Secrets That We Keep

by Linda Kage

  This didn’t feel like where my home was. She was my home.

  But I was cognizant enough to know I couldn’t tell Gray that was what I wanted, so I fumbled for the door handle, mumbling a bleary, “Thanks.”

  “You going to be able to make it to your door okay?”

  “Yep.” Fresh air spilled into the interior as I spilled into the night. “Take care.”

  “You too,” he called just before I shut the door in his face. Straightening to my full height as best as I could, I faced the building and lumbered forward.

  Not sure how I made it to my apartment in one piece, but I even managed to unlock my door and open it before I collapsed inside and shoved it shut behind me so I could prop myself up against it.

  Sighing down at my legs sprawled before me, I clanked my boots together and then drew them apart.

  This was nice, I decided. No one was around to lecture me on how much I’d drunk. No one was here to keep secrets from. Or for. No one to break my fucking heart.

  Just quiet peacefulness…

  That was about to drive me crazy.

  With a curse, I readjusted my hat on my head and told myself not to do it just before I gave in with a growl and dug my phone from my pocket.

  I was dialing before I could stop myself and immediately got directed to voicemail.

  “Are you ashamed of being with me?” I blurted after the beep. “Is what we have toxic? Should we just do the healthy thing and stop?” I sniffed derisively after all the questions and hung up before letting the phone fall into my lap.

  Not sure if I felt better or worse after that, I let a long sigh hiss from my lungs as I closed my eyes.

  I’d just about passed out again when my phone started buzzing and ringing from my lap. I jumped, my eyes flashing open, and cursed before managing to pick it up and answer.

  “’Lo?”

  “Are you drunk?” was the first thing she accused. “Again?”

  “Define drunk,” I said, lifting an astute finger.

  “Oh God.” She groaned, and I could picture her sitting up in bed, hair sleep tossed and sexy as she pushed it out of her eyes and blinked, trying to wake up. “Please tell me you’re home, and that one of the guys drove you.”

  Of course, she would know I’d been out with the guys tonight. I hadn’t told her, but I’m sure she’d gotten the information somewhere.

  And, no, I wasn’t home.

  I wasn’t with her, was I?

  Scowling, I mumbled, “Gray drove me to my apartment, which is where I am now.”

  “Thank goodness,” she breathed, sounding relieved before her voice went low and serious, and she added, “Now. What the fuck was that message about?”

  I shrugged a loose shoulder, feeling rather defiant with all the liquid courage running through my veins. “What? I was just asking questions.”

  “Well, what the hell kind of questions were those? You don’t call for an entire week, and then wham, am I ashamed of you? Are you kidding me?”

  “I thought it was a legitimate question. And you know, there’s this interesting thing I learned about phones when I first started using them.” Fisting my hand, I growled, “They work both ways.”

  She went instantly quiet, and I squeezed my eyes shut before thwacking my head painfully back against the door. Dammit. Trying to shame her for not calling me either probably wasn’t smart.

  “So, are you?” I asked, my voice breaking because I was unable to handle the silence.

  “Am I what?” she asked, sounding wary.

  Gritting my teeth, I hissed, “Are. You. Ashamed. Of—”

  “Christ, Fox. Of course not. Why would you even suggest—”

  “Then why can’t you tell anyone we’re together?” I cried. “Not even Gracen? He thinks you’re back with Ethan, you know.”

  “What?”

  I nodded, rolling my jaw, before explaining, “He’s seen your warthog messages and knows you’ve been hooking up with someone. But he can’t make sense of why you won’t tell him anything, so they all decided tonight that it had to be someone toxic, like your ex.”

  “Wow,” she hissed. “And you guys say us girls are nothing but gossips. I am so glad I was able to provide you boys with some hot, juicy rumors tonight. That’s just swell.”

  “Gracen is fucking worried about you,” I snapped. “And I said nothing. I looked my goddamn brother right in the eye and lied to him with my silence.”

