Hidden Truths

by Megan Erickson

  I had the same passion too. I hadn’t been sure I did anymore, not after I walked out from behind bars, but Tara brought it out in me, the desire to be something better, to make promises that I intended on keeping. “This wasn’t one-sided,” I said. “Don’t act like I pulled one over on you. I meant every goddamn thing I said to you. Including that promise.”

  “Who gives a fuck about your worthless promise when you intend on breaking it?” she spat at me. “You’re not taking care of me. You’re using me to get to my brother, and trust me, when my brother falls, it will fucking break me. He might not be the best brother, but he’s all I got and I love him.” She was crying now, angry tears that dripped down her face. “I’m not trying to appeal to your… sensibilities or whatever. I’m just telling you that you will break your promise to me the minute you lay your hands on Bryan.” She swiped furiously at her face, hands trembling. “Shit,” she muttered. “Fucking hate crying.”

  “Did you really fall for me?” I asked. I had to know.

  She glared at me. “Sure, I fell for a little bit and then caught myself. Now I fucking hate you.”

  I deserved that arrow to the heart. I nodded. “Okay.” There was more I wanted to say, much more, but all the words got jammed up and jumbled in my head.

  With a growl, she got out of bed and stomped toward the bathroom. She slammed the door, and I heard the toilet flush, then the faucet run, before she stomped back out. “And now I’m stuck in this room with you. For how long? I don’t know. You haven’t told me.” She flopped down on the bed, still talking to herself, because she wasn’t even looking at me. “So I guess I’m going to watch like a million Real Housewives reruns because I’m sure their voices will annoy the fuck out of you. Maybe they’ll annoy you so bad, you’ll take a fucking leap off the balcony. Just leave my car keys behind when you do it, so I don’t have to fish them out of your jeans after your skull cracks on the pavement.”

  I loved her. Goddamn, I loved her, and the realization hit me like a gun shot. I squeezed my chest, and she turned her head to me, frowning at my hand. “Having a heart attack? That’d be amazing.”

  “No heart attack,” I murmured.

  “Shame,” she said, and turned back to the TV.

  I didn’t turn away, couldn’t. There were still words filtering from my brain down to my vocal chords, and I didn’t have them in quite the right order yet.

  She whirled her head to me. “Are you seriously going to sit there and stare at—”

  “I’m not going to do it,” I said.

  Her jaw clacked shut, and she cocked her head, brows lowered. “I’m sorry?”

  “I-your brother. He’ll come for you. And when he does, I’ll walk away. I won’t touch him, and you won’t have to see me again. I get why you hate me, and you have every right.”

  She didn’t speak, and she also didn’t blink. She turned full stone until she shook herself and said. “Come again?”

  “I changed my mind.” I rubbed my damp palms on my jeans, needing another cigarette. “Or maybe I never had my mind made up. Maybe I’d just been foggy with grief. I don’t know. But your brother—taking my anger out on him won’t bring Trent back. It won’t make me happy. It’ll make me miserable because I’ll have to live with the knowledge that I hurt you.” I swallowed. “And I don’t want that. Mostly, I don’t want you to live with knowing that everyone in your life breaks promises.”

  She didn’t speak for a long time, and emotions flitted over her face like a shuffling deck of cards—hope, pain, wariness. And then… anger. The fire was back just as she curled her lips. “You just want to fuck me again.”

  I threw up my hands. “Jesus Christ, Tara. That’s not it.”

  She was breathing hard, and I saw it again in her eyes—hope. But suspicion lurked there too. I couldn’t say I blamed her. “It’s okay if you don’t believe me. But my mind is made up. Bryan will come for you, and I’ll let you go with him, and I won’t harm either of you.”

  A laugh track blared from the TV, but neither of us looked at the screen. She held my gaze, searching, and if she was a Drayer, then she’d had a lot of experience in her life with reading deceptive men. I didn’t look away.

  Finally, she said softly. “You think I haven’t been harmed already?”

