Two Truths and a Lie

by Ashley Stoyanoff

  The ringing cuts off, only to start right back up again. I try to shove away from him, but his hand on my ass tightens, and the arm around my waist pulls me closer.

  I can’t move.

  I’m pinned.

  Stomach to stomach. Chest to chest. One of my legs is cocked up, pressing into his side, and the other is locked between his thighs. My hands are trapped in between us.

  I fell asleep on the couch?

  We were talking. I was talking, telling him about Peck and my parents and my brother. We were watching a movie, and …

  The ringing stops.

  It starts again.

  “Answer your phone, babe,” he grumbles in a deep, raspy voice. His arms tighten around me, squeezing me close, and he nuzzles into my neck.

  My heart is frantic, thumping like a bass drum in my ears. I struggle against him, trying to reach for the phone, but I can’t move. He’s holding me so close I can barely catch my breath.

  “Let go,” I say, trying again—unsuccessfully—to pry myself out of his grasp. “Jason, you need to let go so I can reach it.”

  He grunts, loosening his hold, not a lot, but enough for me to wiggle one of my arms free and dig out my phone. I’m not even sure if he’s fully awake, or if maybe he’s in that in between place, not quite dreaming but not quite conscious, either.

  Sighing, I bring the phone to my ear, answering with a mumbled, “Hello?”

  “Hi there, baby girl. How are you holding up?”

  Mr. Chapman. The moment I hear his voice, a smile lights up my face. “I’m good.”

  And stuck.

  And kind of nervous.

  Actually, I’m freaking out a little bit.

  “Did Jason wise up and pick you up yet?” he asks. His voice is cautious as though he’s not sure if he believes that I am, in fact, good.

  “Um, yes, he did.”

  I move to sit up, my elbow digging into Jason’s ribs hard. He grunts, snatching a hold of my elbow, moving it. He opens his eyes—finally—and laughs, flashing his dimples. God he looks good, just waking up. Hair mussed-up, sleepy smile, dark stubble along his jaw. His eyes are half-mast, peering up at me, flashing with amusement. “Hold still, darlin’.”

  Rolling my eyes, I jiggle his hand loose from my elbow, and I wonder how I even managed to end up in this situation. I think I should be annoyed about it, but I’m not. I just can’t drudge up the emotion just yet. I laugh, swatting at him. “Jason, let me up.”

  He does. Thank goodness he does.

  Jason knifes up to a sitting position, pulling me up with him, and I slide off his lap. He leans over, elbows on his knees, looking at me.

  “Elena,” Mr. Chapman barks out. “What’s going on?”

  Suddenly, Jason shifts his gaze to the phone and every inch of him tenses. “It’s him, isn’t it?” he asks, hard bitterness spilling into his voice.

  I’m not sure how to respond to either of them. I start stammering, looking away from Jason, but his gaze follows me. I can feel it—tormented and angry—burning through me, waiting.

  “Yes, um …” I stammer into the phone. “Nothing’s going on. Everything’s fine.”

  “Hang it up, Elena,” Jason says, voice low, cold.

  I risk a look at him. The corners of his lips are twitching, but it’s not with a smile. He’s scowling at me, or more accurately, he’s scowling at the phone pressed to my ear. He looks as though he might snatch it away if I keep talking.

  A chill runs down my spine as he stands up. His eyes burn into me with some unspeakable emotion. He glares at the phone for a long moment, his hands fisted, and hanging rigidly by his sides, and I watch him warily.

  I don’t hang up.

  I should. I want to. But I don’t.

  Why did I even answer it?

  I feel so incredibly stupid. I should have just turned it off. Mr. Chapman is the only person who has this number. And with Jason …

  Oh God, I shouldn’t have answered it.

  Mr. Chapman is shouting in my ear, demanding to know what’s going on, but I hardly notice.

  I stare at Jason.

  He closes his eyes and lets out a harsh breath. Then, he turns from me and heads for the stairs.

