All the Little Lies: A High School Bully Romance

by S. J. Sylvis

  Hayley was quick to add, “I’ll just go upstairs and call Ollie and Piper to make sure they got home okay.” Then, she spun around and darted to the stairs, clutching my phone in her hand.

  Something about the way my father was looking at me and the fact that Hayley left my side had me feeling uneasy. I felt like a caged animal, ready to attack the first person who came near.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Christian, I told you to stay out of that girl’s business.”

  That girl? As if she didn’t have a name.

  “You mean Hayley? Yeah, I know.”

  He grunted, running his hand through his hair. Jim sat back down and sipped on his coffee as my father continued to talk. “Yes. Hayley. Digging around in her life isn’t smart. And Jim”—he gave him a pointed look—“is officially done feeding you information.”

  My chest felt tight. “And what the hell do you know about her life?” I walked farther into the kitchen. “What the hell do you care if Jim looks into things?”

  He stomped over to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bourbon, snagging a glass. “There are things that you don’t know about her. There are things she doesn’t know.”

  “Like what? Because I know plenty. I know her father was murdered. I know her mom is a junkie and left Hayley to fend for herself. I know her foster dad has abused her and that he fucking locks her in her room at night. I know her old foster brother tried to rape her. I know there are men that think she’s theirs for the taking because of something her father did. I know plenty, Dad. And guess what? I care. I’m not just going to turn my back on someone because they have problems in their life—unlike you.”

  His heavy brow furrowed. His jaw clenched. I see where I get it from. “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, come on!” I threw my hands out, the blood in my veins rushing to the tips of my fingers. Anger was seeping out of every possible outlet. “You knew Mom was struggling. You knew she was abusing her pills.” My voice was growing louder and louder, but I couldn’t seem to stop yelling. “You turned your back when things got messy. She was fucked-up, and you left Ollie and me here with her. I mean,”—I rounded the island, Jim’s eyes bouncing back and forth between my father and me—“I fucking found her body, and it took you twelve fucking hours to come home.”

  It felt like the bomb inside my chest that had been ticking since Mom died had finally exploded. My pain from the memory was quickly morphed into unmatched anger. I’d kept things locked away for years, but as I grew older and understood things more clearly than my thirteen-year-old self could, it pissed me off to oblivion.

  I kept going as my father stood and stared at me, his gray eyes burning holes in my chest. “For the last five years, I’ve blamed myself.” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Actually, I blamed Hayley. That night Mom got in the accident?” My father and I were inches apart now. My feet continued to drag my body closer to his as if yelling at him from across the room was no longer working for me. “It was my fault. Hayley called because her parents were fighting, and then she wouldn’t pick up the phone. I knew something was wrong, so I asked Mom to take me over so I could check on her, but she wouldn’t, so I got angry and darted out the door and onto my bike. She was out looking for me when she got in the accident.” Another harsh laugh fell out of my mouth. I dropped my head and looked at my shoes, feeling as small as the boy who inevitably watched his mother self-destruct to the point of death.

  Pulling my attention from my feet, I leveled him with a stare. “This whole time, I’d been putting the blame on myself for going out that night, for not seeing the signs before it was too late, but it’s not my fucking fault.” My finger hit his chest. “It was your fault. I never should have had to find her. I never should have had to make sure Ollie and I were taken care of when she was too drugged up to get out of bed. You should have been here.” I pushed my finger into his chest even harder. I was ready for him to lose it, to show me that temper that I’d inherited. “It’s your fault. I won’t turn my back on Hayley just because her life is hard, so don’t ask me to.”

  He dropped his head, staring at my finger. His voice nearly shook when it exited his body. “You’re right.”

  I dropped my hand slowly, almost annoyed he wasn’t sparring with me. I didn’t want to be right. I didn’t want him to be submissive. What I really wanted was this entire fucking mess to disappear. I wanted the nervous feeling deep in my stomach to dissipate. The knots were tied around and around like a tangled bundle of cords.

