by Nina Lincoln
Bitter Lies
Nina Lincoln
Copyright © 2021 Nina Lincoln
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: Rebecacovers
Editing by: One Love Editing
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Foreword
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Note From The Author
Hate So Bad - Chapter One
Foreword
Hello, my fellow insatiable readers!
I’m writing to you from my back porch. It’s quiet and warm and late. My dog is chewing her bone and my husband is watching an archaeological show on his iPad.
What a beautiful way to spend an evening.
This is the story of Halsey and Griffin. They’re perfectly broken and hiding their beauty.
I want you to know that I spent a lot of time deciding what to do with this story. When I sought feedback, I thought this book was dark but found that what I think is dark may be tame to the next person and even darker to others.
This makes it hard to describe to the reader and leaves me somewhat helpless in my warnings.
What I can say is that for me, this book is heavy. There’s no other way to describe Halsey’s journey and in a way, I feel I would be doing her a disservice if I did. This means if you’re looking for a lighthearted, bubbly story of love, this isn’t the book for you.
This is an enemies to lovers romance, and although some might disagree with the romance part, I promise that book two brings it home for Halsey. In the meantime, there’s pain and heartache and sadness, and even a darkness that I define as such.
What makes a good love story is different for every person and why we escape into books is a personal journey. While I hope this is the escape you crave, I also know that this book is not for everyone. You may hate Griffin or even Halsey, but I hope you understand the why when you reach the other side.
This is book one of two and if you stick around, you’ll get your happy ending, (promise) but we have to get through the hard parts first. Kind of like life, I suppose.
Now for the warnings, this is not a safe read. Please heed my warning, and if you have specific triggers, see below for more information. For those of you who don’t want the spoilers, skip to the next page please!
As always, I appreciate the love and hope you enjoy Halsey and Griffin's story. Send me a note when you’re done and let me know what you think.
~Nina
SPOILER ALERT – DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU’RE LOOKING FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS!!
LAST WARNING – SKIP THIS PAGE IF YOU DON’T WANT THE TRIGGER WARNINGS!!
***************
This story contains characters with a past history of severe sexual assault. While this happened in the past, this is also very real and raw for them and they’re in the middle of their fight to claw their way free from the trauma.
The story also includes drug abuse and physical violence although not between the two main characters.
This is an enemies to lovers romance and Griffin is most definitely not a nice guy…you will love to hate him, no doubt.
Please, please do not move forward if you have any concerns about any of this because as I said before this is definitely a journey for the character and its very real and raw.
~Nina
About the Author
Hi! I’m Nina. I love to read. Obsessively. No joke. Just ask my husband. I was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. Pursued a graduate degree in Forensic Psychology in the great NYC and settled in Phoenix.
I’m an avid Elvis Presley fan, a Tudor history aficionado (or at least I like to think so), and a zombie/end of the world junkie, who happens to also be a sucker for a happy ending! Yes, I see the contradiction.
On those rare occasions when I am not engrossed in a good book, or writing my own, I can be found cuddled up to my furry companions (the dogs not my husband) and relaxing with my best friend (my husband not the dogs).
~Nina
Follow Nina: Nina Lincoln
IG: NinaLincolnAuthor
Twitter: LincolnNina
Website: http://www.NinaLincoln.com
Amazon: Nina Lincoln
Acknowledgements
As I continue my odyssey of writing and self-publishing, I learn and grow with each book. This time around I was blessed to meet several people who brought me into this phase of my journey and showed me the value of beta readers.
Whether brutal or gentle, the feedback I received was instrumental in my considerations for this book. Although I didn’t follow every recommendation given, I carefully reviewed all the advice just the same. I want to extend my gratitude to all the women who took the time to read my work and provide an honest review.
To the Beta Bitch, who’s enthusiastic response was so surprising but welcome that I thought for the first time I might have a pretty good story. She’s also the first to rein me in with her warnings – a reminder we all need from time to time.
To Rachel Christley of Christley Creatives and Brandy Dorsch…what can I say? Reading your comments was a journey all its own and it was fascinating, terrifying and gratifying to see how you reacted to Halsey’s story. Your reactions were visceral, painful and honest…and I was lucky to be a part of it.
To Crystal Partin, alpha reader who laid it out for me with an unparalleled honesty, showing me a perspective, I hadn’t seen before. Her feedback and knowledge helped me to understand the intricacies of the genre and that each of us as readers sees the level of darkness behind a character or degree of romantic connection completely differently.
