Tell Me a Truth: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Coralee June

  Turning on the water, I got under the stream and steam while trying not to feel hope. Decker took care of me last night. Certainly, that had to count for something?

  Whether or not he cared wasn’t ever an issue. It was the possibility of caring too much that had us feeling so restrained.

  I lathered the citrus soap in my palm and ran it over my body while letting the smell of bad decisions slip down the drain. Once I felt human again, I turned the water off and toweled dry before going to stand in front of the mirror. Images of last night flashed in my mind once more as I wiped away the condensation from the steam and stared at myself.

  Today, I felt like myself again. Yesterday was needed but reckless. I didn’t want to spiral into the destructive selfishness Mama used to live out.

  My sopping wet hair made droplets of water travel down my back, and I opened the bathroom door to head back into my room, pausing when I heard the front door open.

  Decker walked inside, carrying a messenger bag over his shoulder as he slammed the door shut and glanced down the hallway toward me. I clutched the towel tighter against my body. There was a silent standoff between us. His eyes swept over where the towel hit mid-thigh, his dark, gaze lingering on the triangle of skin peeping through the thick fabric.

  “You okay?” he finally asked with a cough before running his hand through his dark hair. He shifted his bag over his crotch, and I wondered if he was trying to hide a growing erection. It thrilled me.

  “Yep. Thanks for covering for me. And for last night,” I whispered. The AC kicked on, and a blast of cold air left an icy trail down the drips of water coating my skin. I shivered, forcing myself to compartmentalize my emotions and convince myself that it was from the artificial chill in the air and not Decker’s lusty look. It could have been easy. I could have dropped my towel and sauntered over to him. I could have demanded a kiss, stripped him bare, and taken him in the kitchen.

  But affections like ours were rarely easy, so instead, I clutched my towel closer.

  “Let’s talk when you have clothes on,” he choked out before practically fleeing to the living room. I watched his back for long enough to catch him stealing another look. And boy, was it a lingering moment. I bit my lip as he glanced over his shoulder. The world stopped spinning. His eyes were hooded. I debated dropping my towel once more, but he disappeared before I could convince myself that it was harmless.

  Nothing about us was harmless.

  So instead of doing all the things I wanted, I slipped into my bedroom and got dressed for dinner with Dad. Decker and I wouldn’t be talking about last night.

  “You look like shit, kid,” Dad said with a laugh while pouring an ungodly amount of ketchup onto his plate. We were back at the diner, with our table swimming in greasy food and chuckles between us.

  “Don’t think I don’t notice that black eye you’re sporting, old man,” I replied with a wave of my hand before stealing the ketchup bottle to drown my own plate with it. “What happened?”

  I was surprised to find that Dad was sporting a shiner when he picked me up. He’d always been a prideful man, so I waited until he had food in front of his face before asking. He couldn’t avoid me now.

  “It’s nothing,” he gritted, but I knew a thinly veiled lie when I saw one.

  “Dad, what happened?” I pestered.

  “Blakely. You spent your entire life raising your Mama. I’m not going to let you wipe my ass, too. I’m a grown man; I can handle it.”

  His words stopped me in my tracks. “I’m not mothering you,” I gritted. “I’m allowed to care. I’m allowed to ask about your life, Dad.”

  “That’s the problem, kid. You don’t stop there. Do you know how on airplanes they tell you to put your own air mask on first before helping others? It’s been a while since I’ve flown, so I could be wrong,” Dad rambled while swirling a french fry in his ketchup. Admittedly, I hadn’t ever been on a plane, but I knew what he was talking about.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Well, you’re the type to give your mask away to someone that already has their own. Your mother was breathing your air, Blakely. I’m not going to do that. I’ve got my own supply. My own lungs.”

  My eyes twinkled with moisture, and I swatted it away. I wanted so badly for Dad to be the one that raised me. He had his faults, but something told me he would have grown up for me. Dad would have tried for me—eventually. He was just so young when I was born, so stupid. He grew out of it. Prison had that sort of effect on a person.

