Break Me (Truth in Lies Book 1)

by Lena Maye

  I blink at him. That’s not true, is it? I cycle back through them. Landry with his lingering ease. He was from… somewhere. Ty and his quick smiles from… somewhere else.

  Crap.

  I can’t believe he’s noticed all these things. Has he been studying me that closely over the years? I’m floored by it—how much he sees, how much he knows.

  “Anything you’d like to add?” His question hangs like a taunt. And we all know how I can’t resist that.

  “Yes.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Nice.”

  He stands and circles around the table towards me, stopping so he’s looming over my chair. “So, a nice, laughing, preppy fool of a guy from out of town who likes to show off his wealth.” His hands sink into his pockets. “I am none of those things, Lo.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “Stand up,” he orders.

  “Why?” I immediately hunch in my seat.

  “So we’re on equal footing.” He lets out a hard breath. “And because unlike them, I’m not playing games.”

  I shake my head, but I rise up to my feet. He’s still a foot taller than me, but I can feel the shift too. We’re toe to toe. Worthy adversaries.

  There’s the clench in his jaw again. A little tell letting me know if he’s sparring for fun or if he’s serious. Right now, the clench is screaming dead fucking serious.

  “If you aren’t playing games, then why are you always trying to anger me? Dropping my backpack. Calling me babydoll. And a million other things.”

  “That’s different, Lo. And you know it. You like it when I push you.”

  “That’s not true,” I start. But is it? I chew on my lip, considering him. “You’re trying to rile me.”

  “I guess that’s how it started. But you know what the punchline is? I like this.” He gestures between us like there’s a tether strapping us together. “You fill the fucking room. Up to the rafters.” He points towards the arched ceiling of the library far above us. “You’re like this torrent of energy that zaps everything around it. It keeps me moving. Keeps me thinking.”

  “Kep—”

  “How many times do I have to say this before you hear me?” He’s edges and lines bound together by tense muscles. “We fit together, Lo.”

  People shift around us. The librarian comes out from behind the counter. But, like always, Kepler seems entirely fixed on me.

  And it hits me like a slap—a jolt of energy that startles me awake and makes my heart pound. He’s telling the truth. He isn’t playing. That clench in his jaw is as real as the air in my lungs and the ground under my feet. And it’s familiar. Anger and frustration rolling off a guy standing in front of me. How many times have I been here?

  Except now it’s Kepler who’s standing in front of me.

  Kepler—who used to walk me home. Who ate frozen pizza with me and listened to every damn word I said even if it was just about stupid high-school gossip. Who stopped when he saw a thirteen-year-old girl crying by the side of her house and sat with her for an hour before even knowing her name.

  Who passed by our house on the way home from school every day because…

  Because he was worried about me.

  Memories I’ve tried to avoid for so long fall like ribbons from a package—opening up one realization after another.

  I turn and shove my books in my bag so I don’t have to see the way he’s glaring at me. “Relationships with me only end one way, Kepler. And I know you know that because you’re the one who came up with the theory.” I zip my bag and sling it over my shoulder. “I’m a chainsaw who cuts through anyone in her path.”

  “You’re more than that.” His intensity practically shoves me over. Dark gray eyes and coiled tension. “And I can handle a few chainsaw cuts.”

  “I’m not sure I can.” I turn from him, hoping that just this once—he won’t follow.

  The next morning greets me with too many silences, too many damn thoughts, and the news that my mom “lent” all her dishwasher-fixing money to Greg. When I tell Sloane about the missing money, she blows me off and says our mom’s capable of handwashing her dishes. I doubt that will be the end of it. Regardless, I’m beyond annoyed with the whole situation especially since it comes while I’m putting the finishing touches on my linguistics paper that I was able to get a one-night extension for. But when I discover a yellow Post-it stuck to my door, that annoyance changes to agitation.

  The next day, another Post-it appears. Within a few days, I’ve filled up a notebook page with yellow Post-its. All of them have Kepler scratched in the center.

