One Tiny Lie: A Novel (23 page)

I ignore it all as I slip my hand around the back of his neck and pull him into me to kiss and then trail my tongue along the bottom of his lip. Ashton’s breath hitches and I feel the muscles cord beneath my fingers as he hesitates, his hand fisting the pillow beside my head as he fights it.

I don’t want him to fight anymore. I’m desperate to see that vulnerable side of him again. I need to feel close to him again. I want to make him feel good. I want
me
to feel good. I want to just let go of . . . everything.

That’s what it feels like when I’m with Ashton.

Like I’m letting go.

And that’s why I give him a level stare and demand, “Help me forget for a while.”

He stops hesitating.

He crashes down into my mouth with an unreserved fierceness. I match it, kissing him like I need the air in his lungs to survive. A part of me is afraid. I feel that deep inside. I don’t know what this is going to lead to and I don’t know if I’m ready for it.

But I don’t think I’ll stop it.

It’s as if he can read my mind. He breaks free and looks down at me to whisper, “We won’t . . . I won’t take anything away from you today, Irish. I won’t ever do that while I’m not . . . free.” I don’t miss the fact that he’s not using words like “screw” or “fuck” in typical Ashton fashion. Then again, I don’t have the typical Ashton here with me anymore. I have the one he hides from everyone else.

I close my eyes as his lips find my throat and I marvel at how they’re both soft and forceful. By the time they reach my collarbone, my chest is heaving. Ashton tugs my shirt up and over my head with ease. Tossing it to the floor, he lifts himself up enough that he can stare down at my bare chest, making all the nerves within my breasts tingle. “That morning I woke up in here . . .” His eyes flicker up to catch me watching him before descending again. “I was ready to drop to my knees and beg you to uncover these.” A hiss escapes me as he cups and caresses first one and then the other breast, as if memorizing their shape and size and feel. His thumb brushes a hardened nipple and a shudder runs through me. With a small groan, I gasp as Ashton’s mouth closes over it, his tongue moving with skill. I can’t help but wrap my arms around his head and pull him closer, crying out as his teeth send a sharp thrill straight down to my core.

I’ve noticed that when I make sounds like that, even unintentionally, Ashton reacts. This time he breaks free long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The second it’s off, his hand is diving beneath me to grasp the back of my pajama bottoms. He pulls them down and off my hips without delay, panties and all. In seconds I’m completely undressed and his mouth is back around my nipple.

I wrap my arms around his head again and rest my head back into the pillow, reveling in the feel of his scorching skin against mine and his erection digging into my thigh. I have the urge to reach down and wrap my hand around it, but it would involve moving and I’m too comfortable right now. So I stay put while I try to imagine what Ashton would feel like inside me. Just the thought has my thighs relaxing and tensing at the same time and wetness beginning to pool.

And that’s how Ashton’s hand discovers me when it slides down. “Holy fuck, Irish . . .” I hear him mutter, and I tighten my grip of his head against me as my head lolls back and I moan, silently thanking my professor for my shitty chem grade.

“This won’t work . . .” Ashton abruptly rolls off the bed.

Panic bubbles. I think I’ve done something wrong. Is he going to leave me like
this
?

“Sit up, Irish.”

I obey, and he lets out a groan as he turns my body and pulls my legs over the side of the bed, pausing to let his eyes drag the length of my frame. “Lean back on your elbows.”

I let out a small gasp but I do as asked. I think I know what he’s doing. Ashton steps forward, keeping his eyes locked to mine as his hands settle on the tops of my thighs. “The thing about these damn beds . . .” I feel the force against my thigh muscles as Ashton’s hands began to push my legs apart. I hold my breath, suddenly petrified.

I know what he’s doing and I’m freaking out.

But Ashton’s eyes are still locked on mine so I don’t resist him. “. . . is that they’re not good. . . .” With a quick tug, he has my hips at the edge of the bed. His fingers skate along the length of my legs as he wraps them over his shoulders. He breaks eye contact from me for the first time to start laying kisses along my inner thigh, slowing inching in, his breath sending shivers of anticipation upward. “. . . for things like this.”

I gasp as his tongue touches me. At first I’m beyond uncomfortable, exposed like this. I mean, having Ashton’s face so intimately
there
is, well, nerve-racking. But it feels . . .amazing. And with his expert tongue and adept fingers working in tandem, I soon start to feel that familiar build, the one where I shut out the world. I let my head dip back and my eyes close and a shaky sigh escape my lips as I try to memorize how incredible this feels. That must be a sign for Ashton, because his mouth becomes more feverish and excited and his hands squeeze my thighs, pulling me closer into him.

