One Tiny Lie

by K. A. Tucker

  Ashton moved back into the house at the beginning of the spring semester. I stayed over a lot. That was also weird at first, but Ashton quickly made me forget about my nerves . . . and anything else that didn’t involve him.

  One of the harder decisions I had to make was whether or not to stay at Princeton beyond that first year. I’d applied for a transfer to Miami and, not surprisingly, it was accepted. There was nothing keeping me in New Jersey anymore, except Ashton. He would be done that year but his mother was still in New Jersey, and Reagan’s dad had offered him a position as assistant coach while he figured things out. I toiled over my own decision for weeks, not sure what would make me happiest.

  Then one night, as I was lying in bed and outlining his Celtic symbol with my fingertip, Ashton told me he was following me to Miami if I chose to go. He had even started looking into hospices down there with Stayner’s help. Robert confirmed that the assistant coaching job would always be there for him.

  That suddenly made my hard decision really easy. Which made me know that it was the right one.

  I wanted to go home.

  And I wanted to bring Ashton with me.

  The sliding door opens behind us and two strong hands clamp over my shoulders. “You never told me it was so damn hot in Miami,” my gorgeous man grumbles, leaning down to steal the mouthful of cake off my fork, following it with a kiss on my lips. I squeal as drops of sweat land on my face.

  My eyes drift over the sheen coating his bare chest. Ashton has taken to evening jogs without a shirt since moving down here, and it’s doing very bad things to my hormones on a nightly basis.

  “The kid’ll get used to it,” I hear Trent mutter from behind as he steps out of the house, also sweaty and shirtless, with a towel around his neck. There’s about an eight-year difference between Ashton and Trent but their maturity levels seem to be equal, because they get along perfectly. I’m not sure yet what that says about either of them.

  “What is this—the sweaty guy convention?” With a blanket over her shoulder to discreetly hide the baby latched to her boob, Storm joins us, followed closely by a third shirtless, sweaty man—Ben. And just like that, the deck has come alive with people.

  “You’re too fast, Princeton,” the rugged blond mutters, high-fiving Ashton.

  I smile at the nickname. Everyone has taken an instant liking to Ashton. Including the small group of women passing by on the beach. It’s the same group every night. They’ve discovered that if they swing past our house at this time in the evening, they’re likely to find fit, half-naked men lingering out on the back deck. That Kacey, Storm, and I are usually sitting here too is a minor inconvenience . . .

  “Hello!” Kacey waves dramatically at them as she does every night, clearly enjoying the fact that her man is being drooled over. She points at Trent. “He’s five hundred for two hours!” Swinging her hand Ashton’s way, she adds, “Seven-fifty for him because he’s young. You should hear how he makes my sister scream!”

  “Kacey!” I snap, but it’s too late. Everyone’s laughing and my cheeks are burning. Ashton bends down to plant a kiss on my neck, as if that will distract me from my mortification. As much as I’ve come out of my sexually repressed shell, so to speak, I still like to keep what’s private . . . private. Ashton respects that and he doesn’t tease me as much as they do. But he can’t resist when the rest of them get into it. They seem to have so much more material on me now, thanks to my welcome-home party, complete with too many Jell-O shots and thin walls.

  “What about me? Am I not worth some coin, Madame Kacey?” Ben’s hands are held out in question, a mock look of insult on his attractive features.

  “I’ll pay them five hundred to get you out of my hair for one night,” Kacey moans. But she follows it immediately with a wink.

  “I can take a hint. I’m heading over to Penny’s for a beer, anyway. Hey, Princeton, you sure you don’t want me to hook you up with a job? Good money, lots of—”

  “No, thank you!” I answer before Ashton can. There’s no way in hell my beautiful Mediterranean underwear model is working in a strip club. I don’t have my sister’s self-confidence.

  Ashton shrugs and then, with a lascivious smile in my direction, says, “I’m good here. I’ve got my hands full with this one.”

  “I think she might be worse than her sister,” Trent adds wryly.

  Another round of laughter heats my cheeks. “How about you go fill your hands with a long shower, by yourself?” I retort, slapping his hard stomach for emphasis. And then I realize what I’ve implied and I’m burying my face in my hands as they all burst out in laughter. Again.

  Truth be told, Ashton is in no rush to find a job. We didn’t end up moving his mother to Miami after all. She died peacefully in late April, just before exams. I was with Ashton the morning that he got the call. I held him close to me as he cried quietly—tears of both sadness and relief, I think.

