Two Hearts and a Lie (Offstage Book 2)

by Rica Grayson

  Finding Blaire immediately, I take her up with me, breaking through the surface of the water. Seeing her gulp in air eases the knot in my chest. She coughs out the water.

  I whirl my head around to find Gretchen. “What just happened?” I snarl.

  Gretchen climbs back up from the pool. She must’ve jumped in, too. Too slow. Her face is ashen, clearly shaken. She doesn’t answer. Or maybe she’s unable to. But I have no sympathy for her. She knows how to swim, but Blaire doesn’t. She should know this.

  I take it all in, drawing my own conclusion. Isn’t that interesting? People flip so easy. I’m familiar with it, even when Blaire isn’t. A sense of protectiveness surges over me.

  Blaire starts coughing. She stares at me, dazed. “Why—why are you here?”

  That’s her first question? “Jackson let me in,” I answer. “You and me...” I whisper close to her ear. “We have unfinished business.”

  Her breath hitches. “No, we don’t,” she snaps back in reply. She always has to fight, doesn’t she?

  Still, she clings to me. That’s right, you don’t have a choice.

  “I’m going to have to learn how to swim,” she says.

  “I can teach you.”

  She clings tighter. I wish I could see her face, but she buries it on my chest.

  “Ryan?” she asks when I don’t make a move to get us out the pool. Ah. There she is. She looks up at me and then to the edge of the pool, silently communicating that she wants out.

  I chuckle. “Debating whether to let you out or not. At least here you can’t get away from me.”

  Her eyes widen a fraction. “I’m not going to run away. Not like this.”

  Grinning, I finally relent. I swim to the edge and help her out of the pool. I nab a towel hanging from a white lounge seat and place it over her shoulders.

  Gretchen shakes her head repeatedly. “Ryan, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do that.”

  Of course you didn’t. People like you never do. And they blame it on others when something goes wrong. That’s the thing about being a cynical asshole—you trust nobody.

  “Did you push her?” I ask bluntly, not giving a fuck since her guilt is written plain on her face without even saying a word.

  “She didn’t.” Blaire’s voice comes out slightly hoarse.

  “No! I wouldn’t do that,” Gretchen denies vehemently. “I’m so sorry, Blaire.” She looks miserable as hell, and as far as I’m concerned, she deserves it.

  I’m not having any of it. “We’re leaving.”

  Blaire

  Ryan passes me a clean, dry jacket. I don’t know where he got it from, but I’m grateful. “You okay?” he asks, eyes searching, as if assuring for himself that I’m safe.

  I nod. Heat spreads over my cheeks at his perusal. “I’m okay, Ryan. Thanks. I’ll catch a cab—”

  He opens his car door instead, and one look at him, I can tell he’s strung up tight. Not wanting to argue, I take a deep breath and get inside the car. I know what he’s probably thinking. “She’s my best friend. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He slides behind the wheel. “Not much of one from the looks of it,” he comments.

  “I know her. And you think everyone is out to get you.”

  “Aren’t they?” He gives me a level look, and I tear my gaze away first. Okay, so maybe he has a point.

  “She didn’t do it on purpose, you know. I slipped on the floor and fell in the pool.”

  Like an idiot, it’s only then I realize our clothes are both soaked. “Oh my God. Sorry! Your car’s getting wet.”

  “It’s fine, Blaire.” He brushes it off like it’s nothing.

  I sneak a glance at him. No more lies. No pretending. So maybe he made the whole promo thing up to spend time with me, for whatever reason. But given our history, I don’t want to play all these games anymore. Now, with just us two, I can admit to myself that it hurt. Because for all our fights and disagreements over the years, this was what cut the most.

  Unable to help it, my eyes are drawn towards the veins of his hands on the wheel, and the effortless way he takes command of it. His shirt clings tightly to him, like a second skin, and now I can see every muscle from his arm to his sculpted chest. His eyes flick to me, and I avert my gaze, looking at the window. Don’t let him distract you.

