Black Lies

by Alessandra Torre

  I’d seen Lee almost every day of the last week, sucking up my time with him while I could take it. Brant had been MIA. Jillian said she’d only seen him a few times, darting into the office at sporadic times, not answering calls or texts. She said it was normal—that he got like this. Mostly at times of high stress. And, with iTunes negotiations at a breaking point, a few billion dollars up in the air, now was a time of stress. A time when he should be around, but he was not. Life went on. She handled it.

  I didn’t mind. It gave me time with Lee. Time I was embracing with both hands. Holding onto, unsure how many more instances I would have left. I could feel the end of our future. It sat on a ledge of probability. He would disappear. I knew it, could feel it in every moment of perfection. And then, this entire cycle would start over. With a new man, a new someone that would be my side piece to Brant.

  He stood in front of the fridge, a hand on the top, his eyes skimming, the float of cool air frosting through the space. “You have nothing,” he announced.

  “It’s full. That hardly constitutes as nothing.”

  “No beer. No junk food. No ice cream. I could eat every bite in this fridge and lose weight.” He shut the door, sauntered into the living room. “Let’s go grab dinner.”

  “Now?” I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost nine.”

  “Which is why I’m hungry. That pathetic excuse for dinner we ate four hours ago didn’t count.”

  I rolled my eyes. The ‘pathetic excuse for dinner’ was foie gras. It was Brant’s favorite dish. I should have known, in this complicated scenario of conflicts, that Lee would hate it. “Fine.” I stood, tossing the remote down on the sofa. “I’ll go change.”

  “Uh uh. You’re fine.” He grabbed my elbow, steered me towards the door.

  I glanced down at my jeans. “Where are we going?”

  “Let’s just drive. There’s got to be somewhere around here that’s got the game.”

  I stepped out, grabbing my keys off the counter and pressing the button for the garage, my pull on the front door pausing when I saw Lee, standing in the driveway. His head was turned toward the garage, the full range of cars slowly revealed as the doors swept up.

  I yanked the door shut, stepping down the front steps in time to hear his low whistle. “Damn, Lucky. I might start fucking this guy.”

  I moved past him, irritation sweeping through me. “I do have my own money. Not everything is from Brant.” A ridiculous defense to say to Lee, made more so by the fact that three of the four cars were gifts from Brant. I stepped toward my Mercedes, my everyday car, his hand reaching out and stopping my movement. “Let’s take the black one.”

  I came to a sudden stop, whipping my head to him. “The black one?” I stalled.

  The black one in question was a 2004 Land Rover Defender. It was the only car in the garage I’d paid for, traded my last vehicle in on it. And, as awkward as this situation now was, I purchased it as a gift for Brant. Wanted to, in some small way, repay him for the gifts he had a tendency to lavish.

  Unfortunately for me, Brant hadn’t been a fan of the vehicle. In the brutally honest fashion that I loved, he had told me as soon as I had handed over the keys.

  “SUVs aren’t really my thing.” He held the key awkwardly, glancing from it, to the black vehicle, and then to me, a sheepish look coming over his face. “I don’t like the insecurity of them. And the IIHS safety rating placed them in the worst classification for risk of rollover. The—”

  “It’s okay.” I smiled at him. Reached out and took the key back. “I should have asked.”

  “I just don’t need a vehicle I won’t drive.” He leaned over, looped a hand around my waist and kissed the top of my head. “You mind?”

  Mind? I had stared blankly at the truck, a good ten grand of depreciation occurring in the two days since I had signed the bill of sale. I looked up at him. Let him bend down and kiss me. “No babe. I’m glad you told me.”

  A BSX employee had driven the vehicle to my house, where it had spent most of its life in the garage. Now, Lee was in my driveway about to come over the damn thing. I took a few slow steps in the direction of the keypad. Lifted the Defender’s keys from the box and handed them to Lee.

  “Here. You drive.”

