The Truth of a Liar

by Cassie Graham

  Landon takes my curt tone and nods. “I, uh, just wanted to make sure you were all right.” How chivalrous. “We haven’t seen each other in a while and I’ve been meaning to call.”

  Um, to say what?

  I open my mouth, and then close it, looking like some fish begging for water. I have absolutely no idea what to say.

  “How nice for you,” Zander cuts in, his tone cold as stone. If words could kill, he’d be shooting icicles out of his mouth, piercing Landon right in the gut. Even I retreat.

  Landon ignores Zander, keeping his intense stare aimed at me. The sounds of the bar go mute and all I can see are his magnetizing eyes.

  I sigh. “What do you want, Landon?” My heart can’t take much more. I know I’m being a whiney girl right now, but I’m an emotional lush. I really just want to go home and not think about men. All of them suck.

  “I just—I miss you,” he says the words like he’s sorry for saying them. And he damn well should be.

  I sputter a very un-ladylike. “You?” My words are beginning to become more slurred and I have to really concentrate on saying what I mean. “You miss me?” I cackle. “Landon.” I pat his arm, almost remorseful for him. “Honey, that ship has sailed. Like, it’s been around the world a few times and is sitting at the dock waiting to go out again. You are not allowed to miss me. Got it?” I blink rapidly and take hold of the booth behind me. The room is spinning slightly and if it doesn’t stop moving so fast, I’m going to ralph all over Landon’s very expensive boots. I point into the air for good measure and look back at Zander who winks, proud of me.

  “Well, then,” Landon says, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “I—I guess I’ll let you be. I really am sorry.”

  And those last two words are what shatter me in to a billion shards. My heart explodes and the shrapnel pierces every inch of my chest, leaving me grabbing at my shirt. I have been waiting for those three tiny syllables for months. Days after finding him with her, I clung to the hope that he was going to find me and grovel for forgiveness. And being completely honest, I loved him enough to give him a second chance.

  That moment never came. He never showed up on my doorstep begging for me to understand. He never told me he’d made a mistake. He never said sorry. And maybe I wouldn’t have forgiven him, I don’t know. But the apology would have gone a long way. A little remorse would have showed me I wasn’t just some girl filling the time until someone better came along. He’d made me feel used and up until three minutes ago, never apologized for it.

  He is scum.

  Landon watches me carefully, regret written all over his face and turns to leave, giving me one sad, broken look.

  I grind my teeth and open my stupid, stupid mouth. “Landon, wait.”

  He turns, hopeful.

  I force the nausea down and somehow stifle the words, “I forgive you.” Because despite the fact that he royally screwed me over, I’m not one to hold grudges. Hell, he might have done me a favor. Watching him parade himself all around town the past couple of months, I probably dodged a bullet.

  The clouds in his eyes clear a little and he smiles. “That means a lot, Rowan.”

  With nothing left to say, I nod curtly and watch as he returns to his friends. They all look at me with cautious eyes, some even waving, and I do my best not to look too damaged.

  When I decided to leave Boys Don’t Cry, I knew I had to leave everything and everyone behind. That meant all of the friendships, all of the connections and all of the memories. I know I didn’t do anything wrong, but anything associated with Landon brought me back to that day, and I couldn’t risk going to the dark place he left me in. And I think, in a way, they all understood. Even the director and stage manager guided me toward The Semantics of Serendipity and I was able to move on. I’ve been able to grow. As a person and as an actor.

  My path has been bumpy and riddled with heartache, but it brought me to a happier place.

  Maybe that’s the thing about clarity. It’s never really clear. The fog doesn’t just disperse. It takes its time and dies off when the time is right. Maybe there’s more to my suffering than I know.

  “You might be the nicest person I’ve ever met,” Zander utters, spinning the straw in his drink. “Seriously.” My vision begins to double. Whoa. “You just forgave him for the ultimate no-no.”