  “I’ve got to go,” I say and I hang up the phone, tossing it down, and jumping up. “Jason, wait a minute.”

  “Not now, Elena,” he says quietly, stopping at the top of the stairs. He glances over his shoulder, his jaw working hard, but his eyes have softened. “Just give me a few minutes, yeah?”

  He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He steps around the corner, and a second later, I hear a door slam shut, and then the sound of a shower turning on.

  I sit back down, folding myself up on the couch. Guilt presses against my chest until it’s hard to breathe as I stare at the stairs, giving him the few minutes he asked for.

  Jason

  I need to get myself together.

  Exhaling, I start the shower, letting the water warm up, as I strip out of my clothes, dropping them in a pile on the floor.

  Fuck.

  I’m losing it.

  I can still hear his scratchy voice yelling through the damn phone.

  I climb into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind me, and step right under the warm spray of water.

  Elena looked so adorable, waking up laid out on top of me. The sweetest smile, nervousness mixed with what looked like contentment.

  And she was soft. So fucking soft and warm in my arms. I didn’t want to let her go. I think I could have laid there with her all goddamn day.

  But my old man has a way of ruining things. He ruined his marriage. Destroyed his career. Ripped apart his family.

  And this morning, he shattered the sliver of trust I’d managed to build with Elena.

  If he were here, he’d blame me for all of it.

  I don’t place the blame on myself, though. I never have. He’s the one who committed the acts. I’m just the one who shone the light on them.

  I groan, resting my forehead against the cool tiles. She can’t be talking to him. Not while she’s here. Not while I’m helping her. If it were in my power, I’d never let the bastard speak to her again.

  I need to get the photos out of the house.

  And the flash drives.

  And the tape.

  It’s obvious, I think. I can’t leave her here with it, any of it, even if it is locked up tight. I’ll stress. I’ll worry. And I’ll wind up resenting her for it.

  Right, get the stuff out of the house so I can focus my attention on her case and not stress the fuck out.

  I wash, taking my time lathering up and scrubbing my hair, trying my damnedest to not think, not feel. Then, I stand under the spray for a while, letting the water rain down on me, before finally reaching over and turning off the taps.

  Pulling the shower curtain open, I climb out and snag a towel off the rack. I need to get out of here, get some work done, and finish up the last pieces of a case we’ve got going, so I can focus my efforts on her.

  And I need to move the stash.

  What to do with Elena?

  I can’t leave her here, and I can’t take her with me.

  An idea strikes me and I smile, toweling off quickly, before digging my cellphone out of my discarded jeans pocket. I bring up my contacts and tap on the number I need. It rings twice before she answers. “Mom, I need a favor.”

  Chapter Nine

  Elena

  “Where are we going?”

  I’m sitting in Jason’s car, pulling on my seatbelt. It’s half past eight, and I’m still in the clothes I woke up in—jeans and a violet tee. I wanted to shower, or at the very least, to change my clothes, but Jason claims we don’t have time for that.

  Jason puts the car in reverse, and starts backing out of the driveway. He looks my way and gives me a quick smile. “You’ll see when we get there.”

  The smile isn’t real.

  There are no dimples.

  No amusement in
his eyes.

  He’s forcing it.

  It’s uncomfortable. The whole morning’s been uncomfortable from the moment I woke to find myself nestled in his arms.

  I scowl at him as he pulls out onto the street, trying to ignore the coiling in my stomach. I was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when he came down, his hair damp, freshly washed, and he’d changed into faded blue jeans and a gray polo shirt. I was worried about what to say to him when he came back downstairs, so I planned a speech. I had questions and I wanted answers. I opened my mouth, but before I could say so much as a word, he shook his head and said, “Let’s go. You’ve got somewhere to be.”

  That was all he said.

  Then he grabbed his keys and ushered me out the door.

  “Don’t give me that look, darlin’,” he says, chuckling softly. “It’s a surprise.”

  Sighing, I glance out the window. A surprise. I don’t know what to think about that. This whole morning has been such a mess that I want nothing more than to rewind time and go back to the moment we woke up. The moment my phone was ringing, before I answered it. If I could do it again, I’d turn the darn thing off.

