Sex, Money, and the Price of Truth (The Price Series Book 2)

by PE Kavanagh

  LOLA HADN’T MOVED from that spot - perched on the edge of the bed, body slumped over, sobbing - when Maddie came in. She ran to her side, sat down next to her and held her.

  “I’m here, Lo. I’m here.”

  “He’s gone, Maddie. It’s over.”

  “The only thing that’s over is the nightmare with Scott. That’s really good news.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do. If he doesn’t come back.”

  “Lo, you two have been through hell and back. Maybe he just needs a little time. Maybe you do too.”

  “I don’t, Maddie. I need to talk to him. To see him.”

  “Lola, honey. I know you’re hurting. And traumatized. Give yourself some time to find your own footing. So that if you choose to go back to him, it’s because you want him, not because you’re afraid of not having him.”

  “I don’t think it’s my choice, Maddie.”

  “Of course it is, sweetheart. It has always been.”

  Lola fell back onto the bed, hardly able to manage the weight of her body, and dropped into sleep.

  * * *

  I know she is old, even without seeing any physical evidence of it. Her skin is bright and smooth, her body lean and strong, her eyes sparkling. Maybe it is her hair, a slightly more silver version of my own.

  Everything around me is bathed in blue. I am underwater.

  It sounds like music when she speaks. "We were not destined to be happy, you see. Maybe it was the deal I made to be here. Most people can be satisfied with many different possibilities, but for us, our kind, it's very specific. If you are not exactly where you are supposed to be, you will suffer. And nowhere will you feel this more strongly than in your heart. Until you let The One into your heart, you will be lost. The world will be dark and cold."

  I am always cold.

  "You have put steel in your blood, thinking it would make you strong. I suppose we taught you that, with our deep secrets and our silent strength.

  "It’s time, Lola, to set yourself free. You have not come to this place unprepared. Everything you need is within your reach. Do not mistake this for just another circumstance. This is the one for which everything else has been preparation. Don’t be foolish."

  But I don't know what that means! She begins to dissolve in front of me, becoming as translucent as the water. No, don't go, I don't know what to do!

  The music continues, even after I can no longer see her. "Of course you do. You always have."

  * * *

  Lola woke up with a yearning for her grandmother, whose presence in her dreams had gotten her through the struggles of her childhood. I wish I had known her better. She would have revealed her secrets to me, in person instead of in those dreams.

  Lola took to her journal once again, searching for meaning in the notes and questions that had filled the sheets the last time it had felt like the end. She relived the cycle of their coming together, breaking up, coming back together, and then shattering for good. It felt like the rise and fall of her breath, something that made sense in her body, but not yet in her mind.

  The story had grown, taken on so much more depth. She was certain, underneath all the details, was a gem waiting for her to discover. So she began at the beginning - that day at the coffee shop - and continued forward to the moment she watched Aidan walk out of her apartment. The story being told through her quickly outgrew her journals and began to take shape as a manuscript. Each iteration molded the mess in her head into a tale of redemption. It was their story. About the man who came in lies and told her the greatest truth she ever heard.

  The writing consumed her, constantly pulling her attention from work, waking her in the middle of the night, keeping her up. The scratch of pen on paper became clicks on the keys of her laptop, revealing ideas she had never thought, understandings that had been veiled, and the echoes of all the words - from Maddie, from her family, from him - that had never made sense. Until then.

  The whole tale flowed together into a series of messages, directly to her soul. She saw the themes and how they had kept asking for her attention. She gave it all, finally.

  Aidan was washing out his coffee cup when the call came from downstairs. A package had arrived for him.

  His first instinct was worry. He wasn’t expecting a package. It was too early for the regular parcel services. What if the nightmare with Scott wasn’t over? What if another situation had arisen? He threw on a sweater and rode the elevator down. It had been three weeks since that nightmarish night. Since he had walked away from her. A flood of memories he hadn’t allowed into his thoughts accompanied him on the elevator ride back up to his apartment, the weight of the box disappearing from his awareness.

  It was oddly shaped. A bit smaller than a gift box, larger than a book. He set it down on the kitchen counter, took out a knife and cut through the binding tape. A thin cardboard box, stamped with the logo of the nearby copy place, was inside. He opened it to find a tall stack of papers, with a green sticky note, reading Rough Draft, set diagonally in the middle of the top page. He lifted it to reveal, in small text: Our Story by Lola Jennings.

  He picked up the entire package, walked into the living room and set it down on the coffee table. There must be hundreds of pages, he thought to himself, but refrained from taking the stack out of the box. Instead, he lifted the cover page off the top, revealing the second page, and the following words: For Aidan, the one I choose.

