Love's Deception

by DC Renee

  But I had no choice. Because you know who was expected to pull the trigger? To kill his own son? You guessed it—my dad.

  I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t let him have another bloody body on his hands. It would kill him. Despite my mixed feelings toward my dad at the moment, he was still my dad. And he had good intentions at heart.

  I knew he knew what he was expected to do. And I knew he’d never tell me. I also knew he’d never do it, and then we’d both be screwed. Like I said, I didn’t care for me … but for him …

  I knew what I had to do.

  It hadn’t been an impulsive decision. I had deliberated over it from the minute I knew Rick had started a new campaign—against his very own cousin, no less. The cousin he had been close to growing up. The bitch Vanessa had changed him for the worse, and I hoped that one day, he’d wake up, look in the mirror, and hate who he saw because of her. But that day wasn’t today.

  No … in fact, today, he wanted me dead.

  Much like with Annalise, it was a slow-burning fire, just waiting for some kindling to really make it blaze. And I could feel the kindling coming. It was only a matter of time before everything erupted in flames. And my dad would be the one burned.

  It was over the course of a month, a month I avoided Rick, a month I tried to play nice and play by all the rules, a month where I’d shaped up, if only for my dad … but it wasn’t enough. It was over the course of this month that I decided on what I needed to do.

  I just needed to find the courage to do it.

  And today, with the help of Mr. Jack Daniels, was the day I was going to do it.

  I opened the box of pills, ready to take them one by one until I could no longer do so … until I could no longer do anything … not in this life, at least.

  “Stop.” He didn’t even yell, just told me like I was a small child waiting for direction. I didn’t know how he got wind of what I was doing. I surely didn’t know how he knew exactly when the fuck to walk through my door or know that I’d been sitting on the couch with a bottle of pills in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. Maybe he had tracked me. Maybe it was a father’s intuition. Maybe he had cameras on me. It didn’t matter … he knew.

  “I have to,” I told him, my voice surprisingly clear, considering the amount of alcohol I’d consumed.

  “No,” he told me. “You don’t.”

  “I have to do this for you.”

  “Never,” he said loudly. “A father’s mission in life is to be there for his children. You’re my son, and it’ll always be me doing things for you.”

  “Not this time. This time I am doing it for you.”

  “Don’t do this, Nolan. If not for me … then for your son.”

  HIS WORDS WERE a cruel and painful reminder of what could have been, of what was ripped away from my life, just like my own life was being ripped from me as well. “I have no son,” I stated with a deadly calm.

  “Not yet, but you can be there for his birth,” my dad told me, his voice holding a tinge of sadness, a tinge of regret, and a tinge of something akin to the painful reminder of distant, harsh memories.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked, my voice a mix of anger and confusion, my tone rising higher with each word.

  “Annalise—”

  “Is dead,” I cut him off. “And don’t say her name,” I threatened, not liking where this was going, not liking this sick and twisted joke.

  “Annalise is alive,” he told me softly, his voice breaking with the effort to push the words out, his raw emotion obvious even to me even through the anger and pain coursing through my veins.

  “Not possible,” I said, shaking my head violently as I tried to process his words. “I saw her go down.”

  “Staged.”

  “The blood.”

  “Planted. Hit with the right angle to make it look real.”

  “I held her limp body.”

  “With the help of a light sedative.” His retorts came like bullets, each one piercing my heart a little more with both betrayal and with hope.

  “I don’t understand. I held her dead body in my arms.”

  “In your immediate grief, you didn’t check for a heartbeat, didn’t see the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. We counted on that, timing the sedative to work just after she landed in your arms. She asked to be out, knowing full well if she felt your pain, she wouldn’t be able to go through with it.”

  “No!” I screamed. “No,” I repeated, standing suddenly, my hands turning into fists. “You’re lying … using this to try to keep your son alive. Well, guess what, old man? It’s not fucking working. I’m not buying the bullshit you’re selling. You can’t keep me alive this time. You can’t step in and save the day by killing someone I love because there’s no one left. Just me this time. I tried to save you the pain, but you couldn’t take it, and you stuck a knife in my heart anyway. So go ahead. Take your gun and finish the job.” I raged at him, and he stood there, taking my words, his shoulders slumped, his head hanging heavy on his body, his eyes full of unshed tears.

  He stared at me, taking in my form, my chest heaving, my hands balled into fists at my side, ready to strike. And then he spoke, quietly but assuredly. “She was prepared to die to be with you. She was even prepared to die to save your life, Nolan. But that was when it was just her. When she found out she was carrying your child, she came to me, asking if there was anything I could do. I tried to keep you together, I swear, Nolan, I did. But the elders know I’d never take your life, and it would be too suspicious if you both died. And if you disappeared, you know they’d chase you until they found you, and then what? All three dead? No, this was the only way. She didn’t want to leave you, but she knew she had no choice. Not when it was no longer just her life on the line.”

  “She could have told me,” I argued, finally knowing my dad was speaking the truth. My wife was alive … and carrying my son. My son. My God, I was going to be a dad. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and the tears came, flowing freely down my cheeks. I gasped, trying to find air to fill my lungs because they were currently filled with longing, sorrow, and joy.