  Not only that, but I see him. Sitting on that ledge in front of the math building Friday morning focused on a thick textbook. Walking across the lawn with earbuds and a gray hoodie. Every sighting is a confirmation of what I’ve done. How that kiss opened up something. More than just ribbons and packaged memories.

  By Saturday morning, I’ve practically drowned myself in seaweed-guilt soup. But even my father’s remedies don’t seem to be working, and I’m stuck glowering up at the waver of sun through the skylight and thinking that I need to solve this Kepler-issue somehow.

  “Mackie invited us over tonight,” Cassie says abruptly. We’re sipping oolong, both in our robes. My foot is propped up on her stool, and she’s painting my big toe dark purple. She wanted to go with hot pink or yellow, but dark purple is much more attuned to my current mood. I feel like a giant bruise, so I might as well have Cassie paint me like one.

  “I’m not going.” I push away my tea and drink my orange juice. I’ve been trying to up my calorie intake to cope with all the additional jogging I’ve been doing over the last week. Which has relieved a bit of that itchy feeling.

  Cassie puts on a pout—one designed to get a response out of me. “I can’t go by myself.”

  “Why not? You don’t need me hanging around.”

  “Not when I’m trying to hook up with a guy. But I might need you when I’m maybe, possibly, almost dating someone.”

  “Is dating the right word? You’ve been avoiding Mackie all week. You had me send him away when he came to visit. And the guy brought you a flower.” I gesture over to the single bird of paradise flower propped up in a wine bottle. Apparently, it’s Cassie’s favorite. Brightly colored evidence that Mackie knew something about Cassie that I didn’t.

  “I said maybe, possibly, almost dating him.” She drips polish on my foot and smears it off.

  “So, why the avoidance?”

  “It’s too weird. I don’t know what to do with myself when we’re hanging out. Like, what’s there to say when you aren’t focused on getting in a guy’s panties?”

  “I guess you talk about normal stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  I try to remember what I would talk about with Ty or Landry or any of the others, but I come up blank. “I have no freaking clue what’s normal. Classes and stuff, I guess.”

  Cassie lets out a slow smile. “He said to make sure I invite you.”

  “You’re serious?” I sigh. “If Mackie’s working the best-friend angle, then he must really like you.”

  She caps the nail polish bottle and blows on my toes to dry them. Why does that remind me of Kepler? His hair falling into that smoldering gaze as his breath tickles my toes. I imagine kicking my foot up and getting nail polish on his nose. The sharp grip he would give my ankle.

  “—like him.”

  I clear my throat and force my attention towards her. “What did you say?”

  “I like him.” She sighs. “It’s just that he’s…”

  “An egotistical, jackass pothead?”

  “No.” She scrunches her nose. “Much worse than that.”

  “What could be worse than that?” I sit up on the stool, tucking my feet carefully around the legs so as not to ruin her artistry. She’s rarely this thoughtful. “What is it?” I ask, real concern biting at me.

  She paws through her tub of nail polish, the clanking of the bottles too loud for her
to respond. I settle my hand on hers and think of what I know about Mackie’s secrets, but all I can remember is how defensive he was. He would only give the vaguest details of his past. And no talking about his brothers. Ever.

  She takes a deep breath and lets it hiss out.

  “He’s leaving for a job in the circus soon?” I offer. “He keeps dead people in the refrigerator next to his Coors Light? He’s studying to be a gynecologist?” The last one gets a little snicker from her.

  “He doesn’t like dogs?” I ask. “Don’t tell me he doesn’t like puppies. That’s an immediate dating disqualification. Is that why you haven’t slept with him?”

  “Not exactly. He, um, didn’t sleep with me because he hasn’t slept with anyone, really.” She twirls that lava hair of hers around a finger.

  “Did you tell me you’re almost, possibly, dating a virgin?” This is one of Mackie’s big secrets?

  “Lots of people are virgins. I mean, I don’t know any of them, but I’ve heard.”

  “Apparently you do know one of them.” Mackie and I never got close to sleeping together. I didn’t give it much thought at the time. Well, I don’t give it much thought now either. It’s weird to think about him like that when Cassie is all googly-eyed and stressed out and gnawing on the inside of her cheek.

