Breathing Lies: (The Breathing Undead Series, Book 1)

by Jessica Sorensen

  Kingsley and I may not get along, but that doesn’t mean I’m some terrible person if I talk to him when we literally run into each other. And we wouldn’t have even bumped into each other if Foster hadn’t been so busy flirting with Beth.

  “Stop looking at me like that. It’s not that weird,” I say to Foster, and Kingsley gives me a questioning look.

  Clearly he thinks it’s weird. And I guess it sort of is. But again, I literally ran into him.

  Foster narrows his gaze on his brother. “Why are you even here?”

  Kingsley scrubs his hand over his head as he stares down at the floor. “It’s a gas station, man.”

  Foster grinds his teeth. “Everywhere you go, you cause problems. So, do Har and me a favor and stay the hell away from us.” He snatches ahold of my hand. “The last thing I need is you ruining our night.” He tugs on my arm as he strides away from Kingsley, reacting just how I expected.

  It’s the reason I begged Kingsley not to start a fight with him.

  Kingsley held true to his word too. It’s Foster who caused the drama.

  Wiggling my hand from his, I slam to a halt.

  Foster skids to a stop as well, turning to face me with a crease forming between his brows.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, setting the drink and the tub of ice cream on the counter by the register.

  I hate confronting him about stuff that I know is going to irritate him, but this is really bothering me. “Why did you do that?”

  He digs his wallet out of his pocket as the cashier rings up his stuff. “Do what?”

  I cross my arms. “Get pissed off at Kingsley? He didn’t do anything.”

  He slaps a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “He didn’t do anything? He was hitting on you.”’

  I gape at him. “Are you high tonight? I mean, I was mostly joking earlier, but now I’m wondering if you really are.”

  He glares at me while the cashier, a thirty-something-year-old dude with an overly large mole on his cheek, raises his brows at us.

  I roll my eyes at him. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s legal here.” If you’re twenty-one. But I don’t bother pointing that out.

  He lifts his hands in front of him. “Whatever.” Then he places Foster’s change onto the counter.

  Foster picks up the change and stuffs it into his pocket. He doesn’t utter another word as he collects his drink and the ice cream, threads his fingers through mine, and pulls me along with him. Part of me wants to pull away, but the other part of me—the part controlled by my stupid heart—won’t allow me to.

  As we walk silently across the parking lot, holding hands, the stillness between us is uncomfortable. And it only gets worse when we climb into his truck and he starts up the engine, still not uttering a damn word.

  I feel like I should say something—crack the tension—but I’m not even positive what’s causing it. Because I was talking to Kingsley? Because he thought Kingsley was flirting with me?

  I sweep a strand of hair behind my ear, just like Kingsley did to me right before Foster walked up to us. Is that what this is about? Because Kingsley touched my hair? If so, that’s stupid. It didn’t mean anything, nor did I ask Kingsley to do it.

  “I got these for you,” Foster mumbles, handing me the drink and the tub of ice cream.

  “Thanks.” I set the ice cream down and take a gulp of the soda. Dr. Pepper. My favorite.

  He nods then plunges back into silence as he straps on his seatbelt. When he moves to put the shifter into drive, he suddenly withdraws his hand and grips the steering wheel.

  “Fuuuck,” he grits out with his head lowered. “Why does my brother always have to ruin everything?”

  I set the drink into the cupholder. “I don’t want to piss you off more, but I don’t think he was the one who ruined things this time.”

  He flexes his fingers then lifts his head. “I’m sorry for freaking out on you in there.”

  “You didn’t freak out on me. But you did freak me out with all that Kingsley-flirting-with-me talk.” I twist in the seat to face him. “I don’t know why you’d say that. It’s not true.”

  His brow meticulously arches, but his lips remain sealed.

  “He wasn’t flirting with me.” I huff out an exasperated breath. “Kingsley doesn’t flirt with anyone.”

  “He doesn’t a lot, but sometimes he does.” He pauses. “With you. He just doesn’t do it in an obvious way.”

