Break Me (Truth in Lies Book 1)

by Lena Maye

  I chew on my lip, contemplating questions about Kepler I’d never thought to ask. Then another—and decisively more important—question strikes me. “Wait… did you handcuff him?”

  “It was my first year as a cop. I did everything by the book back then, so yeah, I handcuffed him.” Sloane’s lips lift in a half smile. “Jealous?”

  “Of course not,” I snap too quickly.

  A handcuffed Kepler Quinn standing in front of me. His chest would press out with his hands bound. Those surprising muscles stretching his soft t-shirt, his gray eyes smoldering. Except he wouldn’t be able to put that directive hand on my hip. I would be the one pulling him down. His shoulders arching forward with his hands trapped behind his back. And that kiss…

  I blink myself back into the car. Sloane is staring at me like I’ve eaten all her Doritos.

  “I’m glad he gave it up.” She licks an orange finger, still eyeing me.

  “Gave what up?” Kissing? Fuck, did I say something about kissing?

  “Smoking. Good thing too, since we’ve been cracking down on the unregulated stuff.”

  Oh, holy awkward. But at least she doesn’t know about the kissing. Or the weed he was smoking the other night apparently. I fiddle with the window lever. “Mom’s got a new boyfriend.”

  Sloane polishes off the bag of Doritos and scrunches it up. “I don’t even know why you still visit that woman.” She eyes the monitor. What’s his name?”

  “Greg,” I recall after a minute.

  She reaches for the keyboard. “Last name?”

  “Um… Creepwad?”

  Sloane’s hand clunks back in her lap. “You shouldn’t go over there, Jean.”

  “Someone has to.” I shrug. “Besides I hit him with some of Mom’s bird nerd mugs. That should keep him away for a while.”

  She turns a big goofy smile towards me—the kind she rarely lets out. “Wish I had been there for that. Dad would have been proud.”

  Proud. My lips turn up. I’m such a little sister—following around my big sister and hanging onto every word. You’d think I would have gotten over that by now because it’s not always easy being a little sister to Officer Lo.

  But, like always, my smile forces hers to fade. She does some button pushing on the radar gun even though there still aren’t headlights in either direction.

  Silence swallows up the car. Kima’s toes squeak against the plastic covering the backseat. I glance back to see her staring at Sloane. I guess I’m not the only one who can read my sister.

  “I miss Dad too, eonni.” My words don’t even come close to filling the silence.

  “You look so much like him.” She glares down the street as if that will conjure a speeding vehicle.

  “You look like him too.” I flick the window open an inch and close it. My eyes wander to the little black box that gave up information about Kepler. “Would he be in there?”

  She shakes her head, and her ponytail swings back and forth. “Creepwad Greg is better. At least when he runs off, we’ll be glad to see him go.”

  I flick the lock off and on, my fingers pressing hard into the metal.

  Sloane sets down the radar gun and zeroes in on me. “Were you drinking?” she asks, her voice like an arrow settling in on a bullseye. This must be how she questions suspects.

  “Not much.”

  “Smoking?”

  “No, Officer Lo. I’m boringly sober.”

  She turns to give me cop-eye. “Then why are your hands shaking so bad? You’re shifting in your seat or fiddling with something every ten seconds. And Kima is staring at you like you’re her tug toy.”

  I still my fingers. “I spilled some beer on me, that’s all. And Kepler got me all worked up. He, um, said some things that spun my head a bit.” I chew on the inside of my lip and stare at her.

  “Spill,” Sloane orders. She’s wrong about not looking like our father. It isn’t in her features, it’s something behind them—strength and warmth. I don’t know how we came out of the same place and ended up so far away from each other. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing, really. Just about me dating. I guess I have this thing with guys.” I never talk about boyfriends with Sloane. I keep it as distant from her as I can, which is easy since I only see her on these midnight rides home. Two years of age difference and a night shift keep her in a different world.

  She sets down the radar gun but raises both eyebrows. “Like a Cassie thing?”

  “It’s nothing like that.” I’m horrible at asking for help, if that’s what I’m doing. How am I supposed to talk about this? And to my good and proper sister. Because despite the cop-style questioning and her avoidance of our mom, Sloane’s still the best person I know.