  And if I turned it off, if I didn’t answer it … well, I’d probably still feel uncomfortable and awkward, but it would be for an entirely different, and not a completely horrible, reason.

  I turn back to him cautiously, wondering if he’ll talk to me about the whole dad thing. “Can we talk about what happened this morning?”

  “Sure,” he says, his voice taking on a playful tone, and he reaches over, taking my hand. “You fell asleep cuddling into me during the movie. You looked so damn cute I didn’t want to wake you, so I stayed put.”

  I blink a few times, shaking my head. Although it’s good to know how we ended up sleeping together, it’s not what I meant and I’m almost certain he knows that. He’s watching me from the corner of his eye and his thumb is tapping against my palm, agitated.

  I let out a deep sigh. “That’s not the part I want to talk about and you know it.”

  His eyes come my way, landing right on my face and holding for a long second before going back to the road. “If I’m gonna help you,” he says, “I’m gonna have to ask you to stop talking to my old man.”

  His tone is sharp, all traces of the playfulness gone, and it’s most definitely not leaving room for any creative interpretation on whether it’s a request or a demand. He might have phrased it as a request, but with that tone, it’s a clear-cut demand.

  Eyes wide, I watch him warily. I don’t know how to respond to that. “I … uh … I …” I stammer for a second, and then spit out, “What?”

  After a moment of silence, Jason looks at me again, his eyes scanning my face, before he fixes them back on the road. “Can’t have him knowing my business, Elena.”

  I’m taken aback. “Who I talk to has nothing to do with your business.”

  “Yeah, darlin’, it does,” he says. “The minute I decided to take your case and move you into my house, you became my business.”

  He cannot be serious.

  I eye him for a moment in silence, debating on whether I should push the topic and pry into what his issue is with his father or not.

  I want to point out how ridiculous he’s being.

  I want to tell him how wonderful his father is. How he took care of me. Gave me a place to stay. He knew who I was from the first time he saw me, but he didn’t call the police. He brought me food, supplies, clothes. I want to tell him that it was his father who gave me hope again.

  And most of all, I want to ask why he hates the man so much.

  I want to.

  I really, really want to.

  But I don’t.

  We hardly know each other and I’m worried that if I push too much, too fast, he’ll decide that I’m not worth the hassle.

  He’ll decide not to help me.

  I’m agonizing over what to say when I pull my hand from his and fold my arms over my chest. Maybe I can just send a text message to Mr. Chapman, let him know what’s going on. I probably should have already done that after hanging up on him like I did. I’ll ask him why his son hates him so much, too, while I’m at it.

  I slouch back in my seat, looking out the window, and instead of pushing it, I go with a safer response. “Um, about that moving in thing … I think I should probably find somewhere else to stay.”

  Jason exhales loudly. It’s a frustrated exhale, one that seems as though it stretches for minutes, rather than a second or two. “You’re staying at my place and if you say one fuckin’ word about putting up a tent in my yard, I swear I’ll burn the damn thing.”

  I guess I misjudged the whole safer response thing.

  But his words do make my skin tingle. I don’t know if it’s from anxiety or excitement. I’m not sure I care either. I give him a look. “You’re being really bossy this morning.”

  He laughs. “I guess that’s better than being an asshole.”

  I could argue with that. Right now, the two are feeling pretty similar.

  But he’s laughing, and his smile is real, full dimples on display, so I don’t.

  Despite myself, I laugh with him, relaxing a bit.

  A couple minutes later, Jason swings the car into a Starbucks drive-thru and rolls his window down. He glances my way and asks, “You want anything?”

  “Um …” I hesitate. He didn’t give me time to grab my purse, but even so, Starbucks isn’t cheap and I don’t really have the money to spare, even if I’m supposedly staying with him now. I shake my head. “No thanks.”