  “You know what? I think I should drive, because I’m officially convinced you’re high.” I reach over to snatch the keys from the ignition, but he captures my fingers.

  “Please stop saying that.” Instead of letting my hand go, he traces the folds between my fingers. “Stop thinking I’d ever drive around high, especially with you in the car.”

  My body wants to shiver so damn badly from his touch, but I refuse to let it. “All right, I’ll stop saying it, just as long as you stop saying Kingsley was flirting with me.”

  “He was, though,” he utters. Then he gives me an innocent smile. “That was the last time, I swear.”

  I stick out my free hand with my pinkie hitched. “Pinkie swear?”

  He hitches his pinkie with mine. “I pinkie swear on my life.”

  I smile at that. “You’re so overdramatic sometimes.”

  He tightens his pinkie on mine when I start to pull away. “I’m only overdramatic about the things that matter.”

  My heart flutters, but I tell it to calm the hell down, that he’s just goofing around.

  “You must really think spiders matter then.” I press my lips together, stifling a laugh.

  “Just because I want to leave the room when I see a spider, doesn’t mean I’m being overdramatic,” he says, scowling playfully at me.

  “Want to leave the room? Try more like run out squealing like a Banshee.”

  He narrows his eyes, but it’s another playful move. “I’m a guy. I never squeal.”

  “Oh, guys can squeal, even louder than girls. That whole term ‘squeal like a little girl’ is bullshit.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” He stares at me for a heartbeat longer then draws my hand toward his mouth by the pinkie and places a soft kiss against my knuckles. “I’m sorry I started a fight tonight. I just don’t like my brother hitting on you. All he does is get in trouble, and I don’t want him bringing his shit into your life.”

  “He won’t,” I promise. When doubt fills his expression, I stress, “Even if he was hitting on me, it’s not like I hit on him back. I don’t think of Kingsley like that.”

  What a liar I am. It makes me feel weird inside. Twisted. I mean, how can I be in love with Foster yet be attracted to his brother? And a brother he despises? It feels like I’m secretly betraying Foster for just having lustful thoughts about Kingsley.

  But I can’t help it. I swear sometimes I’m like two people. The girl I am when I’m around Foster and the girl who snuck off to a party and kissed a random stranger.

  “Good.” A smile touches Foster’s face, but then it vanishes as he pats his pockets. “Shit, I think I left my wallet on the counter.”

  “Okay, you’re definitely ditzy sometimes,” I tease, glad we’re no longer fighting.

  He winks at me. “That’s because you always have me distracted, baby.”

  I pretend to dry heave, and he chuckles before hopping out of the truck and jogging into the gas station.

  I start to relax back in the seat when Porter strolls out of the gas station. He doesn’t glance in my direction as he crosses the parking lot and approaches a car with tinted windows parked beside Kingsley’s GTO.

  Smoke snakes out from the open window as Porter approaches the driver’s side door and lowers his head and hand into the cab. The exchange is brief, and then Porter lazily jogs over to Kingsley’s car and hops in on the passenger side.

  I’m not sure what the hell just happened, other than maybe he just bought drugs. If Foster were here and saw that, he’d blame it on drugs. He does th
at a lot.

  When we were about fourteen, he even tried to convince me that Kingsley and Porter were going to turn into drug dealers and addicts.

  “He just seems like the type,” he says as he picks handfuls of grass. We are sitting on the front lawn of the middle school, eating our lunch underneath our favorite tree.

  “What makes a person the type to do drugs?” I ask, picking the crust off my sandwich.

  He shrugs, stealing a chip from my bag. “The kind who gets in trouble and who likes darkness.”

  “That’s a weird way to describe it,” I tell him, and Foster shrugs again. I sigh. “And we get in trouble sometimes,” I remind him then take a bite out of my sandwich.

  “Yeah, but we don’t like to get in trouble.” He pops the chip into his mouth.

