Love & Lies

by Julie Johnson

  He took two more steps toward the door and I realized he wasn’t going to stop. He was actually going to walk away from me again, after everything that had happened between us last night. And that was just… bullshit.

  Before I could stop myself, I’d hurled my body — naked as the day I was born — from the bed, scurried around him, and planted myself in front of my closed bedroom door with my hands thrown out to either side, effectively barricading the entire frame. I was panting and glaring and steaming mad, but I didn’t budge, even when Wes stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me like I was a few Fruit Loops short of a box.

  “Red, what are—”

  “No.”

  His eyebrows lifted in question and I could tell he wasn’t sure what to say or where to look. His eyes dilated as they flickered down to take in the sight of my naked body splayed across the doorway like a human blockade. When his gaze returned to mine, it was dark with lust, despite the confusion still pinching his expression.

  “I have to—”

  “No,” I repeated. “You’re not leaving.”

  “Red—”

  “Don’t Red me, Wes.” My eyes shot daggers at him. “You’re not doing this again.”

  His eyebrows went even higher on his forehead. “Doing what?”

  “Running. Throwing up the damn wall.”

  “You’re being a little crazy right now,” he said lightly, as though I was fabricating this distance he’d created between us.

  He. Did. Not. Just. Call. Me. Crazy.

  Whatever expression flashed across my face evidently showed him just how infuriated those words made me. I saw his eyes widen slightly, and he opened his mouth — maybe to apologize, maybe to defend himself, maybe to dig himself into an even deeper hole. I didn’t wait to find out.

  “Crazy? Crazy?” I breathed, staring murderously at him. I almost laughed when I saw the semi-terrified look on his face, but managed to contain myself.

  Hands planted on my hips, I hauled in a deep breath. His eyes dropped involuntarily to my chest, watching as my breasts heaved up and down. I was tempted to throw my hands up to block his view, but that would’ve showed weakness. Instead, I moved away from the door and sidled closer to him, so only a foot or so separated us. His eyes snapped back to my face.

  “You think I’m crazy? Well, maybe I am. You make me crazy, you big idiot.” I glared at him. “Every single time I manage to knock down one of those goddamn walls you’ve constructed, you pull this crap and take a step back from me. Why?”

  He opened his mouth to speak but I didn’t let him — I spoke on, answering my own question.

  “Because you’re a big idiot. And because there’s something in that big, idiotic brain of yours that tells you to never get close to someone. But that’s too damn bad, Wes, because it’s too late. We’re close. We’re freaking married!” I let out a frustrated scream.

  I saw a little of the warmth return to his eyes and I knew I was getting through to him.

  “Guess what, Wes?” I whispered fiercely. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. You hear me?”

  I took a step closer, so our bodies were flush together — thigh to thigh, chest to chest. The crisp leather of his jacket was cool against my bare flesh, the faint stubble on his jawline was directly before my eyes. When I spoke again, my voice was gentle.

  “You can try to run; I’ll chase you. You can try to push me away; I’m not going anywhere.” I leaned toward him and my lips brushed against his as I breathed the words across his mouth. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  He stared at my face for what seemed like forever. The long, breathless moment dragged on as we stood eye to eye, chin to chin — the two stubbornest people to ever walk the earth. Neither willing to cave, neither wanting to admit defeat. I watched his nostrils flare, saw the muscle twitching in his cheek as he clenched his jaw over and over.

  When he finally responded, his voice held none of the anger I’d been anticipating. It was soft, full of astonishment and affection — even if his words didn’t match his tone. “You really are pretty fucking pigheaded, you know that?”

  I considered this for a moment, accepted it to be true, and felt a smile twitch my lips up. “Well, you’re pretty fucking slow on the uptake,” I countered, my voice equally gentle. “But I’m willing to overlook it if you kiss me right this instant.”

  “Tell me something, first?” That crooked smile I loved so much was back, and I knew I’d won this round.

  “Name it.”

  “If there was one place in the world you could go, where would it be?” he teased, calling back memories of our first date.

  I grinned against his mouth. “Here. In your arms.”

  “Good answer.”

  And then, he kissed me.

  His arms circled my body and pulled me against him, all gentleness absent from his impatient touch. His grip was rough, nearly bruising, as his hands slid down my spine to the back of my thighs, lifting me off the ground and carrying me backwards toward the bed. My legs wrapped around his waist, my hands found their way into his hair, and — mouths still fused together — we fell back onto the mattress, more than ready to stop bickering and do the only thing we ever seemed to be perfectly in sync on.

  * * *

  As it turned out, Wes hadn’t been lying. He really did have work — a fact which should’ve embarrassed me, but totally didn’t. I refused to regret the hour of makeup sex that followed our fight.

  I’m sure some people — cough, cough, my sisters, cough, cough — would say that it wasn’t a good sign we were already fighting. This was the much-lauded Honeymoon Stage, after all. Those beautiful six months where partners walk on egg shells around one another, everyone shits rainbows, and people hide their crazy in a closet where it can’t be seen until much, much later, when it’s far too late to break things off.

