A Sea of Lies

by H Dillon Hunt

  A Sea of Lies

  By H. Dillon Hunt

  * * *

  This book is dedicated to the man whose soul mine was cut from; My Daddy, my hero, my best friend. I love you more than words can say.

  * * *

  * * *

  “Above all things, love one another deeply, for love covers over a multitude of sins.”

  1 Peter 4:8

  * * *

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places, or people is completely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by H. Dillon Smith

  Prologue

  Bree

  I can’t breathe.

  Grief has fists of ice; its unforgiving grip has a hold of my lungs. It strangles me with the reality of my situation.

  I liked it much better when I was numb. I was numb when they knocked on my door. I was numb when they explained he died, that my husband wasn’t coming home. I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything, the resentment dulled it all. It wasn’t real then.

  But it’s real now. I can’t run away from the truth of that fact with a casket before me. This isn’t a stranger that this is all happening to like I’ve been pretending, it’s happening to me. And the force of that cold reality hits me so hard my knees buckle.

  He’s gone. Ryan is gone and all the broken pieces that we shattered lay in a heap before me. He’s not coming home to help me pick them back up. There will be no closure, no answer to any of it.

  Isn’t there a limit to the heartbreak allotted to one person in a lifetime? Haven’t I had more than enough already?

  The rain that’s been trickling on and off all day begins to pour from the sky. Good, I think, the storm in my soul is spreading.

  The cold drops fall faster than my tears as they seep through my clothes and soak me. I stand alone, as alone as I have always been, as the uniformed soldiers shoot off their guns. I feel each shot hit me square in the chest.

  I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be here.

  Someone tries to hand me a flag. It’s folded neatly but I want to rip it to shreds. I let it slide through my fingers, watching in a daze as it drops into the mud at my feet. I feel eyes on me, strangers’ eyes. My family isn’t here. The few friends I have aren’t here. I didn’t tell anyone about my estranged husband’s death. But I can’t take the pitiful looks anymore. So I do what I always do; I run.

  I turn around and run as fast as I can. I run until my shoes fall off and I can’t breathe and then I run some more. I try to push and pound past the pain like maybe I can escape it, but it’s faster than I am. It chases me all the way to the edge of the cemetery and it smothers me in its wrath.

  I collapse, a sobbing, panting mess against a crumbling wall. I’m hyperventilating now, breathing so hard I’m dizzy. I must be hallucinating too because I just buried Ryan, my husband; but in my mind I see Sam. In my heart, all I want is for Sam to comfort me, for Sam to hold me and make me feel safe again.

  Through swollen, hazy eyes I see someone approaching me, but I’m already fading out. Strong arms surround me, and then everything goes black.

  Part One:

  Love

  Chapter 1

  Sam

  One Year Ago

  Aubree Harrington is light personified. She breathes life and warmth into everything she touches. I remember the first time I saw her; when she wasn’t heartbroken, when she hadn’t just buried her husband.

  She was radiant. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. The day she flew into class late, nothing but wild red curls and one very large cup of coffee. She sat down in the seat next to mine and smiled at me. With that sly twist of her lips, I knew she was going to turn my world upside down.

  It’s a feeling that’s hard to describe. When you look at someone and know, you just know that they’re going to wreck you. You know they are going to change everything.

  And she did. She still is.

  She’s wrecking me all over again.

  Seeing her like this, as if all the light has left her, it’s like losing her all over again. I can’t take knowing that it’s my fault this is happening to her.

  It’s all my fault.

  I find her at the very back of the cemetery, collapsed against a dilapidated brick wall. The rain is coming down harder now, thunder rumbling in the distance. I drop to my knees when I reach her, smoothing my hand across her face.

  My heart aches to be close to her again. I want more than anything in this world to pull her against me and shield her from all of this.

  But that’s not my place. It never was to begin with.

  “Aubree, wake up.” I murmured, shaking her gently.

  She doesn’t stir.

  I glance over my shoulder to see if anyone else is coming for her, but the funeral is already dispersing, no one lingering or making their way over here. I doubt her family is even here. Maybe her brother Carter, but I don’t see him coming for her either.

  I slip my arms under her small frame and lift her up against my chest. I carry her toward my car, unsure of where to take her. I won’t take her back to her empty house to be alone.

  I try to shake her gently again, but she just sighs and curls against my chest. The circles under her eyes are deep like bruises. Her delicate features are drawn tight, even as she sleeps. I would be willing to bet she hasn’t slept in days. It’s no wonder she collapsed.

  I’m going to have to take her home with me. I don’t know how she’s going to handle that. We didn’t exactly end things on a positive note. But looking at her now, I don’t have much of a choice. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. And as much guilt that I carry for Ryan’s death, and everything that happened prior to it, I still made him a promise.

