Truth & Temptation

by Riley Edgewood

  "I'm not doing it. You did." I swallow, my throat so swollen with a fresh batch of tears I almost choke. "You can't fix this. There's nothing to fix. It doesn't even exist anymore."

  And it turns out I'm not too weak to walk away after all.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  I LOOK BACK, because of course I do. Numb or not, I can't leave without turning.

  Alec's no longer on his knees, but he's still facing the water, his hands fisted at his sides, his shoulders rigid. He's all shades of black and white, a silhouette against the last few moments of sun, and a hairline fracture splits beneath my sternum and races out like a crack in ice, spreading in rivulets through my chest, across my ribs, down my spine.

  I have to get to my car before I fall to pieces.

  I have to make it home.

  Miles is smoking a cigarette, leaning against his hood.

  He smiles.

  Then he frowns.

  He asks a question.

  I give an answer.

  I make it to my car.

  I make it to Vera's.

  And then I don't remember much.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  PANIC IS A red-hot branding iron shoved straight into my stomach. I sit up in bed, gasping, sweating, trembling.

  The burn of my reality scorches until I double over in pain.

  Besides me, Vera snores, softly, almost prettily. Did she come to bed with me? I have a vague memory of stumbling into my room and her hands cool on my hot, tear-streaked face.

  Did she help me change into my new pajama set? I honestly can't remember.

  I slip quietly out of bed, knowing sleep is done for the night, but less than a minute later Vera's joining me in the living room, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

  "Three thirty."

  "Want me to make you some tea?" she asks through a yawn. "Making some for myself."

  I don't like tea, but I nod. Maybe it's time to start liking tea. Maybe tea will make me calmer. Maybe tea will keep Gran's careless, laughing expression from swiveling on repeat through my mind.

  Vera makes us tea.

  It's fucking gross.

  It's so gross I spit mine back into my cup. The moment the last of the liquid passes my lips, though, I keep them open and I tell her everything.

  My tone is dead, the way I'm trying to keep my insides.

  "Wow," she says, and her eyes glint, wet with tears. "I couldn't really understand what you were saying when you got home. I'm so sorry, Teagan."

  "Please don't be emotional," I say. "I don't want your pity."

  "There's a difference between pitying someone and hurting along with them because you care for them," she says, but the rebuke is gentle.

  "I have trouble feeling the difference," I say, calmly. "So I'd prefer neither."

  She sips her tea, also calmly. If she's struggling to compose herself, I can't tell. And I'm grateful for it.

  I'm grateful for her. I don't have many friends, but the ones I have are worth more than millions.

  "I texted Cassidy," she says. "She's coming back in the morning. I figured you could use both of us right now."

  Oh. Great. Now I'm going to end up the emotional one. I take another sip of my tea. Spit it out again. "Gross."

  "If I was going to look at this like a journalist—detached and professional," she says, looking at me expectantly until I nod. "I'd divide this into four parts and tackle each one separately."

  "Four parts?" I ask.

  She counts off on her fingers. "One. Your grandparents are horrible people. You always secretly longed to discover a shred of decency in them and you've had that longing smashed to smithereens. That might take some time to process, but ultimately, it's not surprising. Two. You have a father out there who doesn't know you're alive."

  "Stop." I stand. I pace. I clutch my stomach. "I'm going to throw up."

  "Breathe," she says, rising to stand with me. "Deep breaths. You're not going to throw up. That's the hard one. I had to say it to get it out of the way. The rest will be easier."

  "I can't think about…" I pause, panting like I'm out of breath. I am out of breath. "I'm not ready to deal with that one."

  "Fine," she says, her tone stern rather than placating. It helps ease a bit of air into my lungs. "Three. Alec took your trust and twisted it. He—"

  "Twisted it?" I tilt my head, wondering where her faulty logic comes from. "He demolished it. He—"

  "Is in love with you." She sips her tea again. "He wanted to give you something that matched the depth of what he feels for you. He did it the wrong way."

