Dare to Lie

by Jen McLaughlin

  I stood, swallowing as I smoothed my sweater over my stomach, which knotted with fear. “I agree. What happened out there?”

  “That’s not what I need to talk to you about.” He headed into the kitchen, and I followed him. As he pulled a mug out of the cabinet, he sighed. “It’s Scotty.”

  “Oh God. No.” Fear struck my heart. Icy, cold, unforgiving. I gripped the edge of the island, a hollow noise echoing throughout my head. “Is he . . . ?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “He’s alive. But—”

  I collapsed into the chair by the entry of the kitchen, my legs trembling. “Maybe next time, open with that? Jesus.”

  “Sorry.” He slid a coffee pod in the Keurig and hit the brew button before turning back to me. His jaw was hard. “I made Scotty tell you he didn’t love you.”

  Blinking in shock, I pressed a hand to my racing heart, pain twisting in my chest so sharply for a second that I couldn’t breathe. Out of all the things I could have imagined him saying, this was pretty much last on the list. “Wait. What?”

  “All those things he said in the hospital. It was me. Not him.” He rubbed his jaw, letting out a long, slow breath. “I made him break up with you because he’s not good enough for you.”

  I stared at him, not speaking.

  Truth be told, I had no words.

  None. At. All.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I blinked.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  I didn’t move.

  Neither did Tate.

  “I was trying to protect you,” he said, his tone hushed.

  Still I said nothing. Just gripped my thighs.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “Today, he was h—”

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Tate had a butler. Where the heck was he?

  “Skylar? Are you in there?” a deep voice called out.

  Tate stiffened, rage filling his expression. He stalked to the door, yanking it open. “What the fuck are you doing here, asking for my sister?”

  I stood on shaky legs and walked into the living room, trying not to focus on the fact that my brother, the one man I trusted to never let me down, had just broken my heart even worse than Scotty had. A man in a Sons of Steel Row brown leather jacket, a pair of bloody jeans, and a gray sweater stood in the hallway, glowering at Tate. He had a five o’clock shadow that went on for days and eyes that said he was comfortable with violence. As I watched, he rubbed his forehead, letting out an agitated breath. He had a dimple in his chin. I don’t know why I noticed that, but I did.

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  Tate stepped forward aggressively. “None of your damn business.”

  “Who are you?” I asked, ignoring my brother.

  The stranger stiffened when he saw me, giving me a once-over. “You’re Skylar?”

  “Maybe.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, ignoring my brother. “Who’s asking?”

  “Chris O’Brien.” He rested a shoulder on the door, seeming to be as determined to ignore my brother as I was. “I’m a friend of Scotty’s.”

  “Chris—” Tate warned through clenched teeth.

  “Stay out of this,” I snapped at him, fury making me tremble. “You say one word—one frigging word—I’ll walk out of here. And I’ll keep walking until you never find me.”

  Tate stiffened and closed his mouth, his nostrils flaring.

  Chris whistled through his teeth.

  “Why are you here?” I asked him.

  He straightened. “Scotty didn’t tell me much, but I know he’s been with you these past few weeks. I’ve known the kid a long time. He can’t hide shit from me. Not anymore.”

  I raised a brow, imitating Scotty when he was playing it cool. “And your point is . . . ?”

  “He’s been asking for you ever since he got out of surgery,” Chris replied, his tone short.

  “Surgery? Why was he in surgery?”

  “He was injured badly in a . . . a . . .” He hesitated, glancing at Tate. “. . . an accident. He’s lost a lot of blood. Between that and the painkillers, he’s not thinking straight. . . .”

  I uncrossed my arms and stalked over to Tate. “Were you going to tell me? Or were you going to keep this from me, too?”

  Tate stared straight ahead, his hands fisted at his sides. “I was about to tell you when he knocked.”

  “Yeah. Sure you were.” I turned back to Chris, swallowing, heart racing, stomach rolling, bile climbing up my throat. “Is he . . . is he going to . . . ?”

