He threw back the shower curtain and stepped out of the tub.
“Mitch, wait.” She gripped his wrist and tried to meet his gaze, but he refused to look at her.
“I’ll let you know if this is something I can deal with, Trixie.”
“I understand,” she said, her voice quivering. Her heart shattered into bits and pieces as he left her there to consider what had taken place between them.
Standing under the showerhead, she hurriedly massaged the shampoo into her hair and finished bathing. She needed to talk to Brock and Rory. She needed to discuss her feelings, these runaway emotions, and see what they thought she should do.
Damn. Who was she kidding? Mitch had certain requirements. She understood his expectations. He hadn’t changed that much since their first time together. He was pretty much the same, maybe darker and more haunting than before, but he possessed more internal scars which explained his darker demeanor. A man couldn’t spend time in prison and walk away unscathed.
Trixie had known what she’d discover in Mitch the second time around. The problem was—Mitch hadn’t been prepared for what he’d find in her.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Let me handle this,” Rory said, knocking on the door.
“Like hell,” Brock said, hammering his fist against the wood.
“He might have the door at the top of the stairs closed. It’s hard to hear up there.”
Glowering, Brock slammed his hand against the door again. “Cash! It’s Brock Sheldon and Rory Matthews. Open up.”
A second later, an eerie squeak suggested the top door was ajar. Several moments later, footsteps resounded.
“Hey man,” Cash said, swinging the door open. “Something wrong?”
Brock pushed by him. “Damn straight. Let’s talk.”
Before Rory could stop him, Brock had topped the steps.
Cash’s eyes met his and Rory shrugged. “We need to talk, Cash.”
He held out his arm and waved him inside. “By all means, y’all come on in.”
Entering the living quarters on the top floor brought back a wave of mixed feelings. Prior to Stephen Pratchert’s occupancy there, the camp counselors had often used the loft as an after-hours party spot for the older and mature staff members. After Stephen came to work there, things changed.
That should’ve been Mitch’s first clue. Pratchert had been bad news from the beginning.
Glancing around at the meager appointments, Rory couldn’t help but notice the familiar chill in the air. “Do you feel that?”
“Don’t start,” Brock said.
“There are bad vibes in here, man,” Rory said, avoiding eye contact with Cash then.
“What can I do for you fellas?”
“You can start by shelving the good-ole-boy persona,” Brock replied.
Cash held his head higher. “You want me to be someone I’m not?” He grinned. “Any particular reason why?”
Brock’s rage was evident. Thick veins outlined his neck, pulsing dangerously with his anger. “I don’t know you, Whitehead. And we aren’t friends. Let’s get that established from the start. I do not trust you.”
“Why should you?” Cash fired back. “Like you said, we ain’t friends.”
“Damn straight,” Brock said. “The back slapping and beer chugging won’t happen here with me.”
“And you came all the way up here to tell me to find a good place to drink alone?”
Brock made himself right at home. He entered one bedroom then the next. Rory could see him peeking in the tiny bathroom, checking out the closets, and returning to the bathroom once more.
“Are you looking for something in particular?”
Brock snarled. “Are you staying here alone?”
“I haven’t been here long enough to invite anyone over for sex and cookies, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“What is it you want to know?”
“There’s jizz all over the bathroom wall. Just wondered if you were getting off with someone’s help or if my woman was the inspiration behind the mess?”
“Is that a question?” Cash’s eyes were dangerously cold.
“It was presented as one,” Brock pointed out.
Rory stepped to the rear of the room. He kept Cash’s back in his sights as he glanced around the kitchenette, looking for any clues Cash might be up to no good.
“You have a problem with me,” Cash remarked casually. “I get that. I respect it even.”
“What were you doing watching Trixie and Rory together?” Brock cut to the chase. So much for Rory handling the issue at hand.
“When?” Cash asked, immediately on visible guard. His body language changed. He crossed his arms over his chest, stood taller, and parted his legs as if he had taken a firm stance on playing stupid.