Dare to Lie

by Jen McLaughlin

  “Skylar . . . please.” He tried to turn the knob again. “I love you.”

  After letting out a breath, I walked to the door, unlocked it. When I saw him standing there, looking pitiful, I stepped back, clearing his path.

  Tate walked past me, scanning the interior of my home. “You alone?”

  “Scotty isn’t here, if that’s what you’re asking.” I closed the door and followed him slowly, tucking my messy hair behind my ear. “I told you, we’re done.”

  “I know. But he’s not the only man alive,” he said gently. “You could have company of a different sort than Scotty.”

  Yeah. Funny, though. It felt like he was the only man in the world sometimes. “Nope. I was just studying,” I said, gesturing to my book.

  He set the pizza and beer down, pulled a bottle out, and twisted the lid off. He handed it to me, watching me closely. “You look tired. Are you sleeping?”

  No. I missed Scotty, the way he made me feel and the what-could-have-beens of our relationship, too much to sleep. I hated that I missed him. And I hated that I didn’t hate him, no matter how hard I tried. “Yeah, a bit. But I’ve been cramming for tests. I have four this week, then a clinical lab in a hospital the week after. Just making sure I’m prepared for all of that.”

  He nodded, opening his own beer with a quick twist. “Done anything fun lately?”

  “Why don’t you ask your spy?” I shot back.

  He had the good graces to look ashamed. “Skylar . . .”

  Sighing, I sat down, tucking my foot under my butt. “No. Nothing ‘fun.’ Just schoolwork, and studying, and working at the shelter. The usual.”

  He flexed his jaw. “What happened to Marco?”

  “He’s still around. We studied earlier today, and then grabbed lunch before I came back here.” I cocked my head. “Why?”

  “No reason.” He turned the dining room chair around, straddled it, and rested his forearms over the top of it. “I talked to Officer O’Hare today.”

  I frowned. “Who?”

  “The cop I tried to hook you up with last week.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “He’s going to be calling you.” He scratched the back of his head. “To ask you out.”

  “What?” I stood. “No.”

  He looked up at me. “But—”

  “No.” I slammed my beer down. “I’m done going out with these guys because I want to make you happy. I found one I liked, and it was nothing but a lie . . .” I broke off, pressing my mouth into a tight line, because, God, I refused to cry over him. “I’m done.”

  He stood, rubbing the back of his neck. “Done with what, exactly?”

  “Dating. Trying to find something special. Pretending that love is something you should want in your life, when all it does is break you.” I walked past him, sat down, and stared at my book. “I got off track for a little while, and I learned a valuable lesson, but now I’m back at it, doing what I do best. I’m back to being me.”

  He shifted his feet. “I don’t think you need to be alone to be dedicated to work, or to be yourself. You just need someone a little more . . . more . . .”

  “Clean?” I asked helpfully.

  “Yes.” He smiled. “Clean.”

  I smiled back sweetly. “No.”

  His smile turned upside down really quick.

  I opened the pizza, pulled a piece out, and took a big bite, chewing thoughtfully.

  He watched me, his brow furrowed. “You seem so . . . so . . .”

  “Different?”

  He frowned, not replying.

  “I am, I guess. But it’s not a bad thing.” I took another bite. “You should be happy. You were right. You love being right.”

  Raising a brow, he rubbed his jaw. “I do. But what was I right about this time?”

  “Scotty was no good for me.” Focusing on my textbook, I tapped my foot on the floor and read, taking another bite of pizza.

  He sat across from me, pulling a slice out of the box for himself. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t stop reading. I had too much to do, too much to catch up on. “You really loved him, didn’t you?” he asked slowly.

  “I said so, didn’t I?” I answered distractedly.

  He picked up his beer, taking a long drink. “Why him, out of all the men I sent your way? Why not Patrick, or—”

  “Or Steven, or Gary, or Michael?” I cut in, finally lifting my head.

  “Yes. Any of them.” He rubbed his face, setting his beer down again. “Why him?”

  “I don’t know. There was just something about him. It was like . . . like I knew him the second I met him. He had a sense of honor that I thought I could trust, even though he told me not to . . .” I lifted a shoulder. “He told me not to trust him, and I didn’t listen, and that’s on me.”

  Tate turned away, staring out the window toward the Hancock tower. His grip on his beer tightened. “I’m sorry.”

  Two apologies in one night.

  “Why did you ask him to watch me?” I held up a hand when he opened his mouth. “And don’t tell me it was because you were worried about me. You’re always worried about me. I know it was something bigger. Something that made you send a lawyer here so I could sign a bunch of paperwork and forms, for God’s sake.”

  He rotated the bottle in a circle, leaving a trail of condensation in his wake. “I’ve done things, Skylar. Bad things. And those bad things are coming to a head tomorrow night.”

