Lies We Keep (Pieces of Me Book 1)

by Danielle Rose

  “They died because of me!” The words burst from my chest. “Finals were coming up, and I couldn’t deal. So I went to a party on campus, and I got drunk. I called my parents for a ride. On the ride home, while we fought about responsibility and the danger of getting wasted at a party with guys I didn’t know, we got into a car accident. A drunk driver crossed the median and hit our car head-on.”

  The tears no longer threatened me. Instead, they were free-falling, staining my white shirt with light gray blotches as I sank to my knees before Blakely. I stared up at him, focusing on his figure through my blurred vision.

  “I can still see it all so vividly. I can hear the screech of the tires as the driver tried to stop, and my mom… she’s screaming. I looked up, and I was blinded. The headlights burned. They were so bright… too bright. I can smell the stench of vomit in my mouth as my dad tried to swerve away from the truck. I’m not—I’m not supposed to remember! You don’t remember this well,” I dug my hands through my hair, scratching at my scalp, “when you’re sloppy drunk. This… this is my p-punishment. Don’t you see?

  “And then, it hit us. My head slammed against the window, and suddenly, the world fell silent. My mom wasn’t screaming anymore. The car wasn’t swerving away. I was freefalling until the car skidded to a stop. I opened my eyes, and…

  “I can feel… I can feel the glass in my hair, digging against my skin. Everything hurts, and I can smell th-the burnt rubber, but that’s n-nothing compared to the blood. Oh, God. It’s everywhere. It’s all around me. It’s on my skin. It’s on the windows. It’s in the air. I can’t—I can’t smell anything else. I just… I just want to smell the rubber again. I’m feeling nauseous, and I know I’m going to throw up again, but I swallow it down.

  “I try to call out, but I can’t. I can’t call out to her, to my mom, to my dad. I can’t tell them I’m okay. I can’t tell them to hold on. Before the accident… sh-she kept nagging, and I was starting to feel sick. I told her—I told her I hated her. I hated that she was ruining my buzz. That’s the last thing I ever said to her, that I hated her.”

  I released a terrifying bellow—a noise even I hadn’t known I could create. In it, I expressed the emotions I’d held onto for so many years: pain, longing, regret, despair.

  “It was my fault. They w-wouldn’t be dead if I didn’t drink that night. I k-killed them. I killed my parents.”

  I dropped my head against my palms and let it out. I hadn’t heard Blakely join me on the ground, but when he pulled me onto his lap and held me tightly, I didn’t fight him.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Jezebel.”

  “Stop it!” I said, trying to push away.

  He shushed me and, again, told me it wasn’t my fault, that it would be okay.

  “No! Stop!” I yelled between hiccups. “Please, tell me I was wrong, tell me it was my fault. P-please don’t forgive me.”

  I buried my head in crook of his neck, releasing the pent-up anger and guilt that had been buried for years. Eventually, the tears stopped, and all I could do was listen to Blakely tell me it wasn’t my fault.

  He repeated that sentiment over and over until I wondered if he might be right. After all, he wasn’t the first to tell me this. Though we never spoke of my parents’ death, Tara knew of my suppressed guilt. When she flew home to attend their funeral, she’d told me to see a therapist to help with my emotional disconnect. I didn’t, and I never spoke of their death again. Not until today.

  I’d known Blakely for mere days, yet he was able to completely break down the wall I’d spent a great deal of time building.

  But the wall surrounding me was only the beginning, for behind it, I was left in pieces, waiting for the day I’d become whole again.

  After I calmed down, I glanced up at him. He rubbed a thumb along the curve of my jawline and placed a kiss to my forehead. The darkness that occasionally haunted him stared back at me in his eyes. His secrets were there, and it was as if they were begging me to make the first move, to help release them from their captor.

  “Tell me about your family,” I whispered.

