“What do you want?” My question comes out sharper than I intend, and immediately I feel bad. “Sorry,” I say slouching over and gathering my knees up into my arms.
“I wanted to see if you were okay. Mum called me this morning and told me about Aunt Libby. I figured you’d come here,” he replies softly.
My chest warms at his words, but within an instant, guilt washes over me. I feel happy that he knew where I’d be, that he knows me so well, but how can I feel happy when I’ve just lost my aunt? When my whole family is grieving? What’s wrong with me?
“What is it?” Isaac demands, his tone sharper now.
“Nothing,” I automatically reply.
“Bullshit,” he returns, striding over and sitting down next to me. “You don’t want to tell me? Fine. Just let me be here for you.”
“Isaac, don’t you think we should talk?” I ask. There is so much that’s been left unsaid, and with my aunt’s passing, it’s brought realisations to the front of my mind, things I was trying to bury, pretending they didn’t matter, and that they never would. I need to acknowledge my feelings and his. We need to talk. That doesn’t mean there will ever be an ‘us.’ If he can’t be honest with me, then there’s nothing to build upon. Trust, for me, is the bottom line in any relationship.
“We do. But not now. Let’s focus on getting through the next couple of weeks, and then we’ll talk.”
I nod, and Isaac places his arm around my shoulders pulling me into his chest. I forget about stretching as I cry. For my aunt, for my uncle, for my family, and for me.
LIV
Why are my hands sweaty? Ugh. I grab a napkin and wipe my damp palms. I’m sitting in Coffee Cottage waiting for Noah. I’m early by fifteen minutes.
Is a fleeting thought still considered fleeting when it keeps coming back around? At least four times since arriving I’ve had to force my body to stay seated rather than making a break for it.
Once again I’m blaming Isaac. For some reason since his return, I’m unable to date like a normal woman. I was fine before.
I was broken before.
I shove the errant thought away as the little bells over the door jingle, and Noah steps in. His frame almost fills the door. Isaac would fill that door. Shaking my head, I pinch my knee like I’m telling myself off. It’s not going to help, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Hey.” He smiles, casually strolling over to me. “You’re early.”
“Morning. You too.” I offer a smile back to him.
“Coffee?” he asks, then frowns when he realises I have a cappuccino in front of me.
I giggle. “No thanks, maybe in a bit?”
“Yeah. I’ll just go grab one,” he says smiling again. Damn those dimples.
“So, how long have you been waiting?” he asks once he’s got his drink. He sits down and shrugs off his jacket. He’s wearing a navy blue shirt, and I can’t help but think about how the colour would look gorgeous on Isaac.
Stop it. Fuck.
“Liv?”
Damn, I’ve been staring at his chest. “Sorry.” I blush. Why I’m blushing, I have no idea. “I’ve only been here about ten minutes, you’re early too.”
“Okay, want to hear a secret?” he asks.
I frown. “Not if it’s something that could later lead to my untimely death,” I exaggerate.
“Ha, no. I was nervous.”
“About what?”
“Coming to meet you today.” He surprises me.
“Oh?”
Noah shrugs but doesn’t say any more about it.
“So, what do you do, you know as a job?” I ask.
“I’m a teacher.”
“Oh, wow, I never would have guessed,” I answer then bite the corner of my mouth when I realise that sounded rude. “Sorry.”
Noah chuckles. “No, it’s fine, people are often surprised. Though I’m not sure why?” He frowns and a cute little line appears between his eyebrows. People are probably surprised because he looks like a model.
“What do you teach?” I ask bringing the conversation back to the fore.
“Year two kids…” he smiles, “… they’re six and seven-year-olds. They absorb so much at that age, so innocent and keen to learn, that’s not to say you don’t get the little terrors, too,” he tells me, but his smile has widened even more, and it’s clear how much he loves his job. “Saying that, I did go to Uni, got a degree in history.” He winks, and I can’t help but giggle in response. “What about you?” he asks when my giggling subsides.