  He pulls up by my apartment street. Why am I so nervous? I place a hand on my chest, as if it can steady my heart. “I’ve umm… I’ve got some dry clothes you can change into.”

  What are you saying, Blaire?

  Knowing him, I’ll probably regret this later. He smirks. Okay, he’s onto me. He tips his head acknowledgement. “Thanks. Taking you up on that,” he says. The lack of teasing is surprising. I’ll take it. But somehow, I’ve got the feeling it would either be the best thing I do, or the worst decision I’ll make.

  We climb up the stairs to my apartment door wordlessly, and I let him in. I head straight for the rooms to get him some clothes, but he stops me.

  “Blaire,” Ryan says, and determination glints in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t expect his apology so for a moment, I don’t know how to act.

  “I saw you and I knew I was done with the games. All of it,” he continues. “I wanted to know who Blaire is, because every time we clashed, I realized I put that hurt there. And hell, Blaire, how else am I supposed to fix that?”

  My lips part at his confession. He really planned all that to spend time with me? For a moment there at the pool, I wondered if anyone would come. Panic had taken over. But he jumped in, and the water that threatened to drown my lungs was gone, sweet air filling it. Then there was the sight of him, his expression fierce with worry.

  Now he’s looking me, hunger in his eyes. I wrap my arms around myself, now only noticing how the wet clothes stick to my skin. The tension between us snaps, and before I have a chance to respond, his mouth is on me. His jacket falls off my shoulders, all but forgotten. His tongue brushes against mine, seeking permission. Once. Twice. Deeper. He pulls me up and my legs wrap around him. My nipples brush against his chest, and I gasp at the sensation. His lips are on my neck, stoking the flames higher. His hands squeeze my hips. I moan. My fingers dig into his hair, needing him closer. This intense need—is it all on my end? It can’t be, the way he holds me—rough and yet tender all at once.

  “Ryan—wait,” I breathe out. He stops, breathing hard, and I slide down, adjusting my clothes. I need my head on straight. Starting with a fresh change of dry clothes.

  I can’t seem to look him in the eye, heat spreading from the roots of my scalp to my toes. One kiss and I was lost. That’s all it took.

  We need to set things straight first, before anything else. Because deep down, I wondered what led us both here. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not backing out. If you want me to go that gala thing, I will.” As soon as the words are out, I know it’s a mistake.

  I watch a storm of emotions flit through his face.

  His eyes are hard and unyielding. “I invited you because I’d rather spend the evening with you than anyone else,” he bites out.

  My whole world grinds to a halt. It starts to sink in, and the blinders fall off—Ryan Carson likes me. Truly, genuinely likes me. Without any thinly veiled words and games, without any pretenses. And it took me this long to believe it.

  “Not so people can talk,” he continues. “Not for some promo. Not because I didn’t have any other choice. And most fucking definitely not for the chase.”

  He steps closer. For the first time in a long time, in front of Ryan, I can’t think of anything to say. All I can do is hang onto his next words. “But it’s hard for you to believe that, isn’t it?” he scoffs. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  Ouch. If I didn’t believe him then, I believe him now. It always seemed like something way out of my reach. Even understanding it all now, I still don’t get it. “Are you giving me permission to end this whole deal?” It comes out choked
.

  His eyes darken. “Fuck the deal. Seems to me like it’s you always bringing it up.”

  And not knowing how to respond to that, I head to my room instead. I start opening my drawers. Panic, panic. Okay, I think I found my brother’s stuff. I nearly shove the dry clothes at him.

  But when I try to grab more clothes, he stops me, hand on my wrist, locking me to him. Making me face him. “Why is that, Red?” he dares me to answer.

  “It’s the nature of our relationship. You drive me mad, and I… I retaliate.”

  “Who the hell decided the nature of our relationship?” he demands.

  “You did! Like you always have ever since you met me.” I never understood why he always teased me and made fun of me.

  “I didn’t want you to see me like everyone else did!” he growls. “I’m human, Blaire. Not some fucking god to be fawned over. I’m just like everybody else. I didn’t want you to ever forget that.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t go about it the right way.”