  I’m not so sure I agree with him. Sometimes I like getting in trouble. Nothing too bad, of course. But just enough to get my heart racing. I don’t believe, though, that the desire will turn me into a drug addict. And Foster saying so makes him sound like he’s stereotyping. But I don’t say any of this aloud. I learned a long time ago that, when it comes to Foster talking about Kingsley, it’s best to say less and let the conversation end quickly.

  And a moment later, it does as Foster gets preoccupied with a girl wearing a short skirt and way too much lipstick, something that’s starting to happen more frequently …

  The memory gets cut off as Kingsley jogs out of the gas station, his gaze zeroing in on Foster’s truck. He stares at it, appearing torn as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. I could roll down the window and see if he needs something—and part of me wants to—but I don’t want to risk starting another fight with Foster, so I leave the window up.

  Pressing his lips together, Kingsley yanks his attention off me and hurries over to his car. Instead of getting in, he chucks his keys to Porter then jogs over to the car with the tinted windows. He basically does a repeat of what Porter did, leaning down and sticking his hand inside the window. Then he steps back and into the moonlight. He’d be the portrait of beauty if I wasn’t fairly sure he might’ve just bought drugs.

  My heart tightens in my chest, begging me to help him, but how? And do I dare after what happened all those years ago?

  After he lowers his head, he gives a quick glance at Foster’s truck then hops into his car. The car with the tinted windows peels out of the parking lot, but the GTO remains there, leaving me to wonder what they’re doing.

  Leaving me to wonder just how far into the darkness Kingsley has gone.

  Leaving me to wonder a lot of things.

  Four

  Harlynn

  I sit in the car for ten minutes before texting Foster to see what’s taking him so long. Then I notice his phone is on the dash, so I hop out of the truck and head inside to find him.

  When I enter the gas station, I find him back by the soda machines, staring at the floor.

  “I can’t find my wallet anywhere,” he says with a pout as I approach him. “I thought I left it at the register, but I didn’t see it there.”

  “That’s the last place I remember you having it.” I stuff my hands into my back pockets, wondering if I should tell him what I just witnessed occur in the parking lot. Then again, maybe Foster isn’t the best person to talk to about this. Perhaps I should talk to Kingsley first before I send a pissed-off Foster after him. But, do I even want to get involved in Kingsley’s problems? A handful of years ago, I’d have said yes. Now, though … so much has happened between us. “You took it out when you paid.”

  His forehead creases. “I checked up there already and didn’t see it.”

  “Did you ask the cashier if he has it?”

  He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Smart thinking.”

  I roll my eyes. “So ditzy.”

  He grins then saunters off toward the register, with me following after him. But I slow to a stop as I pass the snack aisle and spot Beth staring aimlessly at the selection of chips.

  Jesus, what does this girl do? Just hang out at the gas station all day? Then again, I guess we’ve been here as long as she has.

  As if sensing me staring at her, she glances over at me. I give a smile and a little wave, even though I don’t like her. But my dislike is based entirely on stupid reasons that aren’t her fault.

  She smiles tightly in return then wraps her arms around herself and goes back to staring at the chips. She doesn’t reach for a bag, simply stares, tears welling in her eyes.

  I start to ask her if she’s okay when someone tugs on the hem of my shirt. When I twist around, Foster is standing behind me.

  “You okay?” he asks with his brows knit.

  “Yeah … But that girl you were talking to earlier seems upset …” I trail off as Beth rushes past us, choking on a sob. “Bye, Foster.”

  He sighs then tows me toward the counter. “She just found out her dog died,” he explains.

  “Poor girl.” Despite the fact that she was hitting on Foster earlier, I feel bad for her.

  Besides, it’s not like she knows about my crush on Foster. And even if she did, Foster and I aren’t together, so she has every right to hit on him.

  Foster smiles at me like I’m the cutest thing in the world then tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, just like Kingsley did earlier.

  “So adorable,” he mumbles, causing my cheeks to warm. Grinning, he faces the counter and asks the cashier, “Hey, man, have you seen a wallet?”

  The cashier scowls as he reaches around to the side of the register, picks up a wallet, and slaps it down on the counter.

