Текст книги "One Tiny Lie "

Автор книги: K. A. Tucker

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“I need to use the bathroom,” I mumble, squirming out from between him and the wall and dashing out of the kitchen. I can’t be here anymore. I can’t be near Connor. I want to run home for a shower and forget that just happened.

I need Ashton.

I pull my phone out and send him a quick text. Not waiting for a response, I start searching from room to room, skillfully avoiding Connor twice. I can’t find Ashton anywhere, though, and no one has seen him. A quick check of the garage finds his black car.

Ashton is here.

That means he must be in his room.

And he’s not answering his texts.

So much for not feeling anything tonight. The dread is back and has increased tenfold, churning in my stomach like a deadly whirlpool of jealousy and hurt and desperation.

I have only two choices—leave and assume that he’s upstairs with someone or go upstairs and find out.

With my arms hugging my chest tightly, I climb the stairs, each step bringing me closer to either the pinnacle of a disastrous day or to an ocean of relief. I think that if I find him with another woman, I’ll die.

Why am I doing this to myself? Because you’re a masochist.

I see his door up ahead, closed. There’s no red sock or any other indication that someone might be in there.

Still . . .

I don’t even need to consciously hold my breath because I’ve stopped breathing altogether as I put my ear to the door. The softest music is playing, so he’s in there, but otherwise . . . silence. No moans or groans or female voices.

Before I can chicken out, I knock lightly.

No answer.

Swallowing, I knock again.

No answer.

I reach down to gently test the doorknob, to find it unlocked.

This is the weirdest feeling I’ve ever had—blood rushes in my ears as my heart pounds viciously and yet my lungs are still. I know it can’t go on forever. I know I’ll get dizzy and pass out soon if I don’t make a choice.

I have to make a choice. I can turn and leave now—leave this house because I can’t deal with Connor—and not see Ashton. Not touch him, not have him help me forget this awful day in a way that only he can.

Or I can open the door and risk seeing him with someone else.

I open the door.

A freshly showered Ashton sits on the edge of his bed in a towel, staring at the floor while one hand fumbles with the belt band. He holds a glass with amber liquid in it.

If I were any more relieved right now, I’d dissolve to the floor. “Hey.” I say it as softly as I can, as the gravitational pull toward him takes over.

“Close the door. And lock it. Please. I don’t want to see anyone tonight.” His voice is low and hollow-sounding. He hasn’t even looked up. I don’t know what this mood is. I’ve never seen it before.

I follow his instruction, locking out the house of people, the party, Connor. Everything. Leaving just us.

And then I step closer, slowly, tentatively. Not until I’m three feet away do his dark eyes lift, scanning me from red stilettos and up slowly. He stops at my chest. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he mutters before taking a sip of his drink.

“Why aren’t you downstairs?”

He swishes the liquid around in his glass. “I had a shitty day.”

“Me too.”

Downing the last of his drink, Ashton places the glass on his nightstand. “Do you want me to help you forget?” A stir in my thighs instantly confirms that my body definitely would appreciate that. Brown eyes finally find their way to my face, no hint of amusement in them. Nothing but resigned sadness and a touch of glassiness. “I’m good at that, aren’t I.” There’s a meaning behind those words that I can’t fully comprehend.

“I know that picture came from you.”

He bows his head.

Now that I’m standing here in front of Ashton, the confusion I’ve been battling for weeks melts away. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I know exactly what I want. And I have no doubt in my mind that it’s right. “I’m going to give you something today, too.” I push aside the swirl of butterflies in my stomach, committing fully to what I’m about to do, to what I’m about to give him if he’ll take it as I slip out of my heels. I don’t know if it’s easier or harder with him not watching me, but I undo the four buttons Reagan left me and let the fitted blouse drop to the floor. My fingers make quick work of the buttons on my skirt and let that fall as well.

As if fighting the urge to resist and losing, Ashton’s eyes lift to take me in before his face turns away to look at the corner of the room. “Jesus Christ, Irish,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his hands squeezing the edge of the mattress, trying to restrain himself. “I won’t be able to stop myself.”

Reaching back to unhook my bra, I let that fall to the ground in answer. Those stupid garters follow immediately. Soon, I’ve pulled every last piece of the ridiculous costume off and Ashton’s still not looking at me. In fact, his eyes are closed.

I swallow as I reach out to run my fingertip over the bird on his arm, intentionally avoiding the scar. I lean down to place a gentle kiss on it. “Tell me what this means.” It’s not a question. I’m not giving him a choice.

There’s a long pause where he says nothing. “Freedom.”

