Fakers (18 page)

“It’s amazing,” Kyra said. She couldn’t come
up with anything else to describe how gorgeous this secret place
was. Together they sat down in the grass, and Hale pulled out some
water bottles from his pack and handed her one.

“The lighthouse has been here since the late
1700s. It’s the oldest one in the South.”

“Why isn’t it used anymore?”

Hale finished his water and put the empty
bottle back in his pack before he peered up at the lighthouse
beside them. “The technology was old and really dangerous. Fires
were a big worry back then in lighthouses because the fuel was so
flammable. So the town built a new one a few miles away.”

“This one doesn’t look like it burned,” Kyra
said. She examined the structure, which still looked pretty solid,
just forgotten.

“Nah,” Hale said, and Kyra heard the
amusement in his voice. “It’s just haunted.”

Goose bumps spread across Kyra’s skin; she
felt the presence of the lighthouse. It was as though the building
was breathing right next to them, looking at them as they looked at
it. She forgot to inhale for a second. “Really?”

“It’s just legend. It may not even be true,”
Hale said with a shrug.

“How is it haunted?”

He shot her a grin, like that was just the
question he’d hoped she would ask. “Sometimes on foggy nights, the
beam comes on and sweeps across the ocean. You can see it from all
over the island, flashing back and forth to warn the ships of
sailors long lost.”

“That’s crazy. I thought you said the
technology was too old to be used.”

“It is,” Hale said. “The oil is too old and
dried up to ever be used for light. You hear stories of teenagers
coming up here for a good time when the beam comes on. They say
they saw a White Lady standing out on the bluff with her dress
whipping in the wind.”

Kyra’s mouth popped open. “A ‘White
Lady’?”

“It’s a type of ghost dressed in white,
hence the name.”

“Gosh, Hale.” Kyra rubbed her hands over her
arms. “And this is your favorite place on the island? That’s
weird.”

“I think it’s awesome.” She caught a flash
of his smile, and she knew the child in him delighted in ghost
stories.

“Have you ever seen the beam?”

“Not yet. But maybe one day. The old folks
in town say it’s good luck to see the lights,” he said.

“That’s so crazy.” She reached over and
shoved him back. “Why did you tell me that story? It’s not romantic
at all.”

Hale looked at her with his eyebrow cocked,
which pulled the piercing in his brow. “You think this was supposed
to be romantic?”

“Uh…” Kyra didn’t know what to say, but Hale
saved her from answering. He stood up and pulled on his pack.

“Come on. Let’s hike down to the shore, then
we can go back to my place. Is that romantic enough for you?”

seventeen

T
hey spent the rest
of the day hiking around the lighthouse bluff. Kyra found herself
scanning the rocks above them for a White Lady standing in the
wind. Of course, she never saw her or the beam flashing across the
ocean. She was certain Hale caught her looking a few times, but he
didn’t make fun of her.

They passed the afternoon talking about the
island and her house. She learned that once he started talking
about his restoration work and original versus new that it was hard
to get him to shut up about it. But his passion was contagious, and
she found the subject interesting when he talked about it, which
was probably because she liked watching his expressions flare and
ebb as he went on, gesturing wildly with his hands. He was
beautiful like this, just as she’d thought. She wondered if she
could ever be so open and unguarded.

They spent a lot of time talking about her
college years and her videos. It was hard to be more than just
smiles and laughter. He expected more, and he didn’t settle for a
fake grin and some silly comment. He pushed her until she told the
truth. It gave her a headache and set her teeth on edge, but he
seemed to be able to tell when he was pushing her too far. Their
silence was easy, and Kyra let herself unwind in between their
words.

Hale only brought some protein bars with
him, and when Kyra’s stomach growled so loud that he heard, he
announced it was time to go home. They hiked back to the truck and
headed into town. He picked up vegan-friendly ingredients for tacos
at the store, and they headed back to his house.

On the way, Kyra checked her phone. She had
a few texts from Stevie and a missed call from Aunt Carol.