“What about me?” I return.
“What’s your job?”
I gulp. It’s the question I hate the most. I’m not embarrassed about my job, actually I kind of love it, but it’s the reactions from others I could do without. They’re what cause my stomach to knot before revealing the truth. Grabbing my cup, I take a sip of my lukewarm drink before grimacing and spitting the cold cappuccino back into the mug. The minute I do it, I remember where I am, and my eyes lift to Noah’s.
“Sorry,” I whisper, and he surprises me by erupting with laughter.
It’s now or never. “I’m a stripper,” I tell him, and his laughter halts abruptly.
“A stripper?” His lips twitch. Okay, that isn’t a bad sign.
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you supposed to demand to be called an exotic dancer or something other than stripper?” he asks, obviously hiding his grin.
“Well, do you like to be referred to as a mentor for the juvenile?”
He bursts into laughter again, and the six or so people in the coffee shop all turn and stare.
“Fair point.” He shakes his head, and his laughter dies down. “So tell me a little bit about you.”
He sits quietly, listening intently to everything I tell him. Almost like the children he teaches, he’s absorbing all the details I offer him. After explaining about wanting to dance but not being able to get anywhere because of my tattoos, I become quiet.
“I’m surprised, in this day and age I would have thought a lot of people have tattoos.”
“Yeah, but most don’t have as many as I do.” I shrug.
He scratches the back of his neck, and his eyebrows bunch together in thought. “I love tattoos…”
“You have tats?” I ask cutting him off.
“No.” He smirks. “I love them on women,” he says eyeing my bare arms, which showcase some of my ink.
Moving on quickly before I say something stupid.
“So tell me, Noah, what do you like to do?”
“Well…” he stretches out his arms and leans back in his chair, “… when I’m not teaching, I dance, obviously.” He winks cheekily at me. “I have a younger sister, and it’s just been us since our parents retired to Spain about ten years ago.”
“Do you visit them often?” I ask, and his smile drops.
“They died a couple of years ago… both got pneumonia and didn’t take themselves to the hospital.” He doesn’t say any more, but I’m already in a different place. For the last twenty minutes, I’ve been able to forget about Aunt Libby. Most people would have probably offered him their condolences by now, he’s no doubt wondering why I’m sitting here with a face like a slapped arse. “Are you okay?” he asks, and my eyes move from the stare down with the cafe table to meet his gaze once again.
“My aunt died yesterday.”
“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry.” He rushes out and reaches across the table placing his hand over mine.
“Thanks,” I reply hollowly.
“We can cut this short if you want?” he offers, and I can hear his tone is genuine.
“No. Truth is, this has given me something else to think about. Does that make me a bad person?” I ask.
“Absolutely not,” he states with complete certainty. “We all deal with grief differently, no one way is wrong, as long as it’s not destructive to either ourselves or others.” I watch him, narrowing my eyes and wondering where this hot, kind, school teacher came from. “I�
�ve been there remember, Liv?”
“Thanks,” I croak out.
“Anytime. And speaking of anytime, do you want to do this again? You know, when you’re in a better headspace?” he asks.
I think about his offer and what it really means. My head is fucked up right now, and it’s only caused in part by my aunt’s death, the rest is because of Isaac. Do I want to bring someone into my world and hurt them unnecessarily? No. I don’t.
“I’m not sure…”
“Is it because of the guy? The one from the other day?” he asks me with a small smile. I notice this time it’s soft but sad.
I nod, unable and unwilling to lie to him. “There’s history between us,” I reply.
“Figured,” his reply is one of defeat.
“He’s been… away for a few years, and he’s just appeared back on the scene. I’m not sure where my head’s at, and honestly, no matter what he says, I’m not sure he really knows where his head’s at either,” I explain then groan. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you all this, you don’t want to know about my crappy baggage.”