  “You mean, my brother,” she countered.

  “He’s my brother too,” I roared. “Every single man in that room tonight was my brother. And I lied to all of them. For you. Christ.” I ripped off my hat so I could tear my hand through my hair. “I can’t keep doing this. They were all worried about you, Bella, and I just let them worry.”

  Another block of tense silence followed before Bella exhaled on the other end of the line and quietly said, “I’m sorry; I didn’t realize this was putting so much of a strain on you.”

  “Well, it is,” I told her. “It’s tearing me a-fucking-part. And I’d weather anything for you, I really would. I would keep our relationship a secret for the rest of eternity—and yes, we are in a relationship, no matter what you say—but I just need to understand why. Why are you so resistant to letting anyone know? Because the only reason I can come up with is that you just can’t trust me enough not to be him, not to do what he did to you. Do you not trust me?”

  “Of course, I trust you, Fox. I—”

  “Or…” I went on, talking over her. “The other conclusion I’ve come to is that us going public would basically be admitting you feel something for me, and you can’t do that because you don’t. Maybe to you, the only thing happening here is a booty call.”

  “What? No! That is not at all what I think.”

  “Then what the hell do you think?” I growled. “Because I honestly don’t know. What do you feel for me? Am I the only one who’s been falling in love this whole time?”

  “Fox,” she gasped in shock, making me realize what I’d just admitted.

  “Oh, fuck,” I rasped.

  Heart pounding, I fumbled in my haste to disconnect the line before tossing the offensive phone onto the floor next to me.

  “Holy shit.” Panting, I pressed my hand to my chest and slumped backward into the door.

  When the phone rang again, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I winced when I eyed it. I was too much of a coward to answer and listen to a possible rejection. So I just sat there, staring until it stopped. Then I blew out a sigh of relief, only to curse when it started in again.

  Picking up the phone, I glanced around my apartment before spotting the couch. Staggering to my feet, I made it over there, grabbed a throw pillow and stuffed the phone under the cushion, successfully muffling the ring.

  There.

  I dusted off my hands and backed away as it stopped ringing only to chime with an incoming text.

  Turning away, I made my way down the hall, propping one hand against the wall for support as I went until I made my way into my bedroom. Collapsing gratefully onto the mattress, I grabbed a pillow before curling myself around it and squeezing my eyes closed.

  There were some serious pros and cons for the state I was currently in.

  The biggest con was that I never would’ve made that stupid phone call in the first place and completely fucked everything up. I had a feeling I’d regret that until the end of my life.

  But now that I had, the best pro of all was going to be the fact that I could probably pass out in moments, and I wouldn't be stuck awake all night, pacing and stressing and terrifying myself into a panic attack over what came next. Whatever that might be.

  And that’s exactly what I did. I passed out cold, blocking out all my worries and fears.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Yellow

  THE NEXT MORNING

  “Ouch!”

  Blinking away tears that immediately formed in my eyes, I prodded my tender nose and then checked my fingers fo
r blood.

  “Shit, El. I’m sorry.” Parker stepped close, trying to see the damage he’d done after accidentally elbowing me before he’d made his last shot, but then he paused and winced instead of getting too close. “Is it bleeding?”

  “Nope,” I announced. “All good. But, uh…” I sighed and I looked him up and down. His hair was a mess, his eyes bloodshot, and it looked as if he’d slept in those clothes all night. “Are you okay?”

  His expression turned as hard as flint. “I’m fine,” he bit out before turning away to fetch the basketball. “Let’s get back to the game.”

  Oh, hell, no. I wasn’t playing against him any more during this session, not with the savage mood he was in. He’d been temperamental and aggressive since he’d shown up for our hour together. I should probably count myself lucky that a sore nose was all the damage I had sustained.

  Something was eating him up from the inside, and he’d been trying to release it through his playing. But if that was honestly his intent, then he had the wrong kind of sparring partner. Because I was officially out.