  I lean my head on the cool table and grumble a response. Little specks of salt stick to my forehead but I don’t move. My eyes become heavy and the next thing I know, I’m being picked up by someone, and an unrecognizable scent makes my hazy brain tell my nose to nuzzle the soft skin. I don’t care if it’s wrong. I’m going to do it.

  Sounds of the outside world fill my ears, but I can’t force my eyes to open long enough to see where the person is taking me. I feel safe and warm, and at the moment, that is all that matters. Car horns beep and people all around us shout out loud. A light sprinkle of rain hits my forehead but I only snuggle closer to the person holding me. Effortlessly, I’m hauled into the familiar SUV, and I lay my head back on the headrest.

  “I’m here, Rowan,” he whispers in my ear, and his minty breath tickles my cheek. He kisses my forehead with a feather-like touch, and before I can fathom whom the voice belongs to, I fall to the side and snuggle into the cool leather cushion. The reverberation of the road underneath the tires lulls me to sleep.

  I have to pee. Like, really bad. If I don’t get up and move my body toward a room where that is acceptable, I’m going to go right here in my bed.

  Another twist of my gut spurs me into action. I throw the blankets off of my body and swing my legs over the bed. My overly warm feet flinch as they connect with the arctic wood floor. Goosebumps rise on my arms the second the air makes contact with my skin and I shiver all the way to the bathroom, cursing myself for not wearing more clothes. My eyes are heavy the moment I sit down. I seriously drank too much. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Feeling the soft texture of the deep purple rug under my feet, I finish my business and move to the sink. The mirror is outlined with a white frame, and I hadn’t noticed before, but there are small carvings around it. Intricate flowers and vines, someone put a lot of work into making it look so beautiful. God, the ridiculous shit I notice when I’m hungover.

  After I’m done, I make my way back to my bedroom and the grandfather clock at the end of the hall catches my eye. It’s five o’clock in the morning and I have the opportunity to go back to sleep. I haven’t been able to wake up after the sun rises in months. Oh, happy damn day.

  I gleefully stroll into my room, but not before giving a little yelp when I realize Lark is passed out on the reading chair in the corner of the room. I cover my mouth. The guy’s usually on high alert, and I didn’t wake him with my yelp. He must be out.

  The sun doesn’t come up until late in the morning, but the lights from the house out back give my room a slight glow and I’m able to get a good look at Lark. His dark hair is unruly and more than a little messy. It’s splayed on the back of the chair and has fallen into his eyes. Seeing him like this—god, he’s beautiful. His plump bottom lip twitches, and he licks it. I’m mesmerized by the path it takes and watch with rapt attention. With one arm behind his head, the heavy blanket is haphazardly strewn across his body. Even asleep, his muscles move and spasm. They coil around his arm and I know I’m taking too much time looking at them when I start counting the veins. His head is tilted to the side and the pulse just under the skin on his neck is prominent, almost like the dream he’s having is making his heart pound at a ridiculous speed. The pulse just underneath his skin keeps me enamored, making me crave every beat. My eyes grow bigger the faster it pulsates and I know I’ve officially lost my mind. Who creepily watches someone’s heart rate? I am no nurse, what the hell am I doing? I shake my head and burrow back into my bed.

  Without warning, a sneeze sneaks up on me and I muffle it with my blanket.

  “Huh? What?” Lark says, jumping from his chair, ready to fight. The blanket falls
from his body and his fists clench. Apparently sneezing into my pillow didn’t muffle the sound enough.

  Pulling my body up to sit straight, I raise my hands in caution. “It’s just me, Lark. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  His sleepy eyes blink a few times and he scratches his right arm. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “I see that, Jumpy.” I laugh. “I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”

  I begin to slink back in my bed, not wanting to take any more of his time. The guy hardly sleeps, lord knows he could use a few more hours of rest. But instead of returning to his chair, he sits down on the bed next to me, touching my forehead with the palm of his hand, his expression kind. “Are you okay? You were pretty out of it when I brought you home last night.”

  He brought me home? Did he kiss me on the forehead last night or did I dream that?

  Heat rushes to my face as my mind recalls last night’s events. Not one of my finest moments let me tell you.

