Lies We Tell

by Angel Lawson

  Finn looks up from his menu. “Trying to decide if I should go for the Monster Burger or the Epic Burger.”

  I shake my head and laugh. Finn’s food consumption is pretty epic on its own. I can’t imagine eating that much. But, I also can’t imagine working out the way he does, either. “No idea, man.”

  “What are you getting?”

  “I just had pizza in the yearbook office with Kenley, so maybe just a shake.”

  He nods. “How is she?”

  “A little stressed about school and Valhalla meetings. Ezra. Oh,” I straighten the salt and pepper shakers. “Alice quit the yearbook staff today and kind of went off on Kenley. It rattled her.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That Kenley’s toxic and paranoid. Just a bunch of bullshit, but with Kenley’s state of mind, she let it get to her.”

  He runs his hand though his hair. “She’s evil.”

  “I just don’t think Kenley can fully see it.”

  Our waitress comes over. She’s wearing a fur-lined Santa hat, and Finn orders the Epic burger and a shake. I just get the shake; chocolate.

  “After all that, we found this photo of Mr. Baxter from high school. It looked like he was holding hands with Regina Waller.”

  Finn frowns. “Seriously?”

  “Yep. When Kenley saw it, she got weird—like at first, she believed it, but then got hedgy and said she wanted to drop it. It’s like she’s second-guessing everything. The apartment, Mr. Baxter, digging into this in the first place.”

  “I know that’s what Ezra wants,” he says. “He’s worried about her and thinks breaking up with her will keep her safe.”

  I let that sink in. “Have you told her that?”

  “No. I figure they need to sort this out themselves.” He looks up at me. “And he may be right.”

  “You really think so?” I don’t like the idea of Kenley being hurt by Ezra, but I get his need to protect her. All of this stuff; Rose, the apartment, SugarBabies, murder…it’s scary. Not even Chief McMichael wants to touch it.

  “I think that if Kenley is okay with letting all of this go, then we should support her.”

  “It would be nice to just enjoy the rest of the senior year,” I say.

  “Christmas is next week—then the retreat.” He raises an eyebrow. “It should be fun.”

  “And a good way to blow off steam—leave all this drama behind. Maybe that would convince Ezra to reconsider.”

  Our food arrives, the waitress sliding Finn’s huge plate in front of him and then the two milkshakes. I take a spoonful and feel the cold sweetness on my tongue, thinking that maybe it’s time for us to stop playing detective and go back to being high school students.

  If only the rest of Thistle Cove had the same idea.

  26

  Kenley

  Even if I’d wanted to continue my deep dive into exposing BD, with the holidays approaching it’s impossible. Tradition rules in Thistle Cove and the only thing that can compete against Christmas is exams, and even they take a backseat.

  Saturday morning is the town’s Pancakes with Santa—the annual event held in the high school cafeteria. We didn’t as much volunteer to help as it’s expected through the various clubs and activities we’re involved in. I can’t hate on it too much. The money goes to the Children’s Home, and who doesn’t like Santa and pancakes?

  I’m assigned door duty, selling tickets as people come in. It’s a cheerful environment—the dance team sparkles in their glittery outfits, handing out candy canes to the kids. The cheerleaders direct people to tables. The guys are all here—Ozzy relegated to the kitchen and the football team cleans up wearing their uniforms with an added purple Santa hat. Finn walks by pushing a trash can and winks. He’s flipping adorable.

  Ezra, on the other hand, is keeping his distance—cleaning up on the opposite side of the room.

  “Is he here?” a little girl asks while her parents pay for their tickets. She glances up at the stage where a large gold-painted throne sits.

  “Not yet. He should be here at any time.”

  “He wants to make sure everyone eats first,” the dad says, giving me a wink. I remember the thrill of coming here as a kid. Some people have mall Santas. In Thistle Cove, this is our tradition. All the kids dressed up and excited to see Santa. For years, Mr. England, the man that ran the pharmacy, dressed up like Santa, but he retired last year. I’m not sure who’s doing it this year.

