“Lawson’s getting a train home tomorrow, he’ll be over to see you,” Aunt Soph tells her, and she offers a crooked smile in return. “Maybe we should go,” she says, glancing at me, then Aunt Libby and finally Uncle Dane who nods in agreement, a thankful expression passes over his face.
Sensing Aunt Libby is about to try to talk again, I get there first. “You’re right, Aunt Soph, plus I have to get to the studio. I need a couple of hours,” I tell the room at large.
When I look back to Aunt Libby, her eyes are closing as she starts drifting off. We all tread carefully leaving the room trying not to wake her.
“She’s getting worse?” Aunt Soph asks Uncle Dane. As he nods, I can’t help but think it’s a pointless question. We can all see she’s fading fast, but I know the words are to fill the void, to say something, anything.
“She’s going to die,” the words pop out of my mouth, and my whole body jerks as if in shock from my revelation.
“Olivia!” Aunt Soph admonishes me.
“No, Tink,” Uncle Dane says, using the nickname he blessed her with years ago. “She’s right. Nova doesn’t have long,” he says dropping down onto the bench in the hallway. “I keep praying she’ll get better, convincing myself we still have a future.”
“Oh, Dane,” Aunt Soph replies on a broken sigh. She seats herself next to him, and I stand awkwardly.
“I can’t do this without her,” he murmurs quietly.
“Do what?” she asks just as quietly.
“Life.”
I’ve never heard anyone say one word with more conviction and defeat, than Uncle Dane right then. He’s not a brother, uncle, or father right now. No, he’s just a man losing the love of his life.
I take two steps back and hit the hallway table causing keys to clatter to the floor. Both their heads snap my way, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Shaking out the weirdness, I smile sadly. “I need to go dance.”
“I know,” Aunt Soph says returning my smile. She gets me, the dancing is my release—it will help me channel all the emotions I’m struggling with. I have no right to dump them on anybody else. Everyone is going through a tough time, and Uncle Dane is breaking apart in front of all of our eyes. Rushing to them both, I kneel and lean forward wrapping one arm around each of them.
“Love you,” I whisper into my uncle’s ear. He squeezes my arm but says nothing. Pulling back, I can’t help but look in his eyes. They’re empty, hollow, and scary as fuck.
“I need to get back to her,” he tells us both. A mask slides over his face, and he changes in front of us from broken to strong, powerless to capable, and it’s all for Aunt Libby.
Both Aunt Soph and I leave calling sad muffled goodbyes to my cousins.
Walking silently side by side until we reach the corner of the street, we’re sombre and inwardly thoughtful.
“She hasn’t got long.”
“You know that for a fact?” I ask my aunt, surprised.
She nods. “The doctor told Dane today that they believe a few weeks at most.”
Feeling winded I clutch my stomach. “Oh my God.” I panic.
“Go, dance. I’ll send Toby.”
“No, I’ll be okay on my own today,” I reply.
“Has something happened between you two? I mean, you were injured in that toilet, was there more to it?” She props one hand casually on her hip, but the arch of her eyebrow is stern.
“No, I wanted to talk to him. The truth is I think he likes Shelly, which doesn’t bode well for his relationship with his brother. I dragged him in there and ended up slipping and hurting myself.” I dilute the truth slightly so she doesn’t get too pissed at her son, a look of understanding washes through her features. “You knew Toby liked Shelly?” I question, amazed, and yet already sure of the answer.
“It isn’t that simple.” Her answer surprises me.
“It rarely is, Aunt Soph.” I kiss her cheek and walk in the opposite direction ready to burn the pain away with sweat, music, and movement.
