The Cold Hard Truth: A Gripping Novel About Secrets and Lies

by Amanda Leigh Cowley

  His face is lit up by the firelight and I’m surprised to see hurt reflected in his eyes. Against my better judgement, I feel bad for him.

  “Nate, if you knew what a mess I was....”

  His expression turns serious. “I know something’s going on with you, Em. I wish you’d talk to me about it.” He holds me with his eyes but I stay silent.

  When he realises I’m not about to give in, he sighs. “I know I should probably leave you alone, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  I bite my lip and look away from him.

  “Something happened back in London, didn’t it? The reason you came here, it wasn’t just about money, was it?”

  “Nate, I don’t want to talk about….”

  “Please just tell me what happened? I hate trying to second guess everything. I only want to help.”

  I’m torn. I’m not ready to tell him what happened, but maybe if I give him a brief extract, then he’ll understand and stop pursuing me. I blow out a long breath before meeting his eyes. “Okay, you’re right. Something did happen back in London.”

  He nods, his face expectant as he waits for me to carry on.

  “But you can’t make it right, Nate. No one can.”

  “What was it?” His eyes narrow. “Did someone hurt you?”

  Someone got hurt more.

  The inside of my throat feels stretched and I take a painful swallow. “A bit. It was a long time ago.” Without thinking I trace the scar through the material of my sleeve. Too late, I notice Nate’s eyes fix onto my arm and realise what I’m doing. I quickly drop my hand down.

  “Wait.” Something in his expression changes, like a lightbulb going off in his head. “That scar on your arm…. I noticed it the other day, in the café. What struck me was how you reacted when you realised it was on show.”

  My heart bangs against my ribs.

  He steps closer. “Em, has that scar got anything to do with what happened in London? Whatever this is all about?”

  I chew the inside of my cheek and give him the briefest of nods.

  He takes hold of my hand and before I realise what he’s doing, he’s slid the sleeve up towards my elbow. My eyes flick to the angry line and my stomach lurches. The glow from the fire is making it shine and stand out more than ever.

  He places a finger on the lower end of the scar just above my wrist. “Who did this?” he asks, tracing the wound all the way up to my elbow.

  The blood freezes in my veins. It’s too much.

  “Nate,” I breathe. “Don’t.”

  He frowns and releases my arm. I tug the sleeve all the way back and over my hand, grasping the material in place with my fingers. Then I drag my eyes back to meet his. He’s still frowning but he stays silent, waiting for me to enlighten him.

  “I don’t like people seeing it,” I say, desperately trying to think of a good cover story.

  He reaches out and touches the side of my face. “What happened, Em?”

  I’ve let too much slip and I know he won’t give up until I tell him the truth.

  Breathe in. Pause.

  Breathe out.

  Breathe in. Pause.

  Breathe out.

  “Back in March….” I press my lips together and inhale. “Someone came into our house with a knife.”

  Nate’s eyes tighten but he stays silent, giving me the space I need to get the words out.

  I take another deep breath, filling my lungs before the words come spilling out. “I wasn’t supposed to be there. I came home early from college with the flu. I called out for my dad, but he didn’t answer so I walked through to the living room and found him … on the sofa. He’d been….” My voice breaks so I clear my throat and attempt the sentence again. “He’d been attacked.”

  Nate’s eyes search mine. “How bad was it?”

  I open my mouth to form the words but they don’t come so I press my lips together and shake my head.

  Nate’s eyes widen. “Shit.” He reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Em, that’s…. I’m so sorry.”

  I pause for a moment, trying to find my voice again. “The attacker was still in the room. I didn’t even realise....”

  He looks at my arm. “And that’s when he hurt you, too?”

  I nod. “Not intentionally. He just needed to get past me to escape.”

  We both stand quiet for a moment. Nate’s thumb is rubbing back and forth across my knuckles.

  “So, the person who did this? Is he in prison now?”

