxygen becoming trapped in my lungs like poison.
She would have a scar.
A scar I never saw because the night Hadley and I had sex, she’d refused to take off her shirt.WILLOWThe banging on my front door was so loud that I jumped, nearly dropping my laptop. I hadn’t been home long, but I’d decided not to paint that night in lieu of editing the photos of Rosalee I’d taken at her awards ceremony. I had big plans to make a painting for Caven using one of the images I’d snapped of the two of them together. It was an adorable picture. She was sitting on his hip, both hands on his cheeks. I’d lucked out and caught one just before she’d squished his face together, making him look like a fish. Though that one was pretty great too and I’d more than likely print it out for Rosalee. She’d get a kick out of it.
After setting my computer aside, I walked to the front door and peeked through the side window. At the sight of him, my lips curled into a huge smile, warmth engulfing my entire body. I loved when he did this. The random showing-up or text messages out of the blue with excuses for why he was going to come over. We both knew the truth was he couldn’t stay away from me any more than I could stay away from him.
I ran my fingers through my hair and smoothed my shirt down before opening the door. “Well, hello th—” The words died on my tongue the second his tormented gaze met mine.
His jaw was hard, but his face was a heartbreaking combination of confusion and betrayal. He was holding a piece of paper in his hands, fidgeting with the seam where it had been folded. My stomach dropped, and he silently walked inside.
He didn’t kiss me.
He didn’t touch me.
He just walked inside and stood in the center of my living room, his eyes locked on me like the points of a thousand daggers.
I shut the door, the anxiety in my chest becoming heavy as I turned to face him. “What’s going on?”
“Lift up your shirt,” he rumbled.
I laughed awkwardly to hide the pure and utter panic that blasted through me.
He knew.
Oh, God, he knew.
Trent had told him and he was there looking for proof.
I sucked in a shaky breath. “What for?”
He looked at the paper. Then back at me, anger rising to the surface with the tick of his jaw. His voice got louder as he demanded, “Lift up your shirt.”
My heart was waging war with my rib cage as I inched deeper into the room, careful to keep my distance. “What’s going on, Caven? Everything okay?”
He shook his head, but then he thrust the paper toward me. “Lift up your fucking shirt!” he roared, his pain echoing around the room, slicing me from every direction.
I startled, raising my hands up in defense. He wouldn’t hurt me, at least not physically. That wasn’t to say he couldn’t destroy me. “Look, I don’t know what your brother told you. But it’s not true.”
