Destiny Interrupted Read online

  “Come to think of it, I didn’t, either,” Jenny said, looking unconcerned as she thought it over. “He’s usually right in the thick of things before a new session starts. Oh well. He must be busy with something or other. He always is. He’s a nice guy—a great boss.”

  “Yes,” Whitney replied distractedly. “Yes. He was when I worked here, too.”

  “All the girl counselors are in love with him,” Jenny continued with a slight laugh. “I’m sure it was that way when you were here.”

  Whitney slowly nodded. “Yes.”

  “Can you blame anyone?” Jenny forged on, grinning. “He’s fun, friendly, great with all the kids and the groups—he’s the area’s most eligible bachelor, if you ask me. Not that it matters. He seems to keep his distance from getting involved with anyone. Some say he’s got a thing going with Laura Benson, one of the counselors who works here on and off, but I don’t see them together often enough to know.” Jenny shrugged dismissively. “Trevor Matthews is a hard man to understand when it comes to that sort of thing. In some ways, he almost seems immune to getting involved. Word has spread around the camp that it’s because he had another girlfriend he was in love with once, someone who used to work here. For some reason it didn’t work out. She got hurt or something and had to leave and that was the end of that. From what everyone says, Trevor took it real hard. Camp restrictions got a lot tighter after what happened. I can’t say I blame him because they say he took personal responsibility for what occurred.”

  Whitney chewed her bottom lip in distracted vacillation as she settled her slim form on the thick denim quilt on her bed, directly across from Jenny. Was she safe sharing her secret? Did she dare? Would she come to regret it if she did? Whitney lifted her dark eyes toward her new roommate and looked into Jenny’s calm blue eyes. “I should let you know something important, Jenny. I was the girl who got hurt here at camp. I was the one with Trevor Matthews when the accident happened. I was his old girlfriend, the one you just were speaking about.”

  Jenny’s blue eyes widened in abrupt dismay. “It was you?”

  Whitney slowly nodded. “Yes.”

  “Wow,” Jenny remarked as she eyed Whitney with renewed interest. “I had no idea. I would have never suspected it. Do you mind telling me what happened?”

  The subject had been something Whitney rarely discussed, even with her family. How could she share it with an almost complete stranger? How could she emotionally return to the dark place she tried zealously to forget? “To be honest, I don’t really know what happened,” Whitney began with a hesitant breath. “I only know what I’ve been told. I don’t remember anything because I was unconscious then and for several days afterward.”

  “It was a four-wheeling accident, right?” Jenny asked.

  “Yes, it was a four-wheeling accident,” Whitney conceded.

  “And?” Jenny pressed after a noticeable pause.

  Whitney cautiously shrugged. “They said I was coming down from the canyon pass with Trevor on a four-wheeler. It was late at night and we somehow got off the trail and rolled. It’s really all a blank—I can’t recall anything from the whole day. I don’t even remember driving up into the mountains or being in the canyon with him. It’s a chunk of my life that’s completely gone from my memory.”

  “You were hurt badly, weren’t you?”

  “For awhile, they weren’t sure I was going to make it,” Whitney explained. “I had a pretty severe concussion despite the fact that I was wearing a helmet. There were cuts, bruises—and my face got slashed right here.” Whitney turned her face sideways and traced the long, thin scar by her cheekbone with one finger.

  “It’s scarcely visible,” Jenny reassured her as she moved closer to look at it. “I wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t pointed it out. Did you have any other injuries?”

  “A broken clavicle and a few cracked ribs, not as extensive as they thought when they first took me in,” Whitney said. “I slowly recovered but I was pretty frail for quite awhile. It took me a long time to get my life back on track physically, especially because I lost a great deal of weight.”

  “You’re still thin,” Jenny observed as she eyed her sympathetically.

  “Not as thin as I used to be,” Whitney told her. “I’ve probably gained fifteen pounds since then.”

  “Fifteen pounds?” Jenny repeated in open surprise, shaking her head in disbelief. “I can’t imagine fifteen pounds being off that small frame.”