  I shake my head. “Six months on, they still have no idea who did it.” I force another painful swallow. My mouth is so dry. “Dad didn’t have any enemies. He wasn’t that kind of person.”

  Nate shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say, Em. For you to walk in and find him like that….”

  See? I knew he wouldn’t be able to make this better.

  “It didn’t seem real at the time.” I look up and give him a sad smile. “It still doesn’t.”

  My sadness is reflected in his eyes. This is what I wanted to avoid. I don’t want his pity.

  I take in a ragged breath, and concentrate on his thumb gliding over my knuckles.

  “I go over what happened in my head all the time, wondering if I came home earlier, maybe I could have stopped the attack. Or even if I’d got help for Dad sooner, maybe he could have been saved….” I look up and whisper, “I feel like I failed him.”

  “No.” Nate shakes his head firmly. “Don’t say that. The person with the knife is the one who did this, not you. If you start thinking like that, it’ll screw you up.”

  A small, sarcastic laugh spills out of me. “Too late for that. I’m already screwed up.” I take another step back from him, creating some space. “That’s why you need to stop feeding me these lines.”

  “Lines?” He frowns. “I’m not feeding you any lines.”

  “Look, Nate, you enjoy being around me. I get it. I enjoy being around you. But it’s not as simple as that. I’m no good for you. You should go and find someone else you enjoy being around who isn’t a mess.”

  His expression changes and he looks at me with this fierce intensity, as if nothing is more important than me. “You don’t get it, do you? If it was as simple as just enjoying being around you, I would leave you alone. I honestly would. But it’s so much more than that.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Open your eyes, Em. I’m crazy about you.”

  I can’t look at him anymore; the sincerity in his eyes is conflicting with everything I thought I knew about him. I tear my gaze from his and focus on the moon’s reflection on the water instead.

  “Em.” He hooks a finger under my chin and makes me look back at him. “All I’m asking for is a chance to show you what you mean to me.”

  Breathe in. Pause.

  Breathe out.

  A cool drip of water lands on my face and makes me flinch. I look around to see where it came from and then there’s another drip, and another….

  “Shit,” I hear someone say. “Rain.”

  I look back at Nate. “I didn’t think it rained in southern California….”

  His eyes narrow and he shakes his head. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  The drips start to fall harder until the rain is torrential and people are squealing and packing up cool boxes and rugs. Within seconds I’m blowing drips off my nose, my hair has stuck flat to my head and I can taste hairspray. I don’t even want to know what’s happened to all the make-up Harriet applied earlier.

  Harriet. She’ll be looking for me.

  “Nate,” I shout over the roar of the downpour. “I need to go.” I turn to head away but he grabs hold of my arm. “Wait.” In the space of a few seconds his hair has gone all shiny, separated by the rainwater. “Come back to the café. It’s closer than yours.”

  I wipe the water from my face. “I can’t. Harriet will wonder where I am.”

  “Text her. She can come too.”

  I hesitate, looking from Nate to the chaos ar
ound us; people holding rugs over their heads, bundling up their belongings and running off the beach.

  “Please, Em.”

  I can’t see Harriet anywhere. I take a deep breath, look back at Nate and nod. He grabs my hand and we run up the beach, over the road and through the door of the café.

  Chapter 17

  It’s a relief to step inside out of the rain. Someone has already put a towel down in front of the doorway and we stand on it for a moment, letting the water drip off us.

  There are about a dozen people already here, taking refuge from the weather. Lois is walking around with a pile of dry towels, throwing them out to anyone who needs one.

  I take one from her and dry my hands before squeezing the drips from my hair. Then I slide my phone out of my pocket, relieved it stayed dry, and check to see if Harriet has texted. At the same time, my phone chimes to announce she’s just sent one.

  ‘Drying off at Jay’s, over the road from the beach. Come and join us.’

  Underneath she’s added his address. I quickly tap out a text to let her know I’ve already taken shelter at the café.