Stevie:
Where areeeeeee
youuuuuuuu????

Stevie:
I want to go for drinks. You
wanna come?

She’d sent that last one at noon. Kyra
really hoped she hadn’t gone to a bar so early in the day, but when
she read the next text, her fears were confirmed.

Stevie:
DRINKKKKKKSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
BITCHESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Kyra tried to call Stevie, but her phone
went straight to voicemail. With a sigh, she sat back against the
seat. “What’s up?” Hale asked, catching her concern.

“It’s Stevie…” She didn’t know how much to
tell him about Stevie’s drinking, but he seemed to read her mind
anyway.

“She drinks a lot, huh?”

Surprised, she glanced at him. “Yeah, I
guess so. I’ve never really thought much about it.”

“You think she has a problem?”

She shrugged, reluctant to begrudge anyone
their ways of coping because hers wasn’t the healthiest either.
“Maybe.”

“Have you said anything about it to her?”
Hale turned at a red light and once again headed out of town. He
was focused on driving, but she knew he was listening and waiting
for her answer.

“Not really… I never feel like it’s my place
to talk to her about it. Shouldn’t her family do that?”

“That girl’s family is shit.” The venom was
readily clear in his voice, and it surprised her. “Everyone knows
they’re the reason Stevie is so messed up. No, they would probably
encourage her drinking because it would be good for ratings or
publicity or what-the-fuck-ever.”

“I guess—”

“No,” Hale said, cutting her off. “Don’t
make excuses. You’re the only one she has, and you two hang out a
lot. If you think she has a problem, it’s your responsibility to
help her.”

Kyra nodded, feeling like she’d just gotten
in trouble. Stevie did drink a lot, and if Kyra was honest with
herself, she knew it was something that should be addressed. It
just made her feel like a total hypocrite. “I’ll talk to her
tomorrow. She’s already drunk, so it might not go over well
today.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?”

She glanced over at him, and he met her eyes
briefly before looking back to the road. She hadn’t even paid
attention to where they were going, but once again they were
surrounded by trees in the middle of nowhere. “I think so,” she
said, biting at her nail. “But what if we eat and then we can go
find her?”

He pulled off the road and onto a narrow
gravel road that cut through the woods. “I think that sounds like a
great plan.”

Below the canopy of leaves was all darkness
and shadows. Hale didn’t turn on his headlights; he had the road
memorized. When they pulled out of the trees and drove across the
grass toward a small airstream trailer, Kyra wasn’t surprised.
Everything from the grill outside to the workout bench in the
corner of the yard screamed Hale. The awning was out and some lawn
chairs were placed beneath it. There were two chairs, and she
figured only Cade had been out here. And probably Hale’s dates.
Surely, he’d been with other woman here. She shook her head to
clear her thoughts; she was torturing herself for no reason.

“Do you expect me to open your door or
something?”

She realized Hale was standing on his side
of the truck with his door still open. He stared in at her while he
held the grocery bags. She shot him a dirty look. “I’m going.”

“Move your ass. I’m hungry.”

She grumbled to herself as she walked to the
trailer. He banged open the door and disappeared inside. Instantly,
old country tunes rolled out from inside to twang in her ears. The
music didn’t bother her. After spending the day with Hale, she
realized the crooning songs suited him more than the angry rock he
often played when he was working.

She ducked under the door and stepped
inside. He stood at the small counter, laying out their supplies
for tacos. His broad form took up most of the room, and he had to
bend his head to accommodate the low ceilings in the trailer.
Craning her neck to see around him, Kyra spotted the bedroom with
the bed neatly made. Above a narrow, lumpy couch hung some odd
drawings full of lines and shading. To her right was a narrow
dinette. She hadn’t moved and already she felt claustrophobic.

She opened her mouth to comment on the
coziness when she realized what the drawings were. “Oh, gosh,” she
said, completely shocked. “These are amazing, Hale.”