  All this time I thought that he hated me. That for whatever reason, he found fault in me that he hadn’t in anyone else. It took me a long time to accept that, and even longer to realize that none of it was my fault.

  I find my voice. “I’ve—I’ve always wondered why me,” I confess, my voice brittle. I tug my wrist free. “I could never understand why you kept singling me out.”

  His eyes are focused somewhere behind me. His brows draw together and he enters my walk-in closet. My eyes follow the direction of his gaze.

  Oh my God. No.

  Not that box. I can’t believe I left it open. That was dumb.

  Posters, CDs, limited edition magazines are there for him to see. Including the one I bought in the airport in Tokyo… I knew buying it was a terrible idea.

  He stares for a moment, stunned surprise on his face. He bends down to pick up a magazine. Slowly, he flips through the pages. My body locks up, too paralyzed to move or say anything. As if by doing so, he’ll remember that I’m here.

  “What is this?” he asks quietly. I see the wheels in his mind spinning.

  Complete silence. He passes me a brief, inscrutable look, but then the box seizes his attention once more, as if everything it holds inside is completely fascinating.

  “Fuck me, is that my signed guitar? I thought I auctioned that off to charity.”

  Kill me now. Why didn’t I hide that guitar somewhere else? He picks it up, weighing it in his hands, and he strums a few chords. Oh, right. Because every now and then, I pulled it out to play something. Because it’s the closest I ever got to understanding him.

  “I always knew it was out there. I just didn’t think it would be in your bedroom,” he says, faint amusement in his voice.

  I can’t look him in the eye. My nails bite the inside of my palm. All my childhood dreams, out in the open for him to see. I feel exposed.

  “Nothing to say, Red?” He smiles lazily, like he’s pondering on some joke, but he’s keeping it all to himself. “Chris said you were my number one fan. I thought he was joking. Not with the way you acted around me.”

  Still, I don’t say anything, too mortified to speak.

  He pulls up a light stick from his tour and raises a brow. “You’ve been holding out on me, Blaire,” he drawls.

  “I don’t owe you a thing,” I say, tossing him a withering look. I snatch the light stick from him.

  He moves a step closer. I fight the urge to move from my spot. “Gotta give it to you. You’re good,” he says conversationally, voice rough. “Too fucking good at keeping secrets. Would never have guessed. Not just a crush, but a fan?”

  Why did he say it like that? Like being a fan is a dirty word. It’s getting harder to breathe. I fight the urge to burst into tears. The words are threatening to claw out but somehow, I manage to hold it in.

  “How long, Blaire? Did you download all my music? Buy the merchandise?”

  The whole nine yards. Argh.

  It’s eating at me, how deeply I adored his music. His charm. It was all a disguise the younger me was too blind to see past. And now I’m paying for it.

  He’s rubbing salt over the wound. He’s touching all the little things I’ve collected over the years and trampling all over what I held close. I snatch the magazine from his hands, too. He sees the look on my face and the magazine I’m hugging to my chest. My face burns hot. I expect him to continue goading me, but he doesn’t.

  He must’ve found the answer in my face, because he goes unusually quiet. “What the hell happened, Blaire?” he asks, his frustration etched in a scowl.

  Oh, nothing. You’re just the reason I can’t sing in front of a crowd. Why I hide in front of hundreds of thousands of people. Why my faith in my music is so crippled by the fear of being judged. And why I can never see you the same way again.

  Suddenly, I find my tongue. “You should leave.” It comes out sharp, but inside, I’m still raw from the assault of his remarks about being his fan. Maybe this whole thing was meant to topple from the start, like a tower of cards. He probably sees me differently now. Just a fan—one of many. I put the magazine and light stick back in the box.

  “You’re scared of me dropping the game,” he says. “Because then you don’t know what to do with me. It’s okay, Blaire, I’ll go easy on you.”

  Something flares in me. “I hate you.”

  “That’s not what Chris said.”