  “Morning, Kenley.”

  I look up and see Mr. and Mrs. Waller.

  I swallow. “Good morning.”

  “Two tickets please.” He gives me his politician smile and unpeels a twenty-dollar bill from his money clip. Regina grins warmly.

  “I like your purse,” I say, knowing it’s the kind of thing Mrs. Waller thinks is important. Truthfully, she looks gorgeous. Her cream-colored sweater looks soft, and her long brown suede skirt is very stylish. Her outfit is topped off with a faux-fur lined coat and a large handbag.

  “Thank you, sweetie.”

  I take the money and give them the tickets.

  “Thank you for volunteering your time,” Brice says. “It’s good to see you focusing your energy on something positive, like helping out in the community.”

  There’s a smug condensation in his tone and I bite back a million retorts.

  Regina, sensing my annoyance, nudges him to move along. A moment later, he’s shaking hands and greeting constituents and I have a line of eager children ready to see Santa. The next time I look over, I see Mr. Baxter standing at a table filled with business men.

  Yay, the gang is almost all here, I think sarcastically. Almost, because Coach Chandler is missing. Which is weird. This is the kind of event where he thrives.

  My line dies down, everyone either getting pancakes or eagerly waiting for Santa. I sort the cash in the box, jotting down a few notes and sliding it inside.

  A few minutes later Santa arrives in a jingle of sleigh-bells and stomping boots. Santa strides across the stage in his red suit and long curly beard. The kids lose their minds, squealing and cheering in delight.

  “Any idea who’s playing Santa?” Ozzy asks.

  “I haven’t heard.”

  An “elf” dressed in a green romper and matching hat, walks behind Santa over to where the line will queue. Ozzy grunts. “Is that—”

  “Alice.”

  Participation isn’t something Alice willingly does. No teams. No clubs. Yearbook was so we could hang out together, plus it was a way off campus to sell ads during lunch. But here she is, assisting Santa. I glance back at the man, searching his face, finally looking at his eyes. Crystal blue. Jason Chandler.

  Who’s more loved than the state-winning football coach? Santa, that’s who.

  Manipulative asshole.

  “I’m going to go take this money to the office.”

  Ozzy nods. “Okay. I need to go help clean up in the kitchen.”

  I walk down the hall, trying not to let Jason Chandler ruin Christmas. Why do these men have to be involved in everything? Why do they have to taint all the good stuff in town?

  I enter the office and go to the small storage closet where Mrs. Bradshaw told me to leave the money box. I’ve just placed it on a shelf when the closet door opens and I jump in surprise.

  “It’s just me—” Ezra says.

  “What are you doing?” We have a way of meeting in closets like this. My heart leaps, hoping maybe that’s why he’s here. To make up. He presses his finger to his lips and points outside.

  “Are you crazy?” A woman asks. I frown. Her voice is familiar. So is the one that responds.

  “You won’t answer my calls or see me otherwise,” Mr. Baxter says.

  “Because I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Regina, talk to me. I know this has been terribly upsetting for you. For me, too. I just want to know that you’re okay.”

  Regina Waller? Ezra Baxter? Meeting in secret. I look up at Ezra. He’s focu
sed on the closed door.

  “I’m not ever going to be okay, but that’s not new. This is my cross to bear. Always has been, always will be.”

  “It didn’t have to be that way,” he says. His voice is softer, kinder than I’ve ever heard it.

  “You know I didn’t have another choice. Don’t think I don’t blame you.”

  “You can’t blame me for something I didn’t know.”

  “I can blame you for not being able to keep your dick in your pants.” A sob rips through her.

  Laughs. “Yeah, well it’s not like it was a choice I made alone.”

  “I did what I did to protect her—all of us,” Regina says.

  Her? I reach for Ezra’s hand and grip his fingers.

  “No, you did what you did to protect yourself and your future.”