  “Thanks,” Foster tells him, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket.

  The cashier scowls at him. “Whatever.”

  Foster sighs and steers me toward the door with him.

  “What a weirdo,” I utter under my breath after we’ve walked outside.

  “Definitely.” Foster skims his thumb along the back of my hand. “How about we get out of here before we run into any more distractions?”

  “Sounds good to me.” I walk with him toward his truck, more than ready to get out of here before any more potential night-ruining forces creep up on us.

  When we pull out of the gas station, Kingsley’s car hasn’t moved from the parking spot and a trail of smoke is now snaking out of the cracked open windows. Great. Either he’s smoking cigarettes or something else.

  I internally sigh as we pull onto the road right as the GTO vacates the parking lot. But it drives in the opposite direction than we’re heading, putting the chance of us crossing paths with Kingsley very low.

  As we drive toward the lake, Foster is acting like his joking, normal self but seems a bit distracted. My bet is he’s still wound up about Kingsley, but I don’t ask, wanting to keep the rest of the night as upbeat as possible.

  I’m about to crank up some tunes when my phone buzzes from inside my pocket. Noting the time, I assume it’s my mom, but the message is from Alena.

  Alena: Hey! Are you still at the party? I can’t see you anywhere.

  Me: Nah, I took off about an hour ago. Sorry I didn’t tell you, but you seemed kind of distracted with Jay. Or, well, your lips did.

  Alena: You saw that, huh?

  Me: Of course I saw! You guys were standing right by the fire! Everyone probably saw.

  Alena: Yeah, I guess we weren’t very discreet, were we?

  Me: Were you trying to be?

  Alena: No. Well, maybe. Idk …

  Me: All right, what’s up?

  Alena: It’s nothing. I just think Jay might only want to hook up, which I’m totally fine with … I think. But I really didn’t want anyone knowing about it.

  Poor Alena. She’s been in love with Jay since freshman year, but he’s only recently started paying attention to her. I’m not sure why. Alena is gorgeous. All dark, flowing hair and curves. But she’s also very strong and smart and speaks her mind, and Jay has always seemed attracted to girls who don’t have much interest in anything but hooking up
. Not that I have anything against those girls. To each their own. But Alena isn’t like that, which is why I was a bit shocked when I saw her making out with Jay in public without even going on a date with him first.

  Me: Lena, I love you to death, so please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure if you should hook up with Jay.

  Alena: It’s fine. I mean, I think I want to.

  Me: The fact that you keep typing “I think” should tell you everything you need to know.

  Alena: Yeah, I know. It just really bums me out because I don’t think he wants to do anything else. I’ve liked him forever and it’s just so … disappointing.

  Me: Maybe that’s a sign it’s time to move on from Jay. In my opinion you deserve someone way better. And smarter. And who doesn’t see winning a burping contest as an achievement.

  Alena: He’s so hot, though.

  Me: There’re a lot of other hot guys in Sunnyvale.

  Alena: Hmmm … Are you sitting by one of them right now?

  My gaze strays to Foster.

  “Is that your mom?” he asks, shifting gears.

  I shake my head. “It’s Alena.”

  He returns his hand to the steering wheel. “Did she hook up with Jay tonight?”

  “Nope, I think we caught most of their show.”

  “Good. Jay’s kind of an asshole.”

  I eye him warily. “I thought you guys were sort of friends?”

  He shrugs. “We used to be until I realized he’s an asshole.”

  “Did something happen?” I ask as a text message pings through.

  Alena: If you don’t answer, I’m going to assume you two are hooking up right now.

  “Not really. He’s just always running his mouth about dumb shit, and I got tired of it.” His tone is filled with indifference, but his shoulders are rippling with tension. Before I can press him for more details, he leans over the console to glance at my phone. “So, what’s Alena saying?”

  I hurriedly press my phone to my chest. “That’s none of your business.”

  A smile plays at his lips. “You’re awfully squirmy. Makes me really curious what you guys are texting about.”