All the Secrets (All the Lies Book 2)

by Charlotte Byrd

  At sunset, the sky is painted with thick brush strokes of fuchsia and plum as the howls of the coyotes echo over the hills.

  A bright yellow Monarch butterfly flies over to me and lands on the railing. She flaps her bright yellow wings over and over again as she cleans her feet and behind her head. A moment later she flies away, leaving the world a little bit more magical than it was before.

  My phone vibrates.

  Hey, you going to yoga class? It's starting in a few minutes, Shelby texts.

  No, I can't.

  Yes, you can. You're just being lazy. Just get your laptop, sign in, and let's do this.

  I had completely forgotten about this class, which I signed up to do mainly because Shelby did.

  I had no plans to go today, but it feels so good to be out here in the fresh air that I suddenly wonder, why the hell not?

  I glance at the time and see that I only have a few minutes before it starts.

  I rush into the kitchen, grab the first chair that I see, and pull out my laptop from my bag.

  I set up on the porch, positioning myself to face the desert and pointing the webcam camera at the ground where I sit in the lotus position.

  I don't have a yoga mat, but the wood is soft and smooth. It will do for today.

  There are about eight other people in the Zoom class and we all chat before the instructor shows up. Shelby is in her apartment, dressed in her bright pink yoga outfit with matching pants and sports bra.

  Her expensive teal colored yoga mat looks lavish and comfortable in comparison to my porch set-up.

  Everyone wants to know where I am so I take the laptop around to show them the view.

  “I'm just working on a story out here near Joshua Tree,” I say, trying to be as vague as possible.

  “Are you staying in an Airbnb?” someone asks and luckily the instructor shows up before I have to officially lie.

  The class is challenging and long. It lasts a full hour and since I haven't done yoga in a long time, I get bored.

  We hold the poses for a long time, straining our muscles, and I get lost in all of the inhaling and exhaling.

  But when the hour ends, I feel energized. I'm drenched in sweat and my muscles are tired, but my mind is clear.

  Doing yoga outside is nothing like it is in the studio.

  There is something so much more pleasant about it as well. Breathing in the fresh air, feeling the sun on my face.

  “You looked good out here,” Liam says, walking out with a cup of coffee.

  His hair is wet from the shower and he's cleanly shaven. He gives me a wink and I can't help but smile.

  “I haven't done that in ages, but you inspired me.”

  “I'm glad, it was quite a sight.”

  My cheeks get flushed.

  I whirl my head around and suddenly realize that my whole exercise session was completely visible from the bay window in the living room.

  “You watched the whole thing?” I ask, cowering and folding into myself.

  “Yes and it was beautiful.”

  “I was like Tin Man out here,” I say in a self-deprecating way, only, I’m half joking.

  “You're gorgeous,” he says, pulling me into his arms.

  My heart skips a beat when I feel his skin touch mine.

  “No, I wasn't,” I whisper and he puts his finger over my lips to stop the words.

  “You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he says, looking straight into my eyes.

  I shake my head, furrowing my brows.

  Suddenly, I get upset.

  I turn away from him and wrap my hands firmly around my shoulders.

  “What's wrong?” he asks.

  “I don't want you to lie to me,” I say, looking away from him somewhere at the barn where I only see a little goat climb on top of a barrel.

  “I'm not lying to you.”

  “You are and I'm sick of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Alex always lied to me. He always said that I was the most beautiful woman in the world and that he loved me to pieces and then…” I let my voice drop off.

  I can't finish the sentence.

  I came here not wanting to bring Alex and the memory of him with me, but somehow, he is everywhere that I am.

  “I'm not Alex,” Liam says quietly.

  “I know that, but it doesn't matter. I just don't want to hear anything like that. I don't want you to lie to me about anything. I don't want you to exaggerate. I only want to hear the truth.”

  He takes a step away from me.

  I know that there are things that we are not saying to each other.

  I know that there's something going on and that he may have this other life that he doesn't want me to know about.

  “I'm sorry,” I say after a moment. “It's just that certain things really trigger me.”

  “I didn't mean to offend you and I'm sorry that you don't believe me, but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Again, my cheeks flush.

  I don't know if he's making fun of me or is being cruel on purpose.

  “I know that you may not see yourself the way that I see you but standing here with your oily hair tied up in that loose bun and with sweat dotting your forehead, without a smudge of makeup, you're the most beautiful woman that I've ever seen. I don't care that you don't believe me. I just want you to know how I feel and how I see you.”

  His words take my breath away and my hands begin to shake.

  I reach over to him and wrap my hands tightly around his neck. I press my body toward his and he presses just as hard against mine.

  We hold each other for a long time.

  I don't know much about this man. There is still so much more to learn, but in this moment, I feel like he's the only one in the world that really matters.

  When I pull away from him to look into his eyes, he kneels down and kisses me.