I let my finger skate up to the one on his shoulder. I demand again. “And this? Tell me what it means.”

A little louder. “Freedom.”

I place a kiss on it in response.

I reach down to pull his towel loose and throw both ends away. I quietly climb on to straddle his lap. Ashton hasn’t touched me yet, but his eyes are now open and taking in my body with a strange expression that I can’t read. It’s almost like shock or awe, as if he can’t believe this is actually happening.

I place my hand over the symbol on his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath. “Freedom?”

His eyes lift to meet mine immediately, his voice more steady, more defiant than before. “Yes.”

I don’t let that distract me, though, as my hand skates around to where I know the script with my name is. I don’t need to ask him what it means because I now know beyond a doubt. He’s already told me in so many ways.

He says it without my prompting. “Freedom.”

I don’t have all the pieces to fix this beautiful, trapped, broken man, but I do have one piece and it’s mine to give. For one night, for all nights. For however long he wants it.

Me. Completely.

I know what I have to do next. I don’t know how he’ll react. Whether this is a good idea or not, I have to do it. Holding his gaze, trying to tell him that it will all be okay with my eyes, I reach for his wrist, for the belt strap, for the snaps that affix it. A flash of panic skitters across his face and his neck muscles cord. It’s a moment when I think maybe this is a bad idea. But I grit my teeth against it, using all the anger I have over his father and what he’s done to him, what he’s still doing to him and, inadvertently, to me, and I rip that damn belt strap off and whip it across the room. “I’m giving you your freedom tonight, Ashton. So fucking take it.”

I don’t regret a second of it.

Not as he flips me onto my back.

Not as he pushes into my body without hesitation.

Not as I cry out with that moment of pain.

And certainly not as he claims his freedom.

And gives me a part of mine.

In the darkness, with the dull sounds of a party dying in the background, Ashton opens the vault just far enough that a memory slips out, unprompted. “She used to sing this song in Spanish.” His fingers swirl over my back as I rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, still in awe of him and me and us together. It was . . . incredible. It feels right in a way that nothing else has ever felt right. “I can’t remember the words, and to this day I don’t know what it meant. I just remember the tune.” My cheek vibrates under the low melodic rumble as he begins to hum.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, rolling my face forward to kiss that perfect chest.

“Yeah,” he whispers in agreement. His hand slows. “When he put the duct tape over my mouth, I couldn’t do anything but hum. So I’d hum for hours. It helped.”

For hours.

“That’s my favorite memory of my mother.”

Lifting to my elbows to take in his face, I see the tears trickling down from the corners of his eyes. I so badly want to ask him what happened to her, but I can’t bring myself to do it right now. All I want to do is kiss away his tears.

And help him forget.

We’ve found that if we ignore the knocking, it goes away after a few minutes. It’s worked three times already. Now, as I lie in a twisted heap of flesh and soft white sheets with Ashton at noon, sore in ways I’ve never been sore before, I’m hoping that it will work for a fourth time. Because I don’t want to leave these four walls. Within these four walls, he and I have cast away all of our fears, our commitments, our lies. Within these four walls, we both have found our freedom.

“How are you feeling?” Ashton whispers in my ear. “How sore are you?”

“A little bit,” I lie.

“Don’t lie, Irish. It won’t be favorable to you.” As if to prove his point, he presses his erection against my back.

I giggle. “Okay, maybe a bit too sore for that.”

He sits up and yanks the covers off me completely. Adjusting my legs, he takes his time staring blatantly at my body, the heat in his eyes intensifying by the second. “I want to memorize every square inch of you and have the image branded in my brain and burning hot twenty-four-seven.”

“Wouldn’t that be distracting?” I tease, but I don’t shy away from his scrutiny. I think my body is starting to crave it. It’s certainly not as shy around him now, after twelve hours straight of naked Ashton.

Running his large hands up and down the sides of my thighs, he murmurs, “That’s the idea, Irish.”

“Even my feet?” With a playful giggle, I lift my leg to flick his chin with my toe.

He grabs my foot. With a sly smile, he grips it tight and runs his tongue along the bottom. I clamp my hands over my mouth to keep from howling with laughter as I struggle to break free, but there’s no point. He’s too strong.

Thankfully he stops that torture, crawling back over to lie on his side next to me, his hand brushing strands of hair off of my face as I let my finger run over the spot where I know my name permanently sits on his body.

“Tell me why you call me Irish.”

“Sure but, first things first.” His eyebrow arches pointedly.

