If I Lie (23 page)

Crashing back to reality, I stumbled away from Blake, yanking my clothes back on. Our gazes met: his hopeless and mine apologizing. His eyes seared me before I ran. Maybe we would have tried to pretend it never happened, that we never happened.

A week later Jamie posted that picture of us on Facebook, and the possibility of Blake and me staying friends was shot to hell.

*   *   *

A branch snaps, and I wake in a rush. It is pitch-black, and I am in Grave Woods. Not the smartest idea, since it appears I’m no longer alone. Animal or human? I tilt my head to listen. Footsteps are coming toward me.

A flashlight soars through the clearing, lighting up the trees before it lands on me, still lying on the ground. Then he steps into view. Blake.

“Q! There you are!” He rushes toward me, dropping to his knees. For once, he’s dressed for the weather, in a jacket and flannel shirt. “Are you okay? Shit, you had me scared!”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, confused.

“Your dad called, asking if I’d seen you. He said you ran off from the hospital.”

My parents arguing. George. The day rushes back to me, and I fight Blake’s attempt to get me to my feet by wrapping my arms around my knees. I’m not ready to go back and face them.

“Come on, Q,” he says when I refuse to get up. “Your skin is like ice. We have to get you to your Jeep.”

“Go away, Blake.”

He doesn’t. He sits beside me, dropping the flashlight on the ground between us. “What the fuck is going on? Your dad sounds freaked out, and you’re out here in the woods in the middle of the night.”

He sounds strained, and I concentrate on his voice.

“He found out that my mom’s back.”

“Oh man. Wait—if he just found out, how long have you known?”

“Since before the dance,” I admit.

“Aw, Q,” he groans. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I start crying. “Why would I? We’re not friends anymore.”

He loops an arm around my shoulder, tugging me into the side of his body. My skin soaks up the heat coming off him. He sighs. “We’re more than friends. That’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?” He runs a hand over my back, trying to warm me up. “I’m here now. Talk to me.”

I do. He flips off the flashlight to save the battery, and in the dark I tell him about my mom’s return and my friendship with George and how my father’s treated me since the picture came out. I tell him about my run-ins with Jamie and Nikki and Angel and Mrs. Breen. I confess how dirty I’ve felt—the kind that stains you below the skin. Except everyone can see these stains, and they have punished me for them.

I tell him how shitty the past months have been, and how I felt abandoned by everyone, including Carey. Including him.

Blake listens to me unload in silence, much like I listened to Carey that night he crawled through my window. I stop just short of confessing the part where Carey is gay and I promised him I would pretend I was still his girlfriend to save him. I keep my promise, but just.

At some point, he lies back in the dirt, and I curl into his body while he holds tight to me. When my teeth begin to chatter, Blake strips off his coat and drapes it over us. My throat hurts from talking by the time I run out of words.

We listen to crickets chirping, and he says, “I’m sorry. For everything that’s happened to you. I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t lie and say he didn’t know it was happening. Some of it he witnessed; some of it I kept from him deliberately. I’d owed him that for hurting him. But Blake also was my friend. More than a friend, like he said. He’d owed me something too.

I roll my head against his shoulder so I can see his face. “I’m sorry too.”

“Happy birthday, Q,” he whispers.

He dips his head toward me, and I meet him halfway. Lips touch, tug, part.
I love him,
I think, my lips curving into a small smile at the certainty. No more confusion. His fingers trace my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear in a gentle movement that sets off shivers.

I wrap my hand around the back of his neck.
I love him,
I think again.

He pulls away an inch, and we inhale one breath. His hand
drops to my waist. When I kiss him, he grips my shirt, resting his fist on my hip.

“I love you, Q,” he whispers. “I always have, even when you were Carey’s.”

I roll onto my back and he follows, dropping tiny kisses on my neck. Leaning over me, he waits for me to open my eyes. “Don’t break my heart again, okay?”

“I promise,” I whisper back.

And then we stop talking.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The porch light is on when I get home, even though the sun peeks over the horizon. Blake waves from his truck, waiting until I’m inside before he pulls away. I fall back against the front door for a moment, too unsteady to stand without support.

Everything can change in a heartbeat.

I’m in love with a boy who loves me back.

I walk down the hall to peer into the living room. The TV drones on, tuned to an early a.m. infomercial. My father sits on the couch, his arms crossed and his chin dropped on his chest as he sleeps. Blake had called him hours before to say he’d bring me home when I was ready. He’d insisted, so a search party wasn’t sent out for us. My father hadn’t even argued.

I leave him sleeping.

After showering, I put on my pajamas and head for my room. My gifts from my birthday party have been piled on my dresser,
including the laptop from my mother. A gift bag sits on my bed—the one my father had brought to the hospital—and I open it. He must have talked to George, too. He bought me an expensive tripod to go with George’s camera.

“Do you like it?”

My father stands in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. I can’t read his expression. He’s not cold, but he’s not giving much away, either.

I glance at the package in my lap and nod. “Very much. It’s perfect. George told you he was giving me the Nikon?”

His forehead wrinkles in confusion. “That camera was George’s? I thought it was yours.”

“You didn’t talk to him?” I ask, surprised.

He shakes his head slowly. “No. You never go anywhere without that thing. I thought maybe the tripod would come in handy.”

“It will,” I say.

Last year he’d given me tickets to an amusement park. I hadn’t been to one since I was little, and I’d never used them, and eventually I gave them away. But he’d put thought into this gift. My father had noticed something I loved.