  My heart thudded, and I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Tara—”

  “I believe you that you didn’t know who I was. I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that even if only for a few hours, you planned to use me to destroy my brother. That cut me, Lance. Deep. Soul-wounding. I was with Reb for five years, and he didn’t get even a piece of me. You got…” Her hand fisted the remote with white knuckles. The channel changed. “You got a whole lot.”

  I wanted to reach for her, to draw her into my arms, but her body language told me to back off. I trembled with the need to touch her, and it physically pained me to stay away.

  “Even as we were walking to my car that morning, I kept thinking about how I didn’t want to leave you. I was already planning on how I’d get back to visit you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Yeah, I did. I’d had her, and I’d lost her. I nodded.

  Her face fell, and a sob left her lips. “I’m sorry my brother did what he did to your brother,” her voice was a whisper as tears tracked down her face. “I’m so sorry. But I’m tired of the violence. So tired. A small part of me wishes I could give you what you want. But I can’t.”

  “You’ve given me enough,” I said. “If I hadn’t of met you…I wouldn’t be making this decision. I’d still be pissed off and hellbent on revenge.”

  “Guess that’s a compliment?”

  “Sure is.”

  She turned her head to the TV.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  She closed her eyes. “I am too. This is…neither of us asked for this. Any of it. Whoever is moving around our game pieces in this life is having a hell of a time.”

  I huffed a short laugh, and my blood warmed when a smile tugged at her lips.

  “We’ll stay here until we hear from your brother. Heard Castor is trying to draw him out. Must have been why Reb was coming for you. He knew Castor was looking.”

  She nodded tightly. “Okay.”

  I stood up. “Gonna shower. Can I trust you to stay here?”

  “Yeah.” She met my eyes. “Where am I gonna go? With Castor looking for me, I’m fucked.”

  She was right. I tore off my shirt and made my way to the bathroom. When I got to the door, some of the words in my throat righted themselves, clicked into place like LEGOs. “Case you wanted to know, I fell too. I’m still falling. And Tara, I’ll probably be falling for you until the day I die.” I didn’t look to see her reaction, and I didn’t wait to hear her respond. I shut the door, turned on the shower, and punched the tile until my knuckles bled.

  Eleven

  Tara

  The next day, two giant duffle bags arrived. I didn’t really know how, all I knew was there was a knock at the door, Lance went to answer it, and he stalked back inside carrying bags that looked heavily weighted.

  He pawed through them muttering to himself like he was taking inventory while I continued to binge the Real Housewives of whatever city the network was currently running. I didn’t know—they all blurred together after a while. No shade to housewives everywhere.

  I was bored, and wondering what I could do to break up the time short of yelling at Lance or fucking him. I didn’t want to do the former and the latter was a bad idea.

  My body hadn’t gotten the clue that Lance was off-limits now. My heart either. I stared at his forearms as he withdrew clothes and several guns from the duffels, laying it all out on his bed like it was no big thing to be heavily armed. I was going to ask if he had permits then decided I didn’t care. I grew up with Bryan after all.

  He said he’d let me go once Bryan returned, and I had to believe that. There was really no choice for me. I either left and was subject to Castor’s wra
th or dealt with Lance.

  For three days—three goddamn days—we spent time together in near silence cramped in the small hotel room while Lance waited on word from my brother. Each day, Lance withdrew more. I didn’t think he was sleeping, because the dark circles around his eyes were so pronounced, he looked like he’d been punched in the face. His lips were bitten to shreds from his gnawing teeth, and he spent a lot of time out on the balcony doing push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups. He did those shirtless because of course he did. Fuck my life. So therefore, I got him back by wandering around the hotel room wearing nothing but panties and a shirt. That made his jaw get even tighter until he stormed out claiming he needed to take a walk.

  When he returned, I still wasn’t wearing pants. He smelled like cigarette smoke and threw a bag on the bed from a gas station down the street, along with a state store paper bag. From the gas station, he’d brought candy, a couple energy drinks, and some pre-made subs. From the state store—airplane bottles of liquor and a bigger bottle of bourbon.