  “He’s still alive, for now.” He looked directly at Tate, then gave him his back. “Do you want to go see him or not?”

  “She’s not going anywhere with you,” Tate warned, stepping between us. “If she wants to go see him, then I’ll take her.”

  “No, you won’t,” I said, my voice dripping with only a fraction of the anger consuming me right now. “You won’t be going anywhere with me.”

  He flinched. “Skylar . . .”

  “I’d love to go see him, Chris,” I said sweetly, cutting Tate off. “Let’s go.”

  Tate grabbed my arm as I walked past him. “I was just trying to protect you. You don’t know what’s at stake here. What he really—”

  “And I don’t want to know,” I snapped, yanking free, pointing an angry finger at him. “And if you want to think you have any chance in making this up to me, any chance in earning my forgiveness, you’ll stay here, and leave me alone until I decide if I want to talk to you again.”

  Chris watched, eyes wide.

  The blood drained from Tate’s face, giving him a ghostly appearance. “Skylar.”

  “Not. Now.” I walked right past him. “Let’s go.”

  Chris saluted Tate, then followed me.

  “We’ll talk about this later, O’Brien,” Tate called out angrily.

  “Yes, sir,” he said over his shoulder.

  I didn’t look back. Just walked faster. I shivered. It was wet outside, and there was a chill to the air. Chris shrugged his jacket off and wrapped it around my shoulders. I hugged it gratefully. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said gruffly.

  I licked a raindrop off my lips. “Where is he?”

  “Saint Mary’s. Outside of Steel Row.”

  I nodded. “Your car?”

  “Here.” He led me up to a Mustang. There were bullet holes in the body, a broken window, and something that looked like blood smeared all over the driver’s side, as if someone had tried to clean it off before giving up. Chris walked over to the passenger door and opened it for me. “Sorry for the mess. It’s been a long day.”

  Hugging myself, I slid into the seat. I breathed deeply, because I could smell Scotty’s cologne in the car. It wrapped around me comfortingly, as I was still reeling from what Tate had told me. Though, in a way, it made a lot of sense. Scotty had never been so cold as he’d been on that day, when he broke me.

  It had all been because of Tate.

  What did he threaten Scotty with?

  Chris got in the car and the engine roared to life, peeling us away from the curb instantly. When I shivered, thanks to cold air pouring through the broken window, he turned the heat all the way up and pointed the vents at me. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, nodding my thanks. After a few moments of silence, I cleared my throat. “Is it over?”

  “Is what over?” he asked, flexing his fingers on the wheel. “The surgery?”

  “No. Whatever war you guys got yourself into.”

  Chris laughed uneasily. “I think that’s something you need to ask your brother.”

  “He won’t tell me,” I said quietly.

  “Even more of a reason for me to keep my mouth shut. I’m already gonna get shit from him for taking you away like I did.” As we pull
ed into Steel Row, Chris glanced at me, then returned his attention to the road. “You shouldn’t be so rough on him.”

  I blinked. “On who?”

  “Tate. He’s got a good reason to keep the two of you apart.” Chris turned left on South Harold Street. “Scotty’s got secrets.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “We all have secrets.”

  “Absolutely.” He stopped at a red light and faced me, his eyes serious and his jaw hard. “Scotty’s got more than your typical guy.”

  My pulse leapt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged, not speaking.

  We pulled into the hospital’s visitors’ lot. After parking, we got out of the car silently, and as we walked away, he locked the doors with the remote. I found it amusing that he bothered at all, considering the broken window, but whatever.

  “This way.” Chris waited for me, then placed a hand at my lower back to guide me forward, scanning the shadows. “Scotty’s on the second floor.”

  I hurried toward the door, eyeing the second story. “Why’d you come get me, if it’ll get you in trouble with Tate?”