  “You wouldn’t have let her go,” my dad answered. No, I wouldn’t have. I’d never let her go.

  “How? I don’t understand.”

  “People believe what they want to believe,” he told me. “They believed the threat to their lives was dead because they wanted to believe it. It didn’t take much. I did need help from two people, but I still have some loyal to me in our family, those who hate this as much as I do … those that remembered your mother fondly, her death as much a bullet in their bodies as it was to hers.”

  “My mother? What does she have to do with this? She and granddad were killed in a crossfire.”

  “The story you were told. Like the story of Annalise’s death, a simple fabrication.” I just stared at him, worried that everything I knew and held dear was a lie. “Your mother knew the life she was entering, but she had lofty dreams to change it all. I told her not to hold her breath, but she still had hope. That was one of the things that drew me to her. Her optimistic view of life and the good she saw in people. It was she who was good, and the world lost a beautiful soul the day your grandfather murdered her.” I was stunned silent at his admission and the disdain behind his words. All my life, I’d thought there was some sort of “war”—for lack of a better word—with a competitor, and my mom and granddad were in the wrong place at the wrong time. My dad paused as if he knew I needed a few minutes to soak in what he’d just said. “Unlike with Annalise, the family wasn’t worried she’d sell them out. They were just worried she’d get tired of the life and want out. As you know, no one gets out. There were murmurs, strong encouragements of what to do about her. But in the end, no one would have wanted her dead, especially since she had no plans to leave … ever … she was just sad her grand notions were falling short. That should have been it,” he said with a sad sigh.

  “My fath
er,” he said with a sneer, saying “father” as if it were a curse word, “didn’t like the stigma your mother was supposedly causing our family. He told me she needed to be dealt with. When I refused, he decided to do it himself. I learned of his plans too late and arrived just as he pulled the trigger. So, then I pulled mine. I shot him in the stomach and watched him bleed out. I watched as he struggled, begging for my help, but I didn’t give it to him. He took my wife away from me, the mother of my son, without a thought or care … you might remember him fondly. He loved you, his prided heir, but he wasn’t a good man, Nolan. Not a good one at all. I did the world a favor when I took his life. I just wished I’d been there sooner, so I could have saved your mother.”

  “They would have killed you,” I told him, still digesting his words, the knowledge of what truly happened to my mother.

  “Who was there to tell?” he said with a shrug. “I told the others that he came after my wife, and she shot him before he got her. I didn’t arrive until they were dead. I’m not sure if they believed me, but many wanted to believe me. Like I said, your granddad wasn’t a good man, and not only to me. Your mother was a light people were drawn to. Even if they knew the truth, they didn’t want to know it. So they believed what I said. But I vowed you’d never live through that.”

  “But I did!” I shouted. “I watched my wife die by my father’s hand!” I screamed.

  “And I’d do it again, Nolan,” he admitted. “I’d tear my own fucking heart out and watch you hate me, blame me, even die a little in front of my eyes if that meant your wife lived, and your child got to experience this world. Because that’s what fathers do. They live for their children—like I had to after your mother’s death. They also die for them too. And I died right there with you, knowing how much you were suffering and unable to tell you the truth. But it kept them alive. And it kept you alive too. Barely … but alive nonetheless.”

  “So what now?” I asked, having found a new appreciation for my father I’d never had before. What he had done for me … from day one … I didn’t know that I would have had that same courage.

  “Now we fake your death.”

  Annalise

  “WE’RE GOING TO have to put you in soccer when you’re old enough,” I told my stomach as the baby kicked the crap out of my insides for the twentieth time that day. I’d been saying “we” and talking about Nolan to his son from day one as if Nolan was going to somehow materialize. I’d known that day I went to his dad that I’d never see Nolan again, that his son or daughter would never meet their father, but I didn’t have a choice. If it was just my life on the line, I would have stayed and taken my chances. I would have even given my life to save Nolan’s, but the minute I’d heard this little guy’s heartbeat for the first time, I knew I’d do anything for him. Even if it meant giving up Nolan. But it didn’t mean it was easy. Every day, I missed him. Every day, I longed for him. Every day, I wondered if he was okay.

  I’d only been able to learn about him right after I’d woken up, when Neal and his cousin helped transport me—the new Lise Dollanger, a single pregnant woman—to my new home in Boise. I cried the entire way, listening to Neal replay every moment of what had gone down and how Nolan had reacted.

  “Annalise, it’s not good for the baby,” he told me.

  “Neither is taking him away from his father,” I countered sadly. “But I did what I had to do. Let me grieve, please,” I urged. “Let me cry it out, and I’ll stop when we get to where we’re going.”

  He nodded in understanding and continued to answer my questions, over and over.

  I still cried every so often, but I tried hard not to. But at times like this, it was harder to fight the urge. I was thirty-eight weeks along, and the doctor said this boy would be here any day now. I was excited to meet him, to see my little baby boy, but I was also scared. I would be doing this alone, without the love and support of Nolan, my family, not even friends. I’d made a few in my new life, but it wasn’t the same. In time, I’m sure we’d get closer, and I could lean on them. But not just yet.

