A Sea of Lies

by H Dillon Hunt

  “I had a good example,” He says quietly, setting his mug down. There’s pain lingering in his eyes when he meets my gaze. “I had an older brother, Caleb. He died when I was seventeen.”

  “What happened?”

  “Boating accident,” he takes a deep breath, looking down at his feet. I get the feeling he doesn’t talk about this often. I sit very still and wait for him to go on when he’s ready. “He fell off the boat and hit his head on the side. Everything seemed fine. The doctors said it was a mild concussion…but he had a subdural hematoma, his brain filled with blood and he died in his sleep.”

  He looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. “He was nineteen. He’d just finished basic training. He was going to be a medic in the army.”

  “Is that why you decided to go to medical school?” I ask him.

  “Yes, and no,” he says, fidgeting. “I became obsessed with trying to figure out what they missed when he was at the hospital. Why did they not see the damage? Why did they not look into his medical history to see previous injuries that could have led to this? He was a football player so he got knocked around all the time.”

  “I did so much research I drove myself crazy, but along the way, I discovered I really enjoyed the medical field. And I thought maybe, given my experience, I could be the one to save someone else in a similar situation one day.”

  “And your sisters, they wanted to become nurses for the same reason?” I ask, wrapping my arms around my knees and resting my chin on one.

  “No, that was all Caleb.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “They had a plan that he was going to be the doctor and they would be his nurses, open a family practice or something.”

  “He’s the one behind all the Harry Potter stuff,” he nods at my mug. He chuckles, remembering something “He read the whole series to me and the twins growing up. He even sorted us into different houses. I’m a Ravenclaw, Caleb a Hufflepuff, Maddie a Gryffindor and Elle a Slytherin. We had house cup competitions and everything.”

  I smile watching him talk about his brother. He still clearly feels the weight of the loss, but it doesn’t seem to consume him. Not the way it consumes me.

  “Does it get any easier?” I ask him quietly. He tilts his head to ask what I mean. “Losing someone you love, someone who never got the chance to really live.”

  He studies me for a moment, no doubt wondering if this question is personal or sheer curiosity, but he doesn’t ask. “The pain never leaves. It never goes away or fades. But over time, once you’ve accepted it, it gets easier to think about them less. To not let their death, or more so the absence of them from your life, constantly consume your every waking thought. You miss them. You miss them so damn much. There are still times that I’ll pick up the phone to call and tell Caleb something and then I’ll remember that I can’t. But I believe in Heaven, so I just remind myself that I’ll see him again soon.”

  I’m quiet as I think about this for a while. I can tell Sam wants to ask what’s on my mind, but I can’t talk about me and my life anymore tonight. I don’t get to hear Sam talk at length like this very often and I want to take advantage of it.

  I slide off the counter and walk into the living room but I keep asking him questions as he follows behind. “What about your parents?” I ask as I sit down on the couch, curling my legs up and facing him. “Did they get any closer to you and your sisters after Caleb died?”

  “No,” he shakes his head. He mindlessly pulls a throw blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over my lap and leaving his hand resting on my knee. “They pulled away further than ever, if that was even possible.”

  “Why do people do that?” I muse, resting the side of my head on the cushion beside me. “Why do they push their loved ones away in a time of grief? You would think people would want closeness.” Especially with those that are feeling the same grief, I add silently.

  Sam rests his cheek on the cushion too, regarding me silently, with eyes that pierce straight through me. “You’ve lost someone too.”

  It wasn’t a question. I close my eyes so he will stop reading me, but I nod. “Yes.”

  We’re quiet for a long time. I keep my eyes closed and breathe in the heavy air that smells like him. Sam reaches over and places his and over mine. The small gesture makes me want to cry. Even more, it makes me want to be in his arms again.

  “Play me a sad song, Sam,” I whisper.

  He gets up and I hear him moving things around until a song begins to play softly through the stereo. I peek an eye open and he’s walking back over to me. I feel the cushion beside me give way as he sits, closer this time.

  I realize quickly that this is the song he texted me about earlier tonight. I listen to the lyrics and let them wash over me, imagining them coming from him. The song’s about wanting someone so badly that you don’t know what to do; wanting to be everything they need, everything they want.

  I love you. I'm sorry

  “Why are you playing me this song?” I whisper, refusing to look him in the eye.

  “I don’t know,” he rasps. “I don’t know why I can’t seem to keep my head about myself when I’m around you.”

  I open my eyes and his gaze is so intense I almost close them again. Speech has eluded me, so I play dumb. “What do you mean?”

  “I think you know,” he says softly. “You’re the ocean, and I’m sinking deep. I would be perfectly happy to drown in you, Aubree.”

  I lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. I don’t want to speak, I don’t want to ruin this moment. I just want to stay here and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

  ***

  Before I know it, it’s morning. Golden light streams through the window to our left, I blink slowly into awareness. Sam is reclined back, his feet propped up on the ottoman in front of him and his head tilted at an odd angle that's guaranteed to give him a kink in his neck. I’m sprawled across his lap, his chest as my pillow and the blanket tangled around my legs. His arms are circled loosely around my shoulders.