  This time it’s measured, apprehensive.

  He's waiting to see if it's okay and it is.

  I kiss him back hard, but he pulls away.

  He wants it slower now and that's okay. I do, too.

  I run my fingers up and down his arm and then make my way toward his back.

  I feel the strength of his shoulders and I lose myself in the thickness of his hair.

  Burying his hands in my hair, he gives it a small tug, sending shivers all the way down to my toes.

  When he tugs again, I tilt my head back and moan, enjoying the ripple effect of the sensation.

  His mouth feels soft yet deliberate.

  His lips connect immediately with mine and when our tongues touch, everything starts to feel okay again.

  When he pulls away slightly, he runs his fingers down my neck and slowly pushes down one side of my shirt off my shoulder.

  He's asking for permission.

  It's nice, sometimes, to get tossed around and, other times, it's nice to take it slow.

  I move my hands over and start unbuttoning his shirt one by one. They’re small and don't fit well into the loops, raising the tension of the moment.

  Eventually the shirt flops open and I look at that muscled physique, losing myself in his marbled body.

  He bends down and kisses the top of my shoulder.

  Slowly, he finds his way underneath and unclasps my bra. Then with one quick motion, he takes off both the bra and shirt at the same time.

  He kisses me again and pushes me against the nearest wall. The coolness of it against my back feels good but not as good as it does to feel the warmth of his body against my front.

  Kneeling down again before me, he pulls down my pants along with my panties.

  I feel exposed and on display, but in a good way. I like him looking at me. I like being naked before him, even though he's not.

  The last time we were together, he was quite an expert with his fingers and if he’d continued like he did, he would've given me an amazing orgasm even without getting inside of me.


  He lifts my leg up and puts it on his shoulder.

  Pressing me harder against the wall, he kisses the inside of my thighs before licking the inside of me.

  My heart jumps into my throat and starts to beat faster. I grab onto the wall for stability as waves of pleasure start to course through me.

  His fingers quickly find their way inside, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

  “I'm starting to feel dizzy,” I say, not sure if my legs will keep me upright much longer.

  “I think this will help,” he says, pushing me over the side of the deck.

  I was thinking something more like a bed, but as soon as he thrusts himself inside of me, I forget all about that.

  With one of his hands firmly around my breasts, my legs are spread out wide and my body is bent in half on the deck.

  With his other free hand, he finds my clit and starts to move in quick little circles. The pleasure that I feel makes me almost lose my mind.

  I love the way that he manhandles me.

  I love the way that he overpowers me and takes care of me at the same time.

  My breath quickens and his thrusts speed up. With each quick movement, I feel like my body is splitting in half, but in a good way.

  He glides in and out, filling me up with everything that is him.

  I want to stay here forever, balancing on the edge of the abyss, but when he presses himself deeper inside of me, he simply pushes me over the edge and a wave of pleasure rushes over my body.

  “Liam!” I moan as he squeezes my breasts and continues to go deeper and deeper.

  My body goes limp, but he doesn't.

  It takes him a few more minutes before he collapses on top of me. We stay here for a while, listening to each other's breaths.

  19

  Emma

  After I take a shower and wash my hair, I put a little bit of makeup on. By the time I get dressed, my hair is almost completely dry.

  The humidity is so low, just hovering over eleven percent, so Liam has a few humidifiers around the house. The one in the bedroom is running low on water so I unplug it and fill it back up.

  When I come back into the living room, I see him sitting on the swing on the side of the house, right near the goats.

  Then I hear something.

  He's talking.

  He's holding his phone close to his mouth and slightly pushing off the porch with his bare feet to give himself momentum.

  I wonder who he's talking to, but when I get closer to the window, I realize that he's not on the phone at all.

  Instead, he's writing.

  There's a sliding door a little bit behind him and I crack it open to hear him better.

  His words are slow and steady. There's a laptop on the seat next to him with the outline of the chapters.

  His narration sounds a little bit different from the way that he normally speaks. There are unusual pauses when he thinks about the next thing to say, occasionally stopping in the middle of a sentence, but the flow of the story continues and I lose myself in it.

  Liam describes the forest that the main characters approach from the clearing.

  He describes the tall and moving trees that shield the sun.

  The story picks up when a werewolf attacks the main character and sends her on a desperate search for shelter.

  Suddenly, he stops talking.

  He turns around and looks at me and the window.

  My body goes rigid, but it's too late.

  “Are you listening to me?” he asks.

  I shake my head no and then realize that if I actually couldn’t hear him, then I wouldn’t answer.

  He waves me over and begrudgingly I open the door.

  “I'm sorry,” he says, “I just can't narrate out loud.”

  “It sounds great,” I reassure him.

  “No, I mean I can't dictate with someone listening.”

  I shrug and apologize once again.

  “It's not you. It's just something that happens. I get self-conscious or something. It's hard to explain.”