  There’s enough money left to buy Ashton some time while he figures things out. He’s not rich by any means but it’s enough for the short term. Storm insisted that he move in with us, so he’s not burdened with rent. He’s signed up for flight lessons already, and is deciding for the first time what he wants to do with his life. I think he’s savoring every second of the process.

  Looking back over the past year, I can’t believe how Ashton and I came from such different family situations—mine a place of love, his a place of pain—and yet we ended up in exactly the same spot at exactly the same time: learning how to make our own choices.

  The only thing both of us seem to agree on is that we want each other there every step of the way.

  I know, in my gut, that med school is not the right path for me, regardless of my academic capability. I kept in touch with the children’s hospital until I knew that Eric and Derek had finished their chemo and were released. And then I laid that part of my life to rest. I’m giving serious consideration to social work. While it won’t be easy—some of those kids face situations worse than what Ashton faced—I know that I want to help children in a meaningful way. So Dr. Stayner has lined up some volunteer work at a foster care center to see if it’s something my fragile nature can handle. And if it’s not? Well . . .

  Life’s all about trial and error.

  Dr. Stayner and I talk frequently. Dr. Stayner and Ashton talk even more frequently. Stayner jokes that he’s our household shrink. I’ve told him he should just move in with us. I’m still searching for the right way to express the adoration that I feel for the man and all that he has done for us. All that he continues to do for us.

  Giving him my firstborn child is starting to sound like a reasonable option.

  “When are your friends coming down, Livie?” Storm asks as she adjusts her top. Emily’s chubby cheeks finally make an appearance from behind the flannel curtain, with a content burp.

  “Tomorrow afternoon.” The guys and Reagan are flying in for a few days.

  They were shocked when they found out that Ashton’s mom had been alive all this time, but they simply stood by their friend that day in late April and then celebrated her life with him at Tiger Inn until the wee hours of the morning. While Ashton can never disclose all of the details because of his agreement with his father, I think the guys have come to realize that their captain’s life was far from the ideal exterior.

  And Reagan? Well, aside from the three-week-long pout I had to deal with when I told her I wasn’t coming back in the fall, Reagan has been the best roommate and friend I could ever ask for. She’s still madly in love with Grant. Maybe enough to tame her wild streak.

  “All right! So we’re getting lit tomorrow night,” Ben exclaims, clapping his hands together. He bends down to kiss Emily on her cheek.

  “You stink!” Storm pushes him away with a giggle and a crinkled nose.

  “On that note . . .” Ben lays a sloppy kiss on Storm’s forehead a
nd then heads into the house with a holler of, “Goodbye!”

  Trent stretches his long, muscular arms over his head. “The Grill tonight?”

  “Yes! I need a night out!” Storm exclaims, a sudden frenzied look in her eyes. Like she’s a caged animal. She kind of is. “Dan’s going to be home in an hour and then me and these milk bags are ditching this joint. Lemme go empty them.” She’s gone with Emily in a split second to pump.

  The guys follow, arguing about who gets first shower, leaving Kacey and me alone on the deck once again.

  We sit silently for a long moment, as I listen to the seagulls and watch the calming waves roll in. “You know it’s been almost a year since that night?” God, everything feels so different! I’m still me. And yet I’ve changed so much.

  “Huh.” Kacey pauses as she scoops my plate out of my hand. “You mean since the night I told you that you’re completely fucked up?” I see the tiny curl of amusement in her lips as she polishes off the last chunk of my cake.

  “Yeah, that’s the one.” I stretch my arms back and nestle them behind my head.

  And I smile.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It is nothing short of a miracle to figure out what your dream job is and then actually be able to live it. I am still in shock that this is now my life. I have many people to thank for it.

  First and foremost, to my readers. Some of you have been with me since Anathema and many of you have just discovered me with Ten Tiny Breaths. All of you are cherished. It is because you pick up my books, appreciate my style, and share my name with your friends and family, that I am here today.

  To the fantastic bloggers of the world—some of the most passionate readers I’ve ever met—I would not be writing this acknowledgments page without you. Not a chance. A special thanks to Aestas Book Blog, Autumn Review, Maryse’s Book Blog, Shh Mom’s Reading, Three Chicks and Their Books, Tsk Tsk What to Read, Natasha Is a Book Junkie, and The Sub Club. An extra-special thanks to Mandy at I Read Indie Books, for your TTB review. I think the pack mule won readers over. I could easily list a hundred blogs here. You have all been truly amazing.