  I promised him I would take care of her. And I don’t break my promises. My friendship with Ryan despite the woman in my arms right now is proof of that.

  Bree

  I’m not in my own bed when I wake up. My sheets don’t smell this good. These sheets smell woodsy and sweet, like a man. My sheets haven’t smelled like that for about two years now.

  I’m in a man’s sheets; that’s not a good sign.

  I pry my eyes open, blinking against the light filtering through the curtained windows across from the bed. I glance down at myself and see that I’m still wearing my dress from the funeral, albeit damp.

  I take another glance around the room, noting how familiar it looks but unable to put my finger on why. There is a stack of clothes on the bedside table with a note on top of them. Scrawled in a familiar neat cursive, the notes tell me that I have not been kidnapped and to come downstairs for bacon and coffee when I wake up.

  My groggy mind perks up at the mention of caffeine.

>   I stand on weak legs and grab the pile of clothes. There’s a pair of jeans that I’ve been missing for about a year and a Ravenclaw t-shirt that will swallow me whole. I lift the shirt up to my face and inhale deeply. Trees. He smells like pine trees in the rain.

  My eyes well up with tears so I run my fists across them until they go away. I’m not supposed to be missing Sam right now, I’m supposed to be grieving Ryan.

  I creep down the steps and through the cozy living room that hasn’t changed a bit in the past year. Sam stands with his back to me at the stove, flipping an omelet. He’s wearing pajamas, a white tank top and sweatpants. I wonder how long I slept for. I look out the French doors that lead to the screened in patio, and the sun is just beginning to peek up over the ocean.

  Sam is either unaware of my presence, or he’s just being Sam and waiting for me to speak first. I stubbornly stare at the back of his head for another minute. His hair is shorter, the dark waves cropped on the sides and slightly longer on the top. His runner’s build is broader now, with thicker muscle and more mass. He seems taller too, but I know that’s not true. I’ve just forgotten the amount of space his presence occupies.

  I feel him everywhere.

  “We have the same view,” I tell him, casting my eyes back to the beach.

  “I knew you moved to Tybee,” he says, still not turning around as he moves the omelet from the pan to a plate. “I just didn’t know where.”

  “Is that why I’m here?” I ask, shortly.

  “Partly,” He sets the pan down and places his hands flat on the counter. Muscles tense between his shoulders. He takes a deep breath and turns to face me. Sam…Always so composed, so precise. It makes me want to throw something at him just to get some sort of reaction.

  “Mostly because I was worried about you, and you were unconscious so I couldn’t exactly ask if that was okay.”

  His eyes meet mine and I detest the way my heart races. My memory hasn’t been foggy on his eyes. The light, mossy green has haunted me for the past year.

  Sam has eyes that follow every move you make. They’re observant, inquisitive, calculating. You never know what’s behind them, but when he looks at you, you feel it. You can feel his undivided attention and attentiveness to what you are saying, and the draw to know what you’re thinking.

  I used to find myself surprised when he would remember something from a conversation we had had months before, things I didn’t even remember blabbering about.

  He is quietly present. Not stoic, he smiles easily and I have felt his rumbling laugh all the way in the pit of my stomach countless times. But those eyes... those eyes have feelers that touch every exposed nerve in my body.

  Angry tears burn my eyes as I look away, ashamed. I fold my arms across my chest, feeling exposed. “You should have known I wouldn’t be okay with it, Sam.”

  He pushes off the counter and walks slowly towards me. I tense. The way I feel around him hasn’t changed with time; my heart still races in my chest, my stomach turning with excitement. I grind my teeth together, furious that I could feel this way just hours after burying my husband, regardless of the state our relationship was in when he died. I’m furious that he would have the nerve to bring me back here, back to his house where it all started. Back to feeling like this. He pauses, halfway to me and dips his head, looking me in the eyes.

  “Aubree…” he whispers, his brows drawing together. “I’m sorry I- I didn’t know where else to take you. I couldn't just leave you there in the rain. Look, just eat something and I’ll take you home, okay? You never have to see me again after this, alright?”

  The tears slide down my cheeks to their own accord. I don’t want that. I don’t hate Sam, I hate myself. I hate my own stupid mistakes, and Sam is just a glaring reminder of them.

  “Aubree,” he pleads, taking another hesitant step towards me because I’m really crying now. Sobbing, actually. “What can I do? Tell me what to do.”

  “Nothing,” I cry, wrapping my arms around myself. “There isn’t anything anyone can do. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. I can’t fix anything, I can’t make anything better. Everything is left unsettled and shattered, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it, Sam.” My voice cracks on his name. He’s in front of me now, so I look into his eyes. I search them for answers like I used to do. He always seemed to have all the answers, but there are none in the green depths today.