  “The pictures of me look awful,” Whitney told her. “I look like a skeleton. I can hardly stand seeing myself.” Not only because of the pictures, she could have added, but because of all the hurtful, painful, agonizing memories that resurface whenever I look at them.

  “I always wondered why they’d marked off the trail to the pass and wouldn’t let anyone go up that way,” Jenny said. “I guess now I know.” She stalled pointedly, staring at Whitney curiously. “What is it that brought you back to this place after something as horrific as that? It seems something that catastrophic might keep you away permanently.”

  Whitney sat quietly on the edge of her bed, not quite certain how to respond. She took in a fortifying breath before she spoke. “I used to be happy here. Life held so many promises and I felt excited to be alive. I haven’t had that feeling for a long, long time. I somehow wanted to find it again. I hoped coming back might help.”

  “If anything could, it would be this place,” Jenny stated emphatically.

  “After my accident, my life became complete and utter drudgery,” Whitney told her. “It was day-by-day monotony. It wasn’t just the lengthy recuperation, trying to mend from my injuries and get my strength back. It was everything. The accident freaked my Dad out. He hardly let me out of his sight. He had me get a job close by our home—a boring, tedious office job working for one of his friends, somewhere where I wouldn’t tire myself out and somewhere where he could carefully watch over me. He had me constantly into the doctors, checking everything out to make sure I was okay and that I was healing properly. It got to be extremely oppressive living like that with him being overbearing and overprotective like he was, as if he could lose me any minute. I probably would have healed faster if I had left home and come back to this place sooner. I finally decided I needed to come back and start living again no matter what my father had to say about it.”

  “Your dad didn’t want you to come back?” Jenny questioned curiously.

  “Not at all,” Whitney said, frowning at the memory of their recent talk. “He even tried to stop me once I’d made the decision to return. I suppose he feels afraid I might somehow get hurt again, not only physically but emotionally. He’s far too controlling of my life, especially after the accident. He’s become obsessive about everything I do—everything I eat, every decision I make, everywhere I go—anything that affects my life in any way. He as good as insisted that I not come back here.”

  Jenny eyed her carefully, her blue eyes intensely focusing on the thin scar on Whitney’s face. “This camp must have been a huge draw to get you to come back without your father’s approval. It must be something bigger than the camp that finally convinced you to return. Trevor Matthews, maybe?”

  Whitney abruptly twisted her features from Jenny’s searching gaze, her heart lurching in unease.

  “Sorry,” Jenny quickly apologized after Whitney’s noticeable reaction. “I apologize for asking such a personal question. I didn’t intend to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  Whitney slowly lifted her gaze and glanced into Jenny’s eyes. “Part of the reason I have come back is to see Trevor,” she finally confessed. “When I was here at camp, he and I got really close. We were together every day—all day, every day.” Whitney clasped her hands tightly together, trying to subdue her uncertain emotions. “I never wanted to leave this place and I never wanted to leave him. I don’t think I would have left if I’d been given the choice. I never had that choice.” She turned toward Jenny, knitting her brows into troubled lines. “
I realize it may seem presumptuous of me to thrust myself back into Trevor’s life like I am but I felt in my heart I had to do this. After the accident, I never saw him—not once. And we never ended our relationship after we’d been as serious as we were. We never even got to say goodbye. I don’t expect anything from Trevor now—I don’t, especially after what you told me about his girlfriend, Laura…what’s-her-name?”

  “Laura Benson,” Jenny informed her.

  “Laura Benson,” Whitney repeated, her heart scrunching slightly as she repeated the name. “I know Trevor’s life didn’t stop after the accident, like mine did, but mine abruptly ended. It might seem unfair of me to come back and do this to him, but I felt I had to do something to put our past to rest. I don’t know what I’m holding onto or searching for. I don’t know if Trevor even remembers that I exist anymore. But I came back for my own peace of mind, if not for his.”

