I scowl. He knows that’s not true. Sure, we haven’t gone out in public that often. And when we do, it’s almost always dead out. The golf course was empty when we went and at the store, the only person we saw was the cashier. And lucky for me, he was a newbie I’d never met before. And my “celebrity” only goes so far when you don’t know about Broadway.
“But the real reason,” he admits, his cheeks flushing. He wrings his hands nervously in his lap. “Is that I’m scared. I’m scared of seeing Dad. I’m scared of walking back into that house. I’m scared that seeing him will bring back all of the nightmares I used to have after Charlie died. I’m scared that not even time and distance will heal what I went through. Life was hell, Rowan. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be ready to go back there.”
He deflates and finally looks at me. His eyes are…anxious. His dark cobalt’s shine with unshed tears and I grab his hand, reassuring him I understand. I don’t want him to be in pain. But I also think it might be healing. “Have you talked to your mom at all?”
“A little. I call once a week to check in on her.”
“You never talk to your dad?”
He shakes his head somberly. “He’d prefer to keep me at a safe distance.”
My eyebrows wrinkle and I clench my hands. “A safe distance? What? No—you know what? No. That’s not okay. We should at least go see your mom.”
Lark’s mouth quirks to the side, and I’m rewarded with his double dimple. “You want to meet my mom, Rowan Townsend?”
I smile. “I do. I guess you could say it’s getting pretty serious.”
Lark barks a laugh and we spend the rest of the evening making plans to see his mom until we fall asleep in each other’s embrace.
The breeze against my face smells of day old rain and mud. Speckles of wet dirt hit my face. I turn my head to look around, but my surroundings don’t look familiar. My eyes go wide and my heart begins to beat fitfully in my chest. I grab at the handle on the door, but it refuses to open. The vehicle I’m in speeds up drastically and I’m flown back against the seat. I let out a little yelp.
“Quiet now, Rowan,” the man in the front seat says to me. His coal eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and I narrow mine hoping to see who he is.
He quickly looks away and shifts into another gear, the engine revving loudly. We’re flying down a dirt road. The bumpy pavement underneath the car jolts me out of my seat and the top of my head hits the roof of the car. The farther we travel, the drier the ground becomes. I begin to panic when an old shed comes into view.
I grab at the seatbelt on my chest but quickly realize it’s not a seatbelt but rope. My hands are bound and my feet are tied together snuggly. I pull at them forcefully but I can’t break free.
The man in the front seat watches me struggle, but he keeps driving.
We pass a shed. There are so many trees. All over. Trees. Trees. More damn trees. The sun is beginning to set behind the horizon and it’s too vibrant. I squint my eyes.
Why can’t I remember when I was taken? Did they knock me out? Where’s Lark?
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. My voice is shaky but I sound braver than I feel.
His eyes narrow in the mirror and he grunts. He’s young. Too young. Maybe twenty-five. “Keep quiet. We’ll be there soon.”
I angrily lay my head against the headrest and watch out of the window as we sail across the road.
After what feels like hours, we come to a stop at a red house in the middle of an opening. The trees disperse and men quickly approach the car. Another young man with dark black hair and menacing blue eyes opens my door and pulls me out. And instead of dragging me to the house, he takes me into the woods. I open my mouth to scream, but he quickly covers it with his hand and the sound becomes muffled groans. Another clearing comes into view and I notice a red chair sitting in the middle of the circle. The man leads me to the center and instructs me to sit down. I do as I’m told. They haven’t hurt me yet, and I’m hoping to keep it that way.
They cut my hands free and I rub my wrists vigorously. The rope left indentions and I doubt they’ll ever go away. I push my hair from my face and watch as a man in his thirties walks toward me. From a distance, he appears tall and muscular. His hair is a caramel color and he’s wearing a threatening smile. The corner of his eyes twitch with a rhythmic thump. As he steps in front of me, his face blurs and I blink rapidly to clear my eyes.
“You know why you’re here, Rowan,” he greets. He kneels down in front of me and places his hands on my thighs. I recoil.
