If I Lie (19 page)

I hate that she says his name. In my head, “Edward” stole her. But when she says his name, there is tenderness. It feels . . . apart from me and the life we had. Like there is more to her than I remembered or imagined.

“He mentioned you saw me before in the lobby. I wish you’d said something.”

I sip my coffee and it scalds my tongue.

“Are you not going to talk to me?”

I sigh. “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to forgive you for walking away?”

Bingo.
That’s exactly what she wants. I can see it in her eyes.

“Fine. You’re forgiven.”

Abandoning my coffee, I rise to leave. She reaches for me and I flinch. She’s left with her hand hanging in midair.

“Please, Sophie. Don’t go.”

I pause. I sink back into my seat, slouching with my hands in my sweatshirt pockets. I feel manipulated and pissed off and so freaking hurt I can’t breathe. Against my will, I begin to cry. “You have no right to come here. I’ve done okay without you.”

“I didn’t,” she says, her voice breaking. “I didn’t do well at all.”

“Didn’t you?” I ask with venom. “You had no problem leaving me at Grandma’s. You walked away like I was crap you couldn’t get off your shoes fast enough.”

“No! It wasn’t like that at all.”

“What was it like, then?” My raised voice draws eyes to our table, but for once, I don’t care. Let them look.

My mother tucks her hair behind her ear in a gesture I don’t remember. Her hair was too short to do that when I knew her. She must have a thousand habits I don’t know about. Her choice, not mine.

“It’s complicated,” she says.

I laugh. “Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?” I strike a fist on the table and she jumps. “Thank goodness you explained yourself. I feel so much better now.”

She folds her hands and stares at them.

“That’s all you have to say?” I ask incredulously. “I’m not eleven anymore, in case you haven’t noticed.”

She takes a deep breath. “You’re right, of course. I don’t know where to start.”

I plant both elbows on the table. “How about you begin with how you could leave me behind?”

I’ve thought about this for so long. Obsessed over it. Fantasized about reasons important enough to make her give me up. In my imaginings her reason always came down to life or death. If not for something so huge, she would never have considered leaving me. That’s what I told myself anyway.

Perhaps some of my heartbreak seeps through the cracks in my voice because she reaches for me again. This time I let her hand rest on my arm.

“It wasn’t about you, Sophie. I had to leave for myself. I was dying in that house, always waiting for your father to return. It was me or him, and I chose me.”

She means it. The sincerity pours from her. She doesn’t even realize how her explanation sounds to me. Mothers are supposed to put their children first: She chose herself. An ache starts deep in my chest, pressing on my lungs until I feel like I won’t ever be able to breathe again.

“You have no idea what it was like after you left,” I say quietly. “At first, I didn’t realize you weren’t coming back. When it finally hit me, I cried for days and days. Then the nightmares started.”

“Soph—”

“Dad had no idea how to comfort me. He was so lost himself. It took months for us to figure out how to live without you. And another year after that for me to accept you had left for good.”

She drops her hand, and I’m glad. Since that picture of Blake and me came out, people—my friends, my father,
me
—have compared me to her. Sophie Topper Quinn, an unfaithful slut like her mother. Sitting before her, I can see it’s not true. I’m nothing like her.

I would never walk away from someone who needed me. I stay. Even when things get bad, I stay.

Maybe I am my father’s daughter, after all.

“I think you should go,” I tell her.
It’s what you’re good at.

The finality in my tone sinks in. She abandons her coffee and stands. “I know you don’t believe me, but I really did miss you.”

“You’re right,” I say, staring up at her. “I don’t believe you. You could’ve visited anytime. You didn’t. Like you said, you chose you.”

Her eyes widen, and pride straightens her back. “That’s not fair. I tried to visit.”

“Not hard enough,” I say flatly.

“Your father said—” She stops, biting off whatever she intended to say.

“My father said what?” I had no idea they spoke after she left.

She tenses, her face twisted with frustration or anger. I can’t tell which. When she does speak, she ignores my question. “I’m not going anywhere. Edward and I have moved back to North Carolina.” She drops a piece of paper on the table. “That’s my number. If you decide you want to see me.”

I ignore her and she finally takes a hint. I sense her walk away, but I don’t turn to watch her go.

Once was enough to last me a lifetime.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I’ve never felt so disgusted with myself as I did the morning I woke up in Blake’s bed. I knew I’d made a mistake before I even opened my eyes. His body curved against my back, warming me where we touched. I lay there, confronting what I’d done and who I’d done it with. I’d used him.

Perhaps I should have been disoriented, wondering if it was Carey that I’d finally fallen into bed with. After all, I’d been dating him for two and a half years. But there was no mistaking the feel of that arm lying across my waist. Even in his sleep, Blake sent intense waves of emotion crashing through me. The night before, I’d welcomed all of it—the intensity and the heat. In the light of day, it overwhelmed me.

It took a full minute to slide out from under his arm, moving in millimeters to avoid waking him. I dragged my clothes and sorry self into the bathroom, relieved beyond belief when I
didn’t bump into Blake’s brother on the way. Thank goodness his mother was out of town too.

Dressed in last night’s tank top and jeans and disgusted with myself, I wondered what I would say to Blake. If there were magical words to make this all go away without ruining the friendship we had. Then a new, unwelcome thought popped in.

Did I really want to forget last night happened?

Did I want to pretend I hadn’t seen a different side of Blake—a side of him that made me want to be the sort of girl that could inspire longing in his eyes? I could be that girl. Dangerous. Exciting. Something more than the goody-two-shoes, do-the-right-thing machine I’d become. Angel would never believe I’d gone to Blake after what happened with Carey last night. I almost couldn’t believe it myself.