She went forward and leaned over the couch
to examine the drawings. The pencil marks were light and delicate,
each line perfectly straight and precise. Kyra counted nearly ten
drawings hanging above the couch, and each one of them was of her
house. Hale had rendered the designs freehand, drawing up his own
blueprints since the originals were long gone.

She didn’t need to be an expert to see that
he was amazing at his job. Even from the drawings, she saw his
intentions for the house through the detail in his work. One
drawing was of the front of her house, but she barely recognized
it. He’d painstakingly drawn in perfect accents for the house
custom of a Victorian style. Even the door and windows were done in
a manner that suggested Hale had done his research on the era.
Another drawing was of her garden with each plant labeled. Other
drawings were of furniture he clearly planned to make for her
house, one being of a giant buffet for her dining room that Kyra
already knew would fit the space perfectly.

Gaping, she looked over her shoulder to see
him watching her. He shrugged without a comment. “You’re really
good at this,” she said again.

“I like it fine,” Hale said. He turned back
to the counter and dumped the vegetables into the miniscule sink
for cleaning. With one last look at the drawings, Kyra joined him
at the counter.

“Is that what you’re going to do to my
house?” She turned on the water and held an onion under the
stream.

“It’s what was original to the house, even
if I have to remake it. Everything has its place and it belongs
there.”

Hale pulled out a cutting board and a long
knife. Kyra handed him the onion, which he immediately started
peeling and cutting.

“I think it’s great how you try to keep to
the original plan for the house.”

“It deserves it,” he said with a grunt. He
sniffed at the aroma coming off the onion.

“When did you start drawing?” she asked,
washing more vegetables.

“Before I could write my name.”

She elbowed his side, which wasn’t hard to
do in the small space. “They’re really good. Stop being so
modest.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you. I think
they’re good too.”

Kyra laughed at his answer, which won her a
crooked grin. They turned up the music and kept making the tacos.
She found herself humming and swaying along to the songs as they
worked. They didn’t talk, which suited her fine. It was nice just
being so close to Hale and doing something she was comfortable
with.

When the rice was done, they wrapped up
their veggie tacos with hot sauce and settled on the dinette to
eat. In between bites, she asked, “Does Cade like the business as
much as you?”

Hale frowned down at his taco while he
munched. “He likes the number crunching and money side of it. And
he’s better with the people. So I guess he likes it fine. We just
do completely different things.”

“When I first got here, I thought it was so
weird that Cade had to talk with clients instead of you. I thought
you must be a monster or something.”

“And then you met me.” Hale smirked.

“And realized that’s exactly what you are.”
Kyra laughed. “Are you so honest that you can’t even pretend to be
nice sometimes?”

He leaned back in his chair. “I can be nice,
but I’ve found that most people don’t deserve it. I like to keep to
myself because I can’t stand when people insist on being polite
even though they are going to talk about you behind your back.” He
cocked a brow meaningfully at her, which made her roll her
eyes.

“I was raised to be polite no matter what,
even if you didn’t like that person.”

“That’s fine on the kindergarten playground,
but I think it’s bullshit that adults can’t honestly tell each
other how they feel about the other. Why hide it? Wouldn’t it have
made you feel so much better those first couple of days just to
tell me I was an asshole?”

“I did tell you that.”

“Days later when I nearly ran you over. Why
wait so long? I clearly pissed you off before then. Yet you smiled
and acted all nicey-nicey.”

“Nicey-nicey?” Kyra scoffed. “Some people
just don’t like confrontation.”

“Some people are just pussies.”

Kyra choked on her taco. “Did you just call
me a pussy?”

“Yeah.” Hale nodded. “You were. Jury’s still
out on now.”

“Crap, Hale. That’s really rude.” She sat
down her food and glared across the table.

“Oh, please. You know it too.”

“I don’t get how you can be so nice all day,
and then be so mean hours later,” she said, crossing her arms over
her chest.

He held up his hands in surrender, but she
saw the gleam in his eyes. “You asked. I just answered.”

“I didn’t ask to be called a name. That’s
such an awful word.”