  To Heather Self—an amazing writer, blogger, and friend. Thank you for your mad naming skills, lavender-infused vodka, and your infectious positive attitude. Expect that Canadia will show up on your Texas doorstep one day. Be ready.

  To Courtney Cole—thank you for reading OTL when you were staring down the barrel of your own deadline. I lurve your words on my cover. Absolutely lurve them.

  To Kelly Simmon of Inkslinger PR—and so the journey continues. You have become so much more than a phenomenal publicist to me. You are truly a friend. I expect nothing but great things to come for you.

  To Stacey Donaghy of Corvisiero Literary Agency—where do I begin with you? I still tell my husband to this day that I am brilliant because I signed with you. Okay, maybe I don’t say that. I think it’s more along the lines of, I’m the luckiest writer out there to have an agent like you. Thank you for dropping everything to come to my aid at the eleventh hour, for your constant encouragement, and for believing in me in the first place. And for not letting me kill off all of my characters in a Red Bull–induced rage.

  To Sarah Cantin—I want to steal you and put you in my pocket and carry you everywhere with me. You are a dream editor. So positive, so supportive, so willing to help. I get excited every time I see your name appear in my email inbox. I am thrilled to have you in my corner.

  To Marya Stansky—for your insight into Princeton eating clubs. Thank you for enduring my random questions and giving me tons of great material to work with.

  To my publisher, Judith Curr, and the team at Atria Books: Ben Lee, Valerie Vennix, Kimberly Goldstein, and Alysha Bullock, for your outstanding work getting this book into the hands of readers. I can’t even begin to explain how perfect the cover is for Livie.

  To my husband—thank you for a month of daddy day care so I could hide in my cave to get this book finished for my deadline. One day I will learn to cook again.

  To my kids—because they are the cutest, sweetest little devils on earth.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  K.A. Tucker published her first book at the age of six with the help of her elementary school librarian and a box of crayons. Today, she remains a voracious reader, and resides outside of Toronto with her husband, two beautiful girls, and an exhausting brood of four-legged creatures.

  Also by K.A. Tucker

  Ten Tiny Breaths

  There’s always more to the story. . . .

  TEN TINY BREATHS

  The first novel from K.A. Tucker

  Four years ago Kacey Cleary’s life imploded when her car was hit by a drunk driver, killing her parents, boyfriend, and best friend. She’s still haunted by the memories of being trapped inside, holding her boyfriend’s lifeless hand and listening to her mother take her last breath. Desperate to leave her past behind and armed with two bus tickets, Kacey and her fifteen-year-old sister, Livie, escape Grand Rapids, Michigan, to start over in Miami. They’re struggling to make ends meet at first, but Kacey’s not worried. She can handle anything—anything but her mysterious neighbor in apartment 1D.

  Trent Emerson has smoldering blue eyes, deep dimples, and perfectly skates along that irresistible line between nice guy and bad boy. Hardened by her tragic past, Kacey is determined to keep everyone at a distance, but their mutual attraction is undeniable, and Trent is determined to find a way into Kacey’s guarded heart . . . even if it means revealing an explosive secret that could shatter both of their worlds.

  Available Now from Atria Books

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Kathleen Tucker

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Atria Paperback edition January 2014

  ATRIA PAPERBACK and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Tucker, K. A. (Kathleen A.), 1978–

  One tiny lie : a novel / K.A. Tucker.—First Atria Paperback edition.

  pages cm

  1. Promises—Fiction. 2. Life change events—Fiction. I. Title.

  PR9199.4.T834O54 2014

  813’.6—dc23

  2013014510

  ISBN 978-1-4767-4047-8

  ISBN 978-1-4767-4048- (ebook)

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One: Too Perfect

  Chapter Two: Jell-O Shots

  Chapter Three: The Beast

  Chapter Four: Regret

  Chapter Five: Diagnosis

  Chapter Six: If versus When

  Chapter Seven:
Small World

  Chapter Eight: Man Whore

  Chapter Nine: Games

  Chapter Ten: Jealousy

  Chapter Eleven: Attraction

  Chapter Twelve: Homesick

  Chapter Thirteen: Falling

  Chapter Fourteen: Just Spit It Out

  Chapter Fifteen: Thoroughbreds

  Chapter Sixteen: Mediocre

  Chapter Seventeen: October 31

  Chapter Eighteen: Letting Go

  Chapter Nineteen: Choices

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author