Truth & Temptation

by Riley Edgewood

  "Doesn't change the fact that I can't go."

  "Oh, come on. You know you want to go."

  I roll my eyes hard enough she might actually see me through the phone. "No shit. But I don't want to lose my job—or keep it because I spread my legs for Alec." My stomach literally rolls with my words. I hate cheapening what's between us. "Not that that's all it is," I say, quickly.

  "I knew it. You're totally into him, too."

  "Whatever." Suddenly I feel like the exposed piece of my desk, her words scraping at the cheap paint I usually cover myself with. "That's not the point."

  "No, but it's a point. And a pretty big one, too."

  "You're not helping."

  "Go to the wedding," she says. "It'll be huge and fancy and perfect. How can you pass that up?"

  "You mean how can someone like me, from the slums, pass up the opportunity for a ritzy evening?" My tone would slice a lesser person into millions of slivers. Not Cassidy, though. I have no doubt she's rolling her eyes almost as hard as I was a second ago.

  "You're impossible."

  "So are you." A smile works its way through my tone, because she's driving me nuts—but I don't want to rip her head off like I usually do. "Anyway. Where are you off to this weekend?" She travels almost every weekend for her travel blog.

  "Uh…" She pauses for a moment, probably in shock because I neglected to blow up at being called impossible. I can't blame her. I'm a little surprised myself. "New York, there's a small indie film festival right outside the city."

  Part of me wants to tell her about the Zoloft. She'd want to know. But she'd also be too happy for me. And as much as I love her, I'm not ready to come clean. About that, or the learning disability, or…being a virgin. Still, when she asks, so casually, about how Alec measures up in bed, I can't lie to her.

  "I'm keeping this one to myself" is all I say, fighting a wave of irritation that she'd ask like that. Like sleeping with Alec would ever be some easy offhanded thing to do or talk about. This irritation surprises me. It's my fault she doesn't know sex is a big deal for me. I'm the one who spent years letting her think—leading her, and everyone else, to think—I bang basically anything that moves. Funny, at one point I felt like it gave me so much power.

  It no longer makes sense to me. All I feel is regret for not being happy with myself as I was.

  "You have it so bad," she says.

  This time, I don't deny it. I'm done lying about my romantic life. Right now. But I move the conversation on to other things because I'm not ready to come all the way clean about everything else. Not yet.

  When we hang up, I still don't know what to say about the wedding. I stare at my ceiling the rest of the night, conflict eating up all the space in my brain that's otherwise become reserved for listening to books.

  In the morning, I know what I'm going to do.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I'M NOT GOING to the wedding.

  I don't want to risk my fledgling career. Denise came to mind a few times during the night—how powerful she is, how efficient, how she runs meetings without breaking a sweat—and if I fuck it up with Alec's family, I may never get to be her.

  Hell, I may never get to be her regardless, but I don't want to stack the odds higher against me.

  I can't go. What I can do, though, is revel in how hard Alec tried to convince me to change my mind yesterday.

  I mean, he really tried to change my mind.

  And told me he wanted me.

  Like, not just in bed. Which—even if that was all—would still be more than anyone's seen in me in a long time. But he wants more.

  And he can have it.

  He thinks I don't know what this is, but I do now. I get it.

  I leave my room, ready for work, with this grin that my facial muscles are growing all too familiar with. The Alec-inspired grin. Both annoying and wonderful.

  He'll be pissed when I tell him no, but I'm not worried. Because he cares for me—enough not to end things over my decision. What's one missed social event? And, plus, maybe I'll sweeten my answer with…a trip down south, under his desk.

  Yum.

  My breath skips a few beats, imagining it. I want him in my mouth.

  I want him in my life.

  And instead of scaring me, this thrills me.

  Enough to have me practically hopping down the hallway to the stairs—I mean, obviously I don't hop, but still. I haven't even had the urge to do so since…elementary school?

  That urge to skip disappears real fast, though, when I get to the stairs.

  Because Gramps is lying at the bottom of them, prostrate.

