“It’s time to get ready,” I said, stroking her hair.
She acknowledged my words by closing her book and studying me with solemn eyes.
“Do you know what today is?” I asked quietly.
She nodded without speaking.
Megan hadn’t uttered a word since the accident, but no one has seemed to notice except me. I missed her cute little lisp when she called me by a nickname she had coined for me when she was younger. She couldn’t say Kassandra, so I became Kass, Kass to all the members of my family.
“Are you hungry, Peanut?” I asked as I pulled a light pink dress over her head.
She shook her head ever so slightly.
“Are you sure? Not even a peanut butter and strawberry sandwich?” I enticed, naming one of her favorite treats. Her passion for peanut butter was a longstanding joke in our family and was how she had gained her nickname.
She shook her head again.
“What about an ice cream sundae with melted peanut butter on top?” I said, willing to offer anything to get her to come out of her shell.
She remained silent and I sighed with resignation.
“You have to eat, Peanut,” I said, running a brush through her long golden locks before fixing it into a French braid down her back the way she liked. I helped her strap on her black Mary Janes and grasped her small hand as we left the room together.
The rest of my family was gathered uncomfortably in the living room when we entered. My Aunt Donna stood tall, although pale beside my sobbing grandma, while my Aunt Karen kept an arm firmly wrapped around my mom’s shoulders. I wanted to shield Megan from the pain that saturated the room, to flee to a happier place and a happier time, but those days were over. Instead, I scooped her up in my arms, marveling at how light she was. She took after my mom, having a more delicate bone structure, while I had the solid frame of my father.
“The limo is here,” my Aunt Donna said, helping my grandma to her feet. My mom rose at her words and followed behind them, still clutching my dad’s t-shirt in her hands. Megan watched them file solemnly out of the room ahead of us.
“It’s okay, Peanut. We can do this,” I said, pulling her more snugly into my arms.
I set her down as we neared the oversized vehicle parked outside the house. She climbed into the car and onto her booster seat that the limo driver had fastened to one of the long bench seats inside. I waited for my mom to methodically strap her in like she always had before, but she remained fixated on a spot out the window and beyond my line of vision. Sighing, I reached over and buckled Megan myself, pulling the belt tight to make sure it was securely fastened like I had seen my parents do hundreds of times. It had been their diligence to safety that saved Megan’s life in the accident when my dad had slammed into the telephone pole.
The ride to the cemetery was slow and silent as we made our way through town, passing the brightly-colored store-fronts and droves of people strolling around the sidewalks. To them, this was just another normal day. We finally reached Shady Oaks Cemetery, and all I could think was how this place felt like it was mocking me. It was beautifully inviting with lush grass, perfectly manicured trees, and freshly bloomed flowers everywhere, but there was certainly nothing beautiful about coming here. The driver turned smoothly into the graveyard, pulling up slowly to the spot where we would say our final goodbyes. The one thing that my mom and grandma had agreed on was that my father would have hated the whole church funeral thing, so they settled on a graveside service. I could see the seats under the oversized maroon tent were filled with mourners with many more people standing in rows behind them. The kind limo driver helped Megan and me climb out first and all eyes from the tent focused on us. I felt myself flush slightly at the attention I was receiving, which was unusual because I had spent my life thriving on the attention of others. Whether at dance recitals from my younger years or cheerleading as I got older, I was used to hundreds of students cheering for me as I effortlessly tumbled through complicated routines with my parents watching proudly from the stands. I had always been the envy of most of the student body and I liked it that way.
This attention though was different. It oozed with pity and empathy combined with a mix of relief that it wasn’t them in our shoes. I wanted to be anywhere but here, and for a brief moment, I considered fleeing the scene. That is, until Megan’s tiny hand tightened around the three fingers she was gripping on my right hand. I couldn’t leave her here. When I looked down to see her lower lip trembling, I pulled her closer against my hip as we slowly made our way to the seats reserved for family members.
The minster started talking when we were seated. Quiet sobbing filled the air as he droned on about all my father’s attributes. My father was a pillar of our community, well loved by all, but none of them knew what truly made him special. Like the way he made “Pancake Sunday” a special event each week by adding different goodies to the pancake batter to mix things up. Or the way he would act like a rock star when he played Rockband with Megan. They would always beg me to play with them, but I always seemed to have something to do, like paint my nails or text a friend, or some other activity that now seemed meaningless in comparison.
I was brought back to reality as my Aunt Donna stepped up to the microphone to speak. How ironic that my dad’s least favorite relative would give his eulogy. He had joked for years about the stick up his sister’s ass and yet, there she was, probably because she was one of the only dry eyes here. Grandma had asked me if I wanted to say something, but I just didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of sharing my now precious memories with anyone else. Besides, would they really want to hear what I had to say if they knew all of this was my fault?