To Brittany Fretz for reaching out and volunteering, and when she finished Bitter Lies, she moved on to my post-apocalyptic novel waiting in the wings with enthusiasm! Your eagerness made my life!
To Carlane, OMG! I don’t know how to express my gratitude for your support in reading my work. You’re a lovely woman with a beautiful soul, and lucky me, I get to have your amazing daughter as my friend and you as the bonus.
To Erica for reading this last minute when I was freaking out about whether I should change the story. Friends are the backbone of my success and I’m so grateful for you and Tara
(who reads my books with enthusiasm right along with you).
To Della for buying my books for the sole purpose of supporting me. Every time you pull out a colorful pen and ask me to sign your copy, I’m reminded of how lucky I am to have my tribe.
My heart is full. ~Nina
For the girls with a fire in their belly and a desire to be free.
Chapter One
Love really does fucking hurt.
“I just don’t see why I have to stay here,” I mutter glumly, staring out the window at my new home, complete with falsely cheerful white shutters and a rocking chair on the front porch, all of which belies the wickedness that lives inside.
“Because it makes me feel better knowing your brother and Griff will be around to protect you,” Mom says softly, patting my hand.
More like watch me like a hawk.
The unspoken words hang between us, creating a bitter taste in the air, and with a sigh, I lean my head against the glass and watch as Max greets Griff with a manly chin lift and chest bump. The sight makes me smile before it fades under my reality.
In an innocent bid to keep me safe, my mom has cast me into my own living hell, which is saying a lot considering where I just came from. But how can I explain to her what I can’t put into words myself?
Griffin Hathaway, my new roommate and my brother’s best friend since the sixth grade, is my kryptonite, and if she thinks I’ll be better served here, she’s woefully misguided.
How she can be so oblivious is beyond me. Griffin hasn’t so much as cast me a kind glance since…well, I don’t remember.
Although, to be fair, he excels at being the shiny golden boy when he wants to be, and for her, my mother, he shines so bright rainbows come out of his ass.
Max is talking animatedly, his excitement to be free of parental monitoring apparent as Griffin nods his head in amusement. In a different world, I’d be standing there also, and watching them together, I ignore the pulse of longing that so often I can’t suppress because once upon a time, Griffin was my best friend, too.
He was the sunshine I craved, the laughter I couldn’t contain—my first thought when I woke in the morning and the last image I had before I went to bed.
It’s hard to believe now, but we were inseparable, closer even than Max and me, born less than a year apart. Griffin and I knew everything about each other, and there was nothing we couldn’t do because we had each other, or so it seemed at that age when the world is an adventure.
We spent many a lazy afternoon sharing our dreams, frustrations, and feelings, pretending to be who we thought we wanted to be, and even sleeping under the stars and making wishes we foolishly believed would come true.
Griff was my first real friend, besides my brother. He was also my first kiss, and if my heart has anything to say about it, my first and only love.
Those days when everything was perfect were the best moments of my life, but now they’re just that, memories, because we lost our direction somewhere along the way. Now he can barely look me in the eyes, and when he does, it’s with a coldness that chills me through.
I’ve spent countless hours searching my soul, trying to find the one moment that changed everything, but it’s not there. When I’m at my lowest, I attempt to recreate those lovely memories because the further we get from those days, the more they seem as though they are mere constructs of my mind.
No matter how hard I wish for it, I can’t go back, although frankly, I don’t think it would matter anyway. We were headed for this before I understood that eventually, everything would change. How could it not when the things that made us different would be too apparent to hide?
He’s the golden boy who can do no wrong, and I’m the fuckup who crashed and burned.
No, I couldn’t outrun the events that happened any more than I can talk my way out of this present.
Griffin Hathaway hates my guts, and now he’s my roommate.
∞∞∞
Griffin comes from money—his daddy owns oil wells, or some shit passed down from father to son since probably the fucking Mayflower. Still, he never lorded it over us and acted no different from the rest of us back in the day. He even seemed embarrassed about his riches at times and downplayed them which makes the differences in our socioeconomic status more apparent now.
Where before he was just one of us running around with dirt-stained knees, now he’s a homeowner in his own right at the tender age of eighteen.
Carrying in the first of my boxes, I glance around curiously at the home Griffin’s parents bought him over the summer since he’ll be here for the four years required to earn his degree.
The place isn’t overdone, but it’s clear to see in the upgrades to the fancy kitchen with gleaming stainless-steel appliances and the sparkling pool just beyond the arcadia doors that he’s blessed.
