Epic Lies (Epic Fail Book 2)

by Trudy Stiles

  “Hang up on me right now and go to him.”

  My heart races, and I smile nervously.

  “Okay. Bye.” I disconnect.

  Before I change my mind, I jump up from the lounge and jog across the beach, toward his room.

  I KNOCK ONCE, and his door flies open. His bare chest is heaving as if he sprinted across the room, his hair disheveled. “Hey,” he says, panting.

  “Hey.” I smile.

  “I’m sorry,” we both say at the same time. He laughs, and I relax a little bit.

  “Come in?” he says, stepping aside.

  “Okay.” I walk past him into his room, and the door closes behind me. I feel him next to me as we walk toward the couch.

  “I’m so glad you came,” he says, relief in his voice. We sink onto the couch, my knee brushes against his thigh as I get comfortable. He doesn’t move, but places his hand on my leg.

  “I’m sorry I ran out of here yesterday,” I blurt out.

  He leans in and places a kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering. It feels so good.

  “Please convince me that we aren’t doing anything wrong,” I beg. He pulls away, a confused look on his face.

  “What?”

  “What would Lara think?” Even though I’ve convinced myself that this is what I want, I need to be sure he feels the same way.

  He shakes his head. “Lara isn’t here.”

  “I know, but–”

  He grabs my hand and pulls it to his lips. His eyes lock onto mine. “I’ve been thinking about our situation all day,” he admits.

  “Me too.”

  “I’ve been struggling for years trying to deal with, and understand, Lara’s choice. Her death. I was a teenager when I found out about her cancer and that it was going to kill her. She lied to me for months. I was so angry that she decided not to continue treatment. I was angry that she wanted to die.” He stops and chokes back a sob. His eyes are glistening, and this strong, confident man in front of me is about to buckle and fall apart. I squeeze his hand, and he takes a deep breath.

  “Lara–was–extraordinary.” He smiles, and I do, too. He pulls me against his side.

  “She was.” I wish I wasn’t talking about her in the past tense. But then Dax and I–this is so fucked up. Guilt takes over my emotions, and I pull away from him.

  “I’m not super religious, okay?” he says. “But, I truly believe there was a reason why I found you in front of the church after her funeral. And I know, deep down in my soul, that there was a reason why it was you who saved my life on that highway a few weeks ago.” His eyes catch mine as tears fall down my cheeks. He reaches up and cradles my face in his hands, thumbs sweeping the tears away.

  “Do you get it? Do you see it?” he asks. Begs.

  “I don’t know, Dax. This is all so…overwhelming,” I sob. He pulls me against him and runs his fingers through my hair.

  “I’ve been trying to put my finger on it over the past few weeks. But, I’ve had this overwhelming sense that you were there for a reason. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you. And I know that I wasn’t supposed to die that day.” His voice grows strong and confident. “Giselle, you were meant to save me. I don’t know if somehow Lara made sure you were there, stuck in traffic, but the signs, the connections, they’ve been there hanging before us this entire time.” He pushes me away to look into my eyes. “You have to believe this. We were meant to meet. To know each other. To be together.” His voice is unwavering.

  “I believe you,” I say, choking on my sobs. I nod, and he kisses me softly, his fingers locked behind my head. “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Giselle. It may be a weird, crazy coincidence, but this is supposed to be. We’re supposed to be. I feel it in my bones. In my heart,” he says and places both of our hands over his tattoo–Lara’s birthday.

  I run my fingers over the date and close my eyes. God, Lara, I miss you so much.

  He kisses me again, warmth spreading through my chest. “I’m so glad you found me,” he says, kissing away my tears. “I haven’t been the same since I lost her, but now I feel whole, and I didn’t understand why until now.” I gasp as his lips possessively take hold of mine.

  “Dax,” I cry against his lips. So many emotions are swelling through me right now. I can’t get a grasp on them. Sadness. Grief. Guilt. Love?

  Impossible. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. I can’t feel love. I won’t let myself.

  He kisses me softly and pulls away, looking into my eyes.

  “Let’s not freak out, okay?” he asks, smiling.

  “I am freaking out.” I’ve been freaking out since I ran out of here yesterday.

  “I’m begging you. Please. Stop.” His lips cover mine, and I melt into him. My tears stop flowing.

  “Okay. Okay,” I say. He kisses my eyes, my nose, and my lips again.

  “I want to play a game,” he says, and I tense up.

  “What?”

  “Two truths and a lie, with a twist. It has to be about Lara,” he says, and his eyes glisten.

  I cover my mouth. “I don’t know–”

  “I’ll start,” he says. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” I say, unsure.

  He inhales deeply and smiles, his eyes bright.

  “Lara was incredibly smart. She put everyone else before her, always. She loved asparagus.”

  Tears and laughter flow, and my heart warms.

  “She was so freaking smart, TRUTH,” I say and smile. My pulse begins to normalize, and my heart fills with love.

  He nods his head, “Easy so far.”

  “There wasn’t a person that she didn’t put before herself, TRUTH.” He kisses the inside of my palm and grasps my hand.