  “How about we sit?” I offered, motioning toward our bags and water bottles lying in a heap on the floor to the side.

  He glanced at our things, then turned his gaze back to me. “I’m being too intense, aren’t I?”

  I held my fingers up, measuring them half an inch apart. “Just a tad.”

  “Damn.” He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, his hands on his hips. Finally, he said, “Yeah. We should probably move to the talking portion.”

  After we settled onto the floor and sat cross-legged, facing each other, I cleared my throat uneasily. “Do you, uh, do you want to talk about it?”

  He sniffed out an amused smile. “This is your sixty minutes, El. Not mine.”

  “I don’t mind,” I told him quickly. “And besides, I feel fine today. After switching bosses, I’ve had absolutely no problems, no worries, and no stresses this week. So honestly, I’d rather help you.”

  Lifting his brows, he said, “Switching bosses?”

  “Oh, right,” I blurted in surprise and bumped the palm of my hand against my forehead. “It was just last Saturday ago, right after our meeting, that everything happened. I haven’t updated you, have I?”

  “No.” He shook his head, frowning at me. “No, you haven’t. What happened last Saturday?”

  Waving a hand, I tried to tell him, “It’s not that big of a deal. I’d rather hear about what’s wrong with—”

  “El,” he cut in sternly. I stopped talking and watched him close his eyes as if trying to work through something before he shook his head and lifted his hand. “Please let me do my job here. Just tell me what happened to you last Saturday.”

  I blinked at him, wondering what in the world was wrong. He was not acting like Parker at all. This was growing worrisome. But I said, “Okay,” anyway, hoping maybe a little distraction would help get his mind off whatever was torturing him. “So my new boss, Mr. D, made a move on me, and I throat-punched him—in front of Twelve—which got me switched over to working for someone else in the company entirely. We’ll call her Ms. B.”

  Parker blinked twice in quick succession and then shook his head again, like one of those wake-up shakes.

  Finally, he answered, “Yeah, I definitely drank too much last night because there’s no way you said what it sounded like you just said.”

  With a heaving sigh, I sent him a cringe. “Oh, you heard me right.” And I proceeded to tell him all the details. Then I ended it with, “It might’ve been the luckiest thing that happened to me, though. I actually love working for Ms. B. She’s challenging and tough, and it’s so freaking rewarding to surprise her with how well I do a job. She gets this pinched wrinkle between her eyes like she’s annoyed that she can’t complain about anything I did wrong. Then she nods stiffly, lifts her chin regally, and says, ‘very good,’ before going on as if I didn’t just blow her away with my mad administrative assisting skills.”

  It seriously made my day every time that happened.

  But Parker seemed to be stuck on two very different details. “Did you really punch that ass in the throat? Holy shit, El. That is amazing. And you say you have no defensive abilities at all.”

  I flushed. “I didn't mean to catch him in the throat. I just have really bad aim. And I didn’t intend to strike out at all. I’m honestly not sure where that came from.”

  “Well, it’s impressive wherever it came from. And then you actually started to open up to Twelve, too.” Blowing out a low, admiring whistle, he sat back and eyed me with appreciation. “I’m proud of you. That took a lot of trust and faith on your part to tell him as much as you did. It’s serious progress. Damn...” Wiping his hands over his face, he shook his head. “I’m wishing I had some of your bravery right now.”

  So much misery washed across his features that my heart cracked in sympathy. Tilting my head, I murmured, “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong. I hate seeing you this wrecked.”

  “Yeah, well…” With an it-is-what-it-is flick of his hand, he began to pick at a loose string on the hem of his sock. “I deserve exactly how much I’m suffering right now, so don’t feel too bad for me. I messed up pretty bad.”

  He had that depressed, lovesick expression on his face, so I felt confident in guessing, “Something happened with Bea?”

  He looked up, surprise and guilt layering on top of the anguish in his features. “That obvious, huh?”