To top it off, he’s on a full ride to State for football and doesn’t have to pay a dime for tuition as long as he keeps his grades up. Meanwhile, Max and I planned carefully for this and may still have to consider part-time jobs and a shit ton of loans we’ll be paying off until we’re eighty.
Our parents aren’t poor, but they definitely don’t have the means to put us both through college.
“Your room is here,” Griff says to me coolly, his features etched in distaste as he points toward the door while studiously avoiding my eyes.
This is not new, but I feel the pulse of pain just the same, which makes this fucked-up situation all the more confusing. Why did he agree to my mother’s request to begin with?
All he had to do was say no, and we wouldn’t be in this fucked-up mess.
Still, as I step beyond him and drop a box on the bed already provided, I remember how he used to look at me, with the softest eyes and his telltale smirk curling his lip. And unfortunately, it’s that expression I still see when he gazes at me with his hate.
The room is tiny, barely fitting a full-size bed, small desk, and dresser. And it appears I’ll be sharing the guest bathroom, too, because it’s the only one I see from where I stand in the tiny-ass room.
I shouldn’t be a bitch about it, I know, but I was ready, even willing to enter the dorm life and maybe finally let go of my past, but it was not meant to be, at least not with Mom at the helm of my future.
Grudgingly, I unpack my things, placing them carefully in the drawers while ignoring both Max and Griffin passing by.
Dad brings in another box with a huff, dropping it by the wall, and I frown because I don’t recognize it, and I’m just about to tell him it must be Max’s when I see my name on the top.
Halsey’s room
Pulling the box toward me, I open the flaps and glare inside because Mom sent my paints and brushes anyway despite my refusal. She just can’t understand that I don’t have the spark anymore, and I’m fucking tired of trying to explain it to her.
“Griff, dear, this place is beautiful,” Mom says, clapping her hands together outside my room. “I just know you all will be so happy.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Moore. My parents did all the work, though,” Griff replies with his smarmy-ass smile that sets my teeth on edge.
Still, I can’t resist peeking at him through my lashes as I allow a moment of weakness and run my gaze over his perfect form, starting with his head of thick dark hair, cut short for football, the glossy strands sticking up every which way and making him look sexily mussed. He has broad shoulders and muscular arms with a tattoo I’ve never seen before peeking from under his tight shirt, of which the thin fabric emphasizes his nicely muscular chest.
And when he raises his arms behind his head to stretch, his happy trail comes into view, the muscles rippling deliciously as he bares his trim waist and a sprinkling of dark hair, I’d like to run my fingers through.
Of course, my gaze inevitably drops to his package, the bulge evident behind his basketball shorts hanging loosely on his hips.
“Ahem.”
My eyes fly to his when he clears his throat, and with the h
eat of a thousand suns burning in my cheeks, I find him looking at me with icy amusement.
Kill me now.
But just as quickly, he dismisses me, turning back to Mom and murmuring, “I made sure to add the lock as you requested.”
“Oh good, thank you,” Mom breathes, beaming at me.
Turning away, I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, my chest aching with the familiar itch I haven’t been able to shake for months. I know she’s trying to make me feel safe, but in her efforts, Mom forgets I want to feel normal, too, and I guess the two are not fucking synonymous.
When they walk off, I pull the door away from the wall and confirm that there’s now an industrial-sized lock designed to keep people out, allowing me to lock myself in. At least it’s the other way around this time…
“Where do you want these, Hals?” Dad huffs.
“I didn’t want those,” I mutter, once again staring with dismay as Dad sets my two paintings down against the wall, another reminder I don’t want to have.
When I finished them as a high school project, they were my pride and joy, both of them having won awards in the community, and it’s with a bitter twist in my heart I remember being so pleased with the attention. At the time, it was confirmation to those around me who wanted me to pursue other interests that I was a true artist, or so I wanted to believe.
Beyond that, it was a reminder that I could move beyond my painful feelings and be free.
Now I don’t want to look at them again. Ever. Those paintings are a reminder of who I used to be, and that girl died a fiery death, never to emerge again.
“Halsey, I thought you might like to hang them in your room?” Mom says, looking me over with disappointment.
Gritting my teeth, I put my foot down because, in this, I will not budge. “No, take them home.”
But when she puts on her mom face and raises a warning brow, I concede. “Please.”
“We can hang them in the living room?” Griff interjects in his silky voice, stepping up next to Mom as we face off.