When the wave is about to hit me again, I can’t help but roll my head back up and look down at him. His eyes are locked on mine with that odd sense of peace behind them.

And it makes me scream out his name.

I’m a limp doll as Ashton shifts my body back onto the bed. He tucks me under the covers and then lifts his arms to rest on the edge. “Don’t you want me to . . . ?” I bite my lip as a blush heats my cheeks.

With a secretive smile, he smooths my hair off my forehead. “I’ve been tied up the last few nights and I’m behind on a paper. I should go work on it.” I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of his thumb stroking my cheek, reveling in this deep intimacy forming between Ashton and me. I drift off.

Reagan slips in at around eleven that night. I redressed at some point but I’m still lying in bed, my face buried in the pillow that smells like Ashton’s cologne, my afternoon with him on mental repeat. I’m holding on to that euphoric afterglow with two gripped hands, desperate to keep the guilt and doubt and confusion from swirling back into my lungs like suffocating black smoke.

“Hey, Reagan. How’s it going?”

She flops into her bed. “I got kicked out of the library for being too loud.”

I snort. “Too loud at what exactly?” Schoolwork isn’t a guaranteed pastime for Reagan at the library, after all.

“Studying by myself. Go figure, right?” I giggle, knowing exactly why. Reagan tends to talk out loud when she’s working through her textbooks. I think it’s cute, but most people would find it annoying. “If only they knew . . .” There’s a pause, and then she casually mentions, “I saw Connor there tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” I try to make that light and airy as the
guilty virgin slut
coils tighten around my chest.

The bed frame creaks as Reagan shifts beneath me. “He asked how you were doing. You know, because of a bad midterm mark.”

I sigh. “I’m doing . . . better.”

“Good.”

I pause to take a deep breath. And then I just blurt it out. “I think I’m going to end things with Connor.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe you should wait until after the weekend.” There’s another shift and the sound of tugging sheets, as if Reagan can’t get comfortable.

I find it strange that she doesn’t ask why, that she doesn’t sound at all shocked by my statement. Why not?
I’m
shocked. If I had written down on a piece of paper everything that I thought should comprise the ideal man for me, and then drew a caricature, I’d have a page with Connor on it. “He wants me to meet his parents.” How can I do that now? His mother will know! Mothers have radar for these things. She’ll out me publicly. It will be the first stoning in Princeton rowing history.

“So meet his parents and then break it off. You’re not promising marriage. Otherwise you’ll make things really awkward for Connor and yourself the day of the race. It’s already going to be awkward.”

“Why?”

“Because Dana will be there.”

That name . . . it’s like a punch to my sternum. “So what if she’s there. There’s nothing going on between Ashton and me.”
Liar! Liar! Liar!

There’s a pause. “Well, that’s good, because Ashton’s going to be dead by tomorrow anyway.”

“What?” Panic bursts.

“He skipped practice tonight. My dad tracked him down. He’s probably still out running laps, and it’s cold out there.”

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that. Guilty, definitely, because he’s being punished for being with me. But . . . my hands press flat against my belly as my heart ruptures with emotion. He knew it would happen and he did it anyway.

Reagan is still talking. “And don’t forget there’s the Halloween party that night. You don’t want to make that super awkward. It’s not like you and Connor are sleeping together yet . . . .right?”

“Right . . . Is Dana going to be there?”

“No, I overheard Ashton saying that she’ll be visiting her family in Queens.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Anyway, that’s my vote. Wait until next week before you dump your pretty boy.”

I sigh. “Yeah, I guess.” What’s another few days of festering guilt? It’s a good idea, actually. Punish myself. I deserve it. I roll onto my side, my brain worked into exhaustion. “’Night, Reagan.”

“’Night, Livie.”

There’s a pause. “Hey, Livie?” Reagan clears her throat a few times in a way that tells me she’s struggling not to burst out in laughter. “Next time can you please hang the sock on the door to warn me?”

“They’re beautiful,” I whisper. I’m curled into a ball on my bed with a bouquet of purple irises in my hand and Connor on my phone.
And I don’t deserve them. Or you.

“I remember you saying you loved irises. They’re not in season in the fall, did you know that?”