  His eyes were empty pits of despair. I fought the urge to pull him close, because shutting down, ignoring the past, wasn’t helping either of us. He swallowed hard and exhaled slowly. His arms fell to his sides, releasing me from his embrace. Understanding he needed space, I stood and sat on the bed beside him. He stared at the floorboards, and I remained out of his sight. He didn’t turn to face me when he too revealed the secrets of his past.

  “I grew up in a self-sufficient religious community called Living Light. I was born there. Have you heard of it?”

  Again, his eyes remained on the empty space before him.

  I wondered if I should tell him that I caught a glimpse of his website searches. I decided to lie. If he knew, he’d stop to think about what this moment meant. I needed to tell him about my past mistakes—just like I was sure he needed to release his, too.

  “No.”

  “I guess I’m not surprised. You would have been young when… it happened.”

  We fell silent, and I waited for him to open to me.

  Only he didn’t.

  I counted to one hundred before speaking again.

  “Tell me about your life there,” I said, offering him a starting point.

  Again, he didn’t speak. Minutes passed, and when I opened my mouth to reassure him, I was silenced.

  “After spending half their lives in corporate America, my parents gave up everything to join Living Light. We loved it there. We were learning to grow our own food, build our own homes, make our own clothes. We used windmills and solar panels for power. We had midwives and schoolteachers. It was the perfect escape from the harsh reality they left. Or so we thought.”

  My heart sank as Blakely relived his memories, a darkness slowly overcoming him. Briefly, I wondered if I shouldn’t have pushed him. Maybe some secrets were better left buried.

  “When I was ten, a new leader took control and convinced us that we must offer a sacrifice to God. He was smart, charismatic. He made everyone believe this was God’s plan. He said God would reward his faithful by reviving our mortal forms, so we could continue our mortal existence to spread God’s word.”

  He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t turn to face me.

  “On the day it—happened—everyone was to take a small piece of bread that had been baked with poison. My parents were beginning to question the sacrifice, but it was too late. One by one, people of the community ate the pieces of bread. The poison worked quickly. It was as if they had fallen asleep. I thank God every day that it was painless for them.”

  He cleared his throat, sniffling.

  “We were the last in line. The only others who hadn’t yet taken the poison were our new leader and his daughter. Looking back,” he said, shaking his head, “I can’t help but wonder if that was his plan all along. If he killed off the community members, he’d have the entire property to himself. He would own everything.”

  He turned his head as if to look at me. I reached for him, resting my hand against his back. I rubbed him through his shirt, using my free hand to wipe away my own tears for the fallen.

  “Before I could take the poison, my mother slapped it out of my hand. Our leader struck her, causing my father to attack him. My mother told me to run, hide, and I did. After an hour or so, I went looking for my parents. I found their bodies. They were both dead. Our leader and his daughter were gone. I’ve never forgiven myself. I could have saved them. My mistake cost them their lives.”

  I sank to the floor beside him and straddled his lap. I held his head in my palms and stared into his murky eyes. The usual bright, sapphire-blue was gone.

  “Listen to me,” I said. “This was not your fault. You were just a child.”

  “I was old enough to fight back,” he said, grasping onto my hands and pulling them down. I released his face.

  “You were just a boy. You couldn’t have saved them.”

 
; He stood abruptly, lifting me with him. Turning, he set me on the bed and took several steps back, not stopping until he was pressed firmly against the wall.

  I considered his words. I understood his pain, his grief over surviving. Often, I’d find myself falling to my knees, screaming for an answer as to why I survived the crash. The day I decided to bury my emotions was the day I died inside.

  I was broken. I was dead. Basic, primal instincts were what drove my every motion.

  And I didn’t care… until now. Until I saw myself in another. Until I could see what suppressed emotions were really doing to me.

  “I know that feeling. It’s like you’re falling, and you know you should try to break your fall, but you don’t. You just close your eyes and focus on the rush of the wind against your cheeks.”

  I closed my eyes, and I could feel it; I could feel every emotion I’d once buried. They were slowly rising, slowly suffocating me. To recede back into the shadows would be an easy escape. I’d lived that way for years.

