The Truth About Unspeakable Things Emily Myers (love story books to read TXT) 📖

“Right where it’s always been,” I say to myself.

I jog up Julian’s porch steps and look under the planter to the left of the door. Mr. Turnip would change the flowers out with the season. When he died, it was home to a deep red poinsettia. What’s left of it still rests, wilted, amongst dried dirt and potting soil.

I lift up the planter and find the key, using it to enter Julian’s home. All is quiet and still. While the roses from the other night still sit on the dining room table, the candles are gone and so is the delicious aroma of Julian’s baked, buttery chicken. I step onto the welcome mat and close the door behind me. I’m sure to take my shoes off so as not to leave any footprints. No doubt, Beaux did the same.

What replaces the ambiance of Friday night is the scent of Lemon Pledge, a faint hint of Julian’s cologne, and retro masculine furniture that looks too new to hold any memories. Well, aside from the couch.

Allowing myself to be sidetracked, I cross the room to the blue velvet sofa and run my fingers over its soft texture. The cushions are still slightly disheveled from our almost-encounter. I smile a sad smile as I envision what could have occurred, the moment Julian and I could have shared. Instead, our night, much like the Creative Concepts Gala, was tainted by the pain-inflicting, stomach-turning Beauregard Thomas.

I stand straight and walk slowly towards the kitchen. Wooden boards creek beneath my bare feet as I move. I rest my hand against the exposed brick fireplace, unwilling to take another step toward the point of no return.

What am I going to do if Beaux is telling the truth? What am I going to do if I soon have reason to believe he murdered Mr. Turnip in cold blood? There won’t be proof, only speculation. And even if there was proof, there’s no family to share it with. No one suspects foul play or is working to discover the cause of Mr. Turnip’s untimely passing. There’s only me and Kat. And that’s exactly why Beaux wasn’t afraid to boast about his recent conquest.

I shake my head in disgust and purse my lips.

He only wants to frighten me, and him sending me here is just another way in which he’s able to control me, another way I let him control me.

“But what if it’s true?” I ask. Unknowingly, I take two steps forward. That’s it, the point of no return.

I move past the kitchen island to the sink. There’s a small window above it that looks into Kat’s and my dining room. My stomach turns as I imagine Beaux standing here, watching me as he planted the checkerboard.

With resolve, I squat down and take the cabinet handles in my hands. On three, I open both doors at the same time.

Outside the front door, I hear footsteps and a conversation taking place that I can’t understand.

“Oh no!”

I close the cabinet doors quietly and half run half tiptoe to Julian’s bedroom. I manage to make it inside and close the door behind me just as Julian enters through the front.

“I told you, Mason. I’m needed here. I can’t just fly back on a moment’s notice,” Julian says, slamming the front door behind him.

“My shoes,” I say aloud. I mentally curse myself and cover my mouth with my hand.

“No, being the boss does not mean you can do whatever you want,” Julian says. I hear him move from the living room to the kitchen. He throws his keys on the island and a stack of papers. Maybe it’s his mail?

Julian exhales loudly. I can sense his frustration from here. Mason? That name sounds familiar. Oh, right. His brother.

Julian moves closer to his bedroom door and I instantly step back. I scan the room for a way out or a place to hide—there’s nothing. Even his bed is annoyingly fixed, or I could have managed to hide beneath his crumpled comforter. My cheeks flush and I search my mind for an excuse, anything that doesn’t make me look crazy. I have nothing.

Julian’s footsteps cease just before he reaches his bedroom door. Instead, he opens the fridge, then a kitchen cabinet, and pours himself a glass of water. I exhale.

“Look, Mason,” he starts, but is drawn away by a knock at his door.

Who could it be? Not that I’ve been porch stalking Julian since he’s moved in, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him have company. Well, aside from me.

Kat! How long has it been? Should I be weirded out that this is the first place she’d look? I pull my phone out of my back pocket and find no missed calls or texts. It’s only been ten minutes. My heart rate calms as I imagine Kat still perfectly distracted as she showers to the tunes of Katy Perry.

“Beaux,” I say aloud.

My face turns pale. Small hairs on my arms rise in horror. What if he was watching? What if he planned to come after Julian all along, but wanted to make sure I was here to witness it?

I take two steps forward toward Julian’s bedroom door. Just as my hand reaches the knob, Julian opens his front door.

“Mason?” Julian asks.

“Mason?” I repeat.

“Little brother,” I hear an unfamiliar voice say. I hear sounds of an embrace, and Julian welcomes his older brother inside.

Once more, angels have saved me. But how am I supposed to make it back home before Kat notices now?

“What are you doing here?” Julian asks.

“Well, when you ignored my requests for your return and the private charter jet I offered, I realized my only other option for a family reunion was to make the trip myself,” Mason explains.

I remember seeing photos of Mason when I did my deep dive on Julian. He’s tall, like Julian, though a bit more muscular. He keeps his dark brown hair in a short, crew cut compared to Julian’s