  I shrugged. “Well…” Yeah.

  He hissed out a breath and ripped off his hat to run a harassed hand through his thick, dark hair. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just keep blurting out this shit lately that I don’t want to say to her, and—Jesus—it’s going to end up making me lose her. I just know it is.”

  “What kinds of things have you been saying to her?” I blinked at him, utterly boggled because I totally could not picture the man in front of me verbally destroying or talking down to anyone, let alone the girlfriend he so unabashedly adored.

  He had been so amazing and uplifting and supportive with me—a woman who’d been afraid to get within five feet of men when I’d first met him. How could he be anything but exactly that for his Bea?

  He studied me a moment as if considering my worth before he clasped his hands together and leaned forward, talking in hushed tones. “Can I be completely confidential with you?”

  “Well, I certainly hope so,” I sputtered, blinking rapidly. “Since I’ve shared things with you that I would want repeated to no one.”

  “Right.” A small, self-deprecating laugh rumbled from him as if he’d forgotten all about that, then he jammed his hat on his head. “So Bea and I aren’t exactly—er—open about our relationship.” Sniffing, he rolled his eyes. “Hell, I doubt she even classifies us as being in a relationship.”

  My jaw sagged loose as I gaped at him. Because that was the very last thing I’d been expecting him to say. Then I shook my head, certain I misunderstood something. “I’m so confused right now. What exactly do you mean by open?”

  He gave another one of those dry, humorless laughs, before clarifying. “Our relationship’s a secret. No one knows about us. Not her family. Not my family. Not any of our friends, and we have—like—all of our friends in common. I’ve known her as long as I’ve been alive, and we’ve been indiscriminately hooking up together in secret for about the last nine months or so.”

  “Are you serious?” I whispered in total shock.

  He nodded, then said, “You look like this completely surprises you.”

  “Because it does!” Clasping my hands to my head and trying to make sense of it all, I uttered, “You just—you talk about her as if she’s your everything and you love her like you love no one else.”

  He gulped painfully before rasping, “Because I do, and she is.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Then why are you hiding it?”

  “It’s not my idea to—” he started defensively, only to cut himself
short and grind his teeth as if he didn’t want to reveal that part. But I’d already caught on to the gist of what he was saying.

  “She’s the one who doesn’t want anyone to know,” I concluded.

  He lifted a finger in warning. “Don’t make her out to be the bad guy here. She’s not. She just—she—I don’t think she had fully healed yet from a really bad breakup when we first got together, and she’s still really sensitive about words like dating and couples and relationships. We were supposed to just be this casual thing when we started.”

  Pausing, he winced at his own words and then backtracked. “No. Casual’s not the right word. We were never casual.”

  “It was supposed to be no strings. No labels. No heartbreak,” I filled in softly. “Safe.”

  He pointed at me. “Yes. That, exactly. I think that’s what she needed. And that’s what I’ve always tried to give her. Except lately, I—fuck. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I keep finding myself pushing. And I don’t want to do that to her. I don’t want to push or scare or pressure. But all the lies and secrets are starting to get to me. I just don’t know what to do aside from never drinking again so that I don’t blurt out any more stupid shit to her like I did last night.”

  “Your drinking isn't the problem,” I told him.

  He looked over with a frown.

  “It’s a symptom,” I corrected. “The problem is that you’re trying to be in a one-sided relationship, and that’s not a thing. For two people to do anything together, both of their requirements should be considered. And you’ve only been thinking about meeting hers. Which is awesome and noble and sweet of you, but you’re also human with your own wants and desires, and you’re only going to be able to go on this way for so long before your needs start revealing themselves in ways you don't condone. Like in nasty, painful, unhealthy ways. When all along, you could've just told her what you want in a much more constructive, loving way. It’s not fair to either of you for you to keep your needs a secret. It’s only going to delay an inevitable split or delay the beginning of whatever change she might actually be willing to make in order to help you get what you want too.”