Page 53 of The Man in the Cottage

I'm fine, I type. But we need to talk when you get back.

I know. I'm sorry, Kelly. I'm so sorry.

Don't apologize. Just come home.

I put the phone in my pocket and go back inside. The house feels different now, like their presence left something behind. A residue of suspicion and judgment that I can't quite shake.

Travis's family. This is what he's been dealing with. This is why he holds them at arm's length, why he never talks about them, why he came to Longshore to be invisible in the first place.

I understand so much more now. And I'm angrier than I've ever been on someone else's behalf.

I text Nicole: You're not going to believe what just happened.

Then I sit down at the kitchen table, open my laptop, and try to write. But all I can think about is Patricia Howe's face when she said "some woman he barely knows."

She has no idea who I am. She has no idea who her son is, either.

But I do. And that's what matters.

Chapter Sixteen

Travis

I drive faster than I should.

Kelly's texts have been running through my head since yesterday. Your family is here. They just showed up. Be careful. And then, after they left: We need to talk when you get back.

I called her last night, but she said she'd rather tell me in person. Her voice was steady, controlled, the way it gets when she's holding something back. I didn't push. But I've been imagining the worst ever since.

My family. At Kelly's house. Without warning, without permission, without me there to run interference.

I know exactly what happened. I don't need the details to see it—my mother's false smile, her pointed questions, the way she can make an accusation sound like concern. She's been doing it my whole life. I just never thought she'd do it to someone I cared about.

The driveway appears around the bend, and I pull in too fast, gravel spraying under my tires. Kelly's car is there. The cottage is dark. I park and head straight for the main house, taking the porch steps two at a time.

She opens the door before I can knock.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey." I search her face for damage, for hurt, for whatever my family left behind. She looks tired. But she's smiling, just a little, and something in my chest unclenches. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Come in."

I follow her inside, shrugging off my jacket, trying to read the room. The house looks normal. No signs of disaster. But I know better than to trust appearances.

"Tell me what happened," I say.

"Sit down first. You look like you're about to vibrate out of your skin."

She's not wrong. I've been wound tight for two days, practicing with a team I'm not sure I want to play for, thinking about Kelly and my family and all the ways this could go wrong. I force myself to sit on the couch, and she sits across from me in the armchair.

"They showed up Wednesday afternoon," she says. "Your mom, your dad, and your sister. Said they were in the area."

"They weren't in the area. They live four hours away."

"I figured." She tucks her legs under her. "They were friendly at first. Your mom did most of the talking. She asked about me, about how we met, how long we've been together. Normal getting-to-know-you stuff."

"And then?"