My heart constricts, and I lose my footing, falling on my arse when I walk into the studio and to the door of the room I always use. Scrambling to my feet, I peer through the glass. What I see isn’t a mirage. On the other side of the door is a sweaty, shirtless Isaac. He’s dancing to Justin Timberlake’s ‘My Love.’ The reaction from my body is instinctive as I squeeze my thighs together. Isaac is tall and built, but not in the muscle man, Hulk type of way. Most male dancers are lean. Isaac isn’t. His muscles ripple as he moves, and if you saw him outside of this environment, you wouldn’t naturally think dancer, but fuck, he can dance. I can only assume that five years away hasn’t stopped him moving, caressing the music like he lives inside of it. To me, it looks like he never stopped, he’s as quick, fit, and agile as he always was. I should have known from the other night at the club. Today his movements are different, less sensual and more popping, locking, and street dancing.
My biggest turn on is a man who can dance, but if Isaac couldn’t dance, he would still own every beat in my heart. Even if I haven’t ever told him, he owns all my love, completely. This Isaac reminds me so much of the one who left me behind, while that thought elicits a pain that sears through my body, I can’t seem to control the constant need within or the heat still gathering between my legs.
“Sorry.” I hear the rapid apology after feeling the clumsy person walking right into me and setting events in motion which end with me falling through the door and down on my hands and knees. Only this time I’m in the room with Isaac.
“Via?” he calls, a frown forming on his brow. His eyes move beyond me and latch onto something.
“Sorry again,” a low, rumbling voice offers. I glance backwards over my shoulder and look into the most vibrant topaz eyes I’ve ever seen.
“That’s okay,” I whisper and blink rapidly. He smiles crookedly in return, and I’m back to blinking.
“I’ve got her,” Isaac injects, and I reluctantly pull my gaze from my beautiful assailant to the beautiful bastard that’s been filling my thoughts, and my heart, since I was a teenager.
“Sorry, man, didn’t realise she was yours.”
“She is.”
“I’m not.”
We both answer at the same time, and the beautiful assailant grins down at me, popping a couple of dimples in the process, making me run right past ogling and straight into swooning territory.
“For God’s sake,” Isaac curses under his breath, and I can’t help but giggle, even though I’m still looking into the eyes of this stranger.
Isaac captures me under the arm and drags me upward. The door swings shut behind us, and Mr Mysterious winks at me before walking away.
“What the fuck was that?”
I look up to Isaac and yep—hot guy knocking me over or not—he’s still the only one who can make my clit throb. Beautiful Bastard.
“What was what?” I snap.
“You and the pretty boy?” he growls.
“What was with you telling him I’m yours?”
Isaac pulls me to the only chair in the room and sits me in it.
“Stop fucking manhandling me!” I shout.
With a white-knuckled fist on either arm of my seat, he leans down until our noses are no more than an inch apart. “You are mine. I’ve told you that, not gonna keep saying it, Via.”
“Fuck you,” I try to spit out but instead the words are breathy.
He smirks and slides his nose along mine and then kisses me softly under the hinge of my jaw. “That can be arranged. Is here good for you, baby?”
My cheeks flush, but not from embarrassment. I’ve had sex in riskier places than the dance studio. I just want to slap myself for the reaction my body so willingly gives to Isaac So-Fuckable James.
“You’re conveniently forgetting about Shelly again.” This time my words are spat at him and I internally high-five myself.
“We broke up.” His voice is level, and I stare at him for a moment, trying to work out if he
has any emotional response to the split.
“You broke up?” I question suspiciously. Isaac backs up and stands once again at his full height. Biting down on his lip, I know he’s mulling something over, but the vision sets my body off again. “Was it because of Toby?” I mutter, worried for the answer this time.
His jaw works as his eyes pin me to the spot. A scary expression crosses his face as a hard line fixes his jaw in place.
“No. We’ve sorted out our shit. There never was a Shelly and me, not really,” he says, confusing me more.
“Why don’t you explain ‘shit’ to me? I think I’m owed that much at least, Isaac.” My head drops, and I glance down at my bare feet, which were ready to dance and let everything go. My mind wanders to our family, to Aunt Libby dying, Uncle Dane suffering, my parents, and my cousins. We’re all in pain, and I want so badly to run into his arms, to let him rescue me.