  “I’m um, I feel all right.” I giggle nervously. What respectable twenty-nine year old giggles? Stop it! “A little bit of a headache.” My chest heaves up and down and you’d think I’d just run a marathon. I’m on high alert with Lark’s close proximity and I hate to admit, but I really enjoy that he’s so concerned about me.

  I gulp down my embarrassment and relish in the feeling of having his skin on mine, he’s yet to remove his hand. The blanket grates around my waist and Lark moves closer, my queen size bed feeling far too small for the two of us.

  Without warning, the mood shifts. It’s thick and intoxicating. My vision blurs. I stay silent and bite my lip as he moves his hand lower, down my temple to my cheek. White-hot tingling follows his touch and I have to remind myself to remain calm. Like a skittish deer in the wild, Lark could snap out of his haze at any moment and leave me feeling eager and wanting.

  I don’t know if it’s the early morning scent in the air or the fact he’s completely unrestrained at the moment, but my body hungers to be touched by him. If I didn’t have any dignity, I’d be in his lap, kissing the shit out of him.

  Lark’s eyes speak, intense and hungry. He’s a different man when he allows himself to be seen.

  In the early morning light, his eyes stare into mine, waiting, maybe even begging for me to stop him. But I can’t. I won’t.

  His hand sinks lower and he cups my neck, his fingers toying with the hair on the back of my head, sending chills all over my body. His thumb grazes my jaw and I lean into him. Turning my head, I lightly kiss the inside of his hand. Lark’s eyes blaze heat and narrow slightly and he bites the inside of his cheek. It’s only then that I realize what I actually did.

  I kissed Lark…well, sort of. Oh God.

  Slowly, though, the corner of Lark’s mouth quirks and he takes his other hand and mimics its twin. He looks at me fixedly, so much desire pouring from his body blanketing my own. I can’t decide if his intensity shocks me or turns me on. I turn my body to get closer to him, not caring that this might ruin everything.

  My need outweighs my worry, and I grab his forearm, feeling the hard muscles reacting to my touch. They twist as he caresses my cheek and I nearly look away from his gaze to watch. The contact causes us both to gasp a sharp intake of air and Lark’s eyes dart to my mouth, him dampening his own. My eyes go wide as he pulls my body closer to his. His chest mere inches from my own, my breasts brushing his skin with every breath. My nipples pucker at the contact, and I watch as Lark’s eyes travel down my face, concentrating on the contours of my neck, and then lower to settle on my chest. His nostrils flare and I know it’s taking an insane amount of restraint for him not to throw me down on the bed.

  Finally, he brings his mouth close to my clavicle, speaking softly onto my skin. I can’t make out the words he’s humming, but as his lips brush my heightened skin, I moan and lean my head back, giving him better access. His right hand makes its way down my arm, settling on my ribcage and I gasp as his thumb grazes the underneath of my breast.

  His tongue darts out to taste my skin and I let go of his arm to grab hold of his torso, so solid and strong. I need to get closer. I need to feel more. My hands claw wildly in sync with his movements. His lips make contact with my ear and I know this is what ecstasy feels like. The moisture from his tongue sends me over the edge, pulling at his body. He hasn’t even kissed me yet and already he’s brought me closer to bliss than any other man has in months. His needy hands massage and work my body, causing it to tremble in anticipation. His mouth skims up the side of my neck and he stops just at my jawbone. The light dusting of hair on his face scratches my delicate skin, and I wonder what it would feel like on other places. On my lips. Sweet lord. His teeth nibble just below my ear and oh my god, if this is what being this close to Lark is, I don’t think I want to go back.

  I don’t care if it’s sinful. This feeling, right now, it makes all of the bad in my life seem like child’s play in comparison. Landon and Cameron…they’re distant memories.

  It’s almost as if I’ve waited all of my life to feel this way with this man.

  “I want you. So much, Rowan,” Lark whispers. He reverberates pain, yet his voice is heady. Strained, he hisses as I move my hands lower, settling on the hem of his pants.