I would give anything to go back to the day that changed everything. Now, my life was filled with If onlys…If only I hadn’t picked a fight over my car…If only I hadn’t acted slow and sullen to make a point….If only I had picked any other day to be a whiny bitch, everything would be different. We would have been on time and the crazy asshole behind my dad and Megan would have picked another car to take out his road rage on!
“This was my fault,” I thought bleakly as I scanned the attendees, searching for a break in the crowd. My eyes settled on a lone figure leaning against a tree twenty feet from where I sat. Our eyes locked and bile rose in my throat.
This may be my fault, but it was equally his.
Maddon
I shouldn’t have come, I thought. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Something just pulled me to the funeral. This should be their time, I know I don’t belong. The family would probably freak if they noticed me and yet, here I am, like an idiot.
I scanned the perimeter, passing over the bowed heads and shaking shoulders of the mourners, searching for my whole reason for being here. Finally, after a moment, my eyes settled on her and my palms began to sweat. Even shrouded in her grief, she looked heartbreakingly beautiful.
A week ago she wasn’t even on my radar. There was a definite pecking order at our school, and our crowds just never mixed. I would have never given her a second thought until my father had irreversibly changed all of our lives.
I remember sitting on the couch with my aunt watching the news coverage as Kassandra led her distraught mother and pale younger sister from the hospital. My dad’s road rage had made us national news. The media happily gobbled up the heartbreaking tale of how one man treacherously ran an innocent driver off the road in a drunken rage. My eyes zeroed in on Kassandra. I took in her every feature as she bravely stepped between her family and the reporters, all demanding to know how they felt about what my father had done. She ignored their shouting, refusing to take part in the frenzy. The pain on her face was all too real, even through the TV.
Now, here I was, watching from a distance like some kind of stalker as she gripped her younger sister’s hand. My whole intention was to stay out of site, which backfired when her eyes met mine. I felt like I had been sucker punched in the gut. Her hatred was unmistakable.
A Beautiful Lie
Playing with Fire, #1
by
T.E. Sivec
Copyright © January 2013 T.E. Sivec
ISBN-13: 978-1481258883
ISBN-10: 1481258885
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
License Notice
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you wish to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Disclaimer
This is a work of adult fiction. The author does not endorse or condone any of the behavior enclosed within. The subject matter is not appropriate for minors. Please note this novel contains profanity, explicit sexual situations, and violence.
Cover art by Okay Creations
www.okaycreations.net
For Max. Thank you for sticking by my side through all of this craziness and for pushing me to work outside the box. Because of you, this story is the best it could ever be. Someday, Dean Winchester will be yours. But only if you share.
Thank you to Jenny and Mollie for being the first to read this and make me feel good about taking this chance.
Thank you to Madison for being my cheerleader and for keeping me sane when I freak out about people actually reading this.
Prologue
At the sound of laughter and teasing voices, she glanced up from the book she was reading and brushed her auburn bangs out of her piercing green eyes. She watched the culprits of the interruption shove and push each other while they walked to the counter of the coffee shop with their backs to her. They continued behaving like twelve year olds while they placed their orders and moved off to the side to wait for their coffees. The playful insults they lobbed at each other made her smile wistfully and reminded her of siblings hiding their closeness and love for one another behind arm punches and silly name-calling. Not that she had any kind of idea what it was like to have a sibling. Or family, period. Watching their interaction surprised her by making her long for something she had no business wanting. There was nothing about her fellow male college students that ever held her interest. They were immature and annoying, and so far the ones she met only cared about who was buying the keg for the upcoming party or how quickly they could get to third base. She had too much at stake and too much invested in her future to waste time with people like that.
Feeling entirely too vulnerable where these strangers were concerned and the emotions they unwittingly forced into her heart, she pushed her long, wavy hair off of one shoulder and started to put her head back down to finish reading the night's Photojournalism assignment when one of the guys turned around. Her eyes locked with his and she felt her heart speed up. He was the type of man that made you sit up straight and pray to God your make-up still looked good after six hours of classes. He made you blush and want to look over your shoulder to see if he was really looking at you or a prettier girl behind you.
He wore faded jeans that hung low on his hips and a long-sleeved grey Abercrombie and Fitch shirt. Regardless of his obvious college student status, he was all man. He easily reached six feet, and while he wasn’t your typical, muscled jock, she could see the strength in his arms as he flexed to heft his backpack higher on one shoulder. The defined muscles of his chest stretched across the cotton fabric of his fitted shirt and made her hands itch with the need to smooth her palms against him or trace the word “Abercrombie” with the tips of her fingers just to feel the heat from his skin. He absently nodded his head at something his friend said, never taking his bright blue eyes off of her as he ran his long fingers through his short, midnight black hair.