  "You're wrong," I say, but my words are weak.

  "As dumb as his actions were," she says, "he did them for the right reasons."

  Instead of snarking at her, I rub my eyes, furiously, willing the threat of tears into submission. "Who needs therapy when you're around?"

  She cracks a tentative smile, and I can't match it, but I don't bite at her for it, so she pulls me back to the couch and sits closer to me this time. Just an inch. Just close enough to place a hand on my knee. "And here's the fourth part: You love him, too. You love him and he loves you, and nobody in the world can ease your hurt better than he can right now."

  "I have you," I remind her stubbornly. "I have Cassidy, coming all the way back from the beach."

  "You have us," she agrees. "But he's the first person you trusted enough to tell these things to. He's the one you want by your side. He's the one who can make right the wrongs he's done. If you want to let him. And we both know you do."

  I want to push back harder, but I don't. Because she's speaking the truth, my truth, a feeling in my gut I haven't been able to name.

  "Or," she says, her tone suddenly aces and spades lighter than before. "There are a dozen eggs in the fridge. We can take 'em and throw 'em at your grandparents' fancy new cars. I'm always happy to go that route with you, too."

  Finally, finally, I laugh. It's a small thing, this laugh. Short and without much energy, but it's there. I didn't force it.

  And beneath it is a steadiness that wasn't there before.

  "I love him," I say. "But he hurt me, in the worst way he could."

  She opens her mouth, but looks away, and it's closed when she faces me again.

  "Don't you have something to say to that?" I ask.

  "Don't you?"

  "You sure you don't want to switch your major to shrink-hood?"

  She lifts one meticulously groomed brow. It's her only response.

  "Fine. Whatever. Clearly, journalism suits you." I sigh, and then I give in. "I should forgive him. Because I love him." The more I say it out loud, the clearer my answer becomes. "And because he didn't mean to hurt me. And sometimes intent matters." I pick up my own tea, sipping. And, of course, it's still disgusting. I put it down. "I don't want to talk about my father, but I will when I've had time to process it. And I wouldn't have that option if Alec hadn't done what he did. I might even be grateful when that time comes."

  Oh my God. Relief is a splash of cold water shocking my system. It's like being reborn, right this instant, from someone who's always quick to rise in fury—into someone who's also now quick to forgive, quick to understand that sometimes things aren't black and white. Even while my feelings are still so bruised. So raw.

  I'm usually the best grudge-holder I know. This moment, this realization that I don't have to be… It's jarring. In the best way.

  "What else?" Vera asks, her eyes all wide and happy. The entire atmosphere is changing, no longer as heavy with my pain—it's tightening with anticipation.

  "He makes me happy when he's not being a fucking idiot." A honey-like smoothness melts slowly through my chest, down my arms and legs. I've wondered if my mother's voice is in my mind because I can't help clinging to any interaction with her, even imaginary. But Alec gave me the means to have an actual interaction with my father. "I need Alec. I don't want to be without him. I'm going to go get him."

  "In the morning?" she asks, cover
ing a yawn. "Because I'm happy to snuggle the rest of the night with you."

  But I'm wired. I couldn't sleep right now if I superglued my eyes shut. "I'll text you later."

  She yawns again, this one stretching out over her grin. "Go get him."

  I'm going to. I'm not even changing out of my pajamas first. I grab my bag, and I open the door to go to Alec.

  He's already here.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  ALEC IS SITTING in the landing of the concrete stairwell of Vera's apartment. His head's resting against the wall, and his feet are on the ground, his knees pulled up. His eyes open a second after I open the door.

  It'd be nice if my emotions didn't tend to get completely snarled together so I could tell what exactly I feel right now. Excitement, I think—but maybe it's dread. I think maybe I'm happy, too, but my entire system's been under so much strain the past few hours, everything has a hollow tinge to it.