  Jenny watched Whitney, her features somber after Whitney’s explanation. She let out a slow, deep breath. “I think you’re brave and courageous for coming out here and doing this. I’d feel extremely vulnerable if I happened to be in your shoes. It would be hard coming back knowing you’ll be seeing someone you were once close to and not knowing how he’s going to react.”

  “It is hard,” Whitney admitted. “It’s harder than I thought it would be. I still have no idea what’s going to happen when I do see him.” Whitney lifted her chin and glanced at her new friend with abrupt gratitude. “Thanks for letting me talk about this. I haven’t been able to speak openly about it to anyone. My Dad didn’t let me talk about it at home, especially to my Mom and two younger brothers. He said it made everyone too upset and uncomfortable to talk about the past.”

  “I’m glad you feel safe sharing it with me,” Jenny replied. “I’d be happy to hear anything you want to say.”

  “Thank you,” Whitney responded sincerely.

  “Do you know what? I’m starving,” Jenny suddenly decided as she lifted herself from the bed. “Are you hungry?”

  “I am,” Whitney replied.

  “Let’s go grab some dinner,” Jenny urged as she motioned Whitney to follow her. “I’m taking personal responsibility to make sure we get some more weight on you while you’re here.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Whitney said with a slight smile as she turned with her new roommate to walk toward the dining hall together.

  Chapter Two

  Trevor Matthews paced methodically in the darkness outside the well-lit dining hall, his heavy boots crunching the graveled ground beneath him as he tried to walk off the unsettled emotions swirling relentlessly inside him. He was glad he’d accomplished all he’d needed to complete before his assistant, Kyle Fisher, had told him about Whitney Hunsaker’s return. Since Trevor had found out the startling, unexpected news, he could hardly accomplish anything further as his mind fumbled with the cataclysmic emotions the knowledge of Whitney’s arrival at camp had aroused in him.

  Only moments earlier, Trevor had seen Whitney again for the first time sitting on the far bench with Jenny Cantwell as they ate in the vaulted dining hall together, conversing amicably. Trevor had watched Whitney through a corner window as he remained shadowed in the darkness outside, studying her intently. As Kyle had mentioned, Whitney seemed thinner. She still looked somewhat fragile and pale, in some ways—not the hardy, robust person he had known her to be in the past. But it was still Whitney all the same—her beautiful, familiar features, the soft but still-striking smile that lit her face now and again as she spoke. Her long dark hair and dark eyes contrasted vividly with the blonde-haired woman who sat across from her. Both of them seemed completely relaxed, void of pretense, as they continued their meal, unaware of their hidden observer watching them closely from outside.

  Trevor had felt strong, bittersweet emotions at the sight of Whitney. She seemed fine—whole, healthy, fully-functioning. Trevor couldn’t deny that he felt immensely relieved—and grateful—to know that she had become well and that nothing from the past had permanently affected her. But along with that knowledge—and the deep, heartfelt relief that accompanied it—came a powerful sense of frustrated injustice. Why hadn’t he been told that she would be okay? Why hadn’t he known she would—and had—come out a survivor? Why had he been pushed away from her life as if he had been the one to permanently thwart it?

  Trevor had been led to believe that Whitney would always bear indelible internal and external scars that would never be taken away, all because of his stupid, idiotic carelessness. Why hadn’t he been told that it had turned out differently? Why hadn’t someone—anyone—informed him of the truth? It seemed unfair. Whitney had to be a part of that, at least to some degree, didn’t she? But if she had been part of it, then what could she be doing back at camp now, knowing full well she was intimately thrusting herself back into every aspect of his life?

  Trevor turned away from the dining hall, upset. He hadn’t eaten yet but he was not ready to face Whitney directly. He turned toward the stables where he would complete the nightly feeding. As Trevor walked along the familiar, semi-darkened path toward the horses, suddenly the memories of that fateful day arose fresh and clear in his mind—he and Whitney traversing the rocky uphill path on a single four-wheeler, laughing and talking as they rode together. They’d spent that beautiful summer day in the mountains, eating lunch together, exploring some of the canyon paths on foot and staying out long past dark. He had wanted to remain with her; he hadn’t wanted that day to end. If only he had known what would befall them, he would have taken her back earlier when he could still clearly see the trail, when he wouldn’t have made that grave miscalculation.