  I grit my teeth. “My brother lied.”

  “Or maybe,” he says, coming closer, “you did.”

  What is wrong with him? Ever since the wedding, he’s been relentless. Perhaps he wanted to watch me fall apart just so he can make fun of me.

  “That Blaire’s gone.” I can’t keep the hurt from my voice.

  “Then why’s all this still here?” He nods over my collection, challenge dripping in his voice. Daring me to prove him wrong.

  Because I can’t make myself throw it away.

  “You really should go.”

  “Aren’t you tired of hiding, Blaire?” His words hold an edge, but his gaze is tender, understanding glittering in his eyes. His teasing I can stand, but I don’t know what to do with his sympathy.

  Stop. Stop it.

  I march to my front door and swing it open. But he doesn’t leave straight away. His eyes roam all over my face, like he’s searching for answers. When they drop to my lips, I remember the way he kissed me and I forget to breathe. When his eyes meet mine, I’m struck by the steady resolve reflected in them. If I can let myself believe it, it feels almost like a promise. Afraid I’ll lose the tenuous grip on my composure, I pull the door open wider.

  He walks out the door. Before I can push it shut, he places a hand flat on the surface, stopping me. “Tell me something, Blaire,” he says, voice dark. “Would it have been so bad?”

  Remembering how ruthlessly he taunted me and how much I took everything to heart, I can’t lie. “Yes.”

  Disappointment colors his eyes. “I see.” Slowly, he moves back, and I finally close it.

  I stand there for a while, my back to the door. When I found out the promo wasn’t real, I felt numb. Maybe it’s because I’ve been blocking everything that happened in the past, focusing on work, or perhaps I’ve been steeling myself from all of it from the start. But how am I supposed to defend myself from this?

  No crying. You promised yourself after that day you won’t cry.

  But as soon as the lock clicks into place, my hand covers my mouth, keeping the sob that tears through me from escaping. Then the tears fall.

  Chapter 23

  Blaire

  “I’m just saying, I think you need to talk.” My brother wears an impatient look as he crosses his arms. “I’m tired of you guys ignoring each other like you’re not even in the same room. Come on, Blaire,” he urges. “Give him a chance.”

  A chance. When has that ever gotten me anywhere?

  I open the door to the dining area. Just in time, a bucket falls on my head, splatt
ering down my body. I’m coated in some kind of slimy substance. I try to rub it off, but the slime is still there. The cold sinks all the way to my skin, but the shock still takes hold. I look down at my now-stained clothes and see him. My heartbeat roars loud in my ears.

  My lips start to tremble and tears sting my eyes. I never should’ve gone through the door.

  So stupid.

  Ryan’s here with a group of his friends. The rude ones that like partying and lots of alcohol. They snicker at me.

  “I said get her attention, not this!” Ryan snarls.

  I’m slimy and wet, and I’m pretty sure the last legs of reconciliation are rapidly deteriorating.

  His jaw is locked. He yanks his jacket off to wipe the slime off me. “Blaire, about that night—”

  But I’m done. I just thought I’d hear him out, and this happened.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I reply. I hand him back the jacket, shoving it to his chest.

  His face closes off and he nods. I feel him withdraw, too. “If that’s how you see it.” He walks past me. Inscrutable. Like he’s drawn a cloak over his emotions. He didn’t look back.

  Why does he hate me? What have I ever done to him?

  But it’s a pointless thought. I don’t get an answer.

  Ryan

  “She took all the posters down one day. I just saw that they were gone,” Chris says. “I think it was after you two met and didn’t get along.”

  Except I know they’re not gone. They’re packed away, out of sight. Nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing what was in that box, shoved in a corner of her walk-in closet. I almost didn’t notice it at first, until what looked like the familiar front cover of a magazine peeked out.

  Then she kicked me out—that had never happened before. All because I found out about her fan collection over the years. All this time it was her well-kept secret, never letting me in on how she really felt. And the kicker is, it meant that for whatever reason, she didn’t want me to know. Did she think if I knew, it would change anything?