Know Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book One)

by Rachel Dunning

  When we turn into the parking lot, Skate says, “Finally!”

  Trev leans back against what must be Declan’s car—a monster of a silver pickup that looks like it came straight out of the shop. Trev’s arms are folded, chest bulging. He smiles at us, almost indiscernibly. Skate looks a little confused (of course he does) but Trev’s totally with the program. And it ain’t because I had lipstick on and it’s smudged or anything, because I didn’t—I don’t use make-up when I spin. “Blaze, why don’t you ride up in front?” Trev says. And he opens the door for me.

  I’m a little embarrassed at how obvious it all probably is. I’m feeling more like a little girl than like the woman who’s been living on her own since her mom and gramps left for back home.

  I step up into the truck, pushing up on Declan’s forearm for support. And I can’t help the thought coming into my mind of feeling like I’m a princess being led into a chariot...

  By one fucking hot knight.

  -4-

  Declan jumps behind the wheel and my eyes linger a second on his flexing bicep. I feel like such a kid—and damned if I don’t like that simple feeling. He looks in the rearview and says, “Tom’s?”

  Trev looks at the clock on the control panel. “Only place that’s open, isn’t it?”

  “There’s also Mickey Ds. Burger King?” Declan smirks.

  “Just step on the fucking gas, homey. I need some real food—bacon and pork and eggs and... Damn, I’m hungry!”

  Skate: “You dudes know I hate going to Tom’s.”

  Trev: “No, we know you hate seeing Clarissa. Not our problem you did her and dumped her. It doesn’t change the fact that they serve the best damn Huevos Rancheros in Brooklyn.”

  “Fine, fuckit. I’m freaking starving. Let’s just go.” Skate’s eyes are lidded. He wipes his face.

  Here comes the downer.

  I would’ve never taken him for a roller with that snake tat around his neck. But, then again, I would’ve never taken me for a roller a year ago either.

  “And, FYI, I didn’t ‘do her and dump her.’ Things just...didn’t work out.”

  Deck fires up the car, looks over at me. It’s a look I recognize: He wants to know if I’ll come with them.

  And I do want to. I wanna sit with him and talk and...well, I really wanna kiss him more, on my couch, with Lauren Aquilina singing Fools or Sinners or Ugly Truth in the background.

  But I’m beat. I mean, I’m totally whacked for the night. My physical self clashes with my mental self as I consider letting go of this mysterious anchor to which I now feel suddenly attached.

  But the physical wins. “Rain check? I’m so wiped.”

  Declan doesn’t pull off. He looks at me for a while, both of us paused in a space somewhere else, somewhere outside this car and where there aren’t two dudes in the backseat and where the add-on GPS isn’t lighting up and asking us where we want to go...

  “How long would you need to feel fresh again?”

  I can still taste him on my tongue... His lips are bright red from the cold, maybe also from dehydration. I’d probably need about three days of sleep to feel fully awake again, but only an hour’s nap to be able to push it another few more hours. Not ready to let go of him just yet, I say, “An hour?”

  Declan looks in the rearview. “Dudes, you’re gonna have to stave off your hungers off for another hour. Blaze is coming with us.” The way he says it leaves no room for argument. (And that he says hungas instead of hungers only makes me want to touch my lips to his even more.)

  Skate complains like his leg’s just been broken. Trev says casually, “I can do that.” I’m looking straight out the windscreen at that looming warehouse ahead of us. I feel a finger press against my arm. I look back and see Trev. He winks, gives me a thumbs up.

  I shake my head at the surrealism of it all, as if it were all falling into place by some magical force I’ve never met.

  Declan stretches over into the glove compartment. There’s an e-reader in front of the truck’s manual. Beyond that are several packs of Jack Link’s beef sticks. He pulls two out and throws them in Skate’s lap behind him. “Here, that’ll have to be good enough until Blaze has gotten some rest.”

  I say, “Declan, I don’t wanna impose. Let’s rather—”

  Trevor cuts in. “No, no, no. Hell, Blaze, you’re probably gonna have the entire city calling you up for gigs later today. We’d like to spend some time with you before you’re playing it up with Calvin Harris and Kaskade over at Ibiza. Skate here’s just crashing, we’ll keep him hydrated and fed and he’ll be alright.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I just bite my lip.