  He put down the piece of paper and leaned back into the couch, considering his options. His curiosity and his heartbreak battled it out in his body, one drawing his hand toward the next page, the other begging him not to read it. He knew it would take very little for him to fall into her again. He hadn’t even regained his footing since walking out of her apartment.

  He leaned forward and began to read.

  “She did not like surprises. They were the constant reminder that the control she so desperately desired was illusory at best, delusional at worst. There was nothing surprising about that Friday morning. Not even the unusually warm day, easily explainable by Indian Summer. Or El Nino.

  The same people filled the city blocks between her apartment and her first stop, the local coffee shop. The same people stood in line, waiting to order the same coffee. She was soothed by the ordinariness of it all, her carefully calculated plan for the morning, and for her life, staying intact.

  Except for the beautiful man with the golden eyes, standing at the counter, beaming at her. A harmless surprise, she could justify, if not for the faintest sound of the shattering of the delicate shell surrounding her heart.”

  He paused at the end of the opening section to once again consider his options. Had she really written their story? From start to finish?

  He got up, filled a large glass with water, pulled a pear from the fruit bowl and sat down again, in front of the pile of paper.

  With each page, he saw the entirety of their experience through her eyes. He understood how the roller coaster of fear, desire, truth, lies, and betrayal created the stories she told herself. He was in awe at the beauty of her words and shocked by her raw honesty.

  He read for hours, stopping only to get more water or go to the bathroom. It was evening when he turned the last printed page to reveal a few handwritten sheets. The story wasn’t complete, but there were no more pages. He wondered where the rest of it was, then turned to her scripted thoughts.

  My darling Aidan,

  * * *

  This project, our story, has been filling my days and nights since I last saw you. I hope it has helped you see what I saw and maybe even explain what I did.

  * * *

  I wanted to describe how you forced me to stop running, a skill I had spent all my energy perfecting. Perhaps if I had met you sooner, I wouldn’t have had to run away from so many important things. My life has been a series of steps without really knowing why I was stepping or where I was stepping. Just believing I had to. I always felt it was too much, and not right, you see. And
it took you to make sense of it. You who made no sense.

  * * *

  I always thought that love meant safety and protection. I was unwilling to accept that I had no control over any of it and even if I did everything right, terrible things could still happen. Or beautiful things.

  * * *

  You showed me that to love is to risk everything and it’s actually worth it. To let go, trust my instincts, and stop hiding from the scary parts.

  * * *

  You showed me, without meaning to, I think, the deep hypocrisy of my life. All the ugliness I projected onto you was really disgust with myself. I judged you, when I was the one prostituting myself. The difference was that I could make myself feel legitimate and righteous because what I was doing was socially acceptable. But it was all bullshit.

  * * *

  I’ve been selling out my heart to earn a buck. And to not have to be ashamed of the failure that comes from great risk. To pretend that I had it all together, that I didn’t need any help, that I was valuable to my high-achieving family.

  * * *

  You taught me that the deals one makes in service to the heart are always honorable and the deals one makes in service to a lie are always dishonorable.

  * * *

  I am in awe at your bravery, to risk everything so that our relationship could be grounded in honesty. You protected me, physically and emotionally, even if it meant sacrificing yourself.

  * * *

  I had no idea, Aidan. I had no idea what it looked like or felt like to love someone that much. And to respect someone that much.

  * * *

  This book is the gift you gave me. Not only in the details of the story, but in the courage to write it, something I could have never done running for my life. And running from my life.

  * * *

  Your courage became my courage. Your honesty became my honesty. Your inability to abide the lies, became my inability to hide.

  * * *

  I’ve been planning some big changes in my life that I would love to share with you, if you like. Mostly, I’m writing to you because I’ve been struggling with the ending to this story. Even after attempting several different approaches - happy, tragic, quiet, simple, dramatic - nothing feels right.

  * * *

  I want to know how you want our story to end, Aidan. Or to continue.

  * * *

  And I want you to know that I see you. I’m sorry it took so long, and so many terrible things had to happen. I love you, not despite your past, but because of it. I love you with all my heart.

  * * *

  Are you willing to help me write an ending that includes the two of us, together?

  * * *

  With all my love,

  * * *

  Lola

  Aidan knew the answer to her question. He had always known. Maybe even since that day so many years before when he’d seen her storm out of the seedy bar. Without knowing who she was, he felt her. Just like he felt her in that moment while sitting in his living room pondering their future.

  But he hesitated. Was this the right thing to do?

  He picked up his phone to find her number. Seeing her name on his screen again was like light and heat in a cold, dark room. His text consisted of a single word:

  * * *

  Yes.

  * * *

  He assembled the pages neatly back into the box and replaced the top. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, lingering to examine his own reflection. He was scared, having imagined this moment for weeks, but not actually being prepared for it.