“God you’re stubborn!” I release a heavy sigh. Given that I’m lying naked with the man, I figure I’ll humor him to get the truth. Pursing my lips to keep the grin from showing, I mutter, “Fine. I may want you.”

“May?” He grins at me. “You walked up and practically ripped my toga off as you pulled me down, shouting, ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish!’”

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth as the words trigger the memory of Ashton’s shocked expression at that very moment, and the ensuing kiss he laid on my lips. My first real kiss. “Ohmigod, you’re not lying.” My cheeks flame, which only makes Ashton start chuckling.

“And then you just turned around and stormed off to dance.” A twinkle skitters through his eyes. “I was going to leave you alone, but after you did that . . .” His thumb rubs my bottom lip affectionately. “No way in hell was this mouth touching anyone else.”

I run my fingertip along his defined collarbone as I accept that I started all of this. My unleashed beast somehow knew exactly what she wanted from the very start, long before I could come to terms with it.

Taking my fingertips within his, he kisses each of them, his gaze burning with intensity as it settles on my face. “You do know why I dug through Coach’s dusty-ass attic for a week straight, right?”

My heart swells with the mention of that. Of what this sweet guy did for me. I’m not sure exactly why he did it, other than to make me happy. But I know what it meant for me. It helped me see the one thing that I know I want, buried amongst a pile of uncertainties.

“Because you’re madly in love with me?” I repeat what he said to me that day in class with a teasing wink to let him know that I’m just joking around.

But Ashton doesn’t response with a snort or a chuckle or anything close to humor. His expression is a mask of sincerity as he leans in to lay a tiny kiss on my bottom lip. “As long as you know.” And then he’s kissing me deeply again.

And I instantly fall back into oblivion.

“Maybe I’m not too sore,” I manage to get out around his hungry yet gentle lips. With a groan, he shifts his mouth downward along my throat, my chest, my stomach, stirring my need for the tenth, hundredth, thousandth time since we landed in his bed.

And that’s when the knocking begins again.

“Ace, open up! I know you’re in there.” There’s a pause. “I can’t find Livie. She’s not answering her phone.”

Shit.

Connor.

I haven’t thought of him once. Not once since stepping into this room last night.

“If you don’t open this door in two minutes, I’m going to use the damn key.”

Ashton and I look at each other, the fire between us doused like a bucket of cold water on a pit of flames.

“Fuck,” Ashton mutters under his breath, glancing around. My clothes are strewn everywhere.

We roll off the bed and begin collecting them. Connor may have been drunk, but I think he’ll recognize that outfit.

“Here.” Ashton hands me my jacket. I thank sweet heaven that I decided on my long black coat last night. It will hide everything but my heels and my black stockings on my way back to my dorm. “Go hide in the bathroom. I’ll try to get rid of him,” he whispers, kissing me gently.

I scurry in just as we hear Connor fiddling with the lock.

“I’m coming!” Ashton hollers.

Closing and locking the bathroom door quickly, I hold my breath as I quietly begin dressing. I can hear them outside perfectly.

“Jesus, Ashton, cover your junk. I already feel like puking,” I hear Connor grumble, and I roll my eyes. Is walking around naked an Ashton thing or a general all-guy thing? “What happened to you last night, man?”

I hear a dresser door slam, and I assume Ashton is pulling on at least a pair of briefs. Even in the present stressful situation, that conjures a visual—one where I’m prying them off him the second Connor is gone. “I wasn’t in the mood,” I hear Ashton murmur.

“You . . . alone up here?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, you missed a good party from what I remember. Which isn’t much.” There’s a pause. “I think I fucked up with Livie.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath as anxiety slips through my core. I don’t want to be listening to this.

“Oh yeah? That sucks.” Ashton is phenomenal at pretending to sound uninterested.

“Yeah, I think I might have come on a bit strong. She left the party early and she’s not answering my calls or my texts.”

“Just give her time to cool down.”

“Yeah, I guess. But I’m going over there to see her today. I need to know things are okay.”

They’re not, Connor. They never really were. With a small sigh, I accept that I can’t hide out in Ashton’s room for the rest of my life, though the thought has crossed my mind more than once. I need to finish getting dressed and get back to the dorm so I can end this with Connor.

And he’s given me the perfect excuse.

I can blame Connor for the breakup. He pushed me too far. He knows I want to take things slow and he groped me like a thirteen-year-old boy playing the closet game. This is perfect. Then it won’t be my fault. He’ll think it’s his fault. He’ll . . .