“I see you,” he says, as if he’s read my thoughts.

Maybe sometimes. It’s a start. I can give something in return.

“Dad, you know how I applied to Boston University’s photojournalism program? I got accepted.”

He only looks surprised for a second before he pulls me off the bed to give me a bear hug. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

And he is proud. It’s all over him, and I wonder why I waited so long to tell him or anyone else.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“How about we celebrate tomorrow? I’ll take you out to dinner.”

“What about Mom?” I ask.

He lets me go. “Quinn, we need to talk. Maybe after we both get some sleep.”

“I think we need to talk now,” I argue, crossing my arms.

He shoots me a warning look. “Don’t push it. You stayed out all night without calling, and I’m trying to cut you some slack here. Like I said, let’s get some rest.”

I watch him walk away from me. I should let him go. My emotions are spinning all over the place. That’s exactly why I can’t let him go.

“I’m not a kid anymore. You can’t just tell me to obey.” I raise my voice. “You said she was never coming back. I was eleven and my heart was broken and I wanted you to tell me she still loved me. Do you remember that? You told me she was gone and I needed to grow up and stop wishing she’d come back.”

He glances over his shoulder. “You said it yourself. You’re not a kid anymore, Quinn. Adults make mistakes. I’m sorry I disappointed you, but I’ve done the best I could.”

He leaves, closing my door behind him.

I shout, “You should’ve tried harder!”

Footsteps pause in the hall, and then fade as he walks away.

*   *   *

It’s a school day, but I decide to skip. I think I’ve earned it after the night before. I sleep the morning away and wake to an empty house. My father’s left a note.
Quinn—Fixings for veggie omelets in the fridge. I’ll be home late. Dad.
A man of few words.

His idea of an apology?

After eating and dressing, I head to the hospital. George is asleep, and I drop my purse and camera bag on the floor and settle in. Oxygen tubes run into his nose, and he’s hooked to an IV for the first time I can remember in a long time. His skin appears thin, as if the slightest scratch could puncture it. The signs have been there all along. I’ve just been ignoring them.

His eyes open, and for a moment he looks lost. I step toward the bed, and he focuses on me. Then he says, “I’m not dead yet. Stop looking at me like that or you can get the hell out of here.”

I squeeze his hand. “Shut up, old man. You scared the crap out of me yesterday. The least you can do is put up with a few tears.”

“Not a chance,” he says, but he squeezes my hand. He gestures to his table, and I pour him a cup of water from a plastic pitcher. He’s more worn-out than he’s letting on, because he lets me tip the straw to his lips while he drinks. He frowns. “Not much of a birthday yesterday, was it?”

I pull my chair closer so I can hook my legs on the rail of his bed. “The best-laid plans . . .”

“What happened?”

He grills me on everything that unfolded after he collapsed. I blush when I get to the part about Blake finding me in the woods, even though I leave out most of the details. I don’t fool George.

“So it’s like that, is it?” He chortles when I suddenly find the wall behind him fascinating. “You’re in love with this boy. Blake.”

He doesn’t sound judgmental. In fact, he doesn’t even sound surprised.

“You knew,” I accuse.

“I guessed. Something in your voice whenever you mention him. How you mostly avoid talking about him. He the boy in the picture?”

I say nothing, giving him an obstinate look.

“Geez, you’re a mule. Keep your secret then.”

“Are you mad?” I ask.

He smiles. “Nah. Whatever you are, you’re honorable, kid. If you won’t talk, you have your reasons. Mysterious and screwed up as they might be.”

I shoot him a relieved smile. “Quit being mean to me or I won’t tell you my news.”

“There’s more? I’m not sure I can take it.”

I tell him about Boston University, and he lets out with a whoop that sets off a spate of coughing. A nurse I don’t know pops his head in to check on us, and as soon as George has breath,
he tells the nurse the news. He’s like a proud papa. A warm glow settles over me, one I didn’t feel even when I shared the news with my father.

It hits me.

George won’t be alive to see me graduate college. Maybe not even high school.

The amused nurse wanders off, and George notices how quiet I am.

“You’ve finally figured it out, haven’t you?” he says.

“How long, George?”

For once, he doesn’t put on a brave face. I need an answer, and he understands that.

“The docs say a few weeks if I’m lucky. Things are happening fast now, kid.”

I clamp my jaw tight. George hasn’t asked much of me. Honesty and friendship. I can avoid the tears and the whole maudlin scene for him.

“Well, that’s a pisser.” I inject as much humor in my voice as I can, but my words fall flat.

He attempts to sit up, and I jump up to help him, shoving pillows behind his back. “I’m being serious,” he says when I back away. “I think maybe you shouldn’t keep coming here. I don’t want you to see this.”

I fall back on my heels.
He’s trying to send me away. For my own good.
That’s the only thing that enables me to rein in my anger.

“Fuck you,” I say. He glares, but I cut him off before he can speak. “Listen up, old man. I’ve put up with a lot of shit this year. I’m not going to take any from you. And I’m not leaving. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“This isn’t about being a good friend—”

“No, you’re right.” I busy myself, tucking his blanket around him. “It’s about family. You’re my family, stupid.”

George’s eyes well up, and I look away. It sounds cheesy, but it’s the freaking truth: I love the old guy.

I clear my throat. “Can we agree not to talk about this again?”

He huffs. “Are you kidding? I’m about to go into diabetic shock from all the sweetness.”

“You’re not diabetic, George.”

“Exactly.”

We change the subject. He asks, “Did you bring your camera?”