  Mama never did.

  “Fine,” I finally said, though I was still itching to know what Dad was hiding from me. But if he wanted to prove he could handle his shit, I’d let him. I had to end this toxic cycle of feeling responsible for my parents. It was their job to feel responsible for me.

  “So how is Lance? How’s the new school?” Dad asked, smoothly transitioning us into casual conversation territory.

  “It’s good,” I choked out. “I really like my school. I’ve made a few friends. It’s challenging, but I really like it. I really like it. Really.” I sounded like a broken record. Dad’s face dipped, protectiveness rolling off of him in waves. His scowl highlighted the bruise on his eye and the scar on his upper lip.

  “What’s wrong, Blakely?” he asked.

  I almost wanted to use the same analogy, reminding him that I had my own pair of fully functioning lungs. But I didn’t say it. “I don’t really want to talk to my Dad about guy problems,” I admitted, and his face bloomed red. I wasn’t sure if it was anger or embarrassment.

  “You’re not...pr-pregnant, are you?” he asked.

  “Dad. I never had a curfew. Mama gave me my first drink at twelve, and I had to forge her signature on report cards because she couldn’t be bothered to see her daughter’s straight A’s. There was only one rule in her house: Wrap it up. She bought condoms in bulk and put me on the pill when I started my period. I’m not having a kid any time soon.”

  Dad squirmed in his chair, his face twisted in pure agony like I’d stabbed him in the eye with my fork. “Okay, okay, I get it!” he whined before scrubbing his hands down his face. “Please, say no more.”

  I smirked before plopping a chicken tender in my mouth, slowly chewing it before swallowing. “Have you ever liked someone bad for you?” I asked, then immediately regretted my decision.

  Mama. Mama was bad for Dad. Mama was the reason he ended up in prison. When I was eight years old, Mama and Dad got the bright idea to rob a store. Mama convinced him it would put food on the table, told him that if they didn’t want me ending up in the system, they’d have to provide for me. The road to prison was paved with good intentions, and when the cops showed up, Mama sped off in the getaway car, leaving Dad behind while claiming she had a kid to raise. She didn’t give two shits about me; she just didn’t want to get caught.

  “Never mind, don’t answer that,” I said while looking out the window. I didn’t want to hash out all the things that twisted Dad up inside. He would have gone to the ends of the earth for her, and in many ways, he did. She was just too selfish to see.

  “I can’t believe I’m giving you boy advice. I might be rusty, but I’ll give it a shot, okay?” Dad offered while taking a large gulp of his Diet Coke.

  “This is gonna be good,” I teased while leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Men are pigs,” Dad began. I snorted. “We’re wrong most of the time. And we are stupid. We don’t know what’s good for us, and we make poor decisions.”

  “This is the best speech ever, old man,” I said with a giggle.

  “But sometimes we find someone that makes us want to be…better. Someone that makes us think. Someone that makes us want to be right—do the right thing. If they become better by being in your presence, they’re good for you.” I let his words saturate my soul for a minute. What about me? Did Decker make me a better person? He encouraged me to voice my truth. Demanded I go to school and further my education.
He put aside this…thing…between us so that I could have a shot at a real relationship with Lance that wasn’t burdened by our taboo relationship. He held my hair when I puked.

  Maybe I was the bad influence in our relationship.

  “What if they think that staying away is what’s better?” I asked.

  “Then you have to respect it. Men are selfish. We take, take, and then take some more. We’re fucking conquerors. Just read a history book.” I nodded, understanding what he was saying. “So if he’s willing to not be selfish for your well-being, then hell, I actually approve of this guy.”

  “What if I’m the one that wants to be selfish?” I asked before slurping on my drink and maintaining eye contact with Dad. He rolled his eyes.