Taking a deep breath, I turn to look at the reflection in the mirror—at the woman in black thigh-highs and I-just-lost-my-virginity-and-then-some hair, hiding in a bathroom while her boyfriend is on the other side, worrying about her with his best friend, the dark and broken man whom she has fallen madly in love with. And all this person can think about is how she’ll avoid admitting to all wrongdoing.

I don’t recognize her at all.

I hear that heavy sigh of Connor’s and I know he’s rubbing the top of his head. That’s Connor. Predictable. “I just . . . I think I’m in love with her.”

My body hunches in on itself as if just punched. Ohmigod. He just said it. He said it out loud. Somewhere deep in my subconscious, I was afraid of this. Now it’s real. I think I’m going to be sick. Seriously, I am two seconds away from diving to the porcelain bowl.

This. Will. Crush. Him.

And Connor doesn’t deserve to be crushed. He may not be right for me but he doesn’t deserve this. Yet no matter what reason I give, whether I blame it on him or me, whether I tell the truth or not, I’m going to hurt him. I have to resign myself to that fact because no matter what, he and I are done.

Ashton’s irritated tone surprises me. “You don’t love her, Connor. You think you do. You barely know her.”

My reflection nods her head back at me. She’s agreeing with Ashton. That’s right. Connor doesn’t know me at all. Not like Ashton knows me.

“What are you talking about? It’s Livie. I mean, how can you not love her. She’s fucking perfect.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Too fucking perfect, Connor. I quietly slide my coat on over myself, pulling it tight to my body, aching for Ashton’s warmth.

There’s a long pause, and then I hear the bed creak and Ashton’s heavy sigh. “Yeah. I’m sure she’s fine. You should go and check out the campus, then. Maybe she’s at the library.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, bro.”

The lightest sigh of relief escapes me as I lean back against the wall.

“I’ll try her one more time on her phone.”

My phone.

Fuck.

I watch the reflection in the mirror of this girl—this foreign woman—go from a slightly pale complexion to stark white as Connor’s ring tone sounds faintly from the phone in my purse. My purse, which is sitting on Ashton’s nightstand.

It rings and rings and rings. And then it stops.

Dead silence.

Deader than dead. So dead that I could be the last person left in this world.

And then I hear Connor ask slowly, “Why is Livie’s purse here?” Connor’s voice has taken on a tone that I’ve never heard before. I don’t know how to describe it, but it makes my body suddenly turn cold with dread.

“She swung by to say hi and forgot it, I guess.” Ashton’s a fantastic liar, but even he can’t pull that one off.

The sound of footsteps approaching has me shuffling away from the door.

“Livie?”

I purse my lips tight and clamp my hands over them and close my eyes and stop breathing. And then I count to ten.

“Livie. You need to come out here right now.”

I shake my head, and the movement dislodges a stifled moan.

“I can hear you, Livie.” After another long pause, he starts pounding on the door, rattling the entire wall. “Open the damn door!”

“Leave her alone, Connor!” Ashton bellows behind him.

It stops the pounding but not the yelling. The yelling only gets more vicious. “Why is she hiding in there? What the fuck did you do to her? Did you . . .” There’s a strange jostling sound in the room. “How drunk was she when she came up here, Ash? How drunk?”

“Really drunk.”

I glare at the door. What? No, I wasn’t! Why would he say that?

There’s another long pause. “Did you force her into anything?”

With a resigned sigh, I hear Ashton say, “Yes. I did.”

I feel like someone has just struck a match and stuck it into my ear, hearing words that turn my beautiful, remarkable, unforgettable night with Ashton into a drunken rape story. I instantly know what Ashton is doing. He’s making an excuse for me. He’s making himself out to be the bad guy. To take all the blame for what I initiated. What I wanted.

I throw the door open and storm out. “I was not drunk and he did not force me into anything!” The words come out in an angry gasp. “He has never forced me. Never once.”

The two men turn to face me, the one on the left wearing nothing but track pants and shaking his head in a “why-did-you-come-out-here” way, the one on the right full of shock and barely concealed rage.

“Never once.” Connor’s tone has evened again, but I don’t think it’s a sign of him calming. I think it’s a sign of him ready to blow. “How many times have there been, Livie? And for how long?”

Now that I’ve set the record straight—that what Ashton and I shared was not a crime scene—my anger has vanished, leaving me trembling and unable to speak once more.

“How long!” he repeats in a bark.

“Always!” I burst, wincing as the truth comes out. “Since the first second I met him. Before I met you.”

Connor turns to look at his roommate, his best friend, whose eyes haven’t left mine, an unreadable expression in them. “Un-fucking-believable. That night with the tattoo . . . You’ve been fucking her since then?”

“No!” The word flies out of our mouths in unison.