  He had written his own story during their time apart, that Lola's desire for him had been merely physical. She wanted him for what he could give her, but not for who he was. It matched his history, the recurring fear that his previous choices, his past, would make him ineligible for true love. That no one would be able to see him enough to want him. The evidence that arrived in the cardboard box told him otherwise. But was it real or was he letting himself be fooled again?

  He heard the bell of the arriving elevator and walked out to see her stepping into his apartment. He jammed his hands in his pockets to try and stop the shaking.

  "Lola…"

  "I’m here."

  He shifted forward, about to take a large step toward her when she flung her arm forward, phone in hand. "Wait!" His body jerked to a stop. "You sent me a text that said yes. Tell me what you were saying yes to."

  This question startled him and temporarily stole his words. “I… uh… I read everything you sent over. Some parts more than once. Yes was my answer to your question, at the very end, about creating an ending… together."

  Her arm came down slowly, as her breathing became ragged.

  He continued. "I’m saying yes to you. Yes to us. Yes to loving you the best I know how and… being the man you described in the story. A man you love and respect."

  "You are already that man. You always were."

  He exhaled. "And you? What did that yes mean to you?"

  "That you forgave me." She let the tears fall. "That you understood why I acted like such an ass. You did nothing but love and protect me and I treated you like…" She cried too hard to continue speaking and covered her mouth with her hands.

  He walked over and put his arms around her.

  "I missed you so much, Aidan," she cried into his shoulder. "I’m so sorry… about everything."

  He stroked her hair. "My darling Lola…"

  She pulled away and wiped her nose. Even like that, messy and disheveled, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  "Wow. I didn’t think I had any more tears left. Guess I was wrong."

  He stroked her face with both hands. "We’ve been through a lot. Hell and back. Isn’t that what you wrote?"

  "Yes."

  "Maybe, we can stay out of hell for a bit. What do you think?" He smiled at her.

  "Deal. But first… do you have any food?"

  He raised his eyebrows and laughed.

  "I came straight from work. I’m starving."

  “I’d like nothing better than to feed you, my love."

  "Yes, thank you."

  * * *

  They prepared dinner together and fell into a rhythm they would never have expected after the dramatic, tumultuous time that preceded it.

  "It feels strange to be back here," she admitted. "Last time I was here, you weren’t speaking to me. I was scared to death - about Scott, about your anger, about everything."

  "I’m not proud of what happened, Lola."

  "No, you did nothing wrong."

  "I made more than my share of mistakes."

  "What do we do now?"

  "What do you want to do?"

  "There’s been a lot going on for me, these past few weeks. I’ve made some big decisions. But I don’t really want to talk about that tonight."

  "That sounds ominous."

  "Not at all. I think you’ll be really pleased."

  He looked down and saw the box containing the pages of her book. "Your book was brilliant, by the way. I sure hope that’s part of the plan."

  "Thank you." She moved to kiss him and giggled nervously.

  "What’s wrong?"

  "It just feels… different. Like we’re kind of strangers again. But we’re not."

  "I feel like I’ve never known you better than I do right now, Lola."

  He brought his mouth to hers and pressed into her lips. Her hand wrapped around the back of his head. All the fear and tension from the weeks before dissolved in the heat between them.

  "Will you stay here, tonight?"

  "I’d love to."

  He swallowed. "Do you want… I mean, is there anything… ugh, this is hard. I feel foolish asking, but… are there any rules?" He made a slight grimace at the word.

  "No. No more rules. That’s not the right thing for us. For me. I need something else."

  "What do you need?"

  "I need your super hot body, working yo
ur magic on my super receptive body, until we both collapse."

  He burst into laughter. "Wow. I feel totally objectified right now."

  "Get used to it, darling."

  She stood up and took his hand as she walked toward his bedroom.

  "Wait! Don’t I get to stretch first??"

  She entered the bedroom, looked around then walked right out.

  "What’s wrong, Lo?" He asked, searching for something that might have upset her.

  "Nothing." She looked around the living room, then started collecting candles. She grabbed a book of matches from the kitchen drawer and came back.

  "What’s happening?"

  "Ambiance. Fire transforms, so we’re going to transform all the stuff that happened… before… into the fuel for what’s next."

  "Well said, darling." As she placed the candles, he lit them.

  "Actually, I think the highest degree of positive transformation happens when you combine fire with orgasm. Yup, I’m sure I read that somewhere."

  He doubled over laughing. "You got funnier. In the last few weeks."

  "No. My funniness was just crushed by fear before."

  He stood up and put his arms around her. "Are you feeling fearless now?"

  "No. Not that either. I’m just okay with being afraid. This is new ground for me."

  "For both of us." He kissed her forehead, then moved with little kisses down her brow bone, temple, cheek, jaw, then along her neck and shoulder. "I tried to forget how good you smell and taste."

  "Did you succeed?"

  "Not even a little bit."