  I bit down on my lip, my heart racing. If he admitted what he’d done, where that money had come from . . . heck, was still coming from . . . I would become an accomplice of sorts. Despite that, I wanted him to be honest. To trust me with his secrets. “Things like . . . ?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Then don’t say.” I reclined in my chair, grabbing my beer and pressing the side of the rim to my lips thoughtfully. Maybe it was time for both of us to be honest. For both of us to make a change. “What if I told you, hypothetically, that I already know your secret? What if I told you, again, hypothetically, that I figured it out when I was a senior in high school?”

  He rested his elbows on the table, his eyes narrow. “Bullshit . . . hypothetically.”

  I gave him a look.

  His nostrils flared. “No. You don’t have a clue about the things I’ve done, and I don’t want you to.”

  “You can keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better.”

  “Did Scotty say something?” he growled. “I’ll kill him.”

  “Scotty didn’t say a word, and I didn’t need him to.” I shrugged. “I’ve known what you are, who you are, for years.”

  He chugged the rest of his beer, setting the empty bottle down on the table, and then leaned back, his face pale. “I don’t believe you. There’s no way you’ve known that long. If you did, there’s no way you could . . .”

  When he didn’t finish, I reached out and covered his hand with mine, squeezing. Despite the things he’d done, despite his crimes, I loved him. He was my brother. “No way I could what?”

  “Love me,” he finally said, glowering down at his empty bottle.

  “Tate . . .” I shook my head. “Our father wasn’t . . . discreet about his chosen profession. Mom told me the truth about him, about why she left, and how he accused her of cheating on him with the undercover cop assigned to investigate him. And she told me why he refused to let you come with us. You were his heir to the world of darkness he’d created.”

  Pain crossed his eyes. “Mom . . .”

  “She never stopped loving you, even though she wasn’t allowed to see you. It killed her that she couldn’t save you, too. But he threatened her life . . . and mine . . .” I stared at the picture of my mother and me. It had been the last photo ever taken of us. She had bags under her eyes, her blue eyes were n
ot shining as brightly, her red hair had thinned out a bit with age, and she was far too pale, but she looked like the most beautiful woman in the world. She’d always been beautiful. “Anyway, when you suddenly started showing up with wads of cash after months of struggling, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where the money was coming from. You took over the family business, because you had no choice. You did what you had to do.”

  He ducked his head. “Shit.”

  “Hey. None of that.”

  “But—”

  “I was there when our father refused to take me in after Mom died and you refused to live there either. I watched you go on job interview after job interview, only to come back to me deflated and holding a stolen box of spaghetti for us to eat. I saw you sitting up at night, worrying that I was going to get kicked out on the streets when the landlord got sick of waiting for the rent money that was never going to come.”

  He swallowed so hard I heard it. “I tried not to be in this life. I wanted to do things the right way. But then . . . I did what I had to do. And I’m still doing it. I’ve become him.”

  “You’re only like him if you walk away from everything that matters in life. You’re only him if you let the darkness win.” I pushed my hair out of my face, forcing a smile. “You tried so hard to rebuild us as a family. To give me the best chance in life. How could I not love you for that?”

  Tate lifted his head. His eyes were haunted by memories, and shadows, and so much more that I’d never fully understand. “I went to him after months of struggling to support us,” he said slowly, rolling his hands into fists on top of the table. “Begged him to step up and take care of you. To let you come home. Asked him to take a DNA test, at the very least. He laughed, said he didn’t need a piece of paper to confirm our mother was a cheating whore. I walked then, went right for the door, when he said, ‘You can go to her, and be poor for the rest of your life, or you can stop trying to make an honest living, come work for me, and give her everything you stupidly believe she deserves. Your choice.’”

  I glanced out the window, seeing nothing.

  “I did my best to keep you away from this life, just as hard as he tried to keep me in it. No one in the gang knows you exist. Dad told the ones who knew about you that you died. When I took over, I let that continue, so you’d be safe. I kept you a secret . . . until Scotty.”

  I pulled back, settling on my haunches. “Why did you trust him?”

  “Same reasons as you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “He seemed the type of guy I could trust to take care of you, and he did. He just also . . . you know.”

  I shifted back. “Yeah.”

  “I—” Tate’s phone dinged and he picked it up, frowning. “Shit.”

  “You have to go?” I asked, my heart picking up speed. All these confessions came because something huge was taking place tomorrow. Something big. And if it was something that endangered Tate, it would endanger Scotty, too.

  “Yeah.” He pushed his chair back and stood, walking up to me, holding out the key to his apartment. I stared at it, confused. “Can you do me a favor?”

  I crossed my arms, tilting my head. “What?”

  “Go to my place tonight. Stay there and don’t open the door for anyone that isn’t me. Skip class. Wait for me to come back tomorrow. I want you there when this is over.”

  I nodded once, taking it. “Yeah. Okay.” I closed my fist around the key, the edges digging into my palm. “What’s tomorrow?”

  “War. If we win, it’s over, and you won’t have to worry. No more spies. No more danger.” He didn’t say what would happen if they didn’t win, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. “But I want you safely locked away, just until the dust settles.”