  "How long have you been out here?" I ask, and turn to see if Vera's witnessing the same thing I am.

  She seems in complete control of her emotions, grinning wide enough to break her face in half.

  "I wanted to give you this," Alec says, his voice hoarse, and when I look at him again, he's standing, stepping toward me. He hands me a folded piece of paper. "I brought you your father's information, if you want it."

  My breath catches in the steel trap of the word father. Just because I've come around to the idea of possibly interacting with him doesn't mean I'm ready to address it yet. "You could've texted me."

  "I wanted to hand you something solid."

  "You wanted a reason to come here." I almost smile. It's like Cassidy's blazer. But this is so much bigger than that.

  "I would've been here even if I'd texted you."

  "Why?"

  "To tell you I'm sorry." He grabs my hand, covering it with his. I try not to sigh at the contact, at the way it steadies me in such an unsteady situation. Vera was right. I need him.

  "I should've told you everything from the beginning," he says. "I thought if I surprised you… But I know you better than that. I wasn't thinking things through. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm more sorry than you'll ever know." He lets go of my hand. It drops to my side, the folded slip of paper still between my fingers. "But you deserve to decide whether you know your history. I had the means to get it for you. I won't apologize for that."

  "I…" I glance back for the comfort of Vera's support, but she's gone, the door to her room closed. I can do this. It's not weak to give in, even if my pride still manages to protest. But I know now, there's a strength in the ability to let go of anger. So I say, "I won't ask you to apologize for it."

  Shock makes a fresh playing field of his face, erasing some of the divots left from our earlier fight. A fresh determination rises along the sidelines, too. "I won't lie to you, even to make things right. I learn from my mistakes."

  "Good," I say, relief making my voice softer. It's the best thing he could've said. "Do you want to come in? Because there are some things I need to tell you."

  "Yes. Because I have a few things of my own to say. And this time you're going to listen to them."

  Still, he waits for me to motion him inside. When he crosses in front of me, though, he stops and takes my face in his hands and he kisses me. Without permission.

  But he didn't really need it anyway.

  I cling to him.

  He yanks me tighter, lifting me off of my feet.

  His mouth is hard, merciless.

  So is mine.

  One of us relents, I'm not sure which, but after a few moments, the kiss changes. Stretches. Expands.

  Softens.

  A tremble begins in the center of my chest and ripples out. Down my arms and up my neck.

  I pull away before I begin to cry.

  "I'm not going to apologize for that either," he says, placing me gently on the floor.

  My laugh is watery at best. "I'd use my knee to hurt you if you did."

  He sees it now, that I'm leaving the possibility for us open, and his entire body loosens, one vertebrae at a time. He follows me into my bedroom.

  I close the door behind us, while he takes in the room.

  "It feels weird that this is my first time here," he says.

  "I haven't been here that long." I still have my father's information in my hand. I'm still not entirely ready for it. I might not be for a while. I slip it into a dresser drawer.

  I'm…comforted to know it's there.

  Alec paces my room, checking out Vera's various decorative touches and knickknacks on the bookshelf. "So this is where you sleep without me." Now he faces me, though we're both far from the bed in the center of the room. "Every night we haven't spent together the past week has been a mistake."

  "I'm not sure I agree," I say, hating the words. Hating the truth.

  "If we'd been together this week, maybe I would've seen how stupid I was—"

  "Not because of that," I say. "I mean, yes, that too. But…" I stop, gathering my thoughts, taking a few deep breaths. "I'm depressed, Alec. Not just right now because I'm sad—but clinically. And I have a lot of work to do, righting myself and dealing with the shit I've avoided dealing with. I've only taken baby steps so far, and I don't know what the future holds in that regard."

  "You're treating it," he says. "That's what matters. Depression isn't something to be ashamed of—and it isn't something that should keep you from having the future you want."

