Beautiful Deception (Lake Loveless Book 4)

by Addison Moore

  Her blonde hair flickers in and out of existence like a flame as she skirts the shoreline.

  Zoey says she’s a killer. What the hell kind of an admission is that? Killer of hearts? Killer of her own heart? Her soul? Her liver perhaps, judging by her alcohol-soaked night. She can’t kill me. I’m already dead.

  Maybe dirtying up the nights with someone like Zoey is just what it might take to kick-start my heart once again.

  Maybe unlocking her secrets will help heal mine.

  I’m betting it won’t.

  Hot Nights, Deep Water

  Zoey

  When I was a little girl, I would watch with wonder as my father wrapped his loving arms around my mother—as my mother returned all of his warranted affection. They were head over heels in love. My parents were a hallmark of what others aspire to be. They had each other, two beautiful children—one of each gender, a cabin by the lake. They had it all, and it was all horrifically ripped away from them on the night they died in a fiery crash.

  I glance in the direction of Gavin and Demi’s house and frown into my coffee. The sun has lit the lake and subsequently the rooftops of every glorified cabin in Loveless a screaming shade of tangerine. Demi’s father was the one who rammed into my parents that night. She takes full responsibility for the disaster, but it was an accident. Even me in all of my mental chaos can see that clearly. Strange how life worked out for the two of them, though. The odds of Gavin and Demi ever meeting, let alone falling in love, seemed like something out of a movie. And now they’ll be starting a perfect family of their own.

  That Grey Goose at the edge of the table calls my name, and I pour just a drop into my latte. There. I take a sip and feel the burn straight down my esophagus. As happy as I should be for the two of them, I’m just that terrified. True love and happy endings don’t exactly run in my family—Demi’s family doesn’t have that great of a track record either. I can’t stand the thought of something horrific happening to Gavin. He’s all the family I have left, and as much as I should look at Demi and the new baby as a gift, I can’t help but see them as a curse. God knows my own love life has already taken a tragic turn for the worst. It was sort of dead on arrival. Holder and I had it all until we didn’t.

  A tall, dark, shirtless, and relentlessly handsome demigod traipses past my window, interrupting my crazy train of morbid thinking as he makes his way to the lake. I get up and head to the window to get a better look at where my new neighbor the Adonis is heading so early but he’s ditched out of sight. I’m both a night owl and an early riser. People say you can’t have it both ways, but much like in every other facet of my life, I very much want it all. And right about now, I’m having a serious craving for a McCarthy.

  I shower and dress before heading for The Corner Store. Neva greets me with a grunt.

  “Just coffee,” I grunt right back and head to the table with a view of the lake.

  Kennedy breezes in with that happy-go-lucky smile she’s traded her resting bitch face for. Kennedy has been a changed person ever since Caleb swept her off her feet. According to Demi, he came back into town specifically for that reason. When I heard that, my heart sank. It’s not that I’m not happy for Kennedy. It’s just that the prospect of something so romantic ever taking place in my life is zero to none. I’m not the kind of girl that men gravitate toward. I’m the kind of girl they run from, they leave, they trade up for. The only bedmates I’ve managed to secure for myself were the ones I went after with a bottle. I’ve never had a sober man look me in the eyes and say anything remotely endearing. Usually their commands are alcohol-soaked and lewd to the core.

  Gavin’s truck pulls up just below the window, and he offers a friendly wave before hopping out. If my brother knew all the dirty details of my less than savory love life, I’m sure he’d have an aneurysm.

  “Look who’s up with the sun?” Kennedy steals the seat across from me and lands a cup of coffee on the table for the two of us.

  “I’m the undead—thus I don’t need sleep. What’s your excuse?” I take my mug and curl my hands around it for warmth.

  “Caleb left for work. I can’t sleep without him.” She makes a face as if the thought sickened her. It should. It certainly sickens me. There was a time when I desperately wanted Caleb. I could have loved him easily. A part of my numb heart thinks it did. “Anyway, I’m putting together a huge charity auction to benefit—are you ready for it?” She gives a sly side-eye out the window. “Tuesday’s Child. And I wanted to see if you were interested in contributing.”