I smile as the tears trickle down my cheek. Dad used to surprise Mom with bouquets of dark purple irises every spring. Except it wasn’t really a surprise because he’d do it every Friday night for, like, five weeks straight—for as long as they were in season. Each time, though, Mom’s face would split with a wide grin and she’d fan her face with excitement as if he were proposing to her. Kacey and I used to roll our eyes and mimic Mom’s over-the-top reaction.

Now my memory of purple irises will be tied to my treachery.

“I know they’re not.” That means Connor spent an astronomical amount of money, either on imports or special-grown. “What are they for?”

“Oh . . .” Connor pauses, and I can picture him leaning against the counter in the kitchen. “Just to let you know that I was thinking about you and to not worry about that grade.”

I swallow. “Thanks.”
That grade
. Since that C minus paper, I’ve received all of my other midterms back. Cs. All of them except for English lit, which earned a B. The prof even made a note that he liked the way I attacked the complex topic. He made it sound like a B is a good thing. My take on the moral dilemmas faced by the characters in
Wuthering Heights
and their choices was apparently fascinating to him. Maybe it’s because I can’t seem to get a grasp of my own morals anymore that I can make interesting observations about others’ plights. I feel as though I’ve entered some strange twilight zone where everything I know has been turned upside down. I considered texting Ashton to let him know that I needed more cheering up, but I resisted the urge.

“My parents are looking forward to meeting you tomorrow.”

Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I lie, “Same here.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

October 31

Dr. Stayner once suggested that all people face a day in their life that defines who they are, that shapes who they will become, that sets them on their path. He said that one day will either guide or haunt them until they take their last breath. I told him he was being dramatic. I told him I didn’t believe it. It makes it sound as if a person is a pliable hunk of clay up until that point—just sitting around waiting to be fired, to solidify those curves and creases that hold their identity, their stability. Or their instability.

A highly implausible theory. And that, coming from a medical professional.

Maybe he’s right, though.

Looking back on it now, I guess I could agree that my day of firing was the day that my parents died.

And October
31 is the day that shattered the design.

“I am getting so drunk tonight!” Reagan announces with her arms held high and her head back, basking in the early-morning sun. She doesn’t care that we’re standing at a crowded finish line of spectators, waiting for the guys to climb out of their winning boat. Reagan had warned me that this race was a big deal, but I was still surprised to hear that over four hundred boats would be racing today.

“And how is that different from every other weekend?” I tease, pulling my light jacket tight to my body. Three years in Miami temperatures has spoiled me for the crisp northern air that I grew up in. The fact that it’s mid-morning and we’re down by the river only adds to the chill.

“What do you mean? It’s completely different. We have a week off from classes and tonight’s party is going to be epic.” She jumps up and down excitedly, those adorable dimples under her eyes appearing, her honey-blond hair wagging in a ponytail. “
And
I have the cutest naughty nurse costume.” I can only shake my head at her. I’ve seen it already. It
is
cute and it’s certainly naughty. And highly unrealistic. Grant won’t know what hit him. “You’re dressing up as the naughty schoolgirl, right?”

Apparently the theme for all female costumes must begin with “the naughty”—Grant and Ty’s idea. The unfortunate thing is that I’m sure I’ll be the oddball if I don’t comply. “A schoolgirl, I can manage. Not the naughty part.” Reagan saw my pleated skirt—the one I wore the day Ashton drove me to the hospital—and decided to complete the costume for me, coming home with garters, thigh-highs, and red stilettos. I sigh. Truth be told, I don’t think I want to go. The sooner this weekend is over with, the sooner I can rid myself of this guilt choking the air out of my lungs. But Reagan doesn’t want to hear any of that.

She turns to give me puppy-dog eyes normally reserved for Grant. “Don’t you dare bail on me, Livie. It’s Halloween!”

“I . . . I don’t know. I have this thing and then my volunteering . . .” Not to mention I’ve barely slept the past four nights, my mind unwilling to shut down, my stomach unable to stop rolling. Dread—that’s what is ripping me apart. Dread over meeting Connor’s parents, dread over seeing Ashton with his sweet and unsuspecting girlfriend.

Dread over seeing Ashton’s father.

I don’t even know if he’ll be here; I never asked. But just the thought makes me sick. There are few things that spawn violence in me. Hurting those I care about is one. Hurting a child is another. He’s done both. Maybe if I attack Ashton’s father, I can avoid meeting Connor’s parents altogether?

“Relax!” Reagan says, nudging me with her body. “Say, ‘Hi, nice to meet you, ba-bye.’ End of story.”