  Panic chainsaws through my throat, but I breathe past it. He probably got drunk last night, couldn't make it up the stairs and passed out there.

  But the rationalization doesn't keep me from sprinting down the stairs, splinters scouring my palm against the bannister.

  "Gramps?" I nudge his face. Nothing. I shake his shoulder with enough force to bruise him, turning him onto his back. Nothing.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Gran says angrily from the steps behind me. I didn't hear her approach, but she doesn't startle me. I'm too numb in the moment. This can't be happening.

  I slap Gramps' face…

  And he wakes up like a fucking caged animal, yelling and thrashing—and nailing me right in the damn cheekbone. So hard my ears ring.

  "Goddamn it, Teagan." My grandmother's words float to me like they're filtering through cotton.

  I shake my head. "What?"

  He's on his feet now, bellowing and still swinging and staggering to the couch, falling over the armrest and snoring immediately.

  I'm numb on the inside.

  Not the outside though. My cheek hurts like a bitch.

  "Frozen peas in the freezer if you're going to complain." Gran's voice comes through clearer this time from her perch above me in the stairwell.

  I spin toward her, spitting, "Did I say anything?"

  "I see you rubbing your face, like a timid old man could actually do any damage." She's looking at me like I'm a piece of trash, and the steel in her tone is stronger than any compactor.

  Thankfully, I'm used to it. "He fucking clocked me. No shit I'm rubbing my face. It hurts."

  "See? Complaining." She pats her hip, probably for her pack of smokes, forgetting she's in her nightgown. "If you'd left him alone, your face wouldn't be smarting now."

  I blink. I blink again.

  I blink like the wipe of my eyelids on my eyes will somehow cover my ears as well. "Are you kidding?"

  "You know what he's like when he's drunk."

  "Yeah, he's an idiot. Clumsy. Not violent." I've never been hit before. No matter what else my grandparents have done to make me miserable, they've never been physically abusive.

  Five more months. I have to hold on for five more months, when I'll have saved enough to be comfortable on my own.

  But… I can't keep waiting.

  Maybe it's the Zoloft. Maybe I'm changing at my core anyway. Maybe it's a combination—but whatever it is, I'm looking around the place I've always grudgingly called home, with fresh eyes. Peeling paint. Stacks of cigarette butts shoved in ashtrays on end tables that wobble next to sagging furniture. The hole in Gramps's sock and his disgusting yellowed toenail sticking out of it. Not that I didn't notice how gross this place was before, but for the first time, it's too much to stand. Getting out is more pressing than saving money.

  "How have we lived like this for so long? It's vile." The question is more for me than her, because I can't believe I have.

  Saving money is a valid reason, but maybe it's not the room I'm seeing with fresh eyes. Maybe it's the truth in my heart. Saving money is also an excuse to stay in place. And it's not cutting it anymore.

  She pats her hip a second time and grunts, shoving past me and grabbing an old butt from a side table, lighting it. "Don't you insult the roof I've kept over your head. You're no better than we are."

  "Yes," I say,
allowing this truth to sink all the way in—for me, for her—before I continue. "I am."

  "Get out of my house." She points toward the door.

  A bitter laugh escapes my mouth. "That's it, though, isn't it? This is your house. Never mine. Never a home."

  "Show some gratitude," she says, sneering so hard I can't figure out how the cigarette's not falling from her lips. "We took you in when—"

  "Nobody else wanted me," I recite tartly. This line's been thrown at me so many times it's on permanent repeat in the back of my mind most days. Louder on the bad ones. "Why are you such a nasty person? Why are both of you this way? What did I ever do to deserve this?"

  You were born, I hear her thoughts as loudly as if she speaks them. You were born and your mother—the one person we actually loved—left because of it.

  But we don't talk out loud about my mother here, and so she doesn't say the words. And if she has another response, I don't stick around for it. "I am better than you," I repeat, walking to the door. And, before I close it on my way out, I add, "Or, at least I'm on my way."