  Gavin sinks his body into the seat next to me with a cup of coffee of his own and offers a quick peck to my cheek. “Tuesday’s Child? She is interested. We both are.”

  Tuesday Child is the charity that Gavin and Demi started last year to assist runaways with nowhere to go. It dovetails right into Winter Haven, the old mansion Demi was once imprisoned in. It’s been restored, refurbished, and repurposed to service families with young children. There’s a special quadrant for troubled teens. Volunteers from local churches run it. An image of a sea of toddlers blinks through my mind, assuring me Winter Haven is a place I should stay far, far away from.

  “I knew you’d love it.” Kennedy bubbles with enough excitement to power a rocket ship. “I’ve already run it by Demi. She’s more than pleased. Since I’ve nominated myself as the lake’s official director of philanthropy, I’ve decided this needs to be a yearly event. We can focus on a different charity each summer. Now that my mother is stepping down from her directorial efforts, she officially crowned me the new queen of financial distribution. There’s too much wealth on this mountain not to wrangle it for a good cause. Besides, it’s a great excuse for a party.” Kennedy straightens, and her long dark hair waterfalls over her shoulders. “So, Gav—we would love to have as many woodworking sculptures as you’re willing to donate.” She shakes her head, and that partial look of disbelief in her eyes says it all. It’s the same glazed over look people get whenever they see my brother’s art. Gavin’s work is amazingly intricate. The things he has managed to pull from a dead log are just this side of a miracle. He started to make my mother’s face once, and I asked him not to finish it. I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her lifeless form day after day. I would grieve for her freshly each time I saw it. I knew it wouldn’t help me heal. But then, nothing has.

  “Done. And Zoey would love to contribute, too.” Gavin is quick to volunteer me.

  “What could I possibly contribute?” An image of me manning a kissing booth pops to mind, with Abel stepping right up. I’d man that booth all night long. Hell, I’d take Abel home with me and kiss him in far more interesting places. I’ve always been a strong proponent of people getting their money’s worth. Caleb and Abel may look well enough alike, but in actuality, I could tell the difference right when I met them. Caleb is a cannonball, a surefire fit for the dark-haired Barbie across from me. Kennedy is a firecracker. It’s no wonder he proposed by lighting up the sky with a Fourth of July-style spectacular. But Abel—he’s wounded. Mortally so. It’s the exact kind of brooding, blackened heart I can work with. They say people are most attracted to a mirrored version of themselves, and that is most definitely the case with brokenhearted Abel.

  “Believe me, Zoey can contribute with the best of them.” His pale eyes hit the light just right as he looks over at me, and I can still see that fresh-faced boy in him. Gavin was my best friend growing up. I wish it were still the same, but time built a river between us, rushing and dangerous, filled with secrets and cluttered with other people. I don’t think we could ever be the same. “Zoey is an artist. You should see her work. It’s fantastic.”

  A laugh bubbles right out of me and it feels good, like a balm. “I’m not that good.” Not to mention the fact my work has never been on public display. My entire body heats at the thought of having others ogle it, let alone bid on it. How horrible it would be to have nobody bid at all. My cheeks burn with embarrassment just thinking of it.

 
; “If Gavin says you’re fantastic, I’m sure you’re perfect. Besides, nothing yields the big bucks like a good piece or two that people can hang on their walls.” Kennedy pulls out her phone and makes a note. “Give me about a dozen if you can. If not, I’ll take what you’ve got. What are we looking at? Landscapes? Something impressionistic? Let me guess. Pop art.” Her eyes grow wild with glee as if that were her personal favorite.

  “None of the above. I do people.” I wasn’t lying about the sunsets to Abel. Sunsets are the B version of my work, and with limited supplies it’s all I can muster. But people, black and white sketches, it’s what I live for.

  “People?” Kennedy isn’t all that impressed with my people and me. “People are hard to decorate with. People are bidding on those colorful wonders you can whip up. Try to cater to modern décor. This is about the foundation. The goal is to raise as much money as possible.” She pats Gavin on the arm. “Congrats again on the baby. Tell Demi Kennedy is a name that works well with both sexes. I gotta run.” She hops up and breezes right out the door, leaving her coffee behind.