  He snatched the keys without acknowledgement, jumping into the vehicle, his hands running over the leather-wrapped steering wheel and adjusting knobs and settings, the roar of the engine loud in the garage. I watched him warily. Waited for him to pull out of the enclosed space before walking around to the passenger side. Stepped up and into the five thousand pound vehicle of pure masculinity. The vehicle that Lee seemed made for, his frame loose and in control, his hand gripping the shifter with a comfortable ease.

  This was exactly what I imagined when I bought the truck. And maybe that’s why I bought it. Maybe I was trying to take my genius and dump him into a tub of masculinity and danger. Roughen up his smooth edges. I fastened my seatbelt and swallowed my side of guilt.

  With the squeal of tires, Lee pulled out through my gates.

  Ten minutes later, the blare of the radio competing with the whip of wind, I hit Lee’s arm and pointed. “There.” In the shopping center, a sports bar. Lee followed my hand, whipping the truck into a spot and hopping out, his hand resting on the side of the Defender a little longer than necessary, a bit of longing in his eyes.

  I joined him, our hips bumping as we walked toward the restaurant, his arm looping around my shoulder, the gesture casual yet familiar. A few weeks of fucking and we were at ease in each other’s presences. I blushed, leaned over and pressed a kiss against his cheek. Felt the pull of his arm as he squeezed me into the kiss.

  This didn’t feel like a rebound. It felt like it should. Complete. This would work. He would fall in love with me and only me. I came to a sudden stop when my eyes met Jillian’s.

  Jillian’s eyes brushed over both of us, noticing everything about Lee in one long glance. A change, invisible to anyone else, but a billboard of emotions to me, swept across her face. I was unable to look away, unable to move. I stared at her until the moment that her critical gaze found its way to my eyes. There, we held each other, two women on opposite sides of a battlefield, my weapons sex and passion, hers the ties of family and history. We held an entire conversation through that stare. A heated battle of emotions, arguments discussed with tightened lips and silent looks. Then, the battle ended, the older woman closing her eyes in one, long, pained moment. I felt her disappointment. Her anger. Her frustration. I knew it because I felt it in my own heart.

  I pulled away from Lee, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, my hands dipping into my pockets, his eyes reading the motion. “What?” He glanced over, his eyes seeing and skimming over Jillian, the woman not registering in his search for problems.

  “A friend of mine. Go on in. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever.” Tossed me my keys and turned. I would have bet, from the cringe on Jillian’s face, that he winked at her in passing.

  I waited, stepping forward, seeing—out of my peripheral vision—him enter the bar, heard the rise in music and voices until the door swung behind him and we stood in silence, two opposing forces separated by four feet of concrete.

  “What are you doing Layana?” her voice was tired. Beaten. As if we had had this argument a million times and she couldn’t bear to go through it again.

  “I can’t…” I stopped. Tried to find my words. “You know what Brant’s like.” I dipped a head toward Lee. “He’s different. I tried… I can’t stay away.”

  “You love Brant.” She sighed, her exhale a trip of congestion and old lady. “I know you do.”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “And him? Does he have any of your heart?”

  I swallowed. Searched the recesses of my heart that I didn’t want to exist. “Part of me loves him too. I can’t really separate that.”

  Her mouth tightened. “You’re
playing a dangerous game.”

  “It’s my game to play. I’m the one in the relationship.” I regretted the moment the flippant words left my mouth.

  Her eyes fired. “You selfish stupid girl.” She pointed a strong finger toward the bar. “He’ll leave you, Layana. One day, you’ll wake up, and that boy in there will be gone. Brant loves you. He’ll be with you forever.”

  I nodded. “I know.” I turned, tucked my purse under my arm because I needed something to do with my hands, and walked toward the neon. Her voice, quiet but firm, stopped me.

  “Brant told me he proposed again.”

  “Yes.” I turned. Met her eyes. “Should I marry him?”