“I don’t,” I rasp out.
He smiles and looks to the men on the left. “Bring her. Now.”
Goose bumps break out on my exposed skin and I watch as they pull a woman into the circle. There’s a dark cloth bag over her head, and she’s struggling to get free.
I try to lift my body from the chair, but they’ve tied another rope around my middle. The only body parts free are my hands, which I bang on the arms of the chairs.
“Let her go,” I shout. “Leave her alone!”
The man in front of me laughs. It’s nasty and terrifying. I didn’t know notes could be so frightening. “Remove the cover,” he instructs.
And as the men with the woman remove the black cloth, my screams get trapped in my throat. I clench at my heart and beg for sound to leave my mouth. Her soft blonde hair blows in the breeze as her blue eyes find mine.
“Penny!!” I shout and everything goes black.
“Rowan,” someone says in a hushed tone. My shoulder shakes and I crack my eyes open. “My sweet Little, you were having a nightmare.” This time, his voice is much more aware.
Lark.
I take a deep breath and force my body to stop shaking. Lark pulls me into his embrace and I snuggle closer to his body. He’s warm and real and the only thing I have to hold on to. I nod, but don’t say anything. Not yet. Lark kisses my head and he begins humming a soothing melody. I’ve never heard it before and I close my eyes, listening. His hand rubbing my back moves in unison with his tune and before I know it, I’m relaxed.
When the song ends, he pulls away from me, turns on his side and looks into my eyes intently. “What happened?”
I turn and face him. I push the fallen hair out of his face and touch the light stubble on his cheek. His navy eyes gleam bright in the early morning light and I shake my head. I’ve gone from downright terrified to completely fine in the matter of minutes because this man has some magical way about him. “It was Penny.”
His eyes blink over and over and I know he’s scared to ask.
I continue, “Someone kidnapped me and she was still alive.” I shudder. “It felt real, Lark.”
His hand lands on my arm. “I know, Little. I’m sorry.”
I smile. “Little?”
He blushes and looks down, removing his hand. “Yeah.” His forehead wrinkles and he looks down. “You were so little in my arms. It felt like an appropriate nickname.” He looks up through his lashes, embarrassed. “I can stop.”
“No,” I say quickly, touching his chest. “I like it. Love it, actually. I’ve never had a nickname other than Bumblebee and dad calls me that.” I laugh. “And everyone else calls me Row, but that doesn’t count.”
He scrunches his nose. “I like Little a lot more.”
“Me too.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“Me too,” I say, again.
We pull up to the two-story house just before five o’clock the next day. It’s much more extravagant than my home. The gatekeeper we passed on the way should have been a sign. I had no idea Lark’s family was so well off. “What does your family do?” I ask, taking note of the well manicured bushes and flowers in front of the house.
Lark puts the big SUV in park and looks over at me. “Dad is retired military, as you know, and mom is a doctor.”
I sputter. “A doctor?” My eyes bul
ge and I gulp, suddenly feeling anxious. How did I not know that?
Lark laughs and takes hold of my hand, bringing it to his lips. “Don’t be nervous. She’s not who you have to worry about.”
That doesn’t make me feel much better.
I look back to the house and then to Lark. “Are you nervous?”
Lark moves his eyes in front of us and blinks. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”
“He’s going to be here?” I ask, referring to his dad.
He looks to the left. “Mom tried to get him out of the house, but she let it slip I was stopping by.”
I nod and let go of his hand, opening my door. Lark meets me in front of the car and pulls me into his arms. He breathes deep into my neck and wraps his hand in my hair. He clings to me and I hold onto him as he finds his strength. This man, this strong and resilient man, is having a hard time finding the will to go inside and all I want is to help him.
When he finally lets me go, he pulls back and looks deep into my eyes. He bites his bottom lip and brings his mouth to mine. When we connect, his mouth, warm and alluring, triggers a moan deep inside my chest. It’s unintentional but he has that effect on me. His tongue lightly taps mine and I pull him closer forcefully by his shirt. The gravel under our feet crunch and I feel the small rocks hit my legs as he shuffles closer. He pulls at my bottom lip with his teeth and I yank at his hair. Just as I allow myself to fall into the kiss, he pulls back and kisses my forehead. Red lipped and relaxed, he smiles and winks, pulling me to the door. Who needs anxiety medication when you have Lark Hawthorne to kiss the apprehension out of you?