  “Then I’d tell you to stop being a man. You know, we thought you were a boy for like six months? Faulty sonogram. You’ve got that big dick energy, kid. Put that shit away and do what’s right.”

  I spurted Coke out my nose while choking on laughter. It burned my nostrils, and I had to grab the stack of napkins in the middle of the table to wipe my face. “Did you just say I have big dick energy? I can’t even with that. Are you reading quotes on Pinterest again?” I snorted while trying to calm my breathing.

  “I told you that I’m trying to get hip with the lingo!” Dad exclaimed with a laugh. On one of our calls, he explained that he finally bought a smartphone and was enjoying researching recipes on Pinterest. It was adorable, and I teased him about it whenever I could. “Ten years is a long time to be on the inside. I still don’t understand this Yeet business.”

  “I don’t think anyone does,” I snickered.

  The front door to the restaurant opened, and in walked three men decked out in all leather with their heads shaved. They looked sketchy as fuck, and I was going to comment on their shady appearance, when I noticed Dad’s face completely drained of blood. Something about these guys had him scared as hell.

  “Hey kid, you ready to go? I just remembered I have something to do,” he choked out while looking down at his plate, gripping his fork so hard that I thought he would bend the metal.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper-hissed while checking out those guys by the door.

  “Don’t look at them, Bee. Keep your eyes on me,” Dad instructed, and my eyes zeroed in on the purplish bruise on his face, and my mind made the connection.

  “Did those guys do this to you, Dad?” I asked as he filtered through his tattered wallet and pulled out some cash. Dropping it on the table, he reached over and grabbed my wrist. We were fast walking out a side exit within seconds.

  “Dad, talk to me,” I whispered as the door shut. He dragged me to his beat-up Dodge and shoved me in the passenger seat, looking around the parking lot as his fingers trembled. I always thought my father was strong and immovable. Like a mountain. Like stone.

  But now, seeing him struggle to stop the tremors in his body long enough to slip his keys into the ignition, I realized that my father was very much afraid of whoever those men were. It wasn’t until we were pulling out of the parking lot that I glanced at the window to the restaurant again. There, standing on the other side of the glass, the three men stared with their arms crossed over their chest, watching our car disappear down the road.

  “What was that, Dad?” I asked. I tried to keep my voice calm, though I was freaking out.

  “You have to pretend like you never saw them, Blakely,” Dad urged. He kept checking the rearview mirror as if worried they were following us. “I thought they left town, but they didn’t. Those men are very dangerous, Bee. This isn’t a joke.”

  “Dad. Tell me who they are,” I pleaded. Dad seemed to gnaw on my plea. His eyes were shifty, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “On the inside, I did things to survive. It’s all about who you know in there, Bee. I pledged myself to a gang, and now I can’t leave.”

  “Shit, Dad,” I huffed while slamming my head against the headrest and squeezing my eyes shut.

  “I don’t want that life. That’s not me. I wanted a fresh start for us, but it appears like once again, I’m going to fuck it all up.”

  “Dad, you have to leave town. You need to get out of here,” I rushed out while twisting to stare at him. “Wait until shit calms down. Can you call your parole officer?” I asked. I was frantically searching for a solution. I couldn’t leave my dad; we’d just finally found each other again. This was so fucked up. It felt like someone was standing on my chest, taking away my air.

  “She doesn’t give a shit about me,” Dad spat. His face grew an angry shade of red. “I tell her I’m involved in gang activity, and she’ll find a way to lock me up again.”

  “Maybe I should tell Lance? He’ll know what to—”

  “NO! Absolutely not. You’re going to go home, and if you see those men, you’re going to steer clear, do you understand me? Don’t call me. Don’t seek me out. The only way I’ll be able to keep you safe is if they don’t know who you are. It might already be too late.” He seemed so certain, but I wasn’t convinced. There had to be another way.

  Dad turned on the street leading to Lance’s apartment. “Dad, this is so—”

  “I’m sorry, kid. I’m so fucking sorry. I tried, I really did. But right now, your safety is more important to me, okay?”