Yet, I considered going back into Blake’s room and waking him to see if his kiss would feel the same in the morning light.

That’s when my phone rang.

I snagged it out of my pocket, nearly dropping it in the sink in my hurry to silence the ringer.

“Hello,” I whispered, expecting it to be my father checking up on me. Lucky for me, he would never know I’d stayed out all night since he’s stayed overnight on base. I’m not sure I would have survived that icy blizzard.

“Quinn, don’t hang up!”

Carey.

My gut twisted in a double knot. I had no idea what to say
to him. The night before, he’d shredded me with his confession. This morning, I’d woken up in his best friend’s bed. Words failed me, so I said nothing and listened to him breathe on the other end of the line.

He took that as a good sign and continued. “I need to talk to you. Meet me?”

I didn’t answer for the longest time. Anger should have been my strongest feeling, but the night before had confused me, sending my emotions winding through a blender.

Standing there in Blake’s bathroom, staring at my disheveled reflection, I didn’t know how I felt.

“Please, Quinn,” he begged.

We couldn’t leave things like we had last night. Not with him deploying in a few short days.
Better get this over with,
I thought. Rip off the Band-Aid.

“Where?”

Thirty minutes later, I parked my Jeep at the edge of Grave Woods. I felt like hell for sneaking out of Blake’s house. I thought about leaving a note, but what could I say?

Hey, thanks! It was a blast. We should totally do it again. JK! I was just trying to feel better about myself and now I’m completely confused about my feelings.

Yeah, that would have gone over great. So I left Blake asleep in his bed and tiptoed out the front door.

I didn’t feel any better when I neared the cemetery in Grave Woods and found Carey waiting with his back to me. He’d
heard me coming. I could tell by the intent way he cocked his head. Basic had changed him. He had a new alertness about him. A readiness to launch into action, as if he could handle whatever came his way. He’d always been confident. Cocky, even, about his physical ability, especially on a football field. But this quiet confidence was the sort that came from knowing you could handle yourself in a knife fight. The Marines could transform a person in that way. I’d seen it time and again in our town.

Carey the boy had left for basic training; Carey the man had returned in his place.

I didn’t know what to make of either of them.

“I went by your house again last night,” he said, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.

He evaluated me, trying to figure out where he stood. I’d taken that look for granted for years. The way he always paid such close attention to my needs and wants. He had a way of reading me, and I wondered if he could tell how I’d changed since he’d made his confession on the porch the night before. Would he even care? Maybe I should have considered why he’d been so attentive and asked for nothing in return. Perhaps a guilty conscience for lying to me?

“Yeah?” I said with belligerence.

He didn’t react to my snotty tone, but answered mildly, “I was worried. I upset you last night.”

I didn’t explain myself or tell him where I’d been. Maybe I’d made a mistake last night, but I no longer owed him anything. He’d betrayed me, not the other way around.

“Of course you upset me. Geez, Carey, you lied to me for ages.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “I know it doesn’t make things any better, but I didn’t mean to. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.”

I wanted to rage at him and make him feel as bad as I had. His apology and its obvious sincerity deflated my desire to shriek the forest down around him.

“You’re right. It doesn’t make things better.” I sighed, sinking to sit on the ground.

I know Carey, and I could see he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted—a screaming fight. He would let me yell at him, but he wasn’t going to engage. He’d already taken the blame and would accept what I dished out. Damn it.

“I hate you,” I said.

He gave me a half-smile, folding to sit near me, his back to Thomas’s headstone. “No, you don’t. You’re mad at me and you’re hurt, but you don’t hate me.”

He sounded so positive.

“What makes you so sure?”

“You’re my best friend, Quinn,” he answered with a shrug.

I slid forward onto my knees and slugged him as hard as I could in the shoulder. He let me do it. Didn’t even try to stop me. Crying
angry tears, I sat back again, shaking out my throbbing hand.

“You’re such an asshole,” I said, sniffing.

He nodded. “You’re right. Hit me again if you want. I can take it.”

Crying harder, I shook my head. “I don’t know you. I thought I did, but it was all a lie, wasn’t it?”

“Aw, Quinn . . .” He scooted closer to me. As if he knew the reception he’d get, he didn’t try to touch me, but he dipped his head to look me in the eye. “I love you. I didn’t lie about that. You and me, we’re more than last night.”

“You broke my heart,” I whispered.

“Did I?” he asked. His dark gaze wouldn’t let mine loose, as if he was daring me to tell the truth. Something we hadn’t done a lot of in a while, I realized. “You knew something wasn’t right with us.”

“No!”

He gave me a disappointed look. “Who’s lying now?”

“Shut up, Carey! You don’t get to be the upset one here!”

“You’re right,” he conceded again.

“Stop saying I’m right!” I shouted.

Cracks began to show in his calm surface, and he exhaled a frustrated breath. “I’m doing the best I can here. What do you want me to say?”

“The truth!” I’d had enough lies.

“Ask me a question, then!” he said, anger thrumming in his words.

I stopped. My mouth opened and closed several times. I couldn’t think of a single question that I wanted him to answer.

“You don’t
want
to know the truth, Quinn! It’s easier to just be pissed at me, isn’t it?”

He stood and stalked away from me. If it had only been anger in his eyes, I could have dealt with that. Anger for anger. But pain blanched his face. That was harder to ignore.