Liar, Liar

by T. L. Martin

The crack tearing my heart in half is a kind of pain I’ve never felt.

  Eva

  Rain slaps the windowpane as I pull on a worn pair of black boots. Eyeing the clock on the wall, I slip the shard of opal under the waistband of my jeans and untuck my hair from beneath my leather jacket. If I hurry, I might be able to catch Easton before he leaves for school. I almost forget to snatch my backpack off the floor before I exit my room and take the stairs two at a time.

  Nerves swirl inside when I see him sitting at the kitchen island, his back to me. He’s knee-deep in college courses, fingers hammering away on his laptop. I inhale slowly as I walk, and the second I realize I’m fidgeting with my belt loop, I force my hands to drop to my sides. I’ve never fidgeted in my life.

  Once I reach the empty barstool beside his, I pause.

  His typing halts, head comes up slightly, but he doesn’t look away from his computer screen. The heat of his body pours off him in waves, making my skin hot and cold all at once.

  “Easton.” His name rushes into the still air along with the uncertainty of my voice. “It’s not what you think,” I whisper. Please, look at me. “I didn’t expect him to come here.”

  His eyes shut, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “You mean,” he says, voice low, rough, “you didn’t expect me to see.”

  “No. That’s not—shit.” I reach up, tangle my hands in my hair, and the words spew out in a jumbled mess. “Shit. He was supposed to be in The Pitts. He was never supposed to—”

  “The Pitts?” Finally, he angles his head and meets my gaze. His nostrils flare, and my eyes burn at the way he’s looking at me. “He’s the reason you’ve been sneaking to The Pitts? Risking your safety? Your life?”

  My mouth opens, but the knot in my chest is so tight I can’t speak. Everything inside me wants to tell him—to tell him everything—but what would that do to Alejandro?

  What would it do to Easton?

  To ask the most honest person I know—a person who’s so determined to be a good cop he risks his parents disinheriting him over it—to keep my escaped convict cousin’s secret? Even if Easton decides to keep the knowledge quiet, what happens when the police academy sits him in front of a lie detector during his training? What would the circumstance be for becoming my cousin’s accomplice? Crushed dreams and a ruined future? Or maybe even jail time? Prison?

  But that look on his face. The despair. As if I could ever want anyone but him.

  “Alejandro isn’t—” I breathe. “He’s not—”

  Easton’s eyes flicker with something other than betrayal. It’s something deep and earnest. It looks like hope. Slowly, he stands and takes a step toward me, closing the space between us. I lift my chin to hold his gaze.

  “What, Eva?” he asks quietly, almost fervently. His warm breath touches my lips, sending a shudder through me. “He’s not what?”

  He’s family.

  Just that word ringing in my head is enough to keep the secret from ever seeing the light of day. Alejandro is not just family; he’s the only family I have left. If I reveal I’m not completely alone, that I have someone out there who cares about me, questions will roll in. One open door is all it might take for Alejandro to be found out and locked away forever, and that would destroy him. Destroy me.

  Pressure builds behind my eyes, in the back of my throat, and I crumble beneath a weight so stifling it’s like an anchor flattening me.

  “I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t . . . I can’t tell you.”

  He stares at me, from my eyes to my lips and back again. My next breath hangs on his silence. It’s like he’s waiting for me to take it back. For me to make it right. For me to explain everything, but I can’t. I never can. And it kills me.

  After an eternity of chances I let slip by, whiskey darkens to charcoal, raw and unnerving, and he takes a long step back. The pull from me is magnetic, drawing tears to the surface, and it takes everything in me not to let them spill over.

  A buzzing sound slices through the wall of tension dividing us. Both our gazes slide to the island countertop.

  Buzz, buzz, buzz.

  As I read the name Whitney that lights up Easton’s phone, my insides turn sour. I look at him, at the ache, disappointment, defeat I put into his eyes, and I don’t understand the fear creeping up my chest. It spreads like a spider’s web, wrapping around my heart—a heart that belongs to him—and I’m terrified he’s going to drop it, step on it, abandon it. The fear stretches and stretches, spreading poison through my veins.