  I move my head to look at him. I place my hand on his cheek, and touch his bottom lip with my thumb. He’s so soft, yet so incredibly masculine. I want to climb inside of his mind and explore every inch of him. I want to discover all of his inner workings, his secrets. The ones he’ll openly admit to and the ones he hides under his bed.

  He clenches his teeth, but his eyes are inquisitive, curious. We stare at each other for an incalculable amount of time. The seconds seem to pass at a glacial pace and in this moment, I’m thankful. I know when this ends, it’ll be done for good.

  It’s almost as if I’m visiting a foreign place and it’s my last day and I know if I don’t sample the unique cuisine and take mental pictures of the scenery, I’ll never find the feeling deep inside of me again. It’ll be lost forever.

  My stomach flops at the thought.

  “Lark.” I breathe. Saying his name in this setting is enough to send me over the edge and into the unknown.

  His body vibrates as the word passes my lips, and he moves his face closer to mine. His lips are millimeters from making contact and all I’d have to do is breathe and we’d be connected, but I refuse to move.

  “Say it, again,” he demands, his breath washing over my face. “This might be the last time. Say it one more time, please. For me.” He closes his eyes with a small smile playing on the edge of his lips. His hand makes its way up to my face again and he clings to me as if I’m his anchor, tethering him to this world.

  I muster all of the courage I have and mutter his name, letting it float out of my mouth, my lips brushing his in the slightest.

  Lark hisses, and this time, I know it’s in longing.

  And then it happens…he kisses me just once. So soft and so wanted. His lips form to mine and my entire body explodes with emotion. He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth, never letting go, deepening the kiss. His tongue is cautious but I meet him stroke for stroke. It’s gentle and restrained, yet perfect in every imaginable way. His one hand never leaves my neck, and while we’re connected, it works in rhythm with our kiss. His touches are tender, his need isn’t. He’s being careful, but there isn’t enough self-control to mask what he is really feeling.

  When he finally releases me, I have to remind my lungs to take in air. My mind clouds with Lark and my heart swells with countless sensations. He blinks and he stares at my lips.

  Lowering his forehead to mine, he breathes deep. In and out. In and out. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t make a run for the door…he simply breathes. There’s no palpable regret in the air, there’s no anger.

  We both want this.

  We both need this.

  I know what we just did will change things. I know our actions are going to have consequences. I know all of that.
I just can’t find a reason to be upset about it.

  He caresses my nose with his and he gulps. “This probably wasn’t the best idea.” His forehead is still touching mine, and I nod slightly. But I think it’s a bad idea for a whole different reason—at least for me.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he confesses, taking another deep breath.

  When we finally separate, he brushes my hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear, bringing his lips to my forehead, breathing in. As he pulls back, his eyes are still kind, no longer apprehensive or puzzled. It’s kind of like the fog has lifted. But even though I see the clarity in his expression, I know this won’t happen again.

  He’s hesitant to leave just as I’m not ready for him to go. Sadness rushes over me, thinking he’ll have to leave. But he can’t stay. The guys will be awake soon. One of them might even be in the house now. It’s not unusual for Lark to stay in my room. It’s kind of like this unsaid agreement we all have. Lark is the only one allowed in my room. But if someone saw us in bed together, I can’t even imagine how that would go over.

  Ugh. I’m really not ready to have him leave and never come back. He might not even stay in the chair at night anymore. I’m not ready for our moment to be over. I’m not ready to admit I’ve let myself fall for him despite the fact that he and I have a past that he doesn’t remember. That’s a whole other problem in itself.

  “I should probably go.” Lark begins to move off the bed, but I grab his hand. He takes a few breaths before turning toward me. And when he does, his eyes plead with mine.

  “Lay with me? Just for a little bit.”

  His eyes look to the door and he doesn’t answer. I can see warring emotions on his face. He seems to be weighing our odds.

  I impatiently wait for his answer, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. He squeezes it, still watching the door.

  After agonizingly long seconds, he kisses the top of my hand and walks to the door, closing it with a soft click.