The Start of a Mysterious Mystery: (Signed with a Kiss, Book 2)

by Sorensen, Jessica

This is different, though.

  Lex is hurting beneath all the jokes and smiles.

  Because some asshole broke her.

  I curl my fingers into fists as that murderous rage pulsates through me. But a drop of calmness weaves through it as Lex rolls over, cuddles against me, and rests her head on my chest. Her hair is still up in that braid, her painted fingernails are resting against my bare chest, and her hair smells like smoke and strawberries. I breathe in the scent, wishing this moment happened for different reasons. Not that I didn't enjoy myself last night. I did. I just wish no video or blackmailer was tainting the memory. And I wish we weren't lying on an air mattress in a home where drug dealers hang out.

  I wish.

  I wish.

  I wish.

  I wish I could do better.

  Not just for me, but for her.

  As I brush my fingers along her cheek again, her eyelids flutter open. Confusion dances in her pupils, and I suddenly become worried that last night she was drunker than I realized.

  “Where am I?” She lifts up her face, glances down at my bare chest, and then her eyes widen. “Wait. Did we …?”

  Great. She can’t remember a thing.

  “No. We just fell asleep.” I lift the blanket so she can see that I have pants on. When she visibly relaxes, I try not to take it personally.

  “Oh, yeah.” She touches her hair then glances down at her fingers, a trace of a smile pulling at her lips. And it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, even in the middle of the aching hangover from hell that is building inside my skull. “You braided my hair last night. And painted my fingernails.” Her smile morphs into amusement as she pulls on a tiny braid she put in my hair. “I still don’t think it’s fair that you wouldn’t let me braid all of your hair.”

  “Only because I want to keep this in for a while.”

  “You’re seriously not going to take it out?”

  I brush a stray strand of her hair out of her eyes. “Now why would I take out a reminder of one of the best moments I’ve ever had?”

  “Me braiding your hair was one of the best moments you’ve ever had?” she questions dubiously, her chin resting on my chest as she peers up at me.

  I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it, and I’m not about to tell her, loving that she is.

  “Yep,” I divulge shamelessly.

  She rolls her eyes. “Since when do you use your player lines on me?”

  I put my best serious face on because what I’m about to say is very serious. “I assure you that I’ve never, ever told a girl that her braiding my hair was one of the best moments of my life, because I’ve never, ever let another girl braid my hair.”

  She shakes her head, but stops arguing as she sits up. Then she instantly winces and rubs the heels of her hands. “Oh my God, I have the worst headache ever.”

  I sit up and stretch my arms, my own head pounding. “Drinking half a bottle of vodka will do that to you.”

  She lowers her hands from her eyes and narrows her eyes at me. “I didn’t drink half the bottle.” She crinkles her nose. “Did I?”

  “No, but you definitely drank a lot.”

  “Well, so did you.”

  “I know.” I pause. “I feel guilty, though, for letting you drink that much.”

  “You didn’t let me do anything. I chose to.”

  “I still didn’t stop you. I just let it happen, and I joined in.” No wonder my parents are always calling me a screw up.

  Because I am.

  I just let her drink her pain out of her, because when she looked at me the way she did in the kitchen before we started taking shots, her big eyes filled with a silent plea, I couldn’t say no. Not when that look was swallowing me up.

  She looks me straight in the eye. “What happened last night wasn’t your fault.” She kneels up and puts her hands on my shoulders. “You can’t blame yourself for the things I do. I’m a big girl, and I make my own decisions." She wavers, biting on her lip undecidedly, as if she can't quite decide whether she wants to say something or not. "And besides, I ended up feeling … decent last night and that was because of you."

  Her words make me feel a tiny bit better, but I still feel guilty. And desperate. Desperate to make her feel better without all the alcohol.

  You beautiful, broken girl, I want to help you.

  She abruptly removes her hand from my shoulders and retrieves her phone from her pocket. When she glances at the screen, she sighs. “I need to get home. Loki just texted me and said he needs my help with inventory at the store. But I need to shower first before I go there because I stink.”

  I don’t want her to go at all, and I wish we could just hang out all day like we did last night. But today is a different day. Today is a day where I have to start dealing with things head on.

  “Yeah, you kind of do stink. So do your feet.” I tease her. She blasts me with a dirty look, but she’s on the verge of smiling. That fucking smile I love. The real one. “Let me get my keys and put a shirt on, then I’ll drive you.” I stand up, trying my best to ignore the pulsating headache.

  “Thanks,” she says. “I’ll probably have to have you drop me off at the corner of my street or something since Loki thinks I spent the night at Masie’s.”

  I walk over to my bag to pick up a shirt. “I’m surprised he even agreed to let you stay the night at Masie’s house.”

  “I think he was distracted with some stuff going on with Zhara,” she tells me as she slips on her boots.

  I glance at her. “Zhara? Really?”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s weird,” she replies vaguely as she leans over to lace up her boots.

  “What’s going on with her?” I ask as I pull a shirt on.

  She shrugs. “I can’t really tell you, but only because I pinkie swore I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  I rub my jawline. “I’m intrigued.”