  “What are you waiting for?” I whisper, and the sudden venom tastes like acid in my mouth. “Answer it.”

  His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t budge. His patience is fuel to my budding turmoil. Why doesn’t he just get angry at me already? Anger would be so much easier to face than his heartache.

  “Go,” I continue, hating myself more with every word I push out. “Run to your squeaky-clean girlfriend, Easton. You know you want to. You two are perfect for each other.”

  I’ve hit a nerve. “Me and Whitney?” His low voice sends goose bumps up my arms. “You want to know the truth about me and Whitney?”

  What truth?

  “There is no me and Whitney,” he says coarsely. “There never was. We have a deal. I pretend to be her boyfriend, and she pays me.”

  My mouth hangs open. “W-what?”

  “Now you know. No more secrets. At least one of us can say our conscience is clean.”

  Bridget’s heels echo down the stairs, and Easton shuts his laptop, slipping it and his phone into his backpack.

  I’m stuck in place, shock bolting my boots to the hardwood.

  “Oh, look who decided to join us.” Bridget strolls past me and Easton, but then she pauses and glances back. Her eyes dart between the two of us.

  I’m breathing too hard, and my cheeks feel flushed. Easton turns to pull his jacket off the barstool, but tension ripples through his arms and back.

  “Eva,” Bridget says, gaze narrowing on me. “You slept in awfully late.”

  Easton falters halfway through slipping an arm into his jacket.

  “Yeah.” I swallow. “I’m sorry I missed your coffee. I had trouble sleeping.”

  “Hmm. So much trouble you didn’t think to shut your bedroom door?”

  My palms sweat, and I glance toward Easton in shock. Shit. How stupid do I have to be to leave my door open? One peek is all it would have taken for her to know I wasn’t there.

  “Very unlike you.”

  I open my mouth. “I—I—”

  “The latch on my door has been a pain lately,” Easton says, pulling his hoodie over his head. He looks at his mom before he grabs his backpack. “Wouldn’t be surprised if hers needs to be looked at too.”

  Bridget’s brows knit. “Is that the case, Eva?”

  I nod stiffly.

  “Easton.” She keeps her attention on me. “Give me your phone, please.”

  He pauses mid-step, looks over his shoulder at Bridget. “What?”

  “I believe I was clear the first time.”

  Easton runs his teeth along his lower lip, but after a second, he zips open his backpack, grabs the phone, and tosses it to her.

  I watch her scroll through his phone with unease in my stomach. Glancing at Easton, I silently beg him to give me something, anything. Some clue as to what the hell’s going on. But his focus remains on Bridget. He really is a pro at ignoring me when he wants to.

  I force my gaze back to Bridget to see her set the phone on the island countertop. Then, a ring, ring, ring, blares through the speaker.

  Easton’s throat moves up and down, lips pressing together.

  He’s nervous.

  Shit.

  “Hey.”

  I place the voice at the same moment Bridget says, “Hello, Whitney. This is Easton’s mother.”

  Easton’s jaw tick, tick, ticks.

  My heart thuds against my rib cage.

  “Oh. Um, good mor
ning, Mrs. Rutherford.”

  “Good morning. I apologize for the unexpected call, but Easton tells me you stayed over last night.” She pauses, looks at me, and the silence bleeds through my ears.

  “What?”

  Bridget’s brows rise, and my heart beats faster. “You stayed over, did you not?”

  Whitney’s brief pause feels like an eternity. “Oh, right. I’m . . . I’m sorry I missed you. I slipped out early to shower and change.”

  Bridget tears her gaze from mine to look at the phone. “I understand. I’m just a tad confused because I didn’t notice your car in the driveway.”

  “Oh . . . well, you know Jessica Edwards? Just down the street? We carpool on Mondays, and she left her necklace at my house yesterday anyway, so it was perfect. We both helped each other out. Win-win.”

  My heart slows to an almost normal beat. Took Whitney a second to catch on, but I have to admit, the girl is good. Thank fucking God she doesn’t know it’s me she’s covering for.