  “But can you blame me for wanting to keep you safe? I lost your mother. Do you think I want to lose you too? Or your brother?”

  “What are you talking about? You mean with Hayley?”

  “Yes, I mean with Hayley!” He slapped his hand onto the marble counter. His neck turned in Jim’s direction, and that must have given Jim the push he needed, because he stood up and started to explain.

  “I have to stop looking into the threats and the attack.” My teeth ground together so hard I thought I might have broken some. “It’s dangerous, and not to mention, if I dig any more, I could be lawfully convicted. It’s an undercover sting. They know who killed Hayley’s father. They know a lot about him and his gang. They’re responsible for the majority of crime in the city. Probably one of the biggest drug runners in our state.” Jim darted his attention to my father and then back to me. He rubbed his tired face, the scratch of his five o’clock shadow the only sound in the kitchen. “This isn’t my first time running into them, per se. I’ve watched them before.”

  My eyebrows dipped. “When?”

  My father answered. “Before your mom got into the crash.”

  The beats of my heart tripled. My words came out callous. “What do you mean?”

  My father's head tipped upward, and he stared at the ceiling. When he leveled me with a stare, I could see it plain as day: guilt. I could see it

  clearly because it was the same look I’d had for the last several years. “The crash wasn’t what caused your mom to become addicted to narcotics.”

  I kept my face unmoving in fear that even a small twitch would make me break everything in half.

  “Christian,”—my father’s gaze swept the room—“your mom was using pills well before the crash. And she got the majority of them from the drug dealers that Hayley’s father was laundering money for.”

  The word sounded strangled as it came out of my mouth “No.”

  “I hired Jim before the crash to look into things because your mother seemed off.” He began to pour bourbon into his glass cup. “She liked to party in college and before we got married and had you boys. I knew the signs; I was just too afraid to face the truth.”

  My chest grew tighter with every word that passed his bourbon-stained lips. Anger had my neck tensing. My hands held on to the bottom edge of the counter, my knuckles white from the pressure.

  “Once it was confirmed, I confronted her. She denied it. And then she got into the crash a week later.” He dropped his head down low, I’m sure full of regret. “After she got past the hump of her injuries, she seemed like she was back to normal, so I didn’t press any further. I buried myself in work. I ignored the signs again.” He shook his head, not meeting my eye. He was lost in his own memories. “Maybe because I didn’t want to believe them. I even lashed out at Jim when he came forth with what he’d found. And then…” It almost pained him to say it. “And then, she overdosed, and I will never forgive myself for not paying attention. For leaving you and Ollie here to fend for yourselves. For believing her lies and deceptions.”

  My voice was on the edge of breaking. I was on the edge of breaking. “So, you knew? You knew she was getting high off pills before the wreck, and you thought it was smart for the doctors to give her more narcotics for her injuries?”

  My father’s face was full of uncertainty. His hard brow line dipped, and he clutched his glass tighter in his hand. “They didn’t give her narcotics. The doctors weren’t the ones who pr
escribed her that kind of pain medicine. In fact, I don’t think 90% of her injuries were even real.”

  My nostrils flared. I was losing my grip on my sanity. “Are you saying she made it up?” No. Fuck that. I refused to believe a word that was coming out of his mouth. I saw the crash. I was there. The broken headlights, the way the metal of the car was bent. She was injured. I saw her.

  “I think she had injuries, but I don’t believe they were as severe as she made them seem.”

  And there it was. My breaking point. I rounded the corner and got in his face. We were the same height; I might have even been a little taller. “No! No! You can’t try to turn this around on her! You can’t make her out to be the bad guy. I saw her! I saw the way the fucking car bent with her inside. You weren’t there.”

  “Christian.” Jim’s stern voice caused me to snap my head over to him. “He’s telling the truth. I dug. I dug deep after she passed. The doctors did not prescribe her narcotics. There were no doctor’s appointments a month after the accident. They cleared her on a clean bill of health.”