For so many years I’ve been strong, I’ve relied on me—not my parents, not my friends, not Isaac—just me. I’ve had fun. I’ve fucked a lot. I’ve danced and enjoyed my life. But everything has been to display a life of plenty when, in fact, I’ve been shrouding the pain. I’ve disguised my real face, concealed my genuine emotions, and hidden my true pain. I know he can see past all that camouflage. The worst part is, although he sees it, he still won’t give me what I need. Before he even replies, I can see his mind working, pulling an excuse together—one more way to put me off, to hide his reality. Twisted truths, and latent lies, that’s all we share now.
“Via, I…”
“Don’t bother telling me no. If you can’t tell me the truth, then don’t say anything.” I stop for a second and wait. Blindly hoping he’ll respond, that he won’t stay quiet. For once, I just want him to open up, to trust me enough, to love me enough, so there are no walls between us. Instead, all I’m gifted with is his silence, and it tells me everything I need to know without saying a word.
I stand and move away from him not knowing if he’ll try to stop me. I’m hoping like hell he’ll call me back, but at the same time, I’m terrified that if he says my name, I’ll go to him. When I reach the door and realise he’s not stopping me, pain battles with relief, and it’s hard to know which is easier to manage. I open the door refusing to look back. Then, with a grind of my teeth and a breath drawn in on a pause, unsure why I’m opening myself up further, I tell Isaac something I should have admitted to him a long time ago.
“I’ve loved you since I was fourteen,” I say as a tear skates down my nose, reaching my lips before I lick it up with my tongue.
“I’ve loved you forever,” his reply is immediate.
I walk away this time, wishing I could believe him. As much as it breaks my heart—along with every other part of me—I can’t be sure that anything Isaac has said since he came back into my life is true.
The bottom line is—I can’t trust his words, I can’t trust his love, I can’t trust him.
LIV
“She’s gone.”
The words I’ve been dreading fall from my father’s mouth. It’s been exactly sixteen days since I was chatting with her and Aunt Soph. I didn’t go back for a few days as Uncle Dane didn’t want to overwhelm her with visitors. She was getting so tired and worn out, even though Aunt Libby was seemingly enjoying the company. Then suddenly, she took a turn for the worse. Her health was so poor that she was quarantined, and only my uncle and cousins were permitted to see her. It’s been less than thirty-six hours since the ban was lifted and we were told to say our last goodbyes. I was visiting this afternoon. Now I’m too late.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Snorting at my dad’s words, my stomach flips, and I retch. Wiping the imaginary vomit from my mouth, beads of sweat prickle against my brow. “I’ll be fine, Dad,” I lie.
“I can come over.”
“No,” I snap out and internally curse myself. “I mean, you need to be with Mum.” My recovery is stilted, my dad knows it, but he ignores my rebuff.
“Well, I’m here if you need me. And Livvy, I want you over for dinner tomorrow night.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he gets there first. “No arguments. Tomorrow,” he demands.
I sigh gently down the line. “All right, Dad. I’ll see you tomorrow. Go take care of Mum.”
“Always, baby girl. I love you.”
“Love you too, Dad, and tell Mum the same.”
Hanging up the phone makes me feel empty. I don’t normally feel that way, but loss burdens us all individually and without prejudice. I guess this has served to remind me that my parents aren’t getting any younger. Apart from Lawson, I’m the youngest cousin. I think of my parents as middle aged, but they’re not anymore. Having me so late in life means they’re both in their late sixties now and I have to face up to the fact they won’t always be around.
The need to dance is overwhelming, but ever since I realised Isaac was dancing at the studio, I haven’t set foot inside the building. I’m still slumped against the wall of my bedroom an hour later exactly where I was when my dad called me. My phone sits in my lap, my PJ bottoms have ridden up my calves and I know my hair is a mess. There’s a half empty can of Tango on my sideboard and a pile of clothes in the corner of my room waiting to be washed, but I have no pull to fix anything. Why would I? Nothing I do will make things right. It’s too late. A bitter, twisted truth seated somewhere in my lower stomach says it’s too late for Isaac to fix things now, too. The thing about truths is they always come out, and sometimes we don’t recover from the honesty. Not ever.