  “Because.” He lifted a shoulder. “I respect your brother, but I respect and love Scotty more. He’s like my little brother, and he needs you at his side.”

  I nodded, walking through the automatic doors. “Have you always been close?”

  “Not always,” he said gruffly, pushing the up button on the elevator.

  I sensed a lot of history behind those two words. It was weird that he seemed to know Scotty so well, yet Scotty had barely mentioned him. I studied Chris as we waited. He had a few scratches on his face and hands, and a lot of scars. He was clearly no stranger to violence and didn’t seem inclined to stop any time soon.

  The doors opened, and we stepped on. The only sound was the chiming of the floor indicator as we ascended. The antiseptic smell so unique to medical facilities tickled my nose as I urged the elevator to get me to Scotty faster. Chris’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out.

  After reading a text, he smiled slightly and typed a quick reply. The smile softened his face, making him seem more . . . more . . . human. When he saw me staring, he lifted his phone and wiggled it under my nose. “My fiancée.”

  I wondered what kind of woman a guy like him loved. Probably someone with as much ink as Scotty. Someone tough and unbreakable. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” He stared at the second-floor number as it lit up. “She was in a car accident recently, and I told her to text me every hour so I know she’s okay, till I can come home.”

  The doors opened, and I followed Chris into the crowded hospital hallway. Nurses rushed past us, heading to our left with crash carts and urgent voices. Chris cursed and ran after them.

  My heart wrenched, because if Chris was running . . .

  Scotty.

  I chased after him, my stomach hollowing out, every nerve in my body humming with tension as my heart pounded impossibly fast. When Chris skidded into a room, bending over and taking a deep breath, I crashed into him. He didn’t even notice.

  “Shit, man, I thought they were racing to you,” he said, his voice hard.

  A soft chuckle, and then Scotty slurred, “Nah. I’m cool. We’re cool. It’s all cool.” He sounded half dead, half high. Mostly just high. “Hey. Did you see Superman in the hallway? ’Cause I did.”

  Chris straightened, a crooked smile tipping up the corner of his mouth. “Nah, man. I must’ve just missed him.”

  “It was awesome,” Scotty said, slurring the word.

  “I bet,” Chris said, chuckling. “How’s that morphine treating you?”

  “Excellent,” Scotty said, drawing the ls out really long.

  “Good.” Chris glanced over his shoulder at me. I stood there in the hallway, unable to see the man I loved, wringing my hands. I was okay with not seeing him, because I had a feeling once I did, I’d never forget it, or how bad he was feeling. “I brought you a surprise.”

  “Is it Wonder Woman?” Scotty said.

  Chris stepped aside, and there I was.

  Not Wonder Woman.

  He looked as pale as the white sheets on his bed, and he was limp, lying there with a dull smile on his face. And his eyes . . . they were empty. Like he had no idea where he was and why.

  Until he saw me.

  Then he came to life.

  He struggled to sit up straight, blinking away the fogginess. “What the hell did you do?” he snarled.

  Chris raised a brow. “You were asking for her. I brought her to you. It’s pretty straightforward.”

  “No. She can’t be here.” He finally gave up on trying to sit up, and pointed to the door. “Get out. Get her out. Take her home.”

  My throat ached, and my eyes stung as I moved closer to him, unable to look away. Anger shone in his bright green eyes. And that anger was focused on me. “Scotty—”

  “Take her home,” Scotty demanded again, his voice slurred, but not lacking command. “You have no idea what you’re fucking with.”

  Chris stepped backward toward the door. “Yeah, well, you’re too weak to argue or kick my ass, so since I brought her all the way over here, I’m gonna give you two a few minutes together, and then I’ll take her home.”

  “Chris.”

  Ignoring his buddy, he locked eyes with me. “That okay with you, Ms. Daniels? Would you like a few minutes alone with him?”

  I nodded once, wrapping my arms around myself. I had a few things to say to him, whether he wanted to hear them or not. “Thank you.”