  It takes a few moments on the road until I notice how hard my hands are shaking. It takes longer than that to figure out exactly what it is I'm feeling.

  Fury.

  Reckless with it, I text Alec at a red light. You want to use me to slap your family, go ahead. I'm in for the wedding. Because I'll be using the event to slap my grandparents too. Fuck them for thinking I'm not good enough. God. Fuck everyone.

  Let's skip over the part where I remind you I'm not using you as a slap to where I tell you I'm thrilled you've accepted my invitation. I'll be smiling my entire flight to Vegas.

  Right. His brother's bachelor party. He won't be at work today.

  I'm taking off today since you aren't there.

  A pause, and then: Playing hooky while the boss is gone. I like it.

  Shit's not always about you. I hit send and then hate myself for it.

  He calls me and I clear it, because what the hell can I say after that?

  He calls me again and I answer because I know. "I'm sorry."

  "What's wrong, kitten?" His tone is low and tender enough to make a sliced onion cry.

  Not me, though. "Fight with my grandmother. Pretty sure she threw me out. Pretty sure I was leaving either way."

  "Go to my place. I'll have Matthew give you a key."

  "Um…" My mind circles his words like a vulture. His huge condo. I can see myself there. It's tempting. It's too tempting. "No. I have somewhere else I can stay." Probably.

  "You sure? I kind of enjoy the thought of you in my place. In my bed. In my T-shirt again…"

  Don't pass up such a golden opportunity, my mom's voice invades my conscience. So I say, "Have a good trip. I'll see you Monday," and I hang up before he can say anything else.

  Before she can say anything else.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CASSIDY'S IN NEW York, and even if she wasn't, I don't want to stay with her. I can't be surrounded by the echoes of Jason without going crazy. Also, I'm pretty sure Mr. Evans is disappointed in me for going out with Alec.

  It's Vera's place I drive to. She likes her sleep, so I doubt she has any classes scheduled this early. I'm assuming I'll catch her before she leaves. I huff it up the stairs to her apartment, and I lift my hand to knock right as the door opens and I find myself face to face with a brown-haired guy who looks familiar, but I can't place him.

  "Oh. Hello," he says, his tone as surprised as his expression.

  "Slinking out at eight a.m.," I say, giving him the look that feels right at home across my face. Disgust. "Classy act, dude."

  He cocks his head to the side, his own expression cooling. "Actually—"

  "Teagan." Vera walks up behind him in tiny pajamas. "Quit it with the third degree." She slides a kiss on his cheek from behind, gently prodding him out the door, past me. "Have fun in New York, Jeff."

  His eyes slide over me when he turns to take one last look at her. "See you when I get back?"

  "Call me." Her smile's wide, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

  Then he's gone and she's ushering me inside and I'm watching her cute little butt in these shorts tinier than underwear and wishing, not for the first time, I had a nicer ass. "You wear those shorts around any guy, they're going to beg you for another round."

  "I wear these regardless of whether I'm sleeping alone." She drops into a seat at her dining table, back to a half-eaten bowl of Cheerios. "And speaking of sleeping, I was planning on getting back to it, so why are you here?"

  "I'll leave," I say, ready to turn around, but she holds up a hand to stop me.

  "No," she says, her mouth full of cereal. "Stay. Sorry. I'm tired and Jeff…makes me tense."

  "Why was he here?"

  She gives me a cynical expression. "Because he's also kinda helpful at relieving tension."

  "Where do I know him from?"

  She spoons more cereal into her mouth. "He's a roadie for Gold Rush Standard. You met him with me last summer."

  "That's it. Guess he has some free time with Luca James in rehab?" I snort. The poster boy for the anti-drug movement had everyone fooled. Especially Cassidy. She almost lost Gage last summer when she went off gallivanting with Luca. She still beats herself up for what she did—even though she and Gage are annoyingly happy. Personally, I think they're a stronger couple now because they know how miserable they are apart.

  And let's be real. Who wouldn't run off with the sexiest rock star alive if they had the chance?