  “Declan, drive. Get this lady home. And gimme some o’ that Jack Link’s as well before I eat your head off.”

  On the way to my place, I start realizing that, once I hit the sack, I’ll crash until tonight... It’s not gonna work. “Declan, would it be OK if I just crash in your car and then come in and join you guys at this Tom’s place, or whatever it’s called? A half hour should be more than enough to keep me going until lunch. And after a good breakfast...”

  Declan smiles, then his right cheek goes red. And he looks out his window. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  -5-

  I never took that half-hour sleep break. I just wasn’t ready to let go of the anchor yet when we arrived at Tom’s and Declan and the boys started getting out the car. It’s not the first time I’ve pushed my body beyond the limits like this. I’ll manage.

  Tom’s Restaurant is a breakfast and lunch diner that Declan says is “one of the few places in Prospect Heights that’s maintained ‘its Brooklyn’ over the years.” There’s an old-style red and white COCA COLA sign outside, right next to the nondescript neon sign which says only RESTAURANT. A handwritten menu on a pinewood easel stands by the door outside. Inside, there’s an American flag and porcelain dishes on the walls, as well as photos and balloon signs in green (“HOT OTAMEAL”) and orange (“FRESH VEGGIE BURGER”) and a big black one that says “TOM’S REST. 1936.” On the counter, next to the photos of little babies and kids that must no doubt be “Tom’s” kids and grandkids, there’s another sign that says “THE GREENEST BLOCK IN BROOKLYN.”

  The old guy behind the counter greets the boys like they’re family. He looks at Skate suspiciously. “All nighter?” he asks none of them in particular. Declan nods. “I hope yooze is not getting into trouble, are yas?”

  Declan looks him in the eyes and says confidently, “Not last night, Mr. De Luca.”

  “I hope not! Trev, nice to see you my man. And well done for taking the bowl for the second year in a row! How’s PSU?”

  “Very good, Mr. De Luca. Tough, though. Lots of studying, then off-season training, keeping up my grades. But the team is good, sir. That’s really what won us the bowl this year.”

  “Modest, but we all know PSU ain’t got a hope in hell of takin the trophy without ya. But I’m glad to hear you’re pushin on the grades. You was always the smart one, not like these losers!” He smiles and laughs. “You entering the draft? You’re eligible this year, aren’t ya?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m eligible. But I’m not entering. Football was always a means to an education for me. I don’t wanna play pro.”

  “See what I mean, the smart one. Take a seat, fellas. I’ll send Clarissa over to get yours’ orders. Who’s the attractive lady here wichyoo?”

  “That’s Declan’s new girlfriend,” says Skate. “Least that’s what I think...”

  Girlfriend? I can’t say I don’t like the sound of that.

  Mr. De Luca gives an approving smile, tips an imaginary hat. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss...”

  He stretches out his hand over the counter. “Blaze, sir. Blaze Ryleigh.”

  He gives me a warm smile and looks at me and Declan a second. “Well, you look like you’ve been at it all night as well. I recommend a Tom Burger Deluxe for a large appetite.”

  After sitting and checking out the menus, “
Clarissa” comes over—a dark haired girl that reminds me of Kat Denning, only with bigger boobs. She chews on gum and stands with her hip cocked. “Skate. Boys.”

  Declan: “Waddup, Clariss.”

  Trevor: “Yo, Clarissa.”

  Skate clears his throat, looks down at his hands. Mumbles something which I guess is a greeting.

  The boys order up a feast (Huevos Rancheros, Spicy Chicken and Cheese Omelet, extra Pancakes, extra bacon on the side). I end up going with a salad, because I need some sleep before I put anything in the burner or I might get sick. Declan orders a Vanilla Egg Cream to drink. I take straight coffee and Trev and Skate go with virgin Cherry-Lime Rickeys (Tom’s serves no alcohol.)

  Turns out the coffee is free, and so are the cookies we’re served while we wait for our meals.

  “Your set was kickin, Heaven-Leigh,” says Skate. Again!