  He places his hands gently on my shaking shoulders, his face twisted and pained. He looks like he’s feeling everything that I am; all the grief and guilt and betrayal and hurt, all of it. I can’t tell if his hands are trembling or if I am. I can’t tell if it’s his pain we’re feeling or mine.

  When you love someone, their pain is your pain.

  I let him pull me into his chest. I let him wrap his arms around me. I let him hold me up as I cry, really cry, for the first time since I found out my husband was dead.

  When I’ve cried all the tears I possibly can, the sun now fully risen over the ocean, I tear myself from his arms. And for the second time, in this very house, I walk away and I don’t look back.

  Chapter 2

  Bree

  One year later

  Present Day

  Buzzing.

  Incessant, loud buzzing right by my head.

  Every few minutes, just enough time for me to drift back to sleep, and then the buzzing is back, pulling me out of my nap. I bury my face deeper into my pillow, trying to drown it out with memory foam. When the stupid phone goes off for the fifth time, I relent with a groan, slapping around blindly on the bedside table until I find it. I tear one eye open to see what evil person is trying to interrupt my sacred naptime.

  Oh. Of course, it’s my mother. I glare at the phone as I press the green button and put it up to my ear.

  “Do you realize that if someone doesn’t answer their phone, it means that they can’t get to it, or they don’t want to answer?” I grumble. “It doesn’t mean call ten times until they pick up.”

  “Wow Bree, don’t be so dramatic,” she says this in her dramatic voice. She’s perfected the passive-aggressive, yet bored with this whole thing tone. “I am your mother, excuse me for trying to get a hold of you.”

  There’s a reason I don’t answer your calls mother, and you’re doing it right now.

  “Sorry, mom, what’s up?” I sigh, dropping my arm over my eyes as I wait for the guilt trip.

  “It’s your brother’s birthday on Sunday,” she begins like I don’t know when Carter’s birthday is. “And we’re all getting together tonight for dinner to celebrate.”

  “Mom, it’s a Wednesday night. I work tonight,” I respond dryly. “Why are you doing dinner tonight? Why not on his actual birthday?”

  “Because it’s the only night that works for everyone.” She says this like I’m supposed to know already this. And I guess I’m not included in “Everyone” because she knows I work on Wednesday nights. I work every Wednesday night, just like I told her last time she called me out of the blue and demanded my presence somewhere. She knows but she’s going to call at the very last minute and ask me to come along, and when I give her a valid excuse as to why I can’t, she will begin to chew me out.

  “I work tonight, I can’t come.” I sigh. Commence guilt trip in three, two…

  “Bree, you never come to any family events. People want to see you, and you seem to care less about seeing us. You know, you bitch and moan about how no one supports you, but you never even give us the time of day. You...”

  She continues on, but I set the phone down and pick up a magazine off the nightstand and began flipping through it.

  Oh sure Mom, let me call out of work to come to a family event that my presence is demanded at, only for me to arrive and no one speaks to me. They won’t ask about my life or my job. They won’t acknowledge that I have a good job as a nurse, because I didn’t do it the traditional way. They’ll just fawn over Carter and ask him about his big fancy psychiatrist Ph.D. classes a
nd pretend I’m not there. Oh! And if I do get lucky enough for someone to talk to me, it’s my mother and her evil sister making passive aggressive remarks; or my brother Carter reprimanding me for the passive-aggressive quips I throw back at them. Yeah. Sounds like a grand time. I’ll clear my schedule.

  That’s what I want to say. Do I say this? No. I’m too tired for a yelling match with my mother and I haven’t even had any coffee in the past hour. So instead I pick the phone back up when the yapping ends and say, “I’m sorry mom, no one gave me enough notice. I have to work tonight, I have bills to pay.”

  “Well that was your own doing,” she says, swinging back with that passive-aggressive tone. “If you had just waited to get married and go off on your own, we could have still supported you...”

  I roll my eyes and physically bite my tongue as she rattles on. Still would have supported me, really? When I got married, her and my dad viewed it as a severance from them and all of their support. It’s half the reason I married Ryan, to begin with.

  All my nursing school was paid by student loans and benefits Ryan got through the Army. I worked full time while I was in school to keep all my bills paid and all I get from mommy and daddy is judgment. But perfect brother Carter who abides by all their wishes? Rent is paid for, school is paid for, his car is paid for, and he even gets a monthly sum of spending money. You wouldn’t know by looking at me that I come from one of the wealthiest families in Savannah.

  It’s not even about what they do and don’t pay for. I could care less about that. I can take care of myself. What I hate is that for the Harringtons, money is leverage. You do what they want and they will reward you. If they pay for something, they will hold it over your head. If you don’t step into line they’ll cut you off.

  It’s disgusting.

  I choose not to point any of this out to Vivien, though. She’ll just make some snarky remark about how getting married wasn’t my only option and that’s why I lost any familial support.