  “I’ll never forget the time she tried asparagus for the first time. Within five minutes, she had to pee, and was literally gagging in the bathroom from the smell!” I start laughing, and so does he. “So, to make it official, that’s the LIE.”

  “You’re good at this game,” he says. “Have you played before?” He smiles and kisses me.

  “Maybe.”

  “Your turn,” he says, hugging me tight. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, and I know this is just as hard for him as it is for me.

  “Okay,” I say and pause.

  “Lara loved lavender. Everything about it. Her room smelled like it always. She was one of the most passionate and head-strong people that I have ever known.” I pause and choke back a sob. I can’t think of a lie. Everything about her was pure and true.

  “And?” he asks, waiting for me to finish the game.

  I take a deep breath.

  “She was always the center of attention, demanding it even,” I say weakly. This is the obvious lie, and I don’t hide it.

  Dax plays along and begins.

  “She loved lavender so much, she thought it would be great to give me one of those diffusers, to keep me calm during final exams. I spilled it all over the place and on myself. I got a horrible rash and never told her about it. I was on steroids for two weeks because I was apparently highly allergic.” He laughs and pulls me against him. “So, TRUTH. And don’t tell me I’m wrong with that one. I have an epi-pen that proves it to be very true.”

  “Oh my God! She never told me about that!” I say, laughing against him.

  “She didn’t know,” he tells me, and we both laugh. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her.”

  “Her passion and determination were what I loved most about her,” Dax says, and I perk up. “She was so smart. She was a year behind me in school, as you know, yet we were on the debate team together. We did a position paper and prepared a debate about the right to die.” He pauses, and his voice changes. He clears his throat. I bury my head in his chest because I know exactly where this is going. She practiced this paper with me, and it’s what convinced me that she had every right in the world to decide her own fate, especially with how bad the cancer had spread throughout her entire body. “During this debate, she co
nvinced me, and more than four hundred people in the audience watching our debate, that every human being deserved to die with dignity. The entire auditorium stood on their feet, applause shaking the room.”

  “I know,” I say. “I was moved to tears by it.”

  “You were there?” he asks.

  “Yes, I was her sounding board. I needed to see how it played out. I was so proud,” I say, wiping tears from my cheeks.

  “She was admitted to the hospital three weeks after that speech,” he says.

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “That’s when I found out what was wrong with her. She’d been lying to me for months about everything. I was so angry,” he admits.

  “She loved you, and she understood,” I say. I remember the conversations I had with Lara about her boyfriend and how upset he was. But I always assured her that he was just in shock and would come around, eventually. “But, she wasn’t exactly lying,” I correct him.

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “Well, it’s not like she lied to you. She just withheld the truth.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” he asks.

  “Not at all. One is done with malice. The other with love. She was protecting you.”

  His breathing changes, and he tenses against me.

  “I don’t think she ever knew how sorry I was,” he says, and I pull him close. “She was in a deep coma by the time I finally told her it was okay to let go.” I feel his tears on my forehead, and I lean over him, kissing them away.

  “She knew,” I say. “I promise you that she knew. You never needed to be sorry, you know that? She was never, ever, angry with you. As soon as you understood exactly what she was going through, that’s when she knew you could let her go.”

  He sobs into my chest.

  “You haven’t shared your feelings about Lara with anyone, have you?” I ask him, and he shakes his head against me.

  “You’re the first,” he says.

  I breathe deeply and feel his strong arms around me. Did Lara plan this? Is that even possible?

  “So, the last one’s the lie, obviously,” he says and laughs.

  “Obviously,” I say and kiss the tip of his nose.

  “Wow, that was harder than I thought,” he says, wiping the remaining tears from his cheeks. “Thank you for coming back,” he says, kissing me again.

  “I had no idea about this.” I run my finger across his chest. “I’m still in disbelief.”

  “You said this date was also scary for you. Is that because of Lara’s death?” he asks, concerned.

  I tense up. The only person who knows about what happened to me that day is Mia.

  “No.” I turn away from him.

  “What happened, Giselle?” he asks as he turns my face toward his. Tears spill down my cheeks one more time.

  “I’m not proud of what happened that day,” I say.

  His eyes turn serious, and he looks scared. “Tell me,” he begs.

  “I was raped.”

  His eyes widen. “Who? When? What the fuck?” Rage melts over his face.

  “He was my boyfriend at the time. I said no. He didn’t listen. I blew off Lara’s fifteenth birthday party, and it changed my life,” I admit.

  “I need to know who it is,” he demands.

  “No, it’s over. I’ve handled it. Trust me. And it was a very long time ago.” I say, but he doesn’t waiver.

  “Who is he?”

  “Nobody.” It’s true–Troy is literally no one. He means nothing, and he apologized years ago.

  “Giselle…”

  “I’m serious. I took care of it. He means nothing to me, and he’s fully aware of exactly what he did. Trust me, he’s very sorry,” I say confidently.

  “He better be, because I swear to God, I will make him pay for what he did to you.”

  I fall against his chest and hold on tight. Is this it for us? Can he move on with me?

  “I think I should go.” I say and he immediately pushes me away so he can stare into my eyes.

  “Are you serious?” he asks, and I flinch.

  “Maybe?”