  By the time I finish messing about with my phone, Riley is standing in front me, towel wrapped around his neck, holding a tray of steaming coffees. I take one off him, gratefully hugging the cup for warmth.

  “Thank God I took a blanket with me,” Lois says. “My dress hardly got wet.”

  I peel my saturated top away from my skin and laugh. “Shame I didn’t.”

  Nate steps closer, gripping his cup between both hands. He talks in hushed tones so only I can hear. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower?” He pauses to rub drips from his forehead. “You can borrow some of my clothes. They’ll swamp you, but at least they’re dry.”

  I shift my weight from one foot to the other. After the conversation we’ve just had, I should run a mile. But I’m wet through, goose bumps have popped up on my skin and the thought of a warm shower is too tempting. “Okay,” I say, sliding my feet from my wet sandals and standing back on the towel to dry them off. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  Nate glances over to the stairs. “Upstairs, door on the left….”

  I know.

  I nod, and with the towel wrapped around my shoulders, make my way upstairs.

  Once I’m at the top, I take a deep breath and push open the door to his apartment. It’s bigger than I expected. The living area has a squashy looking sofa and armchair beside a low coffee table with various papers on. Beyond that, there’s an open-plan kitchen area, all white cabinets with steel appliances, and then a hallway with two doors leading off. The first one I try is a cupboard, packed to the gunnels with boxes, books and other stuff. The second one is Nate’s bedroom. I hesitate before walking in. It feels wrong coming in here. Out-of-bounds wrong.

  A king-size bed dominates the space and over in the corner is a chair with clothes slung over the back. A soft maroon sweater is among them. I pull it off and sling it over my arm, deciding that’s what I’ll put on after my shower.

  At the foot of the bed are several weights of varying sizes and just beyond, a cabinet is crammed with sports’ trophies and coloured belts from some type of martial art. In pride of place is a photo of a middle-aged woman stood in the middle of Nate, Riley and two other men. I pick it up to examine the picture more closely. The woman has ash blonde hair and the two men I don’t recognise have dark hair, but they all have the same eyes. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to work out the other people in this photo are Nate’s mom and his brothers. I set the frame down carefully and walk through to the attached bathroom.

  Inside it’s all white tiles, chrome fittings and grey Egyptian cotton towels. The cabinet door is ajar and I spot five new toothbrushes sitting on the shelf, still in their packaging. How many unexpected visitors can one guy have?

  Shivering, I peel off my wet clothes, wring them out and hang them on the towel-warmer. Then I step into the shower cubicle, slide the glass door shut and turn the dial until jets of hot water hit me from all directions.

  I stand under the stream of water and use Nate’s expensive-smelling shower gel and wash my hair with an identical smelling shampoo. After the bubbles wash away, it’s a wrench to turn the dial off and stop the flow of water.

  Gently steaming, I grab a thick, fluffy towel off the side and roughly dry myself before squeezing the water from my hair. I step back into my knickers which mercifully stayed dry, and pull on Nate’s sweater, inhaling his scent as the soft material glides over my head.

  I ease the door open, allowing some of the steam to disperse into the bedroom, then, squinting into the misted-up mirror, I twist wet strands of hair into a messy knot and secure them with the band I had on my wrist.

  I wipe the mirror with the sleeve of the sweater and lean closer, blinking at my reflection. I look different. The haunted look I’ve been carrying around for the past few months is fading. My pasty complexion has been replaced by a warm honey colour and it makes my eyes look brighter and my teeth look whiter.

  While I’m busy studying my reflection the door at the far side of the bedroom creaks. I catch my breath and look up through the mirror.

  Nate is standing over by the bedroom door, looking like he should be on the front cover of GQ magazine. His hair is still shiny from the downpour and the blue t-shirt he’s pulled on skims over his chest and shoulders, highlighting the contours of his muscles. Someone else’s words from the first night I saw him filter into my mind; drop-dead gorgeous. He’s looking my way but he doesn’t realise I can see him through the mirror.