  Opening my eyes, I said, “If you don’t accept that maybe there was a reason you were saved, then your survivor’s guilt will kill you.”

  “You seem to be just fine,” he spat.

  I winced as his words lashed me. Fine. Did I look fine? Maybe to those who didn’t carry the baggage we carried. I knew in Blakely’s eyes I was a broken girl who was struggling to overcome her demons. I knew he could see himself in me, and I was sure that terrified him.

  I took a step forward, and his breath hitched. He didn’t want me to close the distance between us. He didn’t want me to touch him. Hell, he probably didn’t want me to even look at him.

  “We’re the same, you and me,” I said. “We’re broken, but I can feel you putting my pieces back together.”

  I took another step forward.

  “Everything feels different when I’m with you. I feel… stronger. I feel like I can face anything.”

  I took one more step forward. I could nearly touch him.

  “Don’t let your memories kill you,” I said softly.

  I reached forward, placing my hands flat against his chest. His heart was beating rapidly. I closed my eyes, focusing on each steady burst.

  “Let your memories save your life,” I whispered.

  These same words were said to me by the priest who buried my parents, but I didn’t understand them then.

  I leaned forward, sliding my hands around his frame. I clasped my hands behind his back and rested my head against his chest. If it was possible, his already-erratic heartbeat increased; it screamed in my ear. I squeezed my eyes shut, replaying the many memories of my parents I’d hoped to forget.

  I remembered the family dinners, the weekend movie-marathons, the long drives.

  I remembered the all-nighters my mom put in to help me study for an upcoming test.

  I remembered the holiday traditions, the family vacations, and the long talks.

  In one simple moment, the disconnect vanished, and I was flooded with the emotions I’d hoped I’d never again feel.

  Tears slid down my cheeks, and I buried my face in Blakely’s shirt.

  Together, we’d release our demons, and we’d face the nightmares we’d been running from.

  I opened my eyes, yawning. I was in bed, and the alarm on the nightstand flashed brightly in my eyes. A few hours had passed since we’d admitted our past indiscretions to each other—a task we’d never expected to accomplish. We’d spent the next hour or so reliving each painful memory, dusting them off and bringing them into the light of day.

  I glanced over my shoulder to find Blakely curled up behind me. The length of my body was pushed up against his, and once again, I admired how perfectly we fit together.

  I didn’t understand those who didn’t believe in fate; meeting Blakely couldn’t have been pure coincidence.

  My attraction to Blakely was immediate, but now, as I gave in to the war of emotions within me, I had to ask myself how I truly felt about him. The lust that burned within me was making way for something new, something I hadn’t felt in years. I respected Blakely; hell, since the death of my parents, he was one of the few people I cared to be around.

  But what did that mean? He’d admitted to me that we weren’t just fucking anymore, but were we ready to label our attraction? Maybe our constant proximity and earth-shattering sex had led us to believe something more was happening. For the first time in years, I began to question my decisions I’d based on feelings.

  What the hell was happening here?

  I blinked away my thoughts when Blakely inhaled deeply and cleared his throat, burrowing his face into the crook of my neck. I giggled as the scruff of his chin rubbed against my skin. He smiled, and I bit my lip.

  Feeling suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, I turned around and pressed my lips to his. Soon, we were in a passionate embrace. His tongue grazed my lips, and I opened for him. With each lick, nip, and suck, he consumed me until I wasn’t sure where I ended and he began.

  I straddled his lap, clinging tightly to his frame. His erection rubbed against me as we kissed, and I found myself rolling my hips, relishing in each moan that escaped him. I loved the way he felt beneath me, the sounds he made, the way he offered me the control he craved.

  I pulled off my top, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed. Blakely’s fingers scratched at my back, and I gasped into his mouth. When his hands reached my pants, he pushed them down in a quick motion. I angled forward, letting him push them from my body completely. Nude, I remained straddling his lap as I feverishly moved my hands to unbutton his pants, freeing his erection.