  “It’s pretty damn intriguing.” She smiles, and so do I. And, for a moment, it’s last night all over again when we were braiding hair, painting fingernails, and pretending that’s all that existed.

  But then my smile fizzles as she frowns.

  “I should get going,” she mutters, straightening.

  I smash my lips together, biting back the urge to press her again about this thing with Jay, find out everything that happened because I could tell she was being vague last night when she told me bits and pieces of what happened. But I don’t want to push her until she’s ready. If I do, I might break her, and I can’t be that person. I want to be the person who helps her become whole again.

  As we head for the doorway, silence wraps around us. I want to reach over and touch her, kiss her skin, breathe in her scent. I want to breathe out all of her pain—

  “So how long do you think it’ll take Ellis before he knows if he can track the person who’s texting me?” she asks abruptly as we’re exiting the house and startling me out of my Lex-daze. She glances at me as we step into the sunlight then squints as if the light is hurting her eyes. “Last night is pretty hazy, so I can’t really remember everything he said, other than it’ll take some time.”

  I can’t remember too much either, but I do remember what Ellis said, and I really don’t want to tell her if she can’t remember. I don’t want to lie to her, either. Not about this.

  “He said it might take him a few days,” I say reluctantly as I shut the door behind me. “And … he also said that it’s been really hard to get anywhere with this, which more than likely means it’s a burner phone, so …”

  “So he might not be able to do it.” Recognition rises across her face. “Oh yeah, I remember that.” She frowns deeply.

  I cup her face between my hands and level my gaze with hers. “We’ll figure it out. I promise nothing will happen to you.” Then, without thinking, I lean forward and brush my lips across hers, sealing that promise with a kiss, trying to do what my dumbass thoughts wanted to do moments ago and breathe her pain out of her.

  If
only it were that easy. Nothing painful ever is, though.

  Of course, when a shaky breath falters from her lips, I realize my mistake.

  “Sorry.” I slant back and plaster on one of my fake smiles.

  Usually, it’s easier.

  Right now, it hurts.

  “I think I’m getting a little caught up in the whole fake boyfriend role,” I add, lowering my hands from her face.

  She stares at me. And I mean really stares at me, like she’s trying to dissect me with her gaze. And, for a horrifying moment, I worry she can see it. See how much I want her. See all the things I feel for her.

  Then she just shrugs, says, “Okay,” turns, and leaves it at that.

  While she may have said nothing, her silence says a lot. Says that she’s not pissed off at me at least, because Lex always lets me know when I’m pissing her off.

  For this strange moment, everything seems like it’s going to be okay. But right as I’m about to get to my car, I get a text from my mom, reminding me that nothing is okay.

  That nothing may be okay ever again.

  Mom: I warned you this was your last chance. Consider yourself destroyed, along with your future.

  My chest tightens.

  Last night, I sent her a message saying I couldn’t make it to the dinner. And it wasn’t because I was drunk. I couldn’t bring myself to leave Lex after what I found out. Truthfully, I never want to leave her again. And if I could, I wouldn’t. But deep down, I know that’s not possible.

  Just like I knew I’d be punished when I blew my parents off.

  Because I’m always punished.

  Me: Give me another chance. Please.

  Mom: No. That was your last chance. We’re done with you.

  Me: What about the election? You have to keep up appearances for that.

  Mom: Actually, we don’t. Your father and I have decided to take another route.

  Worry stirs through me.

  Me: What route?

  Mom: The one where we tell you and everyone else the truth.

  For some reason, I can hear the blood roaring in my ears.

  Me: What truth?

  Mom: That you’re not our son.

  Anger simmers underneath my flesh.

  Me: So, you’re disowning me now?

  Mom: No. I’m telling you that you aren’t our son. You’re adopted.

  Me: You’re lying.

  Mom: No, I’m not. And I’ll prove it to you.

  A few seconds later, what looks like a photo of adoption papers pings through. I don’t know enough to tell if they’re real or not, but a weird memory pushes to the surface.

  “You’re a good kid,” my grandfather once told me. “Way better than my son.”

  “I’m better than my dad?” I sound so doubtful.

  “I guess,” he mutters then his lips part. “I want to tell you a secret. A secret about my son. He’s a liar. You don’t belong to him. Or your mother.”

  I was really young at the time, and his words had confused me. Plus, he later got dementia.

  Now I have to wonder …

  If he was telling the truth.

  And just like that, my mother’s words do what they intended to do.

  They destroy me.

  Twelve

  Alexis

  West is really quiet on the drive home. West is rarely quiet, and it starts to make me worried. Usually, I'd make myself not care. But he's helped me so much, and I want to make things even. The problem is I'm way out of practice with being a decent person, so I spend the entire drive trying to dig up a tiny piece of the old Alexis, because while I don't like her very much, she'll know how to handle this. She's a stubborn fucker, though, because by the time West parks his car on the corner of my street, I still can't quite get her to come out.

  The old Alexis Baker is a damn scaredy-cat.

  “So…” West says, pushing the shifter into park. “Do you want to ride with me to school on Monday so we can finally put this whole fake dating thing into motion?”