  But Wes and I weren’t normal. We didn’t hide our imperfections from one another. I knew he was damaged; he knew I was… let’s call it quirky. (Read: totally bonkers.)

  So, it’s what we did — we fought. We tested each other’s limits. Pushed buttons. Struck nerves.

  And, given the chance, I wouldn’t trade it for a perfect, fight-free relationship.

  I didn’t want someone who’d let me be complacent. I wanted a man who’d push me to mature into the person I was meant to be. I wanted to keep evolving — not just now, but for the span of my entire life.

  Who created these rules — that growing up stops when your growth plates close, or that old dogs can’t learn new tricks?

  They’re crap.

  Opposites attract for a reason. Loving someone who sees the world in such a different light — it’s challenging and infuriating and full of hurdles. But the benefits far outweigh the costs.

  Plus, the endless, hot makeup sex is enough of a selling point on its own.

  After we’d sufficiently reconciled, we lay intertwined with my yellow sheets pulled over our heads, speaking in whispers like two kids who’d built a fort of pillows and blankets. The light shining through the thin covering cast both of us in a golden hue and made everything feel kind of sacred, even as Wes spoke the hushed words I’d been dreading.

  “I have to go.”

  I shook my head in denial.

  “I’ll come back tonight. I promise.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed like a little girl, as if I could shut out his words.

  “Trust me, Red. If I didn’t have to leave you, I wouldn’t.” His thumb skimmed gently across my cheekbone. “Look at me.”

  I didn’t.

  “Faith.”

  My eyes opened at the sound of my name. He rarely used it, so I knew this was important.

  “I’m sorry for being an idiot earlier. You… this…” He swallowed, his eyes scanning my face intently. “It’s everything I never thought I could have. Up until now… not once in my life has someone needed me. No one’s ever counted on me to show up. I’ve never been
accountable to anyone before. Never lo—”

  He broke off, and I could tell he wasn’t ready to say it.

  “I know, Wes,” I said softly. “Just come back to me when you can.”

  His eyes bored into mine. “Always.”

  Chapter 31

  Weston

  ONE LAST NIGHT

  * * *

  “Tomorrow.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  This wasn’t happening. Not now.

  “I need more time.” I tried not to sound like I was pleading. I tried to get control over myself. But all I could see was Faith.

  “You can’t have it.” Benson’s voice was cold. “The bug you planted on the kid—”

  “His name is Konrad,” I growled.

  “I don’t give a fuck what his name is. The only thing I care about is the fact that we now have the intel we need to move on Szekely’s compound.”

  “It’s too soon. We need more information before we strike a facility we know essentially nothing about.”

  Benson’s voice went arctic. “The access codes we’ve obtained from the boy may change any day. I’ve already sent a team — they’re en route to you as we speak. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Abbott, but I need you to retrieve your fucking balls from wherever you’ve stashed them and get on board with this plan. You will lead Team A into that damn compound tomorrow, while Team B simultaneously raids the Hermes office. If you can’t do it, I’ll get someone else. This mission is happening, with or without you.”

  Fuck. I clutched the phone in my hand so tightly, I worried it would snap in half under the pressure.

  “Your source suggested the prototype will be in the sub-basement,” Benson said, as if I needed a refresher course on the intel I’d procured. “Priority is to retrieve it, along with any other advanced weaponry you find there.”

  “And Szekely?”

  “Dead or alive, we want him. If you have a shot, you’re authorized to take it. We don’t want this mess coming back to bite us in the ass in the future.”

  I cleared my throat. “If we just waited a week, I’d have a clearer picture of what we’re walking into.”

  Please. Just a few more days with her.

  Benson snorted. “We have the building layout you’ve constructed. We have intel from your sources. We have perimeter and internal video. We have the access codes. And, most importantly, we have audio confirmation of Szekely’s presence in that building from the bug you planted on the kid. If Szekely leaves, this is all for nothing. Another week won’t make this any more actionable. We’re moving on it, and we’re moving now.”

  “But if I just—”

  “Abbott!” Benson’s voice was exasperated. “This isn’t a negotiation. These are orders. And you will follow them.”

  My eyes pressed closed. “Yes, sir,” I muttered darkly.

  “Call me when the team arrives to discuss op-tech and link up our comm feeds.”

  The line went dead in my ear.

  I sat for a long time, staring down at my left hand. When a drop of water fell and splashed against the white cord on my ring finger, I looked up at the ceiling for a leak before realizing that it wasn’t even raining outside. The leak wasn’t the shoddy roofing — it was me.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried. But as I thought about leaving Faith, I couldn’t help myself.

  One last night.

  I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

  Not yet.

  Not ever.

  Chapter 32

  Faith

  POWDER-KEG

  * * *

  He was quiet when he came back.

  It was late, nearly midnight, and I was tired after a long day of cramming for the end-of-summer exams, which were approaching far too rapidly for my taste. Sleepy or not, I saw something in his eyes when he looked at me — a sadness that hadn’t been there before. I heard it in his voice, how it saturated his tone like the world was coming to an end. I felt it in the way he touched me, as though he was memorizing the feeling of my every curve, my every freckle, when his hands glided across my skin.