  I look down at my coffee. “Uhm, thanks.”

  “So why haven’t we heard of you yet? I mean, you should be all over town.”

  I twirl my cup. Trevor picks up on my discomfort. “Skate, what’s up with the twenty questions? Leave the girl be.”

  “No, it’s cool. Uhm, well, it’s real tough getting your foot in the door. Tonight—last night—well, it was a lucky break.”

  “You mean that Uncle shit?” says Declan.

  “You heard about that?” I ask.

  “Yeah, Randy told me.”

  “Yeah, well, sorry to hear what happened to those dudes. But, you reap what you sow, y’know. How do you know Randy?”

  He hesitates. Trev answers for him. “Declan here was a wild boy once—”

  “No I wasn’t.”

  Trev leans forward, eyes bulging playfully, “Yes you was.”

  “Trev and I,” says Declan, “used to play this scene a fair amount back in the day. Anyways, I did more than him. And, well, Randy’s a man about town, you know.” He whispers quietly. “He’ll give drugs to anyone who’s taking them, just for some good company. I guess it’s loneliness or something.”

  Loneliness. The story of this scene.

  “Deck’s playing it down. Because Randy took a real liking to him. It seems Deck here has a real good ear. I wouldn’t know, he never listens to shit I tell him!”

  Declan cocks an incredulous eyebrow, looks at Trev. “Whatever. Randy and I just had similar, uhm, issues. So, we were a mutual ear for each other I guess.” He turns to me now. “And you? I mean, you must know him to have gotten the gig.”

  “No, uhm, Xavier. He and I... He’s an old friend. I know him from back in the day when”—I look at the three guys, realize I can talk openly to them—“back when I used to roll.”

  “You don’t roll anymore?” asks Skate.

  I shake my head.

  I feel that sadness approaching in the distance, like black ink poured into a pool and spreading. I only hope he doesn’t ask—

  “Why?”

  The coffee has mellowed me out, so I don’t feel as vulnerable about the subject as I did when Declan asked about my tat earlier. But I don’t tell the complete truth. “Dunno, just...enough was enough, you know?”

  I sense Deck’s crystal eyes forcefully on me, and I get the distinct impression that he knows I’m BSing.

  Our food arrives which, thankfully, swerves the conversation from me toward one of full mouths groaning orgasmically over how good the bacon and Huevos are.

  “Xavier,” says Declan, “that’s that dealer dude, right? The one who sticks his tongue down girls’ throats in exchange for E?”

  I clear my throat uncomfortably. “Yip, that would be him.” I spin the coffee in my hands. I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks I was one of those girls.

  Only, I wasn’t. Not really. He and I go so much deeper than that...

  Deck: “He flashed his piece at me, just before I gave you a ride home.”

  “The Ruger?”

  “Oh, you’re familiar with it...”

  No, but one of my exes is. “Uhm, yeah, a little. I mean, I don’t know if it’s the same gun these days. Xavier and I haven’t spoken in a year.”

  “Was it a concealed carry? The one you saw back when you hung out together.”

  “Concealed carry? I know Xavier had a revolver called a Ruger, but that’s as far as my knowledge of weapons goes.”

  “Small. Was it a small gun?” he asks.

  “Yeah, tiny.”

  “Then it’s a concealed carry. It’s probably the same one. Concealed Carry means it’s a real small gun so you can hide it easily. Never mind that owning a gun legally in New York for a dude like him would be damn near impossible—I doubt a dealer would pass the background check. Anyway. Pushing dope’s also illegal. Doesn’t seem to stop him either.”

  “I don’t agree with his lifestyle choices, in case you’re wondering. We’re not even friends anymore. Because of those choices.”

  “Oh, I hear you. I wasn’t commenting on your friendship. Just thinking out loud. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. It’s amazing how a dude can be rolling and still think to pull out a piece. Anyway. I guess the ‘love’ is stronger for some than others. But I saw him sniffing and wiping his nose a few times. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was snorting up the Big C along with the E, which would explain the aggression.”

  When we’re done eating, Trev’s eyes closing from exhaustion, he says, “OK, peeps, Skate and I will take the train home.” Trev smiles at me. Something tells me this hadn’t been the plan before.