  Through all the crap that's happened over the last twenty-four hours, I'd forgotten about our little fake dating plan. But even though I have way bigger problems to deal with, I still want to go through with it, want to use West as my mask so I can walk the hallways of school without the truth being exposed—without anyone discovering my heart broke when I found out about Masie and Blaine.

  I think it did anyway…

  Truthfully, as the days have passed, I'm not sure if my heart broke, my pride, or my mask. I wish I could figure out, but I've been disconnected from my heart for a very long time. If I ever want to figure it out, I'm going to have to become reconnected.

  I crinkle my nose at that thought.

  “I’m going to guess by that look on your face that you don’t want to,” he says with a frown.

  I promptly erase the disgusted look from my face and shake my head. “No, I want to. I was just thinking about some… other stuff.”

  He just nods, which is weird. Where’s the joke about how I must have been thinking about him? Where is that smile he almost always wears. That fucking smile that I won’t admit makes me smile sometimes.

  I can’t believe I’m longing for West’s smile.

  Releasing a tense breath, I reach for the door handle so I can get out of the car. And he just lets me, not uttering a word. This silence, it’s not him.

  Something is wrong.

  Shit, I’m about to do something crazy. Something that could potentially make me look like a dumbass. But it wouldn’t be the first time.

  I take a deep breath, knowing what I’m about to do is going to splinter my mask in half.

  It’s going to change everything.

  I lower my hand from the door and turn toward him. “Dude, what’s wrong? Because I can tell something is.”

  “Everything’s fine.” He flashes me a smile.

  And it’s not the smile I wanted to see.

  It’s fake.

  Plastic.

  A mask.

  “I know you’re lying.” I twist in my seat to face him and rest my arms on the console. “So fess up, grumpy pants.” I smile, trying to be the old Alexis. But when he shakes his head, the After Alexis takes over. “You know what? Screw this nice shit. You better tell me what’s wrong because last night I told you a lot of personal shit, so you owe me."

  He stares at me for a moment, a trace of a smile almost touching his lips. But it fades as he exhales, and that force of breath, while quiet, seems to carry the weight of the world in it.

  “My mom told me I’m adopted,” he confesses quietly while gripping the steering wheel.

  My eyes widen. “What?” Holy crap, that so was not what I was expecting him to say.

  He gives a defeated shrug. “I'd think she was lying, but she attached a photo of the papers to the message and it looks real."

  “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “You don’t need to say anything,” he tells me with the most heartbreaking look in his eyes. “I don’t even know how I feel about it yet.” His hand absentmindedly drifts to his stomach where his scars are.

  And in that moment I wonder if his parents put those scars on him. The idea is sickening, and I want to ask him, but don’t know how to bring it up.

  Figure it out for me, Old Alexis.

  My lips part, but his phone buzzes before I can get the chance to ask him.

  He digs his phone out and grimaces. “I’ve got to go. Ellis and Holden are waiting for me.”

  Nodding, I reach for the door handle with the plan of getting out and not saying a word. But then I remember how he made me feel better last night, and I find myself wanting to make him feel better. I just don’t know how.

  I mentally replay over everything he did last night to make me feel better, but I don't have time to do a lot of it right now. One thing I can do. But it's something that makes me feel…

  Suck it the hell up, Alexis. If you’re gonna be the After Alexis, the
n you’ve got to be ballsy.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I lean over the console and wrap my arms around him. He tenses for a split second, but then melts into my touch, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his face into the crook of my neck.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, hugging him tightly.

  He hugs me back just as tightly. “It’s fine. It’s not your fault.”

  “I know, but…” An uneven exhale falters from my lips. “I want to help you with this… Whatever this is…” I pause. “Why did your mom even tell you that you were adopted?”

  He lifts a shoulder as he breathes in deeply. “I messed up again, and I think it was her way of telling me we were done. And I'm not sure I care. I just don't know if it's true and what game she's playing."

  “Why would you think it was a game?” I ask cautiously.

  “Remember how I told you my parents have a way of handling blackmailers?” he asks and I nod. “Well, they also know how to handle other problems that could taint the family image. Like a mess of a son that’s becoming an embarrassment.”

  “You’re not an embarrassment,” I assure him. “Your parents are just dicks and have way too high of expectations that no kid could ever live up to.” Unsure what else to do, I add in a light tone, “So I guess if it does turn out to be true and you are adopted, at least you don’t have to deal with their shit anymore.”

  He remains quiet, and I think I've messed up this whole helping thing.

  But then he says, “You’re probably right.” He takes a deep breath, his lips brushing against the arch of my neck. “I just wish I knew what her point of telling me this was. She’ll probably reveal it later, though, after she’s messed with me for a bit.”

  “Will you tell me when she does?” I ask.

  He hesitates. “My problems don’t need to be your problems.”

  “Why? You made mine yours. And I let it happen.”

  “Yeah, but…” He trails off.

  “But what?” I press. When he doesn’t say anything, I slant back to look at him.

  His eyes flutter open. He looks kind of dazed. And I wonder why, but don’t have time to address that right now.

  “Pinkie swear you’ll tell me.” I stick out my pinkie.