“And then what, Reagan? How do I break up with him? It’s not like he’s done anything wrong that I can use against him.” Not like me. A sour taste fills my mouth. I’m going to have to look him in the eye and
hurt
him. Can I avoid that part? It’s only been about two months. What’s the etiquette? Maybe I could do it through email . . . Kacey would be the right person to ask but, seeing as I’ve kept my sister in the dark up until now, it will spark an afternoon of questions I’m not ready to face and things I’m not willing to admit to having done.

“Livie!” I turn to see Connor in his tight orange-and-white sleeveless top and black shorts—the team uniform—break through the crowd with a wide grin on his face. He’s toweling the sweat off of his glistening body.

I take a deep, calming breath.
You
can do this. Just keep being nice to him
. Just a few more days until I rip his heart out and stomp on it.

“Want a hug?”

I give him a wrinkled-nose smile and curl my shoulder away from him. That’s not fake, actually. A sweaty Connor is far from appealing. He chuckles and plants a kiss on my forehead instead. “Okay, later, maybe. What’d you think of the race?”

“It was amazing.” I had watched the guys with balled fists as they rowed in to first place standing—their movements synchronized, powerful, graceful.

“It was.” Scanning the sea of heads, he says, “I’ll be back soon. Stay right here. Okay?” A slight frown creases his brow. “You okay? You seem a little bit off lately.”

I immediately force a smile. “I’m good. Just . . . nervous.” I lift to my tiptoes to give him a light peck on the lips.

Those pretty green eyes flash with amusement. “Don’t be. They’re going to love you. Stay right here.” In many ways, I’m more worried about that than his mother pointing an accusatory finger at me while she screams “whore”
in front of thousands of people.

I watch his lean form weave through the crowds.

And then I turn to look for my towering, beautiful man. I see him almost immediately. He’s impossible to miss. His hair is damp and pushed back, falling at different angles around his face. His muscles are tight from the recent exertion. A slick sheen covers his body, as it did Connor’s. I realize I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to throw myself at Ashton, though.

He’s walking up from the water with a towel around his neck as he wipes the sweat off. When his head lifts, he catches my eye and my breath in an instant. I haven’t seen him in a few days and my body instinctively gravitates toward him.

I give him a wide smile and mouth, “Congratulations.”

His head bobs once.

And then he turns away and walks toward the pretty blond waiting at the sidelines with a group of people. I watch Dana dive into his side, grinning wide. Without hesitation, he puts his arm around her shoulder and smiles down at her as if there isn’t anyone else in the world for him. As if I’m not right here, twenty feet away, watching it all.

Whether real relationship or not, it reminds me that Ashton is not mine. He never was mine.

He probably never will be mine.

The air is temporarily knocked out of my lungs.

Fighting against the sting, keeping the tears from slipping out—tears I have no right to shed—I swallow and turn my attention to the two older couples with them. One I quickly deduce as Dana’s parents—she shares too many facial traits with them to be otherwise. I turn my attention to the other couple, to the stylish blond woman of maybe thirty. She’s scanning her phone, her expression one of boredom, suggesting she was dragged here and can’t wait to leave. Next to her is a well-dressed and attractive older man with gray streaks running through his hair.

“That’s Ashton’s dad,” Reagan whispers to me as I watch him reach out and extend his somewhat stiff arm to Ashton. Ashton immediately takes it, dipping his head as he does so, I notice. As a sign of respect or submission, I’m not sure.

I study the man, looking for signs of the devil hidden within, of the manacle he has clasped around his son’s neck. I see nothing. But I know that’s meaningless because I’ve seen the proof. I’ve seen the scars, the belt, the resignation and pain in Ashton’s voice the few times he’s let it in. And this man’s smile doesn’t touch his eyes. I notice that.

I look between him and Dana’s father and I wonder how those conversations went. Does Dana’s father know his daughter is being used as collateral over Ashton’s head?

Reagan’s hand rubs my back. “He’s a jerk, Livie. A ridiculously hot, brooding jerk that even I’d have a hard time saying no to if he made me scream like that . . .” I have to look away from Ashton as my cheeks flame with the reminder. Through the snippets of teasing, I’ve quickly deduced that Reagan walked in right at the pinnacle moment. She sighs. “There’s nothing worthwhile beneath all that. It’s just who he is. He likes the game.”

Is she right?
I can’t play this game with you, Irish.

Have I fallen for Ashton’s act? Everything in my heart says that the answer is no. But my head . . . This is all such a mess when it doesn’t need to be. I have a wonderful guy bringing his parents over to meet me while I fight back tears over a guy who makes me lose all control, all sensibility. Who makes me
hurt.