  Skate says nothing. He’s down enough now to be perceiving his real environment again, and to realize that there’s something sparking between Declan and me.

  “Right, Skate?” Trev gets up.

  Skate bites into one more piece of bacon, slurps down his Cherry Lime and gets up. “Right,” he says with a full mouth. “Deck, weights tomorrow?”

  “Five o’ clock.”

  Declan and I get up to let the two boys out. Trev and he touch fists and then bump shoulders. “Peace, homey.” Trev grabs his neck. “Don’t forget we’re riding on Tuesday, OK? And tomorrow we’re hitting the weights in the afternoon. Whatever you do today, that time is ours.”

  “Never would forget, homes. You know you could ride with me tomorrow as well. I’d prefer having my boy lugging shit with me than some hand-for-hire off Craigslist.”

  “Family, bro. You’re not the only one I got, and I gotta spend some time with them tomorrow.” Then, he puts an arm around Declan and turns him so their backs are to me. Trev talks softer, but I can still hear him. “Speaking of which, when are we gonna see your pops?” Trev’s got his hand firmly on Declan’s neck, and their temples are almost touching.

  Declan looks directly into Trev’s eyes. Quietly, he says, “Trev...”

  “Deck, you and me, together. We’re gonna go see him.” Trev looks over at me, decides to drop the subject. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.

  “Blaze”—he bends down and hugs me with a strong, manly hug that makes me love Declan even more because of his friends—“it was more than a pleasure to meet you.”

  I clear my throat, suddenly overwhelmed by that chemical covered blanket I told you about earlier. “Uhm, you too, Trevor.”

  “Peace out.” Trev and Skate tromp out.

  Declan sits again, says nothing. He sucks his Egg Cream clean with a loud slurp. Maybe his mind is on this statement about his pops...

  I feel I must mention something here before we go on. Maybe you noticed I used the word Love earlier. Don’t misunderstand me there. Of course I love Declan, just like I love Trev (at this stage I guess I only like Skate.) Doesn’t mean anything necessarily. Deck makes me feel warm, welcomed. He makes me feel something entirely new. Something I don’t fully understand if I’m being honest with myself. No matter what’s happening in my life, I try and tell myself things straight. Beating around the bush gets you nowhere.

  So, lacking a word for it, I call this emotion love. I guess I’m thinking, I love him, just like I loved Savannah,
like I loved Patryk.

  Love is an all-encompassing word in English. “There are many words for love, and many nuances to those words, in Polish,” Mamah said to me once. This was when I was sixteen, crying on my bed because I’d caught Eliasz Piscor (“The totally coolest guy in all of Greenpoint High, Mamah!”) kissing Zuzanna Osik (“A total skank lying bitch if I ever saw one! She’s no good for him!”) behind a school dumpster. At that stage, I thought his tongue in her throat and his hand on her tit under her sweater was the worst thing a person could ever see in her entire life.

  Fast forward to today, Tom’s Restaurant. Is it my subconscious using this word in a very calculated way?

  Or is it, you know, someone—or something—else...?

  -6-

  Moments of unbelievable silence go by while Declan and I sit here, me playing with my empty coffee cup, him turning the straw in his empty Egg Cream glass.

  I look up at him, instantly smile at his beauty. If I don’t know where this is going, at least I’ll have that—a memory of just how innocently bad and troubled he looks.

  The heat of him pressing against me and that wall is gone. Not that I don’t find him sexually attractive, it’s just that I don’t know shit about that area. I’ve been with one guy in my life Like That. And the other, who came close to Like That, was, well, we’ll get to that later...

  “Uhm,” I say, “Just FYI, I don’t usually...uhm...take guys home...after— I guess what I’m trying to say is...that I’m more of a go-out-for-coffee-and-get-to-know-each-other-first kind of girl.”

  He can’t help himself smiling. “Did you think I was going to jump you and race you to bed?” His eyes glint mischievously.

  I like the flirty comment, and I like the prickliness it brings to my cheeks. But it also makes me a little nervous. “No, uhm, well, I don’t know—”