  I unscrewed the vodka without asking and poured it down my throat in one gulp.

  “Seriously?” he muttered.

  The warmth spread through my chest like fire and I sighed. “Oh fuck, that feels good.”

  He snatched a rum for himself, upended the bottle into his mouth, then pressed the back of his hand to his lips. “Hate rum.”

  “Then why’d you buy it?”

  “Rum was for you.”

  “Well I don’t like it either.”

  He didn’t say anything to that, and tossed his empty bottle into the trash, where it rattled before clanking to the bottom. There was still the bourbon left that we could share. I picked up a sub and spied a pack of cards in the bottom of the gas station bag. I held it up. “What’s this?”

  He looked like he wasn’t going to answer, then he shrugged. “Bored. Thought we could play some cards. Gives us something to do.”

  “You mean you don’t want to watch more Housewife reruns?” I batted my eyelashes innocently.

  For the first time in three days, his glare cracked, and warmth leaked out as one corner of his mouth tilted up. “You’re right, I’m about to jump off the balcony.”

  I laughed and hit my fist on the mattress. “Damn! So close. Should have held out until you jumped.”

  “Harsh,” he said, still smiling.

  I slipped down to the floor and patted the area in front of me. “Well come on down.” I unwrapped the cellophane on the cards. “What do you want to play? Gin rummy? Twenty-one? Go Fish?”

  He kicked off his boots and sat cross-legged on the floor across from me. His gaze lingered on my legs and where my shirt covered panty-covered crotch. His shoulders heaved for a moment before he stretched up and grabbed a sub and the bottle of bourbon. He took a swig, then handed it to me. “Whatever you want.”

  “Rummy it is,” I said.

  “You know I bought those to play solitaire by myself,” he said, as I was mid-dealing.

  I stopped and stared at him.

  Then that cloud that had been over his head moved and he threw back his head to laugh. He even slapped his thigh as my stare turned into a glare. “You think you’re funny. How about I drink all this bourbon and then puke on your boots?”

  He stopped laughing. “You wouldn’t puke on my boots.”

  “I would.”

  He paused for a moment, and then said. “You like my boots.”

  His voice was a rumble, drifting over my skin and raising goose bumps in its wake. I should have kept dealing and ignored his comment, but I let my eyes slowly lift to lock with his. And I heard myself saying. “No, you like me in your boots.”

  His eyes went soft. “I do. Never throwing them away.”

  This was too much. I couldn’t want to hear those words with vodka and bourbon wreaking havoc on my blood. “Don’t do this, Lance. Please.”

  His eyes fell closed, and he looked down. “Sorry,” he said. “Keep dealing.”

  So I did.

  At first, the game was fine. Tame. I won the first hand, and then he won the second by laying off the fourth king to my set. Jerk. I shouldn’t have laid those kings at all. Then the bourbon kicked in, and before I knew it, the bottle was less than half full, Lance’s cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and I was feeling damn good. Way better than I had in days. What had I been so mad about again? Lance threatening to bash my brother’s head in right after we screwed without protection? Eh, who cared! Right? Bourbon made everything better.

  “Wait are aces high or low again?” Lance asked, squinting adorably at his cards.

  “You asked this the last three hands!” I hollered, dissolving into giggles.

  He bent over at the waist, laughing. “Did not!”

  “Did too! They are fucking low, Lance. Looowwwww,” I drew the word out in a deep voice and that only made him laugh harder. This was ridiculous because in the back of my mind, I realized we were acting like drunk college kids, but I couldn’t seem to stop laughing. Goddamnit.

  “Whose idea was it to play rummy?” he said. “I hate this game.”

  “My idea,” I answered smartly. “You said I could pick.”

  He wrinkled his nose and with a flick of his fingers, tossed his cards between us. “I think I’m done.”

  I did the same. “Yeah, me too. Stupid cards with their tiny little numbers. I can’t read them anymore.”