  Ignoring my decline, Jason orders me a black coffee with cream and sugar on the side, as well as half a dozen muffins in assorted flavors, and hands them to me with a wide grin. I thank him and he nods, telling me to dig in.

  I do. My stomach is grumbling, and the coffee smells so good, I can’t resist it. I quickly add three creams and two sugars to it, stirring it in, and I pluck a banana chocolate chip muffin out of the box.

  We drive for a few more minutes, and I’m still nibbling on my muffin when Jason pulls the car into a parking lot, and stops in front of Mona’s Salon and Spa.

  “We’re here,” he says, turning off the car and opening his door. “Bring the muffins and coffee with you. You’ll be stuck here for a few hours.”

  I stare at the sign, puzzled, as he folds out of the car. He comes around to my door, opening it, and I rush to unclip my seatbelt. “You’re taking me to a salon?”

  He nods, his eyes settling on my hair, looking torn. “You should have changed your hair a year ago.”

  He’s right. I should have. I know that. It probably would have helped with the sightings that led Peck closer to me, but I didn’t venture out in public too often, and aside from meeting Jason in the bar, I always wore hoodies, ball caps, large sunglasses. I thought it was pretty brilliant, myself. I saved a lot of money that I didn’t have to spend, and by doing so, I was also able to keep my blonde hair.

  “I don’t want to change my hair, Jason,” I say. “I can just wear a ball cap and sunglasses when I’m out.” And I can’t afford it. Splurging for a drugstore hair color is one thing, but a salon … It’s too much.

  He leans into the car, cupping my cheeks in his palms, bringing his face close to mine. “Don’t want you hiding behind a ball cap and sunglasses when I take you out to dinner tonight.”

  My eyes widen. Is he serious?

  I can feel my body flush and butterflies, those pesky little things, try to take flight in my belly. “You’re taking me out to dinner tonight?”

  He smiles widely, taking the muffins in one hand and mine in the other, pulling me out of the car. “Yeah, I’m taking you out to dinner.”

  The salon is closed.

  I notice the sign in the window showing that it won’t be open until eleven as the car door closes behind me. I tug on Jason’s hand, pulling him to a stop. “They’re not open yet.”

  He laughs under his breath, amusement touching his eyes as he
looks down at me. “They are for you. I called in a favor.”

  “Right,” I say, starting to walk again. “Jason, I can’t do this. I don’t even have my purse.”

  “You don’t need your purse, darlin’,” he says, brushing me off. “Like I already said, I called in a favor.”

  How does a private investigator get favors for salon appointments?

  Jason pulls me along the side of the building, through an alleyway, to the back. He strolls right up to the back door, knocking.

  The door opens almost instantly, and an older woman appears in front of us, her expression light and happy. Long black hair brushes her shoulders, with wispy layers framing her face. She’s dressed in a floral sundress and flip-flops. She looks at us, her warm brown eyes shifting between the two of us, before settling on Jason.

  “Hi, Mom,” he says, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. “Thanks for coming in early.”

  Mom? I blink a few times, caught off guard, and I watch, dumbfounded, as Jason embraces her.

  I guess the favor makes a little more sense now.

  “No problem, honey,” she says, stepping back, and motioning for us to come in. She smiles at me. “You must be, Elena. I’m Mona.”

  “Hi,” I say, with a little wave, as Jason leads me into the back room. The walls are lined with shelving, filled with supplies. A wall of hair dye. One with cleaners. Mops and brooms rest against another wall, neat and tidy.

  She leads us through to another room, the washing station, and then out to the main part of the salon, and without any preamble, she gestures for me to take a seat at what I assume is her station.

  Setting down my coffee on the counter, I glance at Jason. He nods encouragingly, and with a sigh, I sit down.

  I’m really going to do this, aren’t I?

  I guess I need a trim. It’s been over a year for that, but I’ve never colored my hair.

  Mona spins me around so I’m facing the mirror, and asks, “So what color were you thinking of?”

  “I don’t know,” I mumble, shaking my head. “Um … I didn’t know until just a minute ago I was coming here.”