  “Giselle, I have never said something so definitive in my life. I never want you to leave. Ever. Do you understand?”

  I inhale and nearly cry. We’ve been through so much over the past few days, our connection so strong, yet oddly coincidental. I don’t know what to think about all of this, but his actions tell me that we’ve got this, together.

  “All truths, no lies?” I say, tears threatening to spill again.

  “All truths, no lies,” he repeats and pulls my lips against his. “No matter what,” he adds.

  So many familiar thoughts and words swirl in my head, but one thought in particular pops in that I can’t shake. I wrap my arms around Dax and bury my head in his chest.

  Thank you, Lara.

  Dax

  Present

  MY PHONE BUZZES, and I swipe it from the floor next to my drum kit.

  Giselle: What are we doing tonight?

  I smile.

  Me: It’s a surprise.

  She hates surprises.

  Giselle: You’re not nice.

  Me: I’m very nice and you know it ;)

  Giselle: I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.

  Me: Then we need to spend as much time together as possible before I go.

  Giselle: That can be arranged.

  Me: Pack a bag so you can come back to my place tonight.

  Giselle: Tempting…

  Me: Bring enough so you can stay until Monday.

  Giselle: Monday?

  We’ve been home from Mexico for almost a month and have spent as much time together as possible. Our days and nights blend together, time flying by too quickly. I haven’t been this happy in a long time, and she’s the reason. If I had my way, she’d be moving in to my place. Of course, it’s too soon, but I’m hopeful we can figure out a mutually beneficial living arrangement when I get back from the tour. And I certainly don’t want to waste any time we have together between now and then. I want her with me for the weekend–or longer.

  Me: Or Tuesday.

  I hold my breath after I hit send. My heart races with uncertainty. I hope she doesn’t think I’m rushing things, but she has to know how I feel.

  After a few more minutes, she still hasn’t answered my text.

  Me: Or Wednesday.

  Still nothing. Either she’s completely freaking out or her cell phone lost its signal, like it seems to do at the most inopportune moments.

  Me: Hello?

  Giselle: Who is this?

  I laugh out loud and know she’s messing with me.

  Me: It’s C-3P0 reminding you that you haven’t responded yet, Master.

  Giselle: Hahahahahaha - Stop.

  My phone rings, and I answer it immediately. “You had me worried for a second,” I say, her soft giggles on the other end of the line.

  “Are you seriously asking me to stay with you for five days?”

  “Yes,” I say, so there’s absolutely no doubt in her mind. “It’s not like we haven’t spent that much time together before.” I subtly remind her that she pretty much moved into my room in Mexico for the last five days of our trip.

  “Oh,” she says. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to think about that.”

  “Take all the time you need. But, I’ll be picking you up at around seven, so make sure you have plenty of things packed and you’re ready to go.”

  “Okay,” she says tentatively. “Is there anything else I need to consider?”

  “Don’t pack any pants.”

  She giggles and says, “I have to go. I have a presentation in two minutes, and I need to pee.” She pauses. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  I laugh. “Nothing you say could ever faze me, Giselle. Call me later,” I demand, and she hangs up, her giggles still ringing in my ears.

  “Are you finished?” Garrett asks, and I toss the pencil that I had in my hand ac
ross the room at him.

  “Yes, I’m off the phone now.”

  “Sorry to rush you,” he says. “What’s with this insta-relationship anyway?” he asks, and his tone is more judgmental than I care to hear.

  “Seriously? None of your business,” I say defensively. My connection with Giselle spans over a decade, and the past two months seem like a blip on that radar.

  “I didn’t mean to judge. Just looking out for you, man,” he says.

  I pick up my drumsticks and stand up. “Are we done for today?” I ask. “I think I have the bridge down for Blue Velvet. Is there anything else you need to hear before we finish solidifying our set list?” I’ve been having trouble with the time that he wanted me to keep during that song. I finally nailed it and showed him he has nothing to worry about.

  “I’m good, as long as you are,” he says.

  “Yup. Now lighten up, will you?” I joke, and he slaps my shoulder as we head upstairs from his studio.

  “Giselle is good for you,” he says. “I really mean it.”

  “Thanks?” I say, confused. “Five minutes ago, you told me we were moving too fast.”

  “I’m an idiot,” he says, and I immediately nod in agreement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy.”

  “I’ve never been this happy,” I respond.

  I thought I was happy a few years ago, but Natalia destroyed that for me. Garrett and I never talk about her. We both know that we each have a history with her, but it’s unspoken. And it’s in the past. It’s better that way because it’s too weird any other way you look at it.

  As soon as we reach the top of the stairs, I see our publicist talking with Sam. They both turn their heads nervously in our direction.

  “Now what?” Garrett asks, and he throws his hands into the air. The press hasn’t been too kind to us recently after they unearthed private photos of Garrett, Sam, and Kai, speculating all sorts of things about their family and relationship. Sonya, our publicist, quickly squashed whatever rumors had been flying around, but it still pains them to see anything negative in the papers or on the Internet.

  “Nothing to do with you,” Sonya says to Garrett, and all of their eyes turn to me.

  “Fuck,” I mutter and can only imagine what they’re about to tell me.