  Although, I think of Alec and… I'm actually not sure I would. Granted, I don't have the offer on the table, so who knows? Plus, Cassidy was all fucked up from Jason's overdose.

  She ran away with a rock star to deal with her grief. Mine took my natural inclination toward bitchiness and set it on a steroid cycle. Pretty sure she got the winning hand in that fucked-up card game.

  "What?" I ask Vera, who's waiting for a response to something.

  "What happened to your face?"

  I touch my still-tender cheek. "Long story."

  She waits, a pointed expression on her face.

  I sigh. "Gramps. But it was an accident."

  She watches me a few seconds longer, as though trying to weigh the truth of my words.

  "I swear. It wasn't on purpose." I wave away the box of Cheerios she offers me, taking a seat across from her. "How was your mom's visit?"

  "Weeks ago," she says, snapping in a very un-Vera-like way.

  "I started a new job, Ver. I've been busy, if you're pissed I haven't checked in sooner."

  "You had time to talk to Cassidy. Even stopped by her house before a date."

  "Your mom was here then," I remind her, but it only makes her eyes flash.

  "And I could've used a break."

  We can keep going down this rabbit hole of sniping, or I can apologize… Which, oddly enough, doesn't make me want to murder her for considering. "I'm sorry. I should've called you."

  "You don't have any—" She cuts herself off, brows furrowed. "Wait. What?"

  "Believe me, I'm not repeating myself," I say, grabbing my phone from my bag and placing it on the table. "And before you keep grilling me, don't forget—these things work both ways."

  She stares at me like I've grown antlers. And then, surprising the hell out of me, she giggles. "I'm itching to fight with someone and I would've bet millions you'd be an easy target to practice with—and yet, here you sit, all calm. Way to ruin my ability to be irritated. Who are you and what have you done with Teagan?"

  "I didn't know you had the ability to be irritated to begin with," I say, reeling inside from her words. She's right. I should be an easy target for verbal sparring—but I bit back my desire to punch out. And apologized instead.

  A grin yanks my lips apart, and despite everything shitty that this morning started with, happiness looms in my chest like an overfull balloon. I was nervous I'd feel different taking an antidepressant, but I don't. I'm still me—but I'm als
o a version of myself I can actually almost stand.

  "How's this?" I ask, loving the way her eyes are all wide at my expression. "I'll tell you something I haven't told Cassidy. Or anyone."

  She leans forward, her elbows on the table. "Like you have to really ask a journalist if they want an exclusive?"

  "Calm down, Ms. Journalism Major," I say. "This is so far off the record it's like pen and paper have never been invented."

  "Obviously," she says, huffing, offended. "I'm just so glad you're actually ready to open up to me about something—anything."

  "Do you want my story or do you want a box of tissues for the tears you seem about to burst into?"

  "There she is," Vera says, her voice dripping with the smile she's trying not to wear. "That's the Teagan I love."

  "You care about me. You love me. I mean, my God. You're smothering me."

  "Watch it, or I will." She points beyond me to her living room, the furniture all dressed with hot pink pillows.

  "Death by girly-ass pillow? I literally can't think of a worse way to go."

  "Just shut up and tell me what's going on with you."

  So, I do. I tell her about the Zoloft. And about the learning disability. And it all comes out so much easier than I expect.

  And Vera doesn't even blink. I couldn't ask for a better reaction.

  "Visual perceptive learning discrepancy," she repeats, slowly. "My best friend from high school had an auditory processing discrepancy… I wonder if they're similar." Then she shakes her head. "No—probably the opposite. He has to write everything down—or read instructions rather than hear them."

  "Yeah, I'm the opposite," I say, agreeing. "I need to hear things."

  "And you feel like knowing that about yourself makes life easier?"

  I nod. "Don't get me wrong, life's not perfect. Hell, I'm here because Gran kicked me out of her house. But, I handle situations better now than before. And knowing why things aren't always easy for me helps."

  "Obviously, you'll move in with me," she says, all nonchalant.

  Some of the tightness in my chest unravels. "I was going to ask if you wanted a roommate."