  He steps fully into the bedroom and presses his back against the door, closing it softly behind him. Then he stays put, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, back leaning against the wood while his gaze slowly sweeps up the back of me. There’s something about his expression; the intensity of his gaze, that makes my stomach flip.

  I know I should do something. Slam the bathroom door shut. Pull on my shorts. Tell him to get the hell out of here. But I do none of those things. I just stand still, captivated, as I watch him back through the mirror.

  When his eyes meet mine he tenses, realising he’s busted. Then his lips form the hint of a smile and he pushes himself off the door.

  I snap back to my senses. “Ah … haven’t you heard of knocking?” I force my voice to stay level.

  He walks across the bedroom and into the bathroom, stopping directly behind me. I’m so affected by his closeness I have to make an effort just to breathe.

  His eyes stay fixed to mine in the mirror. “If you want me to leave, just say the word and I’ll go.”

  I don’t say anything. I just peer up at him from under my lashes, trying to anticipate his next move.

  “Damn,” he says under his breath. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

  I draw in a shaky breath. Part of me is scared he’s going to touch me. And a bigger part of me is terrified in case he doesn’t. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to break whatever spell he’s casting over me. I know I should put a stop to this, but I can’t bring myself to tell him to leave.

  With trembling fingers, I tug the bottom of the sweater down towards my thighs. “I … uh … I need to finish getting dressed.”

  “Don’t,” he whispers.

  I glance at him through the mirror, but he’s not making eye contact anymore. Instead he’s looking down at me, his jaw muscle working, causing tiny movements under his skin. He lifts his arms and I feel the weight of his hands on my shoulders, his touch causing tiny electric shocks through the material.

  My resolve is plummeting dangerously low. “Nate, I’m not sure about this….”

  “Then tell me to go.” He pauses for a moment, but when I don’t say anything, his hands start working; long fingers expertly releasing the tension in my muscles. My shoulders drop as my traitorous body responds to him. I close my eyes and clench my jaw. If I don’t stop him now, I never will. But it’s not that easy. I’m so ridiculously drawn to
him.

  “Turn around, Em.” His voice has gone deep and husky.

  I hesitate. This is the crossroads; the point I either tell him to get lost, or turn around and face him, knowing I’ll be a lost cause.

  I swallow hard. My legs wobble beneath me as I turn and find myself looking straight into his crystal blue eyes.

  He holds my gaze for a few seconds before his eyes travel down to my mouth. I feel like I’m in some kind of a trance as he places warm hands on either side of my face, lowers his mouth and brushes my lips with his own, making them tingle.

  When he steps back, his eyes burn into mine. “Stay with me tonight….”

  I close my eyes. What I need to do is shake my head. Pull back from him. Say no. But I’m feeling reckless.

  I look directly into his eyes and give him a small nod.

  There’s a fresh intensity in his eyes as his hands slide down to my hips, pulling my body into his. His mouth meets mine and I savour every sensation, from the warmth of his lips, to the amount of pressure he applies.

  He grips the hem of the sweater, his fingers grazing my sides as he slowly drags the material up my body and over my head. The cool air hits my skin and I instinctively reach to shield my scar.

  “Don’t, Em.” His brow creases. Then his eyes slide over me and his expression darkens. I catch my breath as his warm hands glide back down my sides, heating my skin and setting every nerve-ending alight.

  I’ve never wanted anyone as fiercely as I want him right now. I push his top up and place my palms on his torso, splaying my fingers across rock-hard muscles and warm skin. His eyes meet mine and he grips the bottom of his t-shirt, sliding it off in one movement.

  A deep breath escapes me. His body is even better close up; smooth, tanned and ripped. Intimidating, but in a good way. I press my finger against his tattoo and trace the pattern running down his side. His ribs expand as his breathing gets deeper. I press my lips against his skin and breathe in the wonderful smell of him. Then I tilt my face up towards his, desperate to feel his mouth on mine again. He obliges, leaning into me and every cell of my body focusses on the point where our lips touch.