One side of his mouth lifts in a half grin, and he squeezes my fingers. I hadn’t even realised his hand was still covering mine. “How about this? We take it slow, spend time together as friends. Everyone needs more friends, right? No pressure. You can even talk to me about the guy, and I’ll try to help.”
“No ulterior motive?” I question dubiously.
He laughs and holds one hand up making what I think is a Boy Scout sign. “I promise.”
Narrowing my eyes, I can’t help but laugh. “If you can make me laugh when I feel this sad, conflicted, helpless, and broken, then you’re someone I need in my life, Noah…” I realise I don’t know his surname.
“Noah Maitland.”
“Olivia McKenna.” I hold out my hand, and he clasps my fingers pulling my knuckles to his lips and touching them with a soft kiss.
“Here’s to the start of a beautiful friendship, Olivia McKenna,” he replies.
I roll my eyes. “Really?”
“What?” He blushes. “It was the best I could come up with.”
“We need to work on your cheese level, Noah Maitland.”
We both smile and I feel relaxed for the first time in the last few weeks.
ISAAC
Movement wakes me and I bolt upright moving straight into a defensive position. I relax when I see Shelly. She knows how to approach me when I’m asleep without getting hurt.
“Sorry, your mum called. I think you’re needed.”
I nod, scrubbing my hand across my face. Yesterday was hard. I’ve been keeping eyes on Via, and when those eyes reported back that she had met with pretty boy from the dance studio, it wasn’t anger I felt, it was pain. Worse, it was pain laced with fear. I’m not giving up on her, not until she has a ring on her finger and a legal document taking someone else’s last name. Even then, I’m not sure I’ll stop fighting.
“Thanks,” I answer.
Shelly nods before leaving. When she does, I get out of bed and stride my naked arse to the en-suite, needing to shower and wake up before calling my mum back. I can’t help acknowledging the morning wood standing strong and proud as I get under the water stream. Groaning, I wrap my palm around my dick and picture Via on her knees with her lips wrapped around me as her moans vibrate along my shaft. With the image of Via at my helm, I release quicker than a teenager watching porn with only a sock covering his dick. My orgasm is hollow though, I feel no satisfaction as I turn the water off.
“Mum,” I say the moment she answers my call.
“Isaac.” The pain laced in her tone is fucking hard to hear, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Shelly said you called, is everything okay?” I question sitting at the window in my room and watching the street distractedly.
“We’re… well, we’re as good as can be expected.”
I nod, not that she sees me.
“It’s your Uncle Dane.”
I sigh. I thought it might be something to do with him.
“He’s not coping,” I state.
“No. He’s shut himself off. I think he’s drinking, but I’m not sure. We’re not allowed to visit the house.”
“Mum, it’s been what? Three days since Aunt Libby died. What exactly is it you expect from him?” I ask rubbing my temple.
“Isaac James!” she snaps, and I roll my eyes. Luckily, she can’t see me. “If this was one of us, would he leave us be? Let us wallow in our pain?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, my body submits to her words and my shoulders sag. She’s right, Uncle Dane wouldn’t leave us to wallow alone, he wouldn’t let any of us shut him out, not ever.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“What do you think? Go around and see him. You’re the one person he can’t keep out. Not physically anyway, and besides, you always had a bond with him, one that not even his kids can understand since, you know, they don’t know about either of you.”
“Sure, Mum, I’ll go see him today.”
“Thanks, baby boy,” she says and hangs up. I shake my head but smile. I love my mum, but she still sees me as this helpless young kid who needs looking after. Hell, maybe she’s right.
“Uncle Dane,” I announce walking into the dark living room of his house. A pungent smell greets me, but there’s no response from the man himself. He doesn’t even look up to acknowledge me with his eyes. The only reason I know he’s alive is because of the lurching movement as he shoots down the rest of his drink. Scotch, going by the bottle on the coffee table. Yep, definitely scotch, I conclude as he grabs said bottle by its neck and fills the glass again.