  “I see.” Bridget leans against the countertop, long, cream fingernails wrapping against marble. “Fortunate, indeed. Well, be sure to stay longer your next visit so we can catch up. And, of course, say hello to your parents for me.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks, Mrs. Rutherford.”

  They hang up, and Bridget shifts her attention from me to Easton. “I suppose that will have to do for now,” she says, handing him his phone.

  He slips it in his pocket and gives a tight nod.

  Knowing Easton, he feels guilty for lying. Meanwhile, I’m choking back the breath of relief that tries to whoosh out of me. I have no idea what Bridget would do if she found out what we’ve done, but I know it wouldn’t be good for either of us.

  “Eva,” Bridget snaps, moving toward her medicine cabinet. “Why didn’t you say something about your door? I could have had it fixed with one call.”

  “Um.” I clear my throat, watching Easton continue to pretend I don’t exist as he dumps his dishes into the sink. “I know how busy you are.”

  “Nonsense. It’s my house. If there’s a problem with it, I need to know. I’ll have your door checked by the time you return from school. As for my coffee, I was rather disappointed. Things might have worked out this time, but I expect you to be on schedule. Without the value of your word . . .”

  The beating of my heart and the weakness in my knees drowns out her voice when Easton crosses the kitchen and walks away.

  He doesn’t look back at me.

  He doesn’t waver at all.

  Easton

  I finish washing my hands at the bathroom sink, then I shut my eyes and drag my wet fingers through my hair. Exhaling, my nostrils flare with the razor-sharp burn that scales up my chest.

  The image of Eva standing in my room, wrapped in someone else’s arms, brands itself in my skull. I’ve seen her with other guys, of course, but that was before. And she’s never let them hold her.

  The faucet beside me turns on, and I drag my focus to Zach as he pumps soap onto his hands.

  He glances at me. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I mutter, pulling my gaze away.

  Lying never feels right, especially when it’s to Zach, but talking about Eva has always been off-limits. Keeping her safe and close to me involves a little white lie here and there. But I’d be lying to myself if I said that’s the only reason I keep quiet about what’s between us. Eva’s an enigma, and she’s my enigma. My secret. My lifeline.

  “You sure?” he asks.

  I side-eye him, and he shrugs.

  “You seem tense or something. Just not yourself lately.”

  Sliding my teeth across my lower lip, I reach for a paper towel.

  “Listen, ah . . . I know you don’t wanna talk about that whole thing that went down with your dad, but it could be good for you. Just saying. I got your back.”

  I toss the paper towel into the trash can. “Thanks, man. Appreciate that.”

  The day after the anniversary party, I told Zach what was said in the storage kitchen, but I kept it brief. I can’t bring myself to talk about my fucked-up relationship with my parents yet, and the only thing—the only person—who usually soothes the sting just cut me so deep I can’t look her in the eye without feeling like I’m bleeding out.

  The bathroom door swings open, and laughter filters through the air. Carter, Elijah, and Marco walk in.

  “Sup,” Marco says, following the other two toward the opposite end of the bathroom, where they kick back and lean against the wall.

  Zach nods in acknowledgment while Carter pulls a joint from his pocket, lighting it up.

  “You smoke?” Elijah asks us.

  “Nah,” Carter answers first. “Easton’s too cool for this shit. Aren’t you?”

  My lips twitch, but my jaw is tight. “Something like that.” Pot kills my motivation, which is something I’m not willing to give up.

  Zach and I almost reach the exit when Carter’s voice hits my back. “Hey, Easton. What’s it like living with a little whore?”

  My footsteps halt, muscles lock tight, and Zach’s eyes widen as Elijah chuckles.

  “Has your sister fucked you too?”

  Adrenaline courses through me, boiling the blood in my veins. He’s trying to get a reaction out of me, but even knowing that, it’s still fucking working.

  Walk away, I tell myself. Things with me and Eva have already gotten out of hand. But I can’t.

  Slowly, I turn around.

  Carter’s eyes are narrowed, but a small smile lifts his thin lips. “I mean, damn. She’s gotten around this school.” The smile fades, taking any sign of humanity with it. “Sooner or later, she’d have to get to you.”