She willed him to come over to her table and talk to her. She wanted to hear his voice and know if it would affect her even half as much as his stare did. Just the sound of his laughter, deep and unreserved, forced a tingle down her spine and shocked her again when she realized it sounded nothing like that of a college boy. There were so many things about him that made her instantly forget who she was, what she’d been through, and the choices she made as a consequence. Aside from the way his eyes seemed to pierce right through to her soul, and how he wouldn’t tear his gaze away from her even when outside forces tried get his attention, in just a few short minutes, she knew by his actions that he was a genuine person: the way he let a woman and her little girl go in front of him in line and then gave his friend a stern look when he complained, or the tip he stuck into the jar on the counter when no one was looking instead of waiting for all eyes to be on him to see his kindness like most would do. With just one look and a few charitable actions, she wanted to throw her beliefs out the window and lose herself in him. She wanted to forget about the fact that she didn’t need or want anyone in her life and ignore the voice in her head reminding her that sharing a piece of yourself with others only led to disappointment and a shattered heart.
She forced herself to break the eye contact before she did something completely out of character like get up and approach him or press her lips to the side of his neck so she could taste his skin. With a mental smack to her libido, she turned her attention to the friend standing next to him. He was just as good looking but a few inches shorter. His presence didn’t seem to command the room like Blue Eyes, but his smile lit up his entire face and oddly enough, put her at ease. A smile that held no secrets and would tell her no lies, like the ones she was used to lately. She glanced back and forth between them and smiled shyly, thinking about how she was never lucky enough to have one, let alone two good looking guys pay attention to her.
Her smile grew as they both made their way over to her table.
She’d always think back to that moment over the coming years and wonder what would have happened if things had been different, if only one of the boys had come into the coffee shop that day or if she had just listened to her brain instead of her heart and said no to that first date.
Her life was forever changed as soon as those boys sat down next to her, and she needed to remind herself over and over that it happened exactly how it was meant to.
She would never give up having those two men in her life no matter what happened or how much she had to compromise her feelings or lock her thoughts away in a secret compartment in her heart. They were her life, her best friends, and her family.
But if you were given the chance to go back, to tell the truth instead of lie to save someone’s life and their feelings...would you?
Chapter One
“It’s a beautiful lie. It’s the perfect denial.
Such a beautiful lie to believe in.”
-30 Seconds to Mars, “A Beautiful Lie”
Eight years later
Garrett McCarthy hustled down the rickety wooden steps nestled between the wild grass and glanced quickly at his watch, nervously running his fingers through is close-cropped black hair. He squinted his blue eyes at the setting sun as he quickened his pace.
He made dinner reservations at Parker’s favorite Italian restaurant for eight o'clock. When he knocked on her door at seven-thirty and didn't get an answer, he knew exactly where he'd find her.
As he walked off the bottom step and his casual, brown lace-up Doc Martins sunk into the sand, he smiled when he saw her.
She was flat on her stomach right by the water’s edge with her elbows propped up, holding the camera by her eye. Each gentle wave that lapped up onto the shore inched its way around her body before sliding away and rushing back out to sea.
When she was working on a project, she lost all sense of time. Her current assignment was photographing sand crabs: a freelance piece for National Geographic. Probably not very exciting to some, but it was everything to her. She loved the peacefulness of nature, and having a camera in her hand no matter where she was excited her beyond belief. Holding that small piece of metal in her hand transported her to another time and another place. It made all of her cares disappear so her only concern or worry was for the subject on the other end of her lens. It didn’t matter to her that she wasn’t rushing off to war zones or following news vans. This was who she was. Being a photojournalist was her life’s dream, and she worked her ass off to make sure she achieved it by doing whatever it took to get herself through college all on her own. And it made him respect her even more.
The push and pull of the water and the click of her camera echoed along the beach as he made his way across the sand to her. When he was a few feet away, he stood with his hands in his pockets, not wanting to disturb her. He liked watching her work. Every time he saw her with that camera in her hands, his heart swelled with pride at how talented she was. And as each wave of water washed over her body, he refused to dwell on the other parts of him that swelled at that moment. Or ever.
She was one of the best freelance photographers in the country, and over the years she had her photographs featured in hundreds of magazines in the U.S. and was well on her way to becoming the next Ansel Adams. None of those accomplishments were what endeared Parker to him, however. Even without the notoriety and with more talent than that of a hundred photographers, she would still be the same generous, intelligent, sweet, and loving person that he’d always known. She didn’t need prestigious awards or featured photos to tell him all of these things. He’d known it since the first moment he laid eyes on her.
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