Rounding the table to face him, I can’t help but stare. It’s been only days since Aunt Libby died, but it’s been a couple of months that she’s been battling with a life-ending illness and that time has taken its toll on my uncle. He’s lost weight and is looking gaunt. His hair is longer than ever, appearing greasy and unkempt. My uncle’s scruffy and worn like a homeless person. His eyes are sunken on his pale face, and if it weren’t for the fact that I know how much my aunt dying has affected him, I would assume he had a terminal illness too, just from his appearance.
“Uncle,” I snap, swiping the bottle from his loose grip.
His eyes stumble up my large frame until they reach mine, and I painfully watch as he tries to focus and clear his haze.
“Isaac?” he coughs out, a frown appearing on his forehead.
“Hey,” I say, softening my voice. Dropping the bottle back on the table, I seat myself in the chair next to his. He struggles to follow my movements, blinking almost continuously.
“She’s gone.” His words are spoken raggedly, like a wounded animal.
“I know,” I reply sadly.
“I c-can’t… t-there…” Fumbling over his thoughts, he stops talking completely as the sobs rise from his throat and spill over onto his broad shoulders causing them to shake. Placing one arm around my uncle, his body sags limply into mine, and I hold him as he silently cries into my shoulder.
Uncle Dane is one of the few people who had a role in helping me become the man I am today. He helped me get my job, and he worked with the best. Hell, he was one of the best. This big, strong man who could kill someone with one hand tied behind his back and both eyes closed—even at his age—is currently falling apart in my arms. The despair rolling off him is beginning to choke me, and the harder I grit my teeth and attempt to hold my shit together, the harder the emotion cracks, breaking something inside of me. Twenty-two minutes it takes for Uncle Dane to calm down enough that he can physically move away from me. There are no words I can say to make this better, so I wait while he pulls his shit together.
Wiping his face and swiping the hair from his eyes, Uncle Dane reaches for his glass and refills it before swigging down the whole lot in one go. He hisses through his teeth as no doubt the burn sears his throat.
“After I lost Nova the first time
, I lived a half-life, a robotic existence that forced me to become cold and calculating. When she came back, she freed me, Isaac. She didn’t make me want to be better, she simply made me better just by being her.”
His eyes are wild and far away as he forgoes the glass and takes a swig of Scotch straight from the bottle this time. “The truth is, Isaac, I don’t know how to exist without her, not anymore. And honestly?” He places the bottle down on the coffee table and stares directly into my eyes. They’re clear now—cold, aware, and focused. “I don’t want to.”
He gets up, staggering away, then he starts climbing the stairs as I sit having not a fucking clue what to do. Halfway up he stops. “Thanks for coming over, Isaac,” he says leaning over the banister. “You did what you could. But without her, it’s like my heart has been ripped clean out of my body.”
Standing, I move to the hallway looking up at him.
Uncle Dane stares back at me earnestly. “I hope you never feel this pain, the only way I can even try to describe it?”
I grab the banisters and wait for him to finish.
“Imagine if your mum visited you at your home tonight and told you that Liv had died.”
With those parting words, he drags himself up the stairs, and I release my grip, clutching my stomach as my mind is assaulted with images of Via dying.
I’ve been through a lot in the last five years, but even the pain of being tortured for days doesn’t come close to the agony—which isn’t even justified—that right now is winding me.
I finally understand that my uncle can’t cope. It also makes me realise that none of us can do anything for him. He’ll never find peace, not now she’s gone. And I know because I’ll never be at peace without Via.
LIV
“That was brutal, are you okay?” Toby asks me, slipping his arm around my shoulders.
I nod. Right at this moment I can’t speak. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth and I’m battling with my inner emotions so I don’t turn into jelly and sob like a baby. We’re leaving Aunt Libby’s funeral, and Toby is taking me to the wake at Mum and Dad’s house.
Twisted Truth (Truth Vs Lie Book 1) Page 11