  Scotty stared out the window, not speaking.

  Chris walked out, leaving us alone.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said slowly, finally facing me again. “I’m seeing superheroes in the hallway, so, clearly, my brain isn’t functioning properly.”

  I stepped closer, unable to resist the pull that was always between us. I had so many things to ask him, so many frigging questions, but right now he was high, and weak, and in pain, so it wasn’t the time to call him out. “I saw him, too.”

  “Was Wonder Woman with him?” he asked, frowning.

  I nodded. “And Batman.”

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and pressed his lips into a thin, tight line. “I’m going to say something stupid. You need to go before I do.”

  I licked my lips. “Like what?”

  “Like . . .” He flexed his jaw. “How much I’ve missed you, Sky. Because I have. I’ve missed you so damn much, it hurts.”

  “It hurts me, too,” I whispered.

  He held his hand out. “I can make it better, if you want. I know how to make it better.”

  I walked up to the side of his bed, one slow, heavy step at a time. My heart pounded so loudly, it echoed in my head, drowning out the small voice in the back of my mind that screamed for me to stop. That small, quiet voice was all too aware that Scotty did have secrets, that there was so much to talk about, but I didn’t care.

  Because I still loved him.

  CHAPTER 23

  SCOTTY

  The hospital light flickered overhead, but neither of us looked at it. She looked so goddamn beautiful standing there, staring at me with worry in her eyes. Worry for me. Her eyes were watery, too, but no tears fell, which was a good thing because I didn’t deserve her tears. If she cried over me, every tear that rolled down her cheek would be a tear wasted. But I’d almost died today, and she’d come to see me, so the last thing I wanted to do was send her away again.

  Damn Chris for bringing her here.

  And damn me for letting her stay.

  She crossed the room, her hands clasped in front of her, and sat on the bed right next to me. It reminded me of the last time she came to see me in a hospital. I’d broken both our hearts then, and now I’d have to do it again. I didn’t even realize I’d stretched
my arm out until she bumped into it. When she reached for me, I slid it under the blanket quickly.

  “You should go,” I said again. “Tate won’t like you being here.”

  “I don’t care.” She rested a hand on the blanket, not touching me, but it felt like she had. “You look like awful.”

  “You look beautiful,” I said immediately. “I’m sorry.”

  She blinked. “What for?”

  “For saying you’re beautiful. Or maybe for not saying it sooner,” I said, blinking away the haze of the drugs. Or trying to. It didn’t work. I was high as a goddamn kite. “Damn it, I can’t think. I don’t know what to say to you right now.”

  Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and brushed my hair off my forehead. “You don’t have to say anything at all. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “You’re here, and I know you shouldn’t be, but I can’t bring myself to give a shit. Other than that . . .”

  She frowned and took her hand back. I caught it, and didn’t let go. After glancing down at our hands, she locked gazes with me, her mouth parting on an indrawn breath, and entwined her fingers with mine, holding on tightly. “Why shouldn’t I be here?”

  “Because we’re done. We are.” I stared at our hands. Hers was so soft. So pale. So flawless. Mine was covered in callouses and scars, and stained with dirt and blood that would never fully come clean. I’d tried, but I could always see it. “We have to be.”

  She nodded, swallowing. “Okay. But you were asking for me.”

  “I was,” I admitted. “I shouldn’t have. I’m high.”

  “You said,” she agreed, a small smile playing at her lips. “How’d you get hurt?”

  “I took a bullet to the leg. Grazed my artery.” I glanced down. It still throbbed like a bitch, despite the copious amounts of pain meds. “It hurts.”

  She lowered her head, her focus locked on my leg—the wrong one. I didn’t tell her. “God.”

  “It’s okay. I’m okay.” My vision blurred, and she faded away to nothing. I was too damn tired to keep my thoughts and my feelings straight—emotions I had no right feeling for her, of all people. “Sky . . .”