  They were tumbling down the mountainside before Trevor even knew what was happening. He had somehow been thrown free, getting a few minor scrapes and scratches—only momentarily stunned before he had gotten shakily up and brushed off his dusty, leaf-stained clothing. He began calling Whitney’s name; she hadn’t answered. The four-wheeler lay wedged against a large rock some distance below, the crooked beams from the lights casting some dim illumination on the scene before him as he searched for her. That’s when he’d found her lying near the base of a small tree, silent and deathly pale, the thick stream of blood oozing from a deep gash in her cheek. He shakily touched her shoulder, loudly calling her name. She hadn’t responded. He had tried again; still no answer. He had somehow found his phone and, despite trembling fingers, had hurriedly called for help as he tried again and again to rouse her. Whitney had remained silent and still.

  Trevor hadn’t known how long it took before he finally saw the ambulance at the base of the mountain. Time had passed in ethereal fashion as he sat endlessly waiting for them to arrive. He kept Whitney’s hand in his, nervously rubbing her cold fingers, as the thin line of men had made their way up to them with the stretcher, the lights bobbing on their heads as they walked. They had bombarded him with question after question as he made his way down with them to the flashing red and blue lights in the distance.

  The drive to the hospital had taken eons. Trevor could still remember Whitney’s long, dark hair hanging off the stretcher as they rushed her through the emergency room doors before they escorted him to the waiting room for more unending questions. When he had finally been left alone after all the tense, unending ruckus, he had restlessly paced those polished floors—over and over and over again, not able to leave, not able to sleep or relax, not able to do anything until he knew Whitney would be okay.

  The hospital stay had been the worst—four long days and nights of endless uncertainty, the unanswered questions, the evasive replies. Doctors and nurses had skirted his blunt queries to know what her chances were or if there would be any lasting damage after what had happened. The “it’s too soon to tell” and “this is the time when it could go either way” rang loudly again and again in his ears, evoking those familiar tumultuous reactions—the frustration, the helplessness, the growing despair.

  Trevor would have waited for her. He would ha
ve done anything he could to help her, no matter what her status, her condition or who she might become. He would have stayed by her side no matter what. But that is when Whitney’s father had stepped in. He had approached Trevor angrily one night and had dragged him outside the waiting room into the heat of that humid summer night. Even the stars above seemed wilted and tarnished as Mr. Hunsaker had yelled furiously at him, the veins bulging out from his neck, making his features flushed and red in the darkness of that dreary night. “Do you realize what you’ve done?” Mr. Hunsaker had confronted Trevor, his voice dripping with unrestrained venom. “You’ve taken my only daughter away from me. She’ll never be the same because of you. Even if she does live, chances are she’ll be a vegetable. I want you out of her life and I don’t want you coming back. Leave her alone and let us get on with some level of peace. We don’t need you disturbing our lives like you already have. Leave us alone and don’t ever come back. I’m warning you—don’t ever come back.”

  Trevor’s arguments, his assertions—and in the end, even his pleas—did not move him. Mr. Hunsaker remained rigid and unbending, even threatening to have the authorities involved if Trevor insisted on coming near his daughter again. Ultimately, Trevor had acquiesced to the hotheaded fury and had stayed away, if only to keep the peace. There was nothing more he could do without causing further disruption to Whitney. He had been effectively shut out of her life. Even his subsequent calls to the hospital, in which he had tried to ascertain Whitney’s condition, had been thwarted. He was told to never contact her again.

  By sheer persistence and through secretive ways, even having his sister call once as one of Whitney’s “good friends,” Trevor had ultimately found out that Whitney had been released from the hospital and had gone home to the care of her family. She was “still recovering,” he had been told, but he didn’t know what that meant. Had she healed? Had there been any permanent damage? Trevor didn’t know and he hadn’t known how to find out.