  I nodded, forcing another smile. “Okay.” He started for the door, and I grabbed his arm. “Please be careful. Don’t take unnecessary risks. I need you to come back to me. Okay?”

  He tensed, rolling his shoulders. “I’ll do my best. Go to my place, lock the door, and don’t come out. I have a guy watching for you. He’ll stay outside once you’re in.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, holding on tight.

  If I knew how, I’d totally rush to the front line, gun in hand, and start shooting to protect him. But I didn’t even know how to hold a gun, let alone shoot one. So instead, I did the one thing I could do—give my brother peace of mind so he’d survive this “war.” I made quick work of gathering my things, shut off the lights, swung the front door open—and then froze.

  Scotty stood outside, his hand on the knob of the apartment next door, and his arm in a sling.

  He wore a plaid button-up shirt, a pair of jeans, his dark brown leather jacket with the usual upturned collar, and a frown. His five o’clock shadow was more of a full-on beard, and he had an overnight bag slung over his good arm. He looked . . . tired.

  Like he hadn’t been sleeping.

  At least I wasn’t alone in that.

  “God. You’re the guy?”

  I was going to kill Tate.

  He looked at me, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the bag I held to my chest, and pressed his mouth into a thin line. “What guy?”

  “The one Tate has watching over me.”

  He let go of the knob. “No. That job’s not mine anymore. I was just grabbing some stuff out of the apartment. Where are you going?”

  “None of your business,” I said simply.

  I started down the hallway, leaving him behind me.

  Unfortunately, he fell into step with me. “Does Tate know you’re leaving?”

  “Yes.”

  He continued walking next to me, his jaw hard.

  I ignored him, until he took a right when I did outside our building. I stopped, shooting him a glare. “What are you doing?”

  “Watching you.”

  “It’s not your job anymore,” I shot back, heading for my car.

  “Do you see this other guy? The one who’s watching you?”

  I glanced over my shoulder, searching the darkness surrounding us. “No.”

  “Then I’ll continue on as I am.”

  Since it was apparent he wouldn’t leave me alone, I walked toward my car faster. The sooner I got away from him, the sooner my heart would stop aching. Or so I told myself, anyway. “Fine. Whatever.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Tate asked me to go to his place tonight, so I’m going.” I got in my car, and he opened his car door, too. “I don’t need you guarding me. Go home.”

  I slammed my door shut and locked it, pulling out of the spot without checking behind me first. I was too busy side-eying him. He stepped on the gas, following me. When he turned down Market Street, following me toward Tate’s place, I gritted my teeth. The guy wouldn’t take a hint.

  The second I pulled into Tate’s driveway, he was behind me. I got out of the car, and so did he. “What are you doing here?” I immediately asked, grabbing my bag.

  “Talking to you,” he answered, shutting his car door. “Watching over you.”

  “Well, stop. I don’t want to talk to you,” I managed to get out through my swollen throat. I swear to God, if he made me cry, I’d make him join me. I was a medical student. I knew lots of ways to make a grown man cry. “I think we said all we needed to say to each other, don’t you?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, his jaw flexing. “Yeah, I guess we did. We don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to. I’m just doing my job.”

  I had a very specific place I thought he could shove his job, but I didn’t say so. If I showed him anger, he’d know he could still get to me. And I refused to show him I still cared. We walked in silence, and his heat burned me with each step we took. By the time we got to Tate’s door, I was a nervous wreck, simply because Scotty stood next to me. />
  When would his weird hold over me end? You’d think him breaking my heart would be enough. But noooooooo. I felt him to the bottom of my soul. It was infuriating.

  I slid the key into the lock and opened the door. I walked inside my brother’s place, prepared to close the door in Scotty’s face, but he pushed in after me, switching the light on and walking through the living room like he owned it. When I saw Tate’s old couch that he’d bought five years ago, something clicked in my brain. The love seat in Scotty’s apartment was the match. So was the end table. They were part of a set.

  “Did Tate send you to live in that apartment? Is it his?” I asked.

  Scotty nodded once. “Yeah.”

  “Son of a . . .” I broke off, gritting my teeth.

  Nope. Not gonna show my anger.

  When he realized I wasn’t going to continue my sentence, he shrugged and headed for the bedroom, turning the light on as he entered. When he came back out, he walked past me. “You’re good. Stay inside. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

  “Was any of it real?” I asked, my voice choked and cracking. I hated that tiny little crack, but whatever. I couldn’t help it that I wasn’t a cold robot like him. “One kiss, one word, anything?”

  He stopped walking, his back to me, and curled his hands into fists. He released his fingers slowly, telling me more than words ever could. “Nothing about the man you knew was real. Everything he said was a lie, because he is a lie.”

  “And the things you didn’t say? The things you felt?”

  He released his pinky, let out a breath, and said, “Lock the door behind me, and don’t let anyone else in.”

  And then he was gone. He walked away from me as easily as my father had.

  Only this time, it hurt more.

  CHAPTER 21