  “I know, right?” He huffed. “What else can we do?” He stuck a shaky finger in my face and raised his voice. “Don’t suggest Real Housewives, for the love of God.”

  That cracked me up again and I fell to the side, hitting my head on the bed rail. “Owww,” I rubbed the lump forming on my scalp. “Shit.”

  “You okay?” Aw, in like two seconds, he’d switched from anger to concern. He was cute. So cute. I wish I had friends to talk about how cute my kidnapper ex-one-night-stand and fire-rescuer was.

  “Yeah,” I said, then blurted out what I deemed to be another brilliant idea. “Let’s play Never Have I Ever!”

  He didn’t react for a moment. “What?”

  “Never Have I Ever!”

  “Babe, I’m fucking thirty-three years old and you want to play Never Have I Ever?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Name a better idea.”

  He scowled at me.

  “We could always watch Real—”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, fine we’ll play it.”

  I threw my arms in the air in victory, which I realized belatedly showed off my entire panty-clad bottom. Ooops. His gaze dipped before he focused back on my face. “I don’t even know how to play this game.”

  “Let’s do the finger way.”

  “Finger…way…?”

  I held up my hand, fingers splayed. “I’ll say never have I ever and something I haven’t done. So, for example, never have I ever had sex in a car. Because I haven’t. And if you have, then you put a finger down. Whoever puts all five fingers down first has to finish the bourbon.”

  “You’ve never had sex in a car?”

  Of course that was what he focused on. “No, that’s why I said it, silly.”

  He looked slightly confused, but held up his right hand. I took that as his acquiescence.

  “Okay,” I took a sip of bourbon. For no good reason, really. Just for effect. “I’ll go first.” Now I couldn’t think of one because I blew my load on car sex. “Never have I ever got a speeding ticket.” Then I beamed.

  He gawked at me. “Never?”

  “Never!”

  He muttered something as he tucked his thumb into his palm.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Never have I ever had my period.”

  “You can’t use that!” I roared with laughter, and nearly spilled the bourbon in my flailing.

  He was laughing too, full body shakes, his eyes bright and sparkling. “Show me where that’s a rule.”

  “You are so dumb!” But I coul
dn’t stop laughing. “Okay fine, I’ll give that to you, you asshole, but that was a copout, and you know it.” He looked smug and I rolled my eyes. “Okay, never have I ever…” I eyed him, and narrowed my eyes. “Taken someone’s virginity.”

  “Damn,” he said, and slowly lowered his little finger.

  “You have to tell me the story now,” I said, and I didn’t know why. Why did I ask? Because maybe there was some of Lance I wanted to take with me after all this.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Guess I can’t complain about rules?”

  “Nope.”

  He sighed. “Bethany. I was seventeen, she was sixteen. In the back of my red Pontiac. I wanted in there so bad. I worked at it. Hard. For a solid year.”

  I imagined a younger Lance, peach fuzz on his chin, that body uninked and unscarred. I bet he’d been beautiful. “Did you dump her then when you got what you wanted?”

  “Nope, stayed with her all through high school. Even tried to make it work when she went away to college, but we broke up. Wasn’t working. She’s a good woman. Now she’s got some hotshot job, husband and kids.” His expression broke a bit. “Hope she forgot about me, never tried to look me up or saw what I became.”

  He didn’t say it in a way that was asking for pity. He was matter of fact. And that hit me right in the heart. He didn’t let me dwell on it though. “So, my turn. Never have I ever stolen something from a store.”

  I made a frustrated grunt and lowered a finger. He grinned. “Oh, oh, oh, good girl Tara is a thief?”

  “It was a lip gloss and I was twelve,” I pouted.

  He tsked.

  “Okay, Mr. Manslaughter,” I snapped at him, and immediately wished I hadn’t said it. That was low, and a shitty thing to say. His crime wasn’t a joke.

  He jerked back with surprise for a minute before bursting out laughing so hard he fell over onto his back. “I shouldn’t be laughing, but that was funny as fuck!” he yelled.