  “It’s nothing.” My chest deflates. As terrified as I am to tell her, I have this feeling in the base of my heart like I should. It’s a paradox. But if I tell Sloane, she’ll want me to stop dating.

  Even if maybe that’s what I want too. To stop dating or breaking up with guys or whatever. To stop fighting against everyone and everything around me. But how do you stop being who you are?

  And that damn kegs, kissing, and Kepler song repeats. Somehow they are all tied up in this.

  Sloane’s staring at me with that bullseye glare. “If you have a thing with guys, then you need to put yourself on pause.”

  I shake my head. Like it’s that simple. “It’s nothing,” I say again, softer this time, hoping that will be enough to make her leave it alone.

  Sloane leans across the console towards me. “Maybe you should see someone.”

  “Um, didn’t you just tell me to stop seeing guys?”

  She rolls her eyes dramatically. “I was talking about a therapist, Jean.”

  “Oh.” Yeah, not happening. I barely have enough money to pay for next semester—much less throw hundreds of dollars at someone who will probably just tell me I’m crazy and that my so-called addiction doesn’t actually exist.

  “There’s nothing you can tell me I haven’t heard or seen before.” Sloane points to her chest. “Cop, remember? I’m not going to let this go.”

  I shake my head. Everyone is all up in my life tonight. I can’t talk about this with her. Can’t. Won’t. And the good thing about being me is that when I want someone to fuck off, all I have to do is open my mouth and let my first thought spill out. “Yeah, you’re a night cop in some tiny town where nothing happens, and you sit around and eat Doritos. You can hardly call this a job.”

  Sloane’s free hand wraps around the steering wheel. I’ve pissed her off, but she’s such a good person that she’s still looking at me like she wants me to talk.

  So I take another step. “Does the police department still hire based on affirmative action? I’m sure a Korean girl fit a few of those categories.” I hate myself before the words leave my mouth.

  Her gaze swings away from me. And the silence fucking swallows me.

  God, I want to punch myself. Or for Sloane to do it.

  I glance around for something to help and spy the shotgun. I slowly reach out and press my fingertips to the black barrel.

  “No touching the guns,” she orders in her cop voice.

  I pull my fingers back an inch, but let them hang there, taunting her.

  “Stop it.” Her words are loud, but she’s already got a hint of a smile.

  Kima barks twice, and I whip my hand away.

  “And you wonder why I call you names,” Sloane says. Her voice is lighter, but there’s still a hollowness to it. She whispers something to Kima, who sits back and stares at my sister with I-adore-everything-about-you eyes.

  She starts the SUV. “I’m getting rid of you before I drive by that party.”

  “I thought you weren’t going.”

  “Beer running out will solve the party problem, but not the stupid-kids-driving problem. I’ll make sure the stupidest ones get home.”

  Two minutes later she pulls up in front of my duplex. Dark windows promise a lonely, lonely ni
ght. It’s so warm in Sloane’s cruiser that I almost ask if I can go along for the ride. Sit in the car while she does her cop stuff. But I’m so jittery that I’m not sure if I can successfully sit in one place for more than five minutes.

  I extend a hand to Kima. Take care of her. I don’t say it. Sloane would bite my head off. I’ve heard it from her before: I’m capable of taking care of myself. I’m trained. I’m good at my job.

  All true. But I still worry about her. Kima stares at me coldly, which I take as a good sign, and I jump out of the SUV.

  “Jean,” Sloane says, “be careful with Kepler.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Oh, come on. His eyes have always lingered on you a fraction of a second too long, and you’ve never given him much thought.”

  I grip the side of the door. I should be slamming it and heading on my way, but I’m not. “That’s not true.”

  She shoves her index finger at me. “Oh, look! Denial! How cute.”

  “Nothing wrong with denial.” I shrug. “And denial’s cheaper than therapy.”

  Then I do slam the door, take my jittery self upstairs, and unlock the deadbolt. Once I’m safely locked inside, Sloane’s taillights disappear around the corner. I slip out my phone and smooth down the duct tape holding the battery on.