We walk up the white steps, past the white pillars across the long porch and knock on the big brass knocker on the white door. White. Everything is so clean. That’s probably why Lark seems to be cleaner than any other man I’ve ever met. Seconds pass and with a swift whoosh, the door swings open and a bright eyed older woman greets us with a smile. Her eyes are a lighter shade of blue, but just as mesmerizing as Lark’s. She smiles, her red tinted lips showing her perfect teeth. It’s rather disgusting how gorgeous she is. I’d like to be mad at her, but good god, when you got it, you got it.
My grasp on Lark’s hand tightens and I step forward. He squeezes twice, reassuring me.
“Oh, good heavens,” Mrs. Hawthorne says. Her voice is elegant and breathy. “Lark, Son, it’s so wonderful to see you.” She takes a couple steps with her arms wide, engulfing him in a hug. Reluctantly, he lets go of me and encases her in his solid arms. They stand in the embrace for long seconds and when they let go of each other, both of their eyes are glossy with tears. “It’s been a very long seven years,” his mother says. And I stand there, stunned. I had no idea it had been that long since they had seen each other.
Mrs. Hawthorne finally turns to me with a genuine smile. “Oh, honey.” She looks to Lark with her hand on her chest. “She’s just gorgeous.” Lark looks to me and for the first time, he winks, looking better about his decision to be here. “The other boys arrived about ten minutes ago,” she continues, referring to Chris and Evan who had to scope out the place before we got here. “I asked them to stay, but they declined. They’re out there somewhere.” She twirls her hands around.
My eyes move to the ground and I laugh, pushing my hair back from my face.
“My goodness,” Mrs. Hawthorne says. “I’m so awful. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, Rowan.” She pulls at my hands and her eyes glisten when they meet mine. “I’d begun to think Lark was never going to let me meet you.”
My eyes move to Lark with a sense of awe. She knows about me?
Lark takes a closer step toward me and wraps his arm around my waist, bringing his face close to my ear. “I think she thought I was gay.”
Mrs. Hawthorne slaps Lark on the shoulder, hearing what he whispered. “Lark Hawthorne!” she yelps. “I thought no such thing.”
Lark and I both laugh, and I clasp my arm around his waist, feeling comfortable. “It’s so wonderful to meet you, Doctor Hawthorne.”
She winks. “Call me Mila.” I nod and we follow behind her as she walks into the house.
We’re first greeted with a bone white sitting room. Everything from the stone fireplace to the couches is snowy. The only splashes of color are the pillows and the elaborate paintings on the walls. I feel the need to shield my eyes. Mila guides us through the room into another—bigger—living room. The faint smoke of a cigar wafts through the air, but I don’t see anyone in the room. Mila tells us to sit on the L-shaped ivory couch. Her heels click against the wood floors as she walks out of the room and into what I assume is the kitchen. Lark releases a heavy sigh and sits next to me and I place my hand on his thigh in a comforting gesture.
“Doing okay?” I ask.
He shakes his head but his eyes skirt around the open room. “For now.” His face is slightly red and there’s a light layer of sheen breaking out on his forehead. His eyes are wide in anticipation and I know he’s dreading seeing his father for the first time in God knows how many years.
I keep my hand on his leg and take note of the rest of the house. For such a big house, they have a little television. I don’t know why that seems so odd to me, but it does. The entire back wall is adorned with books. I’d get excited to dig through the troves of books but from what I can see, it’s mostly history and military based. I guess I don’t see Mr. Hawthorne being into romance, but a little part of me can hope that Mila has some gems stashed somewhere in the stacks.
The click-clacking of Mila’s heels bring me to the present and I look up to find her setting down a tray of drinks on the dark wood coffee table in front of us. “Lemonade okay?” she asks.