  “You’re right. I did. And it all fell apart anyway. The only thing we can do now is keep quiet and keep our distance,” Regina whispers. “But that seems impossible for you.”

  “I’ve done what I can, Regina. I’ve destroyed my relationship with my son to protect this secret, to protect him, and everyone else. I ruined what he had with Kenley—who was probably the best thing he had going for him. But…she won’t stop. She’s under everyone’s skin and every day she puts herself in more danger.”

  “Rose is gone—she’s never coming back. Monica’s in jail. As long as you and I keep our distance, there’s nothing else to drag this out.”

  “You think that’s enough for him? We both know any threat to his position in this community is enough to make him take action.”

  “Then we both need to do what’s needed to make sure he doesn’t,” she says, her footsteps echoing off the floors.

  The main office door swings open and a moment later clicks shut. Ezra and I stand close together, cramped in the small space, barely breathing as his father remains on the other side of the door. Our hands are still linked, but now he clings to me like a lifeline.

  The sound of a loud slam followed by a frustrated groan in the outer room makes me flinch. Ezra’s free hand moves around my back, holding me tight. A moment later the office door opens and closes again. We’re finally alone.

  He looks down at me with those soulful, dark eyes. “Do you understand why I did what I had to?”

  “You think you had to break up with me to protect me?”

  “I thought it was to keep him away from you—but now I realize it’s not him. It’s someone else—someone even my father is afraid of.”

  My mind spins. Mr. Baxter is tough. Powerful. Who would he be afraid of? Waller? And why?

  “Do you know what secret those two are talking about?” I ask.

  He grimaces but shakes his head. It’s not convincing, but after what we just heard,

  I’m not surprised he’s hesitant to say.

  He’s still holding me tight and it feels right being in his arms.

  “I miss you,” he says.

  “I miss you, too.”

  He reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear. My heart thunders, my knees wobble. All I want is for him to kiss me. For this to be right again. For us to repair this rift. Our bodies want it. Our hearts want it. But I can see the flicker of doubt in his eyes. The fear.

  He tilts my head and I close my eyes, bracing for the feel of his mouth on mine. Instead, his lips brush against my forehead and when I open my eyes he’s moved, already halfway out the door.

  My heart aches watching him go, but one thing is confirmed.

  If I try to solve this mystery, I’m putting myself in danger.

  If I don’t, I’ll never get Ezra back.

  27

  Kenley

  I’m sitting on my bed, studying, when I hear a loud clatter on the roof. My heartrate spikes, but Finn pops his head in the window. I hop out of bed and unlock the window—something I’ve been doing more now.

  Cool December air rushes in and I step back so he can climb over the desk.

  “I thought maybe Santa decided to make an early visit,” I joke.

  He grins. “I don’t know babe, you’ve been pretty naughty this year.”

  He follows that up with a scorching kiss, and yeah, a million naughty ideas come to mind. Unfortunately, he pulls away too quickly, dropping his backpack on the chair in the corner of my room.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to settle my heartbeat. After the pancake breakfast, my mom and I went into the city for some Christmas shopping. We didn’t get home until after dinner.

  “I talked to Ezra after the breakfast. He told me and Ozzy about what you guys overheard.” Finn frowns. “He’s worried.”

  “He has a great way of showing it.”

  Finn takes my hand. “I know this is difficult. He’s miserable, if that makes you feel any better.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Well, I promised him I’d come over here and make sure you’re okay.”

  I sigh and walk over to my bed and sit down. “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” He moves to the chair and pushes his backpack aside, then sits.

  I frown. “You’re just going to sit there?”

  “Someone has been in your room twice—that we know of. Ezra says his dad is scared. His dad, Kenley. I’ve never seen that man afraid of anything or anyone.” He kicks off his shoes. “Until something changes, I’m sleeping over.”

  “This is unnecessary—no one has come in here while I’m here.”

  “Are you sure about that?” he asks.