Connor is shaking his head dismissively. “I can’t believe you would do this to me. Of all the whores you bring in and out of here . . . you had to turn her into one too.”

“Watch it.” Ashton’s body visibly stiffens and I see his hand clenching, but he stays still.

Connor doesn’t seem to care, though. Gritting his teeth, he studies the hardwood for a moment, shaking his head. When he finally looks at me again, I can see the impact of this on his face; his normally bright green eyes are now dull, as if the pilot light has finally been extinguished.

And I’m the one who put it out.

“What happened to taking it slow, Livie? What? You figured you’d jerk me around for a bit while you also screwed around with my best friend?” He turns to yell “My best friend!” with added emphasis.

I’m shaking my head frantically. “It wasn’t like that. It just . . . things have changed.”

“Oh really?” He steps forward. “What else has changed?”

“Everything!” I cry out, brushing away a sudden tear. “My future. The hospital. Princeton, maybe?” I hadn’t realized it until just now, but this place . . . it’s all that the catalogues, the websites, the hype promised, and yet it’s not what I want. It’s not home. It never will be. I want to be back in Miami, with my family. I’m not ready to leave them yet. The only thing that I do want at Princeton is standing silently, his arms crossed over his bare chest, as I spill my guts. “You and I . . . we don’t belong together.” Connor flinches as if I stuck him, but I keep going. “I’m in love in Ashton. He understands me. I understand him.” A quick glance over at Ashton finds his eyes now squeezed tight as if he’s in pain.

Something that looks like pity fills Connor’s face. “You think you understand him, Livie? Really? You think you know him?”

I swallow to keep my voice steady. “I don’t think. I know.”

“Do you know how many women he’s had in this room? In that bed?” His hand lifts to point toward it for effect. I force my chin up, trying to be strong. I don’t want to know. It doesn’t matter. He’s with me now. “I hope you at least used condoms.”

Condoms.

I completely forget. It was just too intense.

The color draining from my face says it all.

Connor dips his head, shaking it with disappointment. “Jesus, Livie. I thought you were smarter than that.”

Ashton hasn’t said a word. Not a word to defend himself, or us. He stands quietly, watching this entire disaster with sad, resigned eyes.

The three of us stand facing each other in a misshapen triangle, the air between us choking thick and toxic, the lies swirling visibly on the outside while the truth of what Ashton and I have disappears into nothingness.

That’s how Dana finds us. “What’s going on?”

Honest fear contorts Ashton’s face for just a moment before vanishing, leaving his complexion three shades paler. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d surprise you,” she says, stepping into the room so carefully that you’d think the floor was riddled with land mines.

Connor crosses his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you tell her, Livie? Go on . . . tell her what you just told me.” Connor stares at me. Ashton stares at me. And when pretty, sweet Dana steps into the mix, her eyes wide with confusion and fear, she stares at me too, as she reaches up to clutch Ashton’s arm.

A sparkle catches my eye.

The solitaire diamond on Dana’s left hand. On her ring finger.

The gasp catches in my throat.

When did he propose?

Ashton knows I’ve seen it, because he closes his eyes and begins absently fumbling with the leather belt strap around his wrist.

It’s back on his wrist.

Ashton has put that shackle back on his wrist. Which means he’s given up the freedom that I gave him last night.

By the look of dismay on Connor’s face, he’s also seen the ring and now truly realizes the extent of this betrayal. “Tell her, Livie. Tell her what’s going on between you and her future husband, if you think you know him so well.”

I don’t need to say anything. Dana’s face pales. I watch as her eyes take me in from head to toe, then turn to look at the bed, then back to me. Almost recoiling from Ashton’s arm, she stumbles back three steps. “Ash?” Her voice trembles as she turns to look at him.

He bows his head, mumbling almost indecipherably, “I made a mistake. Just let me explain.”

Bursting into tears, she turns and runs out of the room. Ashton doesn’t hesitate for a second. He runs after her as her screams carry through the house.

Turning his back on me. On us. On whatever the hell we were. A mistake.

Connor’s words are quiet but piercing, soft but deadly, honest but so far from the truth. “You helped shatter two hearts today. You must be proud. Goodbye, Livie.” The bedroom door slams behind him.

And I know that there’s no reason for me to be here anymore. Not in this house, not in this school. Not in this life that is not my life.

I have to let go of everything.

And so I walk away.

I walk away from the voices, the shouts, the disappointment.

I walk away from my deceptions, my mistakes, my regrets.

I walk away from all that I am supposed to be and all that I cannot be.

For all of it is a lie.