  Tears started streaming down my face. “This isn’t right.”

  “Guess you make me a better person, huh? I love you enough to leave.” The conversation with Dad from before felt so far away now. I sobbed harder as he put the car in park.

  I reached over the center console to give him a hard hug. I breathed in the smell of his cheap cologne, mixed in with motor oil and sweat. “You have to come back, okay?” I choked out.

  “I will, Bee. I will.”

  When I pulled away, we stared at one another for another moment, then I let out a shaky breath and exited the car, leaving behind the one parent I had left.

  21

  Blakely

  The doorman stared curiously at me as I walked inside Lance’s building. “You okay, Miss Blakely?” he’d asked, but I ignored his call at my back. There was only one person I wanted to talk to right now. One person that would make all of this okay. Somehow, Decker Harris had become my safe haven, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap up in his comfort while I processed the terror coursing through my veins.

  Tears were streaming down my face in a constant flow of agony. I had been looking forward to dinner with Dad, but I wasn’t expecting it to end like this. It seemed fitting that his past would steal him away from me before we could even get started. This was why I didn’t get close to people. It hurt too much when they let you down or left.

  Even through all of this, I hated myself for making this about me. I was no better than Mama, taking other’s demons and wearing them like a cashmere scarf to show off. She’d brag about her misfortunes for sympathy, and I never wanted to be like that.

  “Her father is in prison.”

  “We barely have enough money for rent. I lost my job.”

  “These medical bills are piling up. I’m dying, you know.”

  Dad was in some serious danger, and all I could think about was how this would affect me. It felt too similar to her narcissistic behavior, and I wiped at my eyes to sever the thick disgust that filled me once I realized it.

  I continued to furiously wipe at my face as I took the stairs up to Lance’s loft. I needed time to console myself and steady my emotions. I needed time to think about what we were going to do. Do I go to the police and risk ruining Dad’s parole? Do I trust Lance enough to go against Dad’s wishes and tell him?

  Once at the door, I hovered my hand over the knob for another moment of self-pity before opening it. The first person I saw inside was Decker. He was sitting on the couch with his arm resting behind his head, slouching in the deep cushions while watching a game. I couldn’t even appreciate how handsome he looked with his tight shirt and jeans because I was so upset. “You’re home early,” he n
oted without looking at me. I peered around the loft for Lance and noticed that he wasn’t there. He was gone a lot lately.

  They’re going to leave you too, the nagging voice in my head whispered.

  “Where’s Lance?” I asked. My voice was audibly distressed, causing Decker to turn and stare at me.

  “He went to go pick up a pizza and beer. What’s wrong?” Decker asked. He stood up and made his way over to me. He moved slowly like I was a wounded animal that would snap at him, and I pressed my back against the door, feeling the need for space. Decker stopped about a foot away and raked his eyes up and down my face, taking in my red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

  “I’m fine,” I whispered. I don’t even know why I was lying. Decker was like a magnet for truth; he pulled it out of me. The man was painfully inquisitive and to a T. He knew everything about me, without even asking. It was like my soul was an open book to this man, and it both infuriated and invigorated me.

  “What happened with your dad?” Decker asked in a soft voice before taking another step closer. Within seconds, his hand was braced against the door, caging me in as he leaned even closer. Our noses brushed. Tears fell. My chest constricted, my stomach plummeted. I breathed in the smell of his cologne while staring up at him.

  “These guys showed up at the restaurant,” I choked out, feeling partly guilty for already spilling Dad’s secret. He had warned me not to tell anyone, but I couldn’t bear this alone. There had to be an option other than just hiding and sending him on the run.

  “What guys? Did someone hurt you?” Decker rushed out. His eyes turned dark with anger. I turned my head to stare at his arm and watched as the muscles in his forearm flexed. He used the one not caging me in to twist my gaze back to him. I couldn’t escape the honesty; Decker demanded it.