  “Why do you think no one was held responsible for her death? It’s because the doctors didn’t prescribe her those pain pills. Your mother had an addiction. She sought out dealers on her own and got in over her head.” The smell of my father’s alcohol-ridden breath had me cringing. “It wasn’t your fault. With or without the accident, your mother would have found her way to the same end.”

  My eyes were burning. My throat was tight. My anger from the grief was slowly fading away. My father’s eyes were pleading. Jim was staring at me expectantly. It felt like small shards of glass were cutting into my chest and carving out the last bit of respect I had for my mother.

  No.

  I swung my arm out and swooped my father's bourbon and cup off the island. It was a small slip of my temper, but it still felt good. Once I heard the glass shatter onto the floor, I stormed my way to the back deck, needing the fresh air to hopefully bring my sanity back.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Hayley

  I’d been in this exact position before, cowering on the landing above a column of stairs, plush carpet underneath my body as I crouched down with my head peeking through the slats of the railing. Only this time, instead of watching my father die, I watched Christian storm off through his house and out the back door.

  I heard bits and pieces of the conversation with his dad, but with my attempt to give them privacy, I couldn’t hear everything.

  I wasn’t sure what Christian needed at this point, but something had me standing up and slowly creeping down the stairs of his house in search of the boy that somehow found his way into my heart.

  I cared.

  I paused with my hand hovering over the doorknob, blinded by my last thought. I cared. It seemed as if a waterfall of warmth washed over my body. My neck felt warm; my fingers were tingling. My heart skipped a beat. I cared about Christian.

  As soon as I opened the door and the air cooled my warm face, I found him. He still didn’t have his shirt on. His smooth, bare back was facing me as his arms were resting in front of him on the deck railing. His head was bent low, showing off the muscles along his shoulders. Images of us kissing came back to me, but I shook them away, knowing this wasn’t the time.

  “So how much did you hear?” he asked without moving.

  I crept a little closer to him. “Not much. Just some bits and pieces.”

  And that was the truth. I heard my name a few times, some yelling about his mom, but that was all. There were huge gaping holes of information left out.

  And the strange thing was, I didn’t really care to know them, even if they were about me. In this moment, all I cared about was him.

  “Are you okay?” I slipped up beside him, looking out into the backyard. It was huge. The treehouse we used to play in still sat up in the oak tree off to the right. I could see other large homes in the distance, just past the fence, and if I moved over a bit, I bet I could see the tall front arch of my old house.

  “I don’t know.”

  I nodded. I understood that. “I’m sorry.”

  His head turned. I could feel his stare on the side of my head. “For what?”

  Slowly, I took my gaze off the sparkling lights of the homes that were still awake and placed them on Christian. His dark brow line was heavy, his lips almost calling out to me. My insides twisted as I stared at them. “I’m sorry about your mom. I still haven’t said that since being back, and I am sorry.”

  His face softened. The worry lines on his forehead relaxed. “I’m sorry I blamed you.” He shook out his hair before running his hands through the short strands. “I think after that conversation with my dad, I should have put more blame on her.”

  My hand itched to cover his. “Why did you blame me?”

  He let out a heavy breath, his head jerking over to the treehouse. “The night your father died, you called me. Do you remember that?”

  My heart picked up its pace even with the small mention of that night. “Honestly, I try not to think about that night. Ever.”

  He nodded. “Fair enough. But you did. You remember how we used to talk on the phone for hours, somehow not really talking at all?”

  A small laugh escaped me as I tucked my hair behind my ears. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Well, you said your parents were fighting.”

  “Talking to you always made me feel better.”

  “You said your parents were fighting, and then you hung up. I kept calling you over and over again, and you wouldn’t answer, and I got worried. I asked my mom to take me to your house so I could make sure you were okay, and she said no because it was raining.”