  “Do what you want.” Gavin leans in and gently rocks his shoulder into mine. “You know I love everything you do. Your people are beautiful, and so are you.”

  The coffee burns my palm as I enwreathe the cup with my hand. I wonder if Gavin could see the haunt my soul has become, what word he’d choose to equate me with. I don’t think beautiful would be on the shortlist.

  “We’ll see.” I’d let him know I’m low on supplies, but in no way do I want my brother to play savior for me all of my life. It’s probably best I don’t have any. All of my work would be far too dark and frightening for anyone to be interested in. I should know. I’m a bit dark and frightened at the moment myself. “What are you doing here? Is Demi having a craving?” I make a face and instantly feel bad for having those words come out as a barb. I didn’t mean it that way.

  “You know it. Neva’s boxing up breakfast as we speak.” His entire demeanor grows serious. “Zoey”—he whispers my name in earnest—“are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m okay.” I force myself to blink back to life and drum up an ounce of enthusiasm for this godforsaken day. “I’m better than okay. I’ve got sunshine just itching to get on my shoulders, a new goal in life thanks to Ken, and another McCarthy haunting the boathouse next to mine who’s not so bad on the eyes.”

  “No,” he flatlines as Neva sets down the boxed breakfast.

  “No, what?” I laugh as he rises to go.

  “No to whatever you’re thinking about doing to that new neighbor of yours. Come by tonight and I’ll feed you dinner. Demi’s dying to show you all the baby stuff she’s picked up already. It’s been one never-ending shopping spree ever since we found out.” He kisses his fingers before waving at the two of us.

  A dark laugh thumps through Neva’s chest as she falls in the seat before me. Both Neva’s overdyed hair and sooted soul have always been a touch too dark for me, but that hasn’t stopped us from becoming fast friends.

  “Zoey Jackson, you are a subtle little bitch.” She pulls a pen from her beehive and stabs it behind her ear.

  “I’ve learned from the best.” I lean over and pluck the pen from the side of her head and start doodling on my napkin.

  “Abel seems nice.” She lays her hand over my budding work of art in an effort to garner my full attention. “That is, if you like them bleeding with their entrails dragging behind them. He’s as fucked up as you are in the event you didn’t notice.”

  “I happen to like them mortally wounded—just the way you do.” Neva has a track record of dating a long line of losers. We bonded over our shared sexual encounters with Warren. He’s the prize you never wanted to win.

  Neva pitches her head back and barks out a laugh. “Oh, honey, I may like them damaged, but I’m walking in lucid.” She leans in, those florescent ocean blue eyes of hers lighting up the room as if it were midnight. “You, my rotten friend, are a zombie. Do yourself a favor and keep an arm’s length away from him at all times. Unless you’re willing to deal with all of that sick inside you, whatever you have planned for that boy will backfire spectacularly.” She glowers at me, the heavy frown sinking into her laugh lines. “I’m not exactly a warm and fuzzy person. On a typical day, I put a curse on at least six customers.”

  We share a dry laugh at the thought.

  “But there’s something about you, Zoey.” She shakes her head with a wounded look of her own. “I can’t stand to see you throwing your life away. Don’t chase a broken man. Lose sight of that bottle you’ve leashed yourself to and sweep clean those shards that are cutting you from the inside.” Her dark blue nails graze gently over the back of my hand. “I’m so sick of watching you bleed out. Take action before the universe does. It’s trying to tell you something. Talk to your brother. Tell him the truth.”

  “No.” My eyes widen with horror at the thought. Suddenly, I’m regretting ever spilling my life at her undead feet. But I was drunk, and Neva morphed into one giant over pierced ear. “I’m not talking to anyone. At the moment, I regret talking to you.” I capture her by the wrist and lean in hard. “I will kill you on sight if you ever breathe a word.”

  Neva’s hardened features cut into a razor of a smile. “Make it look like an accident, sweetheart.” She gives a little wink, and a hard groan comes from me.

  Slowly, ever so carefully, Neva and I share a dark and twisted laugh.

  And just like that, she’s lightened my mood as I make my way back to the boathouse.

