When Rivals Lose (Bayshore Rivals 2)

Love always,

Lionel

Air refuses to enter my lungs. There are numerous letters, all very much like the one I just read. Letter after hand-written letter. My hands start to shake, as the confusion intensifies. Placing the letter back down, I push away from the desk. It’s then that a picture out of the pile catches my eye.

I pick it up, unable to ignore the gut feeling that’s swirling in my stomach. I study the dingy photo intensely. It’s my dad, he must be my age in this picture. The woman from the other picture is in it too, but there is a third person… a man, one that looks just as familiar.

I’m not sure who he is, but if I had to place him somewhere in my head, I would say he could be a lost Bishop brother. He has Oliver’s chocolate brown eyes, Sullivan’s masculine jaw, and Banks’ mischievous smile. Flipping the picture over, I read three names written in black ink on the back.

George, Phoebe, and Lionel. George? Then like a missing puzzle piece it clicks.

George Bishop… The brothers’ dad. The questions seem to stack higher and higher with each new thing I discover. Why would my father keep a picture of him and George? Especially one where they look like friends instead of enemies? While those questions are weighing the biggest one is, who is Phoebe? More confused than ever, I search for more pictures, and more answers but still come up empty. It’s like searching for gold and hoping to find the biggest nugget.

I find a few more photos with George and my father, some with all three of them but most have the girl named Phoebe in them. All the way at the bottom of the drawer, I find a large picture, it’s the only one that’s in a frame, signifying its importance.

Again, it’s Phoebe. She is sitting in a rocking chair, cradling a growing baby bump, a bright, joyful smile on her lips. I examine the picture carefully, and my heart stops, my lungs cease to work, and the blood freezes in my veins.

On her lap is a folded baby blanket with pink embroidered letters on it that reads Harlow.

I don’t know how long I sit there staring at the picture, letting all of this new information sink in, but it feels like an eternity. I’m shell shocked, desperate for more answers, answers that I know I won’t get unless I go to my father. Anger simmers just below the surface. I don’t know who Phoebe is yet, but I do know she is important to me.

A distant noise fills the air, soft giggling is what it sounds like. Who is up giggling at this hour? I force myself to look away from the picture. I can make out the sound of approaching footsteps, there are two pairs, one soft, and the other heavier. Jumping from the chair, I shove all the contents from the drawer back inside it. I close it, trying my best to make it look like nothing happened. Hurrying across the room, I flip the light switch off.

As fast as I can without falling, I use my hands and pat along the bookshelf in the dark until I reach the edge. Just as the door opens, I slip behind the side, flattening myself against the wall as much as I can, hoping and praying that I’m not visible from this position.

Holding my breath, my lungs burn for air. I expect the overhead light to come on, but instead, a soft click sounds and the lamp on the desk turns on illuminating only half the room with a faint glow of light leaving where I am bathed in darkness.

It only takes a second for my eyes to adjust, and when I see Shelby and my father together, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stifle the gasp trying to break free.

“We have to be quiet, if Harlow hears, then we’re both screwed.”

Shelby smiles, devilishly, “You’re screwed either way.”

Oh, my god. My father is having an affair with my best friend. The person he was meeting at the hotel was Shelby. I watch horrified as they kiss, my father lifts her up and places her ass against the desk before pushing up her dress. She didn’t even change; she’s still wearing the same dress that she wore to the rehearsal dinner.

“Shut up and let me fuck you.” My father growls, and Shelby squeals with excitement.

My mother, my poor mother. I wonder if she knows. I can feel the bile burning up my throat as I squeeze my eyes shut while they start to screw each other. The sounds they make together make my ears bleed, and I do my best to remain silent through it all.

The betrayal is like a dull knife cutting through my chest, and I know there is no coming back from this.