  The rain. I remembered the rain. I remembered standing outside my house with flashing blue and red lights. I was happy it was raining so no one could tell that I wasn’t crying.

  I struggled with that often. I didn’t cry when my father was murdered. It was like a switch was turned off. He died, so I wasn’t able to produce tears anymore. I learned, in a group therapy session that I was forced into by a past social worker, that it was a form of shock. But still, to this day, I didn’t cry often. Which was why it was so alarming to me when I cried in Christian’s arms last week.

  Christian’s voice carried me away from the past. “I was angry, so I left anyway. Got on my bike and started to race to your house. My mom followed me in her car, and then she got in a car accident right in front of me. I watched the car basically bend in half with her inside it.”

  I covered my mouth, not sure what to say, but the pain in his voice made my stomach hurt.

  “That’s not what killed her, though,” I whispered. “She overdosed.”

  He turned his head to mine. “Yeah, and up until tonight, I thought it was the pain medication she got from the doctors that got her addicted. But according to my dad and Jim, that’s not the case. She was addicted before the crash; she just used her new injuries as a clutch for more.”

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I’m so sorry.”

  “For the last five fucking years I’ve blamed myself.”

  “And me.”

  He nodded, looking out into the distance again. “And you. Us. I told myself it was your fault that I left that night. I was so infatuated with you that I didn’t care about anything else. And then she got into the wreck, and it caused a spiral of things to happen, leading to her overdose.” His head dropped along with his voice. “I blamed you because I didn’t want to blame myself. Which, ironically, only made me hate myself more. I blamed us both for so long.”

  I bit my lip hard. “I know what that’s like, you know—blaming yourself for a parent dying.” Christian’s head snapped over to mine so fast I was forced to meet his eyes. “It hurts and it’s heavy.” I swallowed back another lump, our stares locked and loaded with crickets chirping in the background. “I don’t like to think about it. I go back and forth with wanting to forget and wanting to remember. If I push it away, it’ll save me grief a
nd guilt, but if I push too hard, I’m afraid I’ll forget him.” My eyes somehow found my shoes. “I’m afraid I’ll forget the color of his eyes, or his chuckle when I’d tell a silly joke. I’m afraid I’ll forget the way he used to read me bedtime stories when I was little. He was a good dad.”

  Christian’s black shoes somehow ended up in my line of sight, the toes of our shoes hitting each other. The pad of his finger touched the bottom of my chin and forced my face up to his. He was blurry, and it took me a second to realize that my eyes were watering. I was on the verge of tears again. Something about Christian made my walls tumble down.

  I could see the gray in his eyes clearly now that we were so close. The charcoal specks glittered when he opened his mouth. “Let’s just forget for tonight, okay?”

  My heart beat wildly in my chest when he dropped his hand and laced our fingers together. He pulled me behind him, leading me down the steps and onto the crunchy grass. I wanted to ask where we were going, but I already knew.

  Christian climbed up the old, rickety wooden ladder of the treehouse nailed onto the tree stump, and I quickly followed, eager to be back in our safe place. We had spent many summer evenings here, playing card games with Ollie and hoarding snacks, only for them to disappear by morning when critters swooped in.

  Once I reached the top peg, Christian’s large hand wrapped around my wrist, and he hoisted me up and over the edge. I wondered if it was even sound enough after all these years to be up here, but once I got one glance at Christian’s face, I didn’t care.

  The treehouse could have fallen and tumbled to the ground with us in it, and I wouldn’t have known the difference. It might have even lit on fire with the way he was staring at me, and I wouldn’t have cared.

  His hands found my waist fast, and he picked me up and wrapped my legs around his hips. He lowered us to the wooden floor, the old rug we had in here years ago still laid perfectly in the middle.

  Once my back was on the floor, Christian bent over and placed his lips on mine. At first, his kiss was gentle and caressing. His lips coaxed my body to relax, but his tongue slipping through the gates had my core bursting with flames. My hips moved unknowingly, and he sucked in a breath. “Patience.”