  We hold eye contact, and there’s no way for me to say that I do. I have no idea what’s going on and like Ezra, the conversation we’d overheard that day was unnerving. When I can’t respond to Finn, he says, “I won’t bother you.”

  “It’s not a bother, I just don’t want you rearranging your life to keep me safe from some unknown threat.”

  “It’s not a problem. I can sleep here,” he jerks his head toward the window, “or there. I feel better being over here.”

  He pulls out his book, the one we have a final on in three days, and starts reading. I focus on my own homework, trying not to be distracted by the boy in the corner of the room. I’m not sure I’m happy that he’s here—that he’s doing this—but from the set of his jaw and the glint in his eye, I can tell there’s no use arguing with him.

  At some point I must doze off, waking with a jerk when my math book falls off the bed. I blink, looking around, and see Finn asleep on the chair. I get up, find a blanket in the closet, and spread it over his legs. He doesn’t stir and I don’t bother him, just getting back in bed and turning off the light.

  I fall asleep easily, more comforted by him being there than I’d like to admit.

  I plan on telling him so first thing in the morning, but when my alarm goes off and I turn on the light, he’s already gone.

  “That stuff smells awful.”

  I look up from where I’m painting my nails. My hand is flat on my binder and I’m sitting on the floor in my room.

  “You’re welcome to go back out the window.”

  He shakes his head and attempts to stretch his legs across the floor. There’s not enough space. We’re in the cramped space between my bed and the dresser because I’ve promised my mom I will not paint my nails on the bed anymore after the time I made a huge mess.

  Finn’s across from me and his soapy, clean, post-workout scent is driving me crazy.

  “You should paint mine,” he says suddenly. “Like when we were kids.”

  I swipe the last coat across my pointer and a long-forgotten memory pops in my head. “God, I forgot about that.”

  “The trip to the beach with all our families after Christmas when we were twelve? How could you forget?”

  It was my family, Finn’s, and Ozzy’s. Rose’s family went on a cruise and the Baxters were in the middle of a divorce. Juliette hadn’t moved into town yet. Things were normal, fun, but even so, the trip was a total disaster.

  “I think I intentionally tried to repress
it. It was like, thirty degrees and raining.” I raise an eyebrow. “Hence me painting yours and Ozzy’s nails because we were so bored.”

  “But we got to hang out the whole time. It was fun.”

  I snort and shake my head. “It was not fun.”

  “What are you talking about? We ate junk food, Ozzy brought his gaming system, we binged watched 'The Office'…”

  I pick up where he left off. “You guys harassed me, called me names, spent half the trip attacking and beating me up.”

  “We didn’t beat you up.” But his lips curve in a small grin. “That was wrestling, besides, how else were we supposed to flirt with you?”

  I roll my eyes and blow on my nails. “That was not flirting.”

  “That’s how twelve-year-old boys flirt.” His eyes pin mine. “Promise.”

  My heart flutters. It doesn’t take much, Finn talking about those days when things were good—pure—it makes my belly twist with delight. I pick up the bottle of nail polish. “You really want your nails painted blue.”

  He shrugs. “Why not?”

  There are a few reasons, like, I’m pretty sure he’ll peel it off two seconds after I put it on. “Whatever. Give me your hand.”

  He rests his hand on my bare knee—I’m wearing shorts—and try my best to ignore the heat of his touch. I dip the brush in the cobalt blue paint and start with his pinky. His nails are rough, but clean, and the pads of his fingers tough. A quarterback’s hands. Strong, worn, skilled.

  He’s patient while I work, swiping paint over his nails one-by-one. I rest his finished hand on my knee and pick up the other, going through the process again.

  “You know, I wanted to flirt with you back then too, I just didn’t know how. I was caught somewhere between being flattered and offended by your attention.”

  He laughs. “We were pretty obnoxious.”

  “That year, on New Year’s Eve, when our parents kicked us out and made us walk down to the pier—I really hoped you’d kiss me.”

  His eyebrow raises. “Seriously?”

  My cheeks heat. “Yeah.”