  I give him a slight nod and shift my weight from one side to another.

  “I mean, would you want me to read one of your articles that's not really ready to be seen yet?”

  I think about that for a moment.

  The answer is a categorical no.

  Of course not.

  “I know that I shouldn’t be listening,” I say after a while, “but it's just nice to see you at work. It's not every day that you get to come to some famous person's house and see how they create their art.”

  He smiles and leans back against the swing. He moves his leg slightly, giving himself some motion.

  “How's it going?” I ask, leaning on the side of the door.

  “I'm a little bit distracted.”

  Now it's my turn to smile.

  “Does it have anything to do with me?”

  “You would like that, wouldn't you?”

  “No, absolutely not,” I say, shaking my head.

  “I don't know,” he says after a moment. “It's just hard to concentrate. I keep trying. Usually I don't have a problem with this, but now it’s just sort of hard to gain momentum.”

  “Well, what do you usually do when you get started?”

  “Come out here or sit behind my desk, look out at the desert, and put on a YouTube video.”

  “I'm not sure if I heard that correctly.” I tilt my head to one side, narrowing my eyes.

  “I know that it sounds stupid or something, but actually, there are a few writers on YouTube who stream their work. Basically, they do these writing sprints and you can join in with them live or watch them when you are writing yourself. So, when I get started and I'm feeling a little bit out of sorts, it's good to just have someone there with you starting the sprint and commit to just writing twenty minutes at a time.”

  “Wow, I had no idea anyone did that.”

  “I don't know if that many people do.”

  “Which ones do you watch?”

  He pulls out his phone and shows me The Courtney Project, which is a channel run by one of the authors of Kennedy Fox.

  “They write romance, right?”

  He nods, shrugs, and says, “Writing is a very solitary thing. Sometimes with all the distractions that I have on my phone and my laptop, it's hard to motivate myself to focus and put all that away for a moment. So, instead of waiting around for an ideal time to write every day, I commit to writing for just an hour five days a week.”

  “Any particular time?”

  “The afternoons work well for me. Around one or two. Right after lunch. This is an unusual time, but I figured I would get today's work out of the way.”

  “So, what happens then?”

  “Then I put on the YouTube video and either watch the few minutes of banter that she has in the beginning or skip right ahead to the writing sprints. There's a big clock on the screen and I commit to writing just twenty minutes at first, sometimes even fifteen. Usually that's enough to get me started. That's enough to build my momentum and to give me a small win.”

  “Wow, really?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been doing this for half a year now and I'm actually getting a lot more work done than I did before. I have a lot more time during the day to do other things for the business including, editing, marketing, advertising, and all the fun stuff.”

  I nod my head and sit down on the swing next to him. I kick off a little bit, making us go higher and faster.

  “I'm not going to make any guarantees about the stability of this thing. I did install it myself.”

  I laugh, but then quickly halt the swinging almost to a stop.

  “Have you ever wanted to write fiction?”

  I start to stare at the horizon and wonder if I dare tell him the truth.

  “You did, didn't you?”

  I shrug but refuse to look at him.

  “What happened?”

  “I don't know. I got a job. I write for a living. It's enough.�
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  “Enough? Is that what you want from your life?”

  “I don't know what I want. I barely have enough hours in the day to do this job properly. I don't think I can make room for any distractions.”

  “If you enjoy what you're doing, then go right ahead,” Liam says, “but I just want you to know that life is too short to do something that you don't really want to. It's too short to not devote yourself to your passion.”

  “Is this all you ever wanted to do?”

  “Well, actually, the funny thing is that I am quite interested in nonfiction as well.”

  “You are?”

  “I liked your investigation. I like to read nonfiction accounts about murders and injustices in the criminal justice system. I like to watch YouTube videos and listen to podcasts about that, too.”

  We sit here in silence for a few moments as I ponder what he has just said.

  “I don’t mean to offend you in any way,” he says. “I think that the work that you do is important and you do it well. I just wanted to present an option in case you hadn't thought about writing fiction before, but, of course, it's not for everyone.”

  I bite my lower lip. I don't want to come right out and admit it.

  I'm actually quite embarrassed by it, but I have started more than a few novels in my day and have never gotten past the 20,000 word mark.

  20

  Emma

  After I leave Liam alone to do some actual work, I set up my computer in the dining room and decide to do some work of my own.

  I have this follow-up article to write about Liam, which he knows about, but we haven't really discussed anything in detail yet.

  Given what happened before, I have a feeling that I have to run everything that I write past him, in order to be entirely on the up and up, yet that seems a little bit unfair to ask of a journalist as well.

  I can't be expected to write only positive things about him, right? Then again, I don't really have many negative things to say.

  I turn on my computer and return to some of the forums and Facebook groups which I relied on to find him in the first place.

  Liam isn't much of a mystery to me now, but there is still someone who I keep thinking about.