Chapter Twenty-Nine

Savannah slammed the lid closed on the laptop and pushed it to the side. She couldn't focus, couldn't even think straight enough to match the graphics with the right bullet points.

She couldn't think of anything except the look that had been on Aaron's face last night when he stood in her yard.

Lost. Lonely.

The memory tugged at her, making her think stupid thoughts. She pushed them away, forced herself to remember the expression that had been in his eyes the other day, when he had hurled that hurtful comment at her and told her to leave.

No, not leave. Get out.

Was there a difference? Maybe. Or maybe she was just splitting hairs. It didn't matter, because it hadn't been the words as much as it had been the expression in his eyes.

Cold. Flat.

And beneath that, the glimpse of betrayal. That's what hurt the most, that he could think…

She didn't know what he thought, had no idea what had been going through his mind. He had been upset, rightfully so. To come home and see Brooke—

No. No, no, no. She was not going to make excuses for him. It didn't matter how angry or upset he'd been, it wasn't fair to take it out on her. To assume the worst and act like she had been at fault.

She pushed the hair out of her face and uncrossed her legs, tugging the hem of her flannel pajama bottoms up as she slid off the sofa. It wasn't even seven o'clock on a Friday night, and she was already in her pajamas. How sad was that?

Sad. Beyond sad.

She grabbed her empty mug and moved to the kitchen, staring at the stove as she tried to decide if she wanted another cup of tea. Instead of tea, she should call Tessa. Tell her she changed her mind and wanted to go out instead. They could meet, have a few drinks, maybe hit a few nightclubs—

Savannah groaned. No, she didn't want to do that. Just the thought of getting dressed up, of being around people, gave her a headache. She didn't want to stand around with a fake smile on her face, listening to strangers she had no interest in talking to. Tessa had talked her into going out last night, and that had been bad enough.

She couldn't make herself go through that again.

So tea it would be.

She reached for the kettle, her hand pausing mid-air. Forget the tea. Wine would be better. There was a fresh bottle of Moscato in the refrigerator, barely touched. No sense in letting it go to waste. She'd have a glass of wine and curl up on the sofa with a book. A mystery, maybe. Or even a nice, gory horror.

She moved back to the living room, wine glass in one hand and a book in the other. She moved the laptop to the coffee table and settled into the corner of the sofa, ready to lose herself in the pages of the book.

Except she couldn't focus on the words in front of her any better than she had been able to focus on her presentation.

Dammit. What was wrong with her?

She tossed the book down and reached for the remote, ready to click the television on when a loud knock on the back door made her jump. Savannah froze, her heart lodged in her throat. Nobody knocked on her back door.

Nobody except Aaron.

Or the girls.

It must be the girls. Aaron had a game tonight. Didn't he? She frowned, trying to remember, but her mind went blank. He had games every weekend, sometimes here, sometimes away. Some weeknights, some Fridays. Was tonight one of those Fridays?

She didn't know, couldn't remember.

The knock came again, louder this time. More insistent. Then she heard someone calling her name.

Not Aaron.

Brooke.

She moved to the door, pushed the curtain aside, surprised to see Brooke and Isabelle standing on the patio, motioning to her with urgent waves. She unlocked the door, pulled it open.

"What—"

Isabelle grabbed her hand, pulling her outside so fast that she stumbled. "Miss Savannah, hurry. Please."

Panic pushed against her. Had something happened to Carol? If Aaron was playing tonight, Carol would be watching the girls.

She pulled the door closed, barely registering the cold ground against her bare feet as the younger girl tugged her across the patio. "What is it? What happened? Is it your Grammy?"

"No, it's Dad. You have to hurry."

Savannah nearly stumbled, caught herself as she tried to look over her shoulder at Brooke. Icy fear raced through her. "Aaron? What's wrong? What happened?"

"I don't know. He was in the basement, working out and…just hurry, please."

No, it couldn't be. Nothing could have happened to Aaron. He'd been cleared to go back to playing, he was fine.