  I’ve never been a Mackie fan, but if his secrets boil down to something like this, well, maybe he’s not so terrible. I’d put up with him if he made Cassie happy. And when the bird of paradise flower showed up, she was smiling so hard her teeth about fell out.

  “So fucking what?” I throw my arms up, almost bumping her tub of nail polish off the counter.

  “The fucking—that’s what.” Cassie picks a sultry red and sets it on the counter. “How am I going to date a virgin? I mean—how does that even work? What do you do together on a Saturday night? Can I hold his hand?”

  “He’s a virgin, not a zombie. And on Saturday nights, you take him up on his invitation and talk about normal stuff. When did he tell you he was a virgin?”

  “That first night. He told me flat out, like it was just another fact about him.”

  “That’s because it is just another fact about him.” The sweet rejection makes sense now. “If Mackie has enough balls to tell you he’s a virgin, then he’ll have enough to say if he doesn’t want you fondling them.”

  She nods, but there’s still something. I can see it in the way she stares up into the skylight.

  “What else?”

  She sighs. “If he’s never been with anyone, what will he think of me? What if he knew how many?”

  This time it’s me who wraps the tip of her hair around my fingers. It’s coarse compared to mine—strong and thick. “Kimchi-guk-buteo ma-si-ji-mal-ra.”

  She looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “Are you talking about soup again? I heard guk somewhere in there.”

  I sweep her hair off her shoulder. It doesn’t listen—just coils forward again. “It means don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t eat the kimchi soup first.”

  “You and your soup.” She huffs out a laugh, but she’s still sitting there all tense and not-Cassie. “Come with me tonight. I need best friend support.” She gives me the full-on pout, but it breaks when her phone rings. She snatches it up. “SafeRide.”

  “RSVP,” she mouths and drags her always-present fundraising binder towards her.

  She scribbles information down in her binder. I’m not eager to attend another social situation where Jean Lo fucks things up. But if Cassie needs me there, then I’m first in line.

  Besides, I have to face Kepler sometime. As much as I hate to admit it, he might deserve a face-to-face conversation after I stormed out on him. Maybe even an apology. Although I have no idea how to go about apologizing to Kepler Quinn.

  I might need a little best-friend support too.

  “Excellent,” Cassie says into the phone. “And how many will attend?”

  “Two,” I say.

  On the phone, the woman says, “Four.”

  Cassie’s smile doubles.

  I check to see if my toes are dry before jumping down from the stool to find a bruise-colored dress.

  Nine

  I don’t find a bruise-colored dress, but I do find shorts Cassie calls wine colored. I pair them up with Cassie-style shoes I’d bought on a whim but hadn’t convinced myself to wear yet.

  Between the shorts, shoes, and black halter, I look fairly decent for a too-skinny Korean girl whose maniacal running has made her drop three pounds over the last week. I’m not spending all this time on my appearance because Kepler will likely be at Mackie’s house and I want to look like I’m not falling apart. Nope, time spent on my make-up is self-betterment. I’m starting on the outside and working my way in.

  My whimsical shoe decision doesn’t seem like such a good one halfway through the mile trudge to Mackie’s. I wasn’t ecstatic about walking, but Cassie turned bed-sheet white when I suggested taking the car, so I relented. She traps my fingers in hers, and we stumble along bumpy sidewalk-less roads for half a mile before coming to the sudden start of cement, streetlamps, and town banners that welcome skiers.

  When the blue-balconied house Mackie rents with other non-townies comes into view, I’m transported to the last time Cassie and I were here: kegs, kisses, and Kepler. I follow Cassie up the steps, my toes already screaming profanities.

  Mackie’s on the balcony. He balances a hacky sack on the inside curve of his foot, all brown hair and dimples and that uniform of ease guys like Mackie always wear. His head top-spins towards Cassie when he sees her. A small circle of guys waits for the hacky bounce. Not a Kepler among them.

  Cassie clutches my hand.