  The fire beneath my skin climbs up my shoulders, my neck, making it difficult to breathe. “Takes a really small dick to talk about girls the way you do.”

  He takes a hit of the joint before he passes it to Marco, who stares between the two of us.

  Carter smirks. “Eva never complained.” He moves toward me, and my fingers twitch at my sides, an extra pump of adrenaline bursting through me with each step he takes. “She begged for it. I’m talking over, and over, and—”

  My fist collides with his jaw, knocking him off-balance. He catches himself facedown at the sink, both hands gripping the ledge. “Mother fucker.”

  Pain throbs in my knuckles, my ears ringing with the sound of the school bell.

  Pushing off the sink, Carter gets in my face, nose-to-nose. “You’re going to hit me for that slut?”

  “Call her a slut one more time,” I growl.

  His jaw ticks while we pant angry breaths between our teeth. I’ve only taken a swing at someone twice in my life—both were recent, unplanned, and for Eva. But I know I’ll do it again if he can’t keep his mouth shut.

  “Dude,” Zach says cautiously, and I let him pull me back a step by a handful of my hoodie.

  “Fuck you, Easton,” Carter snarls. “And fuck your slut of a sister.”

  My vision turns red, and when it clears, Marco has a struggling Carter in a chokehold while Zach holds me back with both arms around me.

  I inhale, blink the red haze from my eyes, and shrug Zach off me.

  “What the fuck is your problem with Eva?” I ask Carter. “I’m beginning to think you’re obsessed with her or something.”

  “Or something,” Elijah chuckles, leaning against the wall and inhaling on his joint.

  Carter jerks against Marco, but Marco, tight-lipped, only grips him harder.

  “Shut the fuck up, Elijah,” Carter chokes out, fuming.

  “All this testosterone is killing my high.” Elijah blows out some rancid smoke and grins. “Eva popped Carter’s cherry. He’s been in love with her ever since. Dude’s got it bad.”

  I knew they’d slept together, but hearing it out loud makes my chest tighten with denial.

  Carter tries to shake Marco off again, but he hardly budges. “I’m not in love, asshole. But while we’re spillin
g secrets, Elijah, how about we announce the fact you’re still a virgin?”

  The blunt falls from Elijah’s slowly parting lips.

  Gritting my teeth, I turn around and push open the bathroom door. Zach’s at my heels, and we exit silently, stepping into the empty hall.

  I feel her before I see her. My head tilts, gaze sliding toward the open door to AP English, and the moment stops like spinning tires stuck in mud. Second row, slouched in her seat. Twirling a curly lock in her ponytail, and I can almost smell the lavender as she turns her head, eyes locking on mine. Chocolate irises burn and spark, pink lips part, prompting me to drag my tongue across my lower lip.

  From the seat beside her, I register Whitney’s gaze on us, but all I feel is Eva. In my head, under my skin. Everywhere.

  My adrenaline is still kicking, but something cold washes over me when she and the classroom disappear from view. That look, it was the same expression from this morning, and the sight drills into my chest. It confused me at the time, the somber glint in her eyes, but I can place it now.

  Hurt.

  What I don’t understand is, why? She’s the one who was with another guy after she came to my room. I don’t fucking get it. She could have gone to anyone last night. Anyone. But she came to me. She picked me. And it drives me insane that she could let another guy hold her while I can’t even look at another girl without wishing they were her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her words from the kitchen replay in my head, her quiet, thick voice caressing the hole in my chest.

  “I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you.”

  Can’t tell me what?

  Why don’t you trust me?

  I try to muster up anger, rage, any emotion I should be feeling at the thought of her with that guy in my bedroom, but the emotions are dormant, unable to reach the surface the way they did when I saw them together. If she really is done with me, she wouldn’t have looked at me the way she did this morning. The way she did just now.

  Right?

  God, I need her to be real. I need her to be everything I know she is underneath the show she puts on, because she was made for me. She must have been. Otherwise, why would this hurt so damn much?