  My cheeks heat as awareness settles in. Part of me wants to stay wrapped around him all day, the other part knows I need to get up and put some distance between us.

  Sam stirs and I squeeze my eyes back shut and pretend to be asleep. I feel him look around and realize as I did that we fell asleep last night. I wait for him to be noble and wake me. To gently remove me from him and walk away. But he does none of those things.

  His arms wrap tighter around me, cradling me closer to his chest. I nuzzle my face against his neck and breathe deeply, inhaling his sweet scent. He smells like trees. I’ve never really noticed it before. Then again, we’re not usually curved against each other like this.

  He presses his lips to my forehead and sighs. My heart aches.

  He holds me this way for a little while longer and I let him believe I’m asleep. After some time, but not nearly enough, he gently rouses me from my pretend sleep.

  “Aubree,” his voice is low and raspy. It makes my stomach dip.

  I groan, partly to keep up my ruse and partly because I really just don’t want to leave his arms.

  “Coffee,” I mumble, burrowing down and refusing to adult today.

  “Come on,” I can hear the grin in his voice. “Wake up and I’ll make you some coffee.”

  I blink my eyes open slowly and peer up at his grinning face. If his voice made my stomach dip, then his grin has it doing somersaults. He’s got a disheveled look about him, his dark curly hair is messy and he’s got a shadow of stubble around his jaw. He looks down at me through hooded eyes, a sleepy grin on his lips.

  “Hi,” I grin back at him.

  “Good morning,” he smiles.

  “Wrong,” I correct him seriously. “It is not a good morning without cofffeeeee.”

  “Okay, okay! I’m going.” He laughs, getting up and walking into the kitchen. I curl up in a ball in the spot he just occupied, clinging to his lingering warmth.

  I hear water running and the c
offee pot hissing to life. When the wonderful smell of coffee fills the house, I drag myself off the couch and shuffle into the kitchen.

  “What time is it?” I yawn pulling my hair into a messy knot on top of my head.

  “A little after seven,” Sam says, handing me a steaming mug. I push myself up onto the counter next to the coffee pot and sip my hot bean water greedily. I watch Sam closely as he fixes his own mug. He drinks his coffee the exact opposite as I do, with cream and no sugar, whereas I drink mine black with lots of sugar. I wonder idly when along the way we figured out each other’s coffee preferences. It doesn’t seem like we’ve known each other all that long; then again it feels like I’ve known him my whole life.

  He leans against the island across from me and watches with an amused expression as I pour a second cup. “You have finals tomorrow. You don’t have one before anatomy, do you?”

  “No,” I shake my head. “Just pharmaceuticals at two and then I’m done.”

  “Why don’t you hang out here for a while?” he asks. “I’ll make us some breakfast and we can actually get some studying done.”

  I watch him closely for a moment. He’s not as easy to read as I am, but I think I can tell what he’s thinking. “You don’t want me to go home.”

  “No, not really,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m worried about you, Aubree.”

  I slide off the counter and place my cup in the sink. When I turn to face him, I try to smile but I know it comes across as a grimace. “Don’t worry about me, Sam. I’ve made my bed. I have to lie in it.”

  Chapter 11

  Bree

  Present Day

  “Sooooo?” Elle grins happily at me the second the door closes behind Sam.

  “So, what?” I ask grumpily, turning and stalking back to the kitchen for more pizza.

  “So! Did anything happen between y’all while we were gone?” Maddie asks excitedly.

  “Well, you weren’t gone very long,” I grumble, taking a large bite of pizza. Ugh, it’s so good. I think I’ve missed Sam’s cooking as much as I’ve missed him.

  “Ha! I told you!” Maddie smacks Elle on the shoulder. “They were totally about to make out.”

  “No, we weren’t!” I snap, shoving another bite of pizza in my mouth to hide my smile. They both look at me like I’m not fooling anyone. Damn these Hudson siblings for reading me so easily. When I think I have my expression under control, I raise my eyebrows and say coolly, “We were not about to kiss. We were just talking.”

  “Yeah, with your faces an inch apart.” Elle snickers, pulling a carton of ice cream out of the freezer.

  “We weren’t,” I insist, turning away to pull spoons out of the drawer behind me. “Besides, even if we were, Sam and I have lots of practice at restraint.”

  “So you do have a history!” Maddie snatches a spoon from my hands, walking into the living room and plopping down on the couch.

  “Well, yeah,” I say nonchalantly, sitting next to Elle with the ice cream. “You always knew we had history, I knew him before I met you two. We just didn’t talk about him.”

  “Yeah because you seemed all heartbroken and sad about it,” Elle says, opening the container of ice cream and we all dig in. “You were all, ‘I know you’re Sam’s sisters, but I really can’t bear to talk about him right now’. So we didn’t, but now you two are talking again and making googly eyes at each other, so spill!”

  I sigh heavily, trying to decide how much to tell them. I don’t know why I’m so hesitant to tell them about me and Sam. It was years ago, it feels like a lifetime has passed. But I still like to hold that time we spent together close inside. It’s my bittersweet memories that I can pull out and wrap around myself when I miss him.

  “Okay, two years ago, he was the teacher’s assistant for one of my nursing