  Mackie, showing the best side of himself, doesn’t play it cool. Instead he passes the hack and heads straight for Cassie, a huge grin on his face. “You came.” His eyes flash like the sun hitting snow.

  And so do Cassie’s. I have to shield myself from the intensity.

  “Hey, Jean.” He says it like I’m a hangnail, but it releases Cassie’s death grip on my hand.

  “There’s beer in the fridge,” Mackie says to me, which I take as a way to shoo me away, before he turns his dimpled smile back to Cassie. “Come on.” He grabs her hand and tugs her away. But she flits a happy grin at me, so I don’t intervene.

  I stand on the porch with my arms across my chest while Mackie pulls her over to a group of guys and introduces her around. I’m pretty sure she already knows a few of the guys. Intimately.

  And, shit, one of them is Ty.

  Cassie owes me for this favor. I sigh and turn towards the house, stepping into the quiet and away from the group of non-townie guys on the porch. Which is progress, I think.

  The wooden floor creaks as I cross to the kitchen, the only noise in the otherwise silent house. The two faded couches are empty. Even the kitchen is empty.

  I let out a long breath and pull open the refrigerator to find a surprising number of green things for a college guy’s house. Between the lettuce and hummus, I fumble for a can of Mackie’s Coors Light.

  “Do you play Nintendo?” The deep male voice comes from the other side of the refrigerator door.

  I hit my head on the top of the refrigerator and then slam the door before turning to find a body in my path—sharp bones, thick black hair, and a black leather jacket that screams wannabe toughness. He leans against the counter next to me with his gaze trained on my shoes.

  “Nintendo?” I blurt. Shit. I got reeled in.

  “Do you play Nintendo?” he repeats and grins, showing off a single dimple. “It’s my conversation starter.”

  “It’s terrible.” I pop my beer open and suck the foam off the top. Does everything remind me of Kepler? “Embarrassingly horrible. Besides, I’m not the kind of girl you want to use a pick-up line on.”

  “I’ve heard differently.” He taps the counter with some fingers rainbowed in red and purples. Oils, I’d guess. He’s an artist. With a dimple. Something niggles in
the back of my mind.

  I take a slow drink. “Who told you about me?”

  He leans towards me, smelling like mint and leather. “I’m staying with Mackie.”

  Mackie. Of freaking course. “What exactly did Mackie say about me?”

  “Um, nothing.” He glances at the sliding door. “Just that, you know, you’re a cool girl. That I should talk to you.”

  “I’m fairly certain Mackie would never use the word ‘cool’ to describe me.” The space of distance between us isn’t much larger than my too-cold can of beer. “What did he say about me?”

  It’s best-friend duty to follow this line of questioning. Why would Mackie want this guy to pick up on me? Something still isn’t clicking together, and I need to find out for Cassie’s sake.

  “Aw, you know Mackie, he was just talking.” He digs a hand in that black hair. “But he didn’t tell me that you’re fucking gorgeous. I mean, holy shit. When he said Asian, I pictured some slip of a girl. Not…” And then he has the nerve to fucking gesture to my tits.

  I clutch the can of beer to my chest and glance behind me—hoping like hell that Cassie will suddenly be there.

  Or… Okay, I admit it. I’m looking for Kepler. But it’s just the long stretch of wood floor and the low hum of the refrigerator.

  His free hand reaches out to trace the metal circle on the top of my beer can. I pull it back, but his hand moves with it, and I’m pressed up against the counter. My heart leaps up into my throat, playing an unfamiliar rhythm.

  But the rest of this is so, so familiar. Some strange guy I don’t really want to be with. The feeling like I want to see where this goes.

  There’s a debate going on inside of me. I can’t ignore it. I’m just so fucking lost. Gripping the cold beer can and hoping it will wake me up. Stop this jittery feeling racking me. This feeling like everything is so twisted and there’s something I need from this guy standing in front of me who I don’t even particularly like.

  And the only solution seems to be a guy I don’t want to hurt. But still, I just wish that Kepler were here. Standing next to me. Keeping me from slipping down these darker and darker paths.