  She let out a huff of laughter, a cold and brittle sound that spoke of incredulity and hopelessness. “Lana, you know that I don’t particularly care for you.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “But I don’t know if I’d be in support of any woman dating Brant. You could have left him. Back in Belize, when you found out about him. But you didn’t. You stayed with him. Five minutes ago I would have said yes, marry him. Now? Seeing you with him?” She jerked her head toward the bar. “You are threatening everything you have because you want everything you don’t. You don’t get everything when it comes to Brant. You get what he shares with you. And you have to be happy with that.”

  I found my voice somewhere around the pit of my shame. “I don’t know that I can be happy with just that.”

  She shook her head, her eyes filled with disappointment. “Love isn’t about being happy. Be single and be happy. Love is about putting him, his sanity, his happiness, first. If you aren’t willing to do that then you aren’t really in love.”

  And, with that justified blow, she turned, her heels clipping through the parking lot, her head down, shoulders hunched. There was a part of me that loved that woman. That loved her fight for Brant. There was another part of me that hated her guts.

  I turned and headed for the bar, my path to hell lined with neon signs and temptation, all in the form of Lee.

  Chapter 41

  “Layana.” Jillian looked up from her desk, raised eyebrows pointed in the direction of her admin, a male who positively quaked next to me. “What a… surprise.”

  I stepped forward, perched on the edge of the closest chair; any further time spent standing would have felt too similar to my time in the headmistress’s office. “I’d like to speak to you about something.”

  She stood, spreading her hands. “Absolutely. I’m always happy to see you. Chad, please leave us, and hold any interruptions.”

  I heard the flee of steps, her hard eyes returning to mine. “What is it?”

  “Thank you for not making a scene last night.”

  She nodded stiffly. “I didn’t really have an option.”

  “I do a lot for Brant. For you. For BSX.”

  She pursed her lips. “You keep a secret. Don’t blow it into a monumental feat, dear.”

  “I need something in return. From you.”

  “And that is?” She moved to an antique desk, set along the right wall of her office, and began the process of pouring a cup of coffee. She didn’t offer me any, and I smiled at the petty snub.

  “I need to know how many men…” I glanced at the door. “How many men Brant has…” I tried to find the right word to use in this public setting. “…been in contact with. If Lee is the only one. What the possibilities are for more.”

  Her forehead creased and she motioned for me to close the door. “Do you plan on collecting more boyfriends, Layana? Juggling a handful of men at once?” She stirred a spoonful of sugar into the black liquid. “You’re not intelligent enough for that. Trust me on that. No one is.”

  “Just answer the question, please.” I couldn’t shed the manners; they lay on my skin like grease that only smeared when attempts were made to wash it off.

  She set down her spoon. “Lee is it. There were some other boys in the past, but they have all left. That’s why I tried to warn you before. This part of Brant’s life… you need to forget it. Focus on building, on strengthening your relationship with him, and forget about anything or anyone else.”

  “How long did the others last? The other boys?” I swallowed, suddenly scared of the answer.

  She shrugged. “It’s hard to say. They don’t exactly speak to me. I would guess two to three years on average, some as long as five. And Layana?”

  I met her eyes.

  “Lee is the weakest of them. A couple of them have been… ugly. Violent. You can’t save them all. You snagged Lee, congratulations. Don’t get cocky and think that the next boy will be the same. The next boy is just as likely to bend you over and rape your ass.”

  I felt sick, the crude words rolling off her tongue as jarring as the image that accompanied them. I imagined all of the possibilities, all of the unthinkable things I had never considered, my life too clean to know true depravity.

  “It’d probably be best, at this time, for you to either walk away or put your big girl panties on. You need to make a decision. You either love Brant despite this, or you don’t. How much do you love him?”

  The room refocused on her words, her challenge. I closed my eyes and pictured Brant’s face. The man behind the brilliance. The man who I loved in a way I didn’t think was possible. The man who I would fight for, would lie and cheat and steal for. The man, who, in some way, shape, or form was savable. I knew he was. He had to be. I opened my eyes and met Jillian’s. How much do you love him? “Enough. More than enough.”

  She sighed. Set down her coffee cup. “I certainly hope so.”