  Kepler’s text stares at me.

  Oh hell, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I hit reply.

  Pack up your weed. Sloane and Kima are coming by.

  The response is almost immediate. I knew you’d text me. Now I’m waiting for the call. And the exhilarating pics.

  Nope. He won’t lure me in.

  I click on the lights. The white walls and beige furniture make the place even emptier without Cassie here.

  I fidget for fifteen minutes before I take a selfie of me flipping off the camera and send it back. How’s that for a conversation stopper? I’m positive it worked when I slide into bed and still haven’t heard from him.

  Of course, as I’m about to give up, Kepler comes back with: Now we’re getting somewhere.

  Eight

  In the quiet spill of sunlight over my computer and cup of tea, the world looks different from last night. Like tea and soup is insulation. From what, I’m not sure. Maybe the truth. Or the consequences of always jumping.

  Cassie claims most infatuations fade with time and distance. Unfortunately, I’m not the avoid-it-and-everything-will-get-better kind of girl. I’m more the stew-over-my-morning-soup-and-create-shitlists person.

  I save my not-done linguistics paper. It’s due by the end of the day. A whopping fifteen percent of my grade. But I haven’t been able to get past the first sentence. My mind’s too cluttered to concentrate on the effects of bilingualism.

  Instead, I pull up a blank document and type a string of words. I jump when Cassie bounces into the kitchen. I didn’t even hear the front door open. She’s clutching her boots and wearing dirty guy socks. And a mischievous grin. I haven’t seen her since Saturday, and it’s now Monday. I was about to send Sloane out hunting when my elusive roommate sent me a Don’t worry text. Does she realize that will never happen?

  She skips across the room—hair flying in all directions. “Kepler Quinn is waiting outside to walk us to the library.” The words tumble out.

  I blink at her. “Walk?” I repeat. A damn walk. “Did he say why?”

  She plops on a chair, and a ridiculous grin spreads across her face. “He said you’re dating him.” Eyebrows up, she clunks her boots on the counter. “Did you forget to tell me something?”

  “No.” I fiddle with the edge of my laptop and then type a few lame words.

  She waggles an accusing finger. “Why are you pretending like a book report is more important than telling me everything?” She rotates my laptop to see the screen. “Wait, bigger question. Why do you have a list titled Things I Hate About Kepler Quinn?”

  “Because there are a lot of things I hate about Kepler Quinn, and I felt the need to list them.” And I just want to figure out how to get all these damn thoughts out of my head. Then maybe I can actually write my paper.

  She grins. “Do you have a list called Things I Love About Kepler Quinn?”

  “That list would be blank.”

  “Well, this Kepler thing is starting to make sense.” She rotates in her chair, her eyes narrowing on me.

  “I’m glad one of us thinks so.” My fingernails tap a rhythm on the counter. “But it’s not happening.”

  Her lips curve into a devious half smile. “He’s a hottie.” She grabs the countertop and spins on her stool. “Even if he is kinda intense.”

  “Focused.” It’s out before I can stop myself.

  Her grin widens. “Arrogant.”

  “Confident.” Why am I defending him?

  “Abrasive?” She leans towards me, waiting.

  “Outspoken,” I admit.

  “Sullen,” she says.

  “Yes, sometimes.” I lean back in my seat, the cursor under my Kepler-hate list blinking at me. “Like there’s a piece of him that’s missing. And then sometimes that piece clicks back into place and he’s…” I bite my lip, fighting for the word. “Playful?”

  She blinks at me. “That’s a side of Kepler I’ve never seen. But at least you have a bunch of items to put on your Things I Love About Kepler Quinn list.”

  “Damn.” I’m in desperate need of a new subject. “How was your sex?”

  “Um, interesting.” She catches her bottom lip in her teeth. I didn’t think it was possible to be distracted from the fact that Kepler is outside waiting for me, but interesting grabs my attention.

  “Interesting how? Mackie?” A flick of ice crawls down my back.

  “Kinda.” She fidgets with the straps on her fuck-me boots.