Throbbing restlessness engulfs my body, and I know, even though I’ve stayed away, I can’t anymore. I need a visit to the studio. I need to dance. Exorcising the pain rippling through me by dancing is all I know, and right now I need it. I need the safety that comes with familiarity.
Ninety minutes pass in a blur of movement and rock music. Three Days Grace, Papa Roach, and a fair amount of angry words later, the sweat drips from the ends of my hair. I don’t feel much better, but I am more reflective. Acceptance starts swallowing me. To release the feeling, I switch up the music and flip to Selena Gomez’s ‘Nobody.’ My movements hold no more thought than that of the previous dances, but they are slower, engaging the song, and the words have an altogether different meaning. The rage has deflated, and now all this song serves to do is make me take another look at my real feelings for Isaac. I’m forced to acknowledge that nobody will ever ignite me as he can, and nobody will ever measure up in my head to his level of extraordinary. As the song ends, I sink to the floor. Like the last remnants of snow as it melts under the spring sun, everything I am is fading away.
“Hi again.” My head whips up as my body starts from the unexpected voice. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
Trying to gather the fine strings of composure I’m barely clutching onto, I grab my towel and wipe down my sweaty face, watching the beautiful man who knocked me over the last time I was here. My eyes rake over his face. Yep, it wasn’t a mirage, those eyes are the most vibrant topaz I’ve ever seen, and that crooked smile is accompanied by a couple of dimples.
I shake my head in response, but I’m struck speechless. He’s gorgeous—tall and broad, with dirty blond, slightly shaggy hair. God, that face, with his strong jawline which has a couple of days’ worth of beard growth. It’s like he’s just stepped off the catwalk.
“I’m Noah.” He tries to engage me again, holding out his hand. I open and close my mouth before slipping my slick hand into his. I wince when I realise I barely wiped my hands, and he’s gripping onto my sweat.
“I’m Liv. Sorry. I’ve just finished nearly two hours in here,” I explain, pulling my hand out of his hold, embarrassment flaming on my cheeks.
Noah chuckles. “It’s not like I haven’t touched a sweaty woman before.”
I laugh and then snort. Great.
“Oh shit, that wasn’t meant to sound like an innuendo,” he says grinning and I smirk back.
“You
just arrived?” I ask, shaking out my arms. I need to stretch before I cool down completely.
“Yeah. I’m heading upstairs. I have room six booked. Will you be here for much longer?” he asks, his stare flicking up to the ceiling where the studio awaits him, then back to me.
“I’m done,” I tell him. “Just need to stretch.”
“Shit, you should have said, I’ll let you get to that.”
I smile, thankful that I don’t need to explain.
Noah takes a couple of steps toward the door then turns and looks back to me. “Would you like to go for coffee sometime, Liv?”
I hesitate, I can see he’s about to say something else, but I get there first.
“Sure. Tomorrow?”
He nods in agreement. “Tomorrow. You want to meet at the Coffee Cottage on the high street at, say… eleven a.m.?”
“That’s a…” I stop myself from almost saying date. “Sounds like a plan,” I finish. Noah’s lips twitch sexily before he leaves to go to his studio.
I hiss out a breath and sit down ready to reach for my toes. What the fuck is wrong with me? This shit isn’t new—dating, fucking. I’ve done it plenty since Isaac left. Now, suddenly he’s returned, and I’ve reverted back to a young teen at a high school disco again? And it’s not even him who’s asking me out.
“Dammit, what is wrong with me?” I mutter to myself.
“Via.”
My back straightens at the familiar voice. Slowly, I spin around on my bum and face him. Isaac.
Twisted Truth (Truth Vs Lie Book 1) Page 10