We both thank her and take our glasses, bringing the cool drink to our lips. Mila sits down in the elegant brass accented chair on the other side of the coffee table and looks to us with wonder in her eyes. “Tell me what you do, Rowan.”
“Oh,” I say, setting my glass down on a coaster on the table next to me. “I’m currently in a show in New York called The Semantics of Serendipity.”
Her eyes shoot up and a sly smile crosses her lips. “Broadway?”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Lark didn’t tell me that.”
I look to him with accusing eyes, but he knows I’m playing. “He didn’t, did he?”
He looks guilty. “What? I’ve told you…other things,” he trails off.
Mila’s nose twitches like she’s fighting a laugh and now I want to know what he’s told her. “Well, I think that’s fantastic,” she says. “What role do you play?”
I feel the heat rush to my cheeks. “The lead role, ma’am. Her name is Sadie and it’s basically about how all of these unanticipated moments form her life.”
“Sounds fantastic. We will have to go see it when we are in the city.”
Lark’s eyes shoot to her.
“We’re thinking about taking a vacation,” she explains. “We haven’t been anywhere in so long.”
Thumps and thuds down the hall catch our collective attention. “Where’s Dad?” Lark asks.
“Finishing up some paperwork,” Mila explains. “He bought a boat this week.”
“A boat?” Lark sputters. “Why on Earth would he buy a boat?”
Mila looks at her lap and smoothes out her blue floral dress with her dainty hands. Her expression makes it seem as if she didn’t really like the idea of Mr. Hawthorne getting a boat, but she’s decided to keep her thoughts to herself. “Mid-life crisis?” she guesses, completely at a loss for words.
Lark laughs through his nose and shakes his head. “Wow.”
Mila leans in closer to us. “He’s changed, Lark. Can you try to give him a chance?” she asks in a hushed tone. Her eyes beg for Lark to understand. And in a way, I ache for all that she’s gone through. Losing a son, having your husband shut down because of it, watching him be a bad father to the one son he has left, being forced to keep your mouth shut because you’re so damn scared. I don’t envy
Mila Hawthorne one bit.
Lark’s still hurt. I can feel his body tense under my palm and I squeeze. He takes a deep, calming breath and laces our fingers together. “I’ll try, Mom.”
A radiant smile spreads across Mila’s face and she nods, sitting straighter in her chair.
Loud footsteps on the hardwood floor approach the living room and once again, I feel Lark tense. His body vibrates and I look at his face. He gulps and his expression wild. Using my other hand, I touch his arm. “I’m here,” I reassure him in a whisper. “Look at me.” He does and within a breath, he softens a little. “He can’t hurt you anymore. I’m here.”
Larks lips turn up and he kisses my forehead. “Thank you.”
Mr. Hawthorne walks into the living room in slow, easy steps with pressed khaki pants and a blue polo. He’s tall, with dark blonde hair. It’s peppered with grey, but all I see is an older Lark looking back. His eyes travel to Mila first and I instantly see the love they share. He smiles and Mila looks away at Lark. Mr. Hawthorne follows her gaze. “Son,” he greets, walking to us.
Lark stands, hesitant to let go of my hand. “Dad,” he utters, his tone anxious and nervous. Lark offers his hand, but Mr. Hawthorne doesn’t shake it. Instead, he takes his hand and pulls Lark into a hug. The gasp that leaves Lark’s mouth echoes throughout the entire living room and Mila covers her mouth, catching the sob. My eyes begin to water and the soft cry that escapes Mr. Hawthorne is what brings us all to tears.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this.
Lark grips his dad’s shirt and they embrace for long minutes while Mr. Hawthorne apologizes over and over into Lark’s shoulder. Tears are streaking down their faces when they finally pull away from each other. Mr. Hawthorne slaps Lark on the shoulder and walks to Mila, bending down to kiss her gently on the corner of her mouth. She pats at her cheeks with a white handkerchief as she watches him sit down in the recliner next to the couch.
The Truth of a Liar Page 14