  “Oh God, Nolan, I wish you could be here,” I whispered softly as his wannabe athlete son gave my organs another kick. “If only for a moment,” I said out loud. “Just to meet your son, just so he could meet you.” I’d been fighting with the tears, but they had just won. I felt the salty tracks trace my cheeks before reaching my lips, but I didn’t wipe them. I let them stay there, as if they were my punishment for the situation I’d found myself in.

  I rubbed my belly, feeling my only connection to my former life, to my love beneath my skin. He gave me some peace, his presence inside me. “I can’t wait to meet you and hold you in my arms. And when you’re old enough, I’ll tell you all about how your dad and I met. I’ll tell you about our love and our life together. You’ll know, through me, just how much he loved you even though he never got to meet you.” I sighed. “I bet you’ll look just like him,” I said and hoped.

  “Oh,” I said loudly. Well, that kick was stronger than normal. And then it was followed by another sharp pain, and I realized that wasn’t the baby kicking at all. “Oh shit,” I said to the empty room. “I think I’m in labor.” Then I did what any single soon-to-be mother would do. I panicked like crazy.

  Then I took a deep breath. “You got this,” I told myself. “You didn’t get to this point on fear; you did it on strength.” I’d been giving myself this little pep talk whenever I was feeling particularly sad. It worked this time, and I grabbed the overnight bag I’d packed the week before, gritted my teeth through the pain, called an Uber, and got dropped off at the hospital by a complete stranger. And then I hoped and prayed I’d have the strength to keep going through this alone.

  Nolan

  ALL I HAD was a name and an address. My dad had checked on Annalise whenever he could, but that wasn’t often, considering he didn’t want to give away just what he was doing. According to him, he flew out once a month, watched her for a few hours from afar, and then flew back that same day so everyone was none the wiser.

  I knew she didn’t have a job and that my father had given her a hefty bank account so that she and the baby would be all right for a while. The plan, after that, was for Annalise to get a job and live a normal life while raising our son—our son—by herself.

  Now that plan had changed, and I needed to let her know.

  With Annalise, they didn’t have time, and there was nothing to get “in order.”

  With me, I wanted to make sure I had all my ducks in a row, and I especially wanted to make sure I had enough money unloaded into an untraceable account so that Annalise and I—along with our son and any future children—would live comfortably and happily.

  Those things took time, though, if you didn’t want to raise suspicions.

  After that was settled, I could finally break free of the life that had broken me and make my way to the new life I desperately wanted to live. My dad and I talked it over, and we decided that suicide was the most believable “death” for me. I’d been spiraling for some time, which was absolutely true when I thought I’d lost my wife and child. After I found out they were alive, I was wired with anticipation, but the family didn’t know that. They assumed I was still on a downward path. I just needed them to hold off on any action until I was ready to put my plan in place. With luck on my side, they were still debating my fate when I “decided I had nothing to live for.”

  Those were the words I’d used in my “suicide note.”

  I didn’t think we’d pull it off, but my father had been right—people will believe whatever we tell them to believe.

  A few well-placed items, a few movie-worthy props, a mild sedative to prevent me from making any sudden movements, my father’s tears, and my death was believed.

  “I won’t see you again,” I whispered when the funeral was over, and my father was transporting me to Boise with the help of the same trusted family that had helped with Annalise.

  “You think my tears were fake?” he aske
d in response. “They weren’t for your death, but they were for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” I told him. He nodded, words too heavy to speak. We didn’t speak for several minutes until I broke the silence. “I miss her,” I said, and based on the surprised look in my dad’s face, I knew he understood who I meant. “I forget what she looked like as I get older, I forget her voice, but I remember her smell. I remember her smile. I remember her hugs, and the way she held me when I was sad or hurt.” I watched as his tears ran slowly down his cheeks at my words. “I’ll miss her until the day I die,” I admitted. “But I’ll miss you more. You filled her void, took care of me, and didn’t let me go through the same fate you did. I won’t forget the way you look or your voice. I’ll remember the way you taught me to play ball and fish. I’ll remember the way you cheered me on when I scored the winning goal. I’ll remember how proud you always were of me and how you believed in me. I’ll remember how you saved me. How you saved my family, how you saved my heart. I’ll remember it all. I love you, Dad. I’ll love you until the day I die.”

  He unbuckled his seat belt and leaned over, hugging me awkwardly, but hugging me nonetheless. My arms instinctively wrapped around his body, and I breathed in the familiar scent of my dad, hoping it would last for eternity because this was goodbye.

  “I love you, Nolan. Always have, always will.”

  The rest of the ride was silent until we reached Annalise’s home, the one my father had set her up with. Luckily, it was a property he’d owned, and no one had paid attention to the many homes my dad had invested in. All he had to do was change the title, fudge the previous owner a bit, and Annalise would be forever safe.

  Now I stood frozen, facing my future, my nerves overtaking my body, preventing me from taking the first step. A car horn honked in the distance, propelling me forward, and my body moved without thought toward Annalise even though my worry escalated with each step closer.