  Chapter 42

  1 YEAR, 2 MONTHS AGO

  Lee was drunk. When he stepped he stumbled. When he leaned on the bar his arm slid. I glared at the bartender, the same asshole from ten months ago, and asked for a bottled water. I got a dirty glass and a nod toward the bathroom. Fuck it. I slid the glass back.

  I sat on the closest stool. Moved close enough to break his fall if he fell over. “What happened?” I pulled at his chin, his face moving enough for me to see what looked like a busted lip and swollen jaw.

  “Asshole homeowner. Said I left last week with only half the grass cut.”

  “Did you?” The sharp look he gave me answered the question. I raised my hands. “Sorry.” I glanced at the bartender. “Could I get some ice?” That, the man provided, a few handfuls dumped in the bottom of a garbage bag. I twisted up the package and pressed it gently against his mouth. “How did that lead to this?”

  “The dickhead threatened to tell the rest of the neighborhood.” He shrugged. “So I punched him.”

  I blinked, the intelligence level behind this story staggering in its immaturity. “Why didn’t you just walk away?”

  He pushed away the ice, worked his jaw from side to side while glaring at me through watery eyes. “I need work. Need cash.” He tried to reach for a beer that was no longer there. “From someone who’s never worked a day in her life, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  Never worked a day in her life. It’s true. I moved from Stanford to a part-time job to the life of a pampered retiree. My full-time job being Brant and now Lee. Lee’s finish to the sentence came with a side of disgust, as if my lack of a day job made me less of a person. It was something Brant had never mentioned, and I suddenly wondered if it was something he thought. Emotions and feelings often got hidden. Pushed down until they found another outlet to creep back up into.

  I moved the ice to his lip, his eyes flaring as the cold compress hit the open cut.

  “Shut up,” I whispered. “Take it like a man.”

  He leaned into my hand, the smell of alcohol and grass and dirt and man invading my senses.

  “Mind giving up that seat princess?”

  Lee’s eyes flicked back open as I broke contact, turned to see a man behind me, his tattooed arm wrapped around a woman I’d politely describe as hard. The stranger’s other hand gripped the edge of my stool, as if he was conte
mplating giving it one firm yank that would flip me onto the germ-infested floor. My eyes took in the bar, bodies filling the small space, the landscape unbroken by the rough man before me. I was the only break in this scene, in my linen pants and Jimmy Choos. The bag on my arm that cost more than half the vehicles in the parking lot. It was stupid for me to come here, on a Friday night at midnight. Stupid of me to walk into an atmosphere of alcohol and rough men and expect to not be noticed, pushed around. Put in my place.

  I slid off the stool, my heels finding the floor, my hand catching the bar. “Sure.” I smiled, the man’s face unchanging, his delight at gaining a seat hidden by scruff and dirt and tough.

  “Sit back down.” A growl of a statement from Lee, who lifted his head high enough to catch my gaze. Stared at me with an order in his eyes.

  “I should be leaving anyway,” I said, my voice low enough not to carry. God, I didn’t need this. Drunk Lee, who’s already bloody from one stupid fight, defending my honor in a place I should have been intelligent enough to avoid.

  Lee lurched to his feet, swaying slightly as he turned to face the man behind me. A man who, unfortunately, hadn’t budged, still only a step away, girlfriend still suction-cupped to his side. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

  I pulled on his arm. “Lee.” A word that earned me a moment, a glance in which everything froze and he looked at me and I saw everything he couldn’t say in that one moment.

  He couldn’t buy me cars. Couldn’t drown me in diamonds and buildings and trips to Dubai. Couldn’t even pay for the beers filling his stomach. But this, this was one thing he could do. He could stand, fight, bleed for me. This, something that Brant would never do. A situation our alternative life would have never put ourselves in. This was Lee’s world. Here he was king. Here he would slay the tattooed dragon and be my hero. His eyes burned the air between us and I let out a shaky breath. Released his arm and sank back onto the highly contested stool.