  Needing him inside me, I didn’t waste time. I angled my hips and slid onto his length.

  I gasped as he filled me completely, and slowly, I lifted myself. I repeated this process, ever so slowly, from root to tip. The exertion was minimal, yet we both had fine layers of sweat on our skin.

  A low rumble escaped his chest, and I knew he needed this, needed me, as much as I needed it, needed him. His hands clung to me as I worked his length. My core ached as I chased my release.

  My breasts rubbed against his t-shirt, and I cringed at the friction. I needed to feel him, skin on skin. As if reading my mind, he yanked off his shirt and pulled me closer. His hands grasped my hips, and I relinquished control to him.

  Instead of viciously pounding his length into me, he maintained my pace, and his eyes never left mine. With each stroke, my heart grew heavy.

  Why was he making me feel so… vulnerable?

  I had never felt so exposed before, but it didn’t matter. We’d escaped reality and lived in our own world. We were no longer fucking in some hotel. With each slow caress, with each deep, long kiss, with each breath taken in unison, we had left this plane and traveled to some distant, emotional existence.

  Even though the thought terrified me, I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to be there with me.

  Everything in this moment felt right. With each stroke, my orgasm built inside me until I couldn’t hold onto it anymore. I came hard. In long, slow waves, my release enveloped me. I cried out, James’s name on my lips.

  When I dressed, I was lost to my own thoughts. I was developing real feelings for my bodyguard, but I couldn’t admit the words aloud. He made it clear that he wasn’t receptive to the idea of intimacy, yet he yielded. Was my inability to discuss a real relationship just my subconscious saving me from the heartache of rejection? Or perhaps I was too afraid to verbally admit the walls I’d spent a great deal of time constructing were tumbling down around me.

  I wondered if I’d be okay with that. Maybe it was time to truly let someone in.

  Maybe it was time to finally forgive myself for my past mistakes.

  “I thought we could get lunch, maybe walk around town,” I said as I slipped on my sandals.

  I stood, turning to face him. Summer in Maine meant hot, humid temperatures. Usually, I’d opt for shorts, tank tops, and flip flops, but since I had to be slig
htly more presentable at the residency, I decided on leggings, a loose top, and sandals. Blakely, on the other hand, took his job way too seriously. He wore all black: dark jeans, black t-shirt, and black shoes. Underneath it all, I was sure he was strapped, too.

  “You look wicked conspicuous,” I said as I scanned the length of his body. “Remember that it’s summer, and we’re in Maine. No one is wearing all black…”

  His gaze dropped as he took in his attire.

  “It wasn’t intentional.” He shrugged. “It’s fine.”

  I arched a brow, crossing my arms. “Honestly, James, you really should change. A heat stroke is no one’s friend.”

  I laughed and met his gaze. His breath hitched, and time seemed to slow as he stared back at me.

  “That’s twice now that you’ve called me by my first name,” he said quietly.

  I hadn’t even realized. His name escaped from my lips naturally, as if it belonged there. Again, I was left wondering what this truly meant, what he meant. Could I acknowledge this feeling to him?

  His eyes gave away nothing, so I ignored my curiosity, choosing to instead let the afternoon pass by in a daze. We strolled down Main Street, stopping to shop at independent stores. We had a late lunch at one of my favorite cafés. I gave him a tour of the university grounds, and we hiked at a nearby nature preserve.

  Walking along the rocky beach, I tossed pebbles into the ocean. In this place, I felt at peace. It was as if nothing could hurt me here. I felt safe with James; I felt like the world would crumble at my feet before he’d let anything harm me.

  He stood beside me, his hands shoved into his pockets as he stared out into the distance. He admired the beauty of nature, and I admired the beauty that was James Blakely. He glanced down at me and smiled. I leaned against him, and he wrapped an arm around me.

  Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply. The world smelled so familiar, yet so different. It smelled of salt and sea, of trees and rain. And it smelled of James. I turned inward, snuggling against him, breathing in his essence. He always smelled of mint.