  “The suspense is killing me.” Although I like making Kepler wait. What’s he doing out there? Reading with those sexy glasses on? My desire to head to the window is trumped by one thing. “What happened?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” She tucks her wild hair behind her ears. She’s been going deeper red with the color, and it’s way past natural. More like a beautiful geyser of lava. “Mackie, um, said no.”

  “No?”

  She nods. “And it was kinda sweet.”

  “Sweet rejection? That does sound interesting.”

  “Who knew Mackie could be such a cutie?” A smile lights up her whole face.

  I close the lid on my laptop. My brain spins as fast as Cassie does on her stool. “Mackie, well, I’m not sure he’s just dimples and cuteness. He’s got a lot of secrets, and I worry that…”

  She lets out a sigh and shakes her head. “Do you have to trample over every experience I have? I mean, I know it won’t work out. It never does. But can’t you be happy for me?”

  No, probably not. Thinking the best of a situation isn’t one of my skills. But I’ll try anything for Cassie. Even positivity. “Yes,” I say slowly, “I can be happy for you.”

  She tosses me a wink and flounces off to her room. “Good. Then go play with Kepler.”

  I sneak to the window. Kepler stands there in his traditional uniform of jeans, t-shirt with black glasses stashed in the pocket, and earbuds stuck in his ears. And he’s smoking a joint.

  I crank open the window. Birds flutter out of the front tree, and Kepler takes out his earbuds.

  “Enjoying a little weed this morning?” I call out to him. My heart is already throwing punches. Damn his willowy hotness and angry kisses.

  “You’re welcome to partake.” He steps onto the yellow grass Cassie and I call a front yard and extends the half-smoked blunt. “Although I understand if you have to kick out your current not-conquest first. I’d hate to impede morning breakup sex.”

  “I kicked him out hours ago.”

  “Excellent, then we can proceed with our day.” He tilts his head, staring up at me so I can see his Adam’s apple and the smooth lines under that gray t-shirt.

  “Why the hell are you here?�
� I demand.

  “I thought we could make out again.” He shrugs, totally casual. “Since we are dating and all.”

  Fucking consequences. “We aren’t dating.”

  “You’re breaking up with me?” His tone comes across light, but there’s that sharpness under it that makes my knees knock.

  “No, Kepler. You’re—”

  “Then we must still be dating. So grab your backpack, babydoll, we’re walking to the library.”

  I let out a noise that might be a growl. “If you ever call me babydoll again, I will gut you alive and hang you from the streetlight by your intestines.”

  “I’m not sure that will work for you.” He takes a drag and contemplates. “The weight ratio, I mean. I don’t think a person’s intestines can support their weight.”

  “Then I’ll duct tape you up there first.” Ugh. I can’t believe we’re arguing about this. “Just don’t call me babydoll, and we won’t have to worry about it.”

  He nods and widens his stance. “Sure thing, pet.”

  I snatch Cassie’s fashion magazine off the counter and launch it out the window. The pages spread and catch on the wind. Instead of being a rocket aimed at his heart, the magazine turns into a fluttering butterfly that floats down to his feet. Totally unsatisfying.

  “Thanks for the reading material.” He picks up the magazine. “Oh, six surprising things that are aging me early.”

  “Maybe smoke less weed?” I struggle to crank the window closed again before he can respond.

  “Number one—nix your relationship woes. Any thoughts on that one, Lo?” he calls before I can get the thing closed.

  Cassie stands behind me with her hair pulled into a high bun. Apparently, lack of sex means she doesn’t need a twenty-minute shower. Or she showered at Mackie’s. Which leaves me unsettled. That’s girlfriend territory.

  “You’re ready?” I grumble. I do need to go to the library—I obviously can’t concentrate here.

  She scrunches her nose and peers at me. “You can’t wait to get down there, can you?”

  A few minutes later, Cassie locks the deadbolt while I take purposefully steady steps down the sidewalk. Kepler glances up from Cassie’s magazine, and I’m suddenly so nervous under those always-observant gray eyes. Maybe because I have no clue what he’s going to say. Having a conversation with Kepler is like stepping onto a merry-go-round that keeps spinning faster.