  Mostly, it was there in the way that, for once, he didn’t hide behind any walls when he looked at me. Tonight, his emotions were right there, burning bright on the surface of his eyes. His gaze was brimming over with things that made my heart race. He wasn’t holding anything back.

  It should’ve overjoyed me. Instead, it worried me.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Maybe it’s just human nature — when things finally fall into place, we immediately begin to worry that something will come along and blow it all to hell.

  Before I could dwell too much on devastating possibilities, Wes was on me, all over me. Distracting me with his hands, pressing his body against mine until I forgot my own name and all I could think of was him. The future faded away and all I had was us, this single moment in time where we were connected and all the world shrank until it fit into his eyes.

  He didn’t say a word as he stripped my clothes off one by one, his hands impatient as he dropped them to the floor and pushed me onto the bed. In his touch were no traces of the tenderness he’d exhibited last night. He touched me like a starving man might clutch at vital sustenance, like a man who’d wandered the desert for far too long in search of water and finally reached a life-saving oasis. He gripped me with urgency — all rough hands and rushed caresses. And when he sank into me, eyes glued to mine, I felt something inside him snap, felt the control he exercised over every aspect of his life bow and break like a steel box filled far beyond its capacity. The cage that had contained his feelings for more than two decades burst wide open, its metal sides bending like butter under the strength of his emotions.

  He pounded into me, my hips rising to meet each thrust, and we were a single entity — feeling, breathing, moving as one.

  His eyes said I love you though his lips were still and silent.

  And, for now, as I felt myself turn to liquid gold beneath his touch, that was enough.

  * * *

  “Do you still believe in fate?” Wes asked softly.

  “How can you even ask me that, when you’re here in my bed?” I responded in an equally quiet voice.

  He fell silent.

  “Did you know that we met on my birthday?” I asked, turning my head to stare at him.

  “No — you never said anything.” He scanned my face searchingly. “Now I feel like a bastard — I should’ve gotten you a gift.”

  “You were the gift.” I smiled at him when I saw his eyes melt like chocolate over flame. “We were meant to find each other, Wes. I’m certain of that, even if you still question it. And it’s okay. You don’t have to believe — I’ll believe enough for the both of us.”

  His eyes pressed closed, as though he was in great pain. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked a little.

  “My past… the things I’ve seen…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t believe in soulmates or fate or God. I can’t. But I believe in you. I believe in us.”

  My heart expanded in my chest.

  “You are the person I want to fall asleep with at night and wake up to in the morning, Red. You’re the person I want to share myself with — the good, the bad, the ugly.” He pushed a tendril of hair behind my ear. “You’re the way I want to live my life. The way I want to see the world. My guiding light. My religion… my faith.”

  I felt tears start to leak out of the corners of my eyes, and Wes’ thumb gently wiped them away. Leaning forward, I pressed a soft kiss against his lips. When I’d finally gathered enough composure to speak, my voice was laced with emotions I could barely name. I wanted to say it then — to scream it from the rooftops.

  I love you, Wes.

  But I didn’t want to rush him before he was ready. There would be plenty of time to say it later — it wasn’t like this was our last night together.

  “Well, it’s a good thing you married me, then,” I whispered instead.


  Wes’ crooked smile appeared for the first time all night and I knew, no matter what happened, we’d be okay.

  * * *

  He was gone before I woke up.

  I knew he would be — he’d warned that he had an early workday before we fell asleep — but that didn’t stop me from missing him. The note on my pillow was simple: a lopsided heart, drawn in pen on a piece of computer paper. The heart was messy, masculine — not quite closed at the bottom, with two uneven sides, as though he’d never found himself in a situation that called for drawing such a shape before.

  I wasn’t sure if that made me happy or sad.

  Rolling over, I grabbed my phone from my nightstand and saw that it was still early — barely six o’clock. The screen displayed a blinking red icon, indicating I had a new voicemail, and I quickly tapped on it, thinking Wes might’ve left me a message. The voice that burst through the speaker was familiar, but it didn’t belong to the man I’d hoped for.

  “Faith, it’s Istvan. Look, I know you weren’t on the schedule this weekend, but I really need you to come in. It’ll be five hours, tops — Sunday shifts are special delivery only, no regulars. Janice is on-call today but she’s sick — some kind of stomach flu. I’ll even let you start early, if you can get here before we open at ten. You’ll be in and out, I promise. Plus, Sunday pay is double rate. Call and let me know.”

  I sighed and fell back against the pillows, considering my options.

  Either I could sit here all day pretending to study and obsessing about Wes every five seconds, or I could pick up a few extra hours at Hermes and distract myself while making some cash. Sunday shifts were always sleepy. There were few deliveries and even fewer couriers on staff — at most, one or two girls were on-call. Plus, if Istvan was running the show, I knew he’d let me get an early jump on what few parcels we had. I’d be out by noon — plenty of time to obsess over Wes later.