But what if he wasn't? What if the doctors and trainers and everyone else had been wrong? She kept trying to turn, to ask Brooke for details, but the older girl was pushing her from behind as Isabelle tugged, leading her across the yard and into the house.

"You have to hurry, Miss Savannah."

Her bare feet slid on the tile floor as she skidded to a stop, her heart pounding in her chest. "Where is he?"

"He's in the basement. Hurry." Isabelle tugged again, pulling her toward the open door just off the large kitchen. Music drifted up the stairs, the steady thump of rock-and-roll. She stepped onto the small landing, her hand on the railing, one foot poised mid-air to descend the stairs. There was another sound, barely audible over the music—the steady clank of metal against metal, like someone was lifting weights. Savannah hesitated and looked back at the girls, wondered why they no longer seemed as panicked, as determined.

No, they were still determined—but not because something was wrong.

She reached for the door just as it slammed closed in her face. A second later, she heard the sound of a lock clicking into place.

Followed by the sound of two girls giggling.

She was going to throttle them. Both of them.

Savannah twisted the knob, but it didn't move. She pressed her ear against the door, banging it with the flat of her hand. "Brooke! Isabelle! Open this door right now!"

"No. Not until you two make up."

"Brooke, this isn't funny. Open the door."

"What is going on up there?"

Savannah whirled around, her mouth drying as Aaron walked out of the weight room, blotting his face with a towel. The tank shirt he wore was damp with sweat, the thin material clinging to his chest, his abs. The muscles of his bare arms stretched and flexed with each swipe of the towel. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his face going carefully blank as he looked up at her.

He blinked, blinked again. Then he frowned, his brows pulling low over his eyes. "Savannah? What are you doing here?"

She glanced at the door, heard the giggling from the other side, then met his frown with her own. "The girls think they're being funny."

"Being funny?"

"They came over to get me, told me something happened to you. Then they, uh, they locked the door."

Something flashed across Aaron's face. Annoyance? Surprise? Then he started up the stairs, his steps heavy. He reached past her, his arm brushing against hers, and tried turning the knob.

"I told you: they locked it."

He gave her a funny look then turned away and banged his fist against the door. "Brooke. Isabelle. Open the door."

"No."

His eyes narrowed for a brief second then he banged the door again, a little harder this time. "I don't know what you two think you're up to, but it's not funny. Open the door. Now."

"Not until you stop being stupid." Brooke's voice, stubborn and determined. "Both of you."

"Brooke, I swear, if I have to break this door down, you'll be punished for a year."

"I wouldn't do that, dear."

Savannah's eyes widened in surprise, but not as much as Aaron's. He exchanged a quick glance with her then looked away, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "Mother. What do you think you're doing?"

"The girls and I are going out for ice cream. Then I think we might go to the Galleria and do a little shopping."

"Mom, this isn't funny." He wiggled the knob again. "Open the door."

"Not just yet. Not until you two work things out."

"I'll just break the door down—"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." There was the sound of something sliding across the floor, then the door shook a little as something was wedged against it. "I put a chair under the doorknob."

"That's not going to stop me—"

"Do you remember that trophy you won all those years ago? The nice crystal one?"

Even in the dim light, Savannah could see the color drain from Aaron's face. The muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed. "Mom—"

"It's sitting on the chair. Just thought you should know that. You know, in case you get any ideas about breaking the door down."

"Mom—"

"We'll be back later."

Savannah leaned closer to the door, listening to the sound of retreating footsteps and fading laughter. She straightened, her shoulder brushing against Aaron's chest, then took a step back. At least, she tried to—there wasn't much room to move.

"What trophy is she talking about?"

Aaron shook his head, still frowning at the door. "Nothing. It's not important."

"Do you think she was serious?"

He kept frowning at the door, and Savannah got the impression he was trying to figure out the answer to that. A few seconds went by before he muttered something under his breath and headed down the stairs. "Knowing my mother, yeah."

Savannah stared at his retreating back then turned back to the door. Then she sighed and sat down on the top step, wrapped her arms around her legs, and dropped her head against her knees.

Wondering how long she'd have to wait until someone let them out.