“Gidget!” Grant’s loud call for Reagan pulls my attention away from my inner turmoil for a second to see him grab her from behind, folding his long, lean arms around her body in a fierce hug.

She squeals and spins around to loop her short arms around his neck. “Stop it! Daddy’s somewhere around.” She places a kiss on his cheek.

As if on cue, Reagan’s dad booms from behind, “Grant!”

Reagan breaks away quickly, her eyes widening for a split second. “Shit,” she mumbles, edging away from Grant before Robert’s looming stature appears beside him.

Slapping his hand over Grant’s shoulder, he says, “Good race, son.”

“Thanks, Coach.” Grant flashes his trademark goofy grin, but I notice he can’t hold Robert’s eye, his focus quickly shifting to the crowd.

If Robert notices Grant’s nervousness, he doesn’t let on. “Ty’s looking for you.” Pointing to the water, he adds, “Down there.” Away from his daughter.

With a salute, Grant spins on his heels and disappears into the crowd.

“Young lady . . . ,” Robert starts to say, his brow pulled together in a frown as he regards his tiny daughter.

She throws her arms around his sizeable belly. “Great race, Daddy! I’m going to go find Mom.” Like a small child in a crowd, she easily slithers between two people and vanishes before he can utter another word, leaving him shaking his head in her direction. “I wonder how long it’s going to take before she admits to me that they’re together.”

My mouth drops open, my eyes no doubt wide with shock. Is he testing me? Does he want to see if I’ll confirm his suspicions?

“Oh, don’t tell her I know.” Robert’s head shakes dismissively. “As long as she thinks I disapprove of Grant, she’ll stay with him.”

I have to purse my lips tight to keep from bursting out in laughter. I see where Reagan has gained her skills in deception.

“So how did you enjoy the races, Livie?”

“Exciting, sir.”

He smiles. “Isn’t it? Now I need to work these boys to the bone over the winter so they’re ready for the spring season.” I hear hollers of “Coach!” from the crowd. He holds up a hand to acknowledge the person as a sigh escapes him. “Never a dull moment on race day . . .” Turning back to me, his smile has been replaced with seriousness. “Before I forget . . .” He reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out a small, plain envelope. “I was hoping I’d run into you here.”

Furrowing my brow, I gingerly open it and slip a picture out. It’s clearly an old photo, by the quality of the developing. A young couple leans against a tree, the guy’s arm slung over the girl’s shoulder. She’s resting her raven-haired head against his chest as they both smile into the camera.

My breath catches.

It’s my parents.

I can’t speak for a moment, as my free hand flies to my mouth, as I stare down at the two faces that I remember and yet are so new to me. “Where did you—” My voice breaks off.

“I have boxes upon boxes of old school pictures sitting in my attic. I’ve been meaning to go through them for years. ”

I can’t speak.

“I thought I might have an old picture of your parents in there but I wasn’t sure. It took a good week, sorting through.”

“You did this?” I look up at Reagan’s dad. “I mean . . .” Tears don’t even threaten. They just start spilling out. “Thank you. I don’t have any pictures of them in college.”

He opens his mouth. I catch the momentary hesitation. “I know, Livie.”

My frown lasts only a second before it clicks.

Only one person knew that.

Ashton told him.

“And it wasn’t me going through the boxes.” His voice is even, his brow arched in a knowing look.

I take a ragged breath. “Ashton?”

After a moment, Robert nods. “He knew it was them right away. It’s impossible to miss the resemblance between you and your mother.” I look down at it again. It could be me sitting there.
Ashton did this? Ashton spent a week going through someone’s dusty pictures, looking for this, not even knowing if it existed. For me?

“I don’t know a lot about that boy, even after three years. He’s not big on talking. But something tells me that nothing is quite as it seems with him.” His mouth presses into a firm line. “What I do know is what I can see. That he cares greatly about his teammates, he pushes them to excel, and he’ll do anything for them. They all know it and they respect him for it. He’s a born leader when he’s out on that water. That’s why he’s captain. I think he could make a fine coach one day. If that’s what he wanted to do.” A thoughtful look glazes over his eyes. “It’s like he . . . lets go of whatever is holding him back on land. Anyhow,” Robert says as his eyes fall on me again, “he asked me not to tell you about this. Told me to make up some cockamamie story about stumbling across it.” He gives me a wistful smile. “But I thought it was important that you know.”