  He's right. I know he is. "Even so… The other issue is that I also don't know how to be with you without becoming like my mother. All she's ever wanted was a man with a pretty face and huge bank account. I hear her, goading me on toward your wealth. She's in my thoughts. Which means those are my thoughts."

  Maybe I'm not one hundred percent convinced that's why she's in my mind, but the fact is, the direction of her voice when she speaks to me is always about his money. And that will always bother me.

  "Those aren't your thoughts. They're your fears," he says, his face relaxing, like it's no big deal. "That's a different thing."

  His words shine a beam of relief through me. He's right again. My fears are not facts. But…still. I can't keep from saying, "Even if I'm not actively with you because you're rich… You have more than I do, Alec. This will never be equal."

  The change in him, the shock across his expression, then the furious understanding, is startling. Suddenly he's the angry one, and I have to fight the urge to drop my gaze when he comes toward me. He drags a hand across his face, his eyes bright and livid. "Of all the stupid—"

  "Watch it," I warn. "I'm the only one who gets to use that word about myself." Which I'm trying not to do anymore.

  "Of course you're not stupid. But, Jesus, Teagan. Think. What about what I get from you?" He shouts the question, his raised voice shocking me all the way through my core. "Did you ever consider that? Did you? So from me, you get fancy meals and restaurants. A few flights out to Boston. Big fucking deal. I could shower you in money and it still wouldn't tip the balance in my favor. You inspire me. Do you have any idea what that's like? I refused to cave to my father—for the first time ever. The one place in my life I've never felt comfortable taking charge, and you pushed me to do it anyway with the proposal. I didn't give up because of you. And because of it—and for so many other reasons—I won't give up on us, on this. You make my life better."

  I don't know what to say to that. I hadn't considered that I might bring anything to the table. I hadn't considered I might not need money to make things between us equal. And he stood up to his father about me, too.

  "Listen to me." He grips my shoulders, not too rough, but not too gentle either. His voice is broken though, his expression worse. "I am so much better than the person I was before I met you."

  Actually, I discover, I know exactly what to say. "Alec, I—"

  "Think of every obstacle we blew to bits before us. Your fake name. My position above you at work. My fake engagement. Teagan, we can g
et past this. I will spend every day for the rest of time making it up to you. I will never go behind your back again. And if you can't believe it right now, I won't blame you, but give me a chance. Let me show you." His voice breaks right down the middle. "Let me love you."

  I grab his chin, not too rough, but not too gentle either. My voice is strong, steady. "You done?"

  "Depends on your answer." His face is purposefully blank, and I finally realize it's what he uses to hide fear. He's afraid of what I'm going to say. Which makes me speak so fast, I almost trip over the words.

  "Well, before you spoke over me, what I was going to say is this…" Deep breath. Look in his eyes. Memorize what they do next. "Alec, I love you."

  Glassy. That's what happens next in his eyes, they go a little glassy. Or at least I think they do. I don't have more than a split second to study them before he's kissing me. Gently. Smoothly. His hands are pressed against my lower back, pulling me toward him. I slide my palms up his face, along the scruff of his jaw, into the mess of his hair. It's almost as soft in my fingertips as his lips are against mine.

  This kiss is a languid thing, almost lazy, though one of us is shaking against the other.

  I'm surprised to discover it's him—his arms are shaking around me.

  "What's wrong?" I ask, breaking the kiss. "You're trembling."

  "To keep myself from crushing you," he says, holding himself very, very still. "Hearing you say that stirs things in me that would frighten you."

  "Bet you're wrong." I step away from him, smiling as suggestively as I'm able. "Try me."

  "I will." His eyes fall to the bed, then back to me, and my breath begins to stretch for the marathon that it senses is coming.

  I take another step away. "Why are you still standing there?"

  "Because I need to get this right first."

  I lift a brow, not as easily as Vera does it, but somewhere close. And I fight a smile because I know him. And I know what he's about to say.

  He doesn't disappoint. "I love you, Teagan."