Page 105 of Golden Goal

I tell them as much of the conversation as I can remember.

“She was fine yesterday morning when I talked to her. My phone was dead in the evening when she tried to call me, and then shit hit the fan this morning.”

“Do you think Kat got to her?” Hadley asks.

“Really, that’s what you’re going with?”

As the words leave my mouth, I remember the conversations Becca and I had about how she blames herself for what happened to her brother, to her dad, and even to her mother. Maybe there is something in what Hadley suggested. Before I can tell them, the doorbell chimes.

“I’ve got it,” I say, getting to my feet.

Chapter forty

Rebecca

I ring Holt’s doorbell and hold my breath. After what feels like an eternity, the front door opens. I know Sutton’s right, I need to tell him about the envelope and let him decide how he wants to proceed, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous to see him.

He rocks back on his heels, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black athletic shorts when he sees me. He looks as rough as I feel. His hair is a tousled mess, pieces standing on end as though he was pulling on it, and my heart cracks knowing that I’m the cause of it.

“Rebecca, what are you doing here?”

“I—” I shake my head, starting to lose my nerve. I should have left the envelope with a note on his doorstep, but I’m here now, so I might as well get it over with. “Here.” I thrust the envelope at him. “I should have given you this when you stopped by earlier . . . I’m sorry I didn’t.”

He takes the envelope, glancing between it and me.

“What is this?”

“I’m sorry, Holt.” I turn to walk away.

“Wait, Becca.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Can we talk? What’s really going on? I at least deserve to know the truth. Please.”

The hurt in his voice is evident, and my shoulders sag.

“Open the envelope.”

He lets go of my shoulder, and I know I should walk away, but I can’t, so I stand fixed to the step, my back to him. I hear the crinkling of paper, followed by low muttering, and I know he’s either flipping through the photos or reading the letter.

He growls. I spin around to face him.

“This is not your fault.” He shakes the hand holding the stuff from Kat. “Please, Becca. Let’s talk.” His voice cracks.

I suck in a breath. “I-I’m sorry. Sorry for all of this.”

“Come in?” He tips his chin toward the house. I hesitate for a second before following him.

“I’m sorry . . .” I trail off at the sound of male voices coming from the living room.

Of course the guys would come over to check on Holt when they heard the news. My face heats up. The last thing I want to do is face them now. Or ever, really.

“Please stop apologizing. This is not your fault. But I need to know how you got these.” He points to where he’s set everything on the kitchen counter. “I need the whole story so we can figure out where to go from here.”

I take a deep breath, sitting down on a barstool. “It got delivered to the building. The doorman signed for it. He gave it to me yesterday afternoon . . . when I was on my way here, after I heard the trade rumors and couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“Shit.”

I stare down at the countertop and trace the patterns in the marble with my index finger.

“When we were shopping for houses, I saw a silver sedan. I swear I’ve seen the same one parked in front of our apartment building a few times.”