  A large shipping box sits under the door, and I head over. The address label reads Abel McCarthy, but it’s been crossed out with a Sharpie. The words For you are scrawled over the top. I glance toward his boathouse. Abel is nowhere to be seen, but I can feel him watching me, his gaze blistering the entire right side of my body, so I haul the huge package inside and settle it on the kitchen table.

  Slowly, I pull a knife along the thick brown seam before cracking it open, and I gasp.

  Three moderately small canvases lie in a row, silent as dead soldiers. A six pack of canvas boards sits in front of them, and the rest of the box is filled with watercolors, acrylics, and expensive oil paints. I pull out a kit of brushes, Dossier, a brand that makes me hold my breath because I know how God-awful expensive they are. Just below that sits a box of pastels and charcoals. A kneaded eraser, two stacks of paper—one for watercolor and one for the pastels—a can of fixate, and a bottle of gesso. An entire mini art studio in a box.

  I press my fingers to my mouth a moment, trying to assess just how much and what I shared about my life, and thankfully that brief conversation I had with him comes back to haunt me.

  “Wow,” I marvel, slowly unpacking the contents. First Kennedy, then Gavin, and now Abel. But it’s Neva’s words that come back to me. “Yes, Neva, if I didn’t know better, I’d think the universe is trying to tell me something.”

  In the evening the sun squats low over the lake, melting like an orange Popsicle into the inky fuchsia-kissed water. The trees seem to grow in length with their rich dark hues, crowding around Lake Loveless like brokenhearted suitors she will never choose.

  Abel appears at the shoreline as if he had simply blinked to life at the edge of the water, giving a friendly wave, and I marvel at this beautiful beast of a man who has the power to warm my heart with one thoughtful gesture.

  “Hey, neighbor,” I call out as I head on down to meet him.

  He spreads a worn plaid blanket onto the sand before falling over it and patting a seat for me. Abel McCarthy has an openness—a dare I say, friendliness—about him that wasn’t available to me through either Warren or Caleb. It’s almost as if he actually wants me around, and just before that thought permeates my mind, I’m quick to shoo it away.

  “What’s this?” I tease, landing next to him. My legs curl up as I hug my knees like a giddy teenager. “Was that an actual invite?”

  “Who wouldn’t invite you to sit with them?” He offers a
sly wink as if it were a joke, and my heart splits open. I brush the thought away. I’m so tired of trying to decipher every wink and blink mankind has to offer as some sort of a ripe rejection. I’m getting pretty tired of rejecting myself as well.

  “Thank you for the art supplies.” The moment grows somber as his affect falls to match with mine.

  “You’re welcome. I’m sure you’ll put them to good use.” He reaches over and pats my knee, an altogether platonic gesture, and now I don’t know what to make of this man. I’ve never met a boy who didn’t want something sexual from me. At school I always felt like a walking exchange program. And I would often get the shitty end of the exchange. Men are most interested in what you can gift them sexually, and receiving a valuable gift would need to be somehow reciprocated in a sexual nature. With Abel, I would gladly comply with those old foolish rules.

  “You didn’t have to do that. Please, let me pay you back. I know that stuff is expensive.”

  “It’s a gift, Zoey.”

  He leans back, and the orange glow from the sun makes love to his eyes. Abel truly is a god—Zeus with fire streaming from his eyes. He has no idea how effortlessly he’s seducing me, how far I’d be willing to go to get what I want from him. I’m not looking for love. I gave up all hope of that. I just need somebody to hold—and, dear God, Abel McCarthy has the perfect body to do so much more than hold. It’s practically a waste to let him sit by the lake unattended.

  “And what do you propose I do with this gift?” I’m teasing. I know full well that each and every thing in that magical box will be utilized for the greater good of Kennedy’s charity. But I’m loving the attention this beautiful man has given me, and now I need more of it like a choice drug. Anything, a word, a gesture, a simple smile that sets those dimples of his detonating like bombs. In a strange way, I realize that I need him. And this realization alone makes me suddenly despise him just enough. Needing someone has always been the root of all evil in my life. Needing someone is the poison at the bottom of the well. There is no recovering from that kind of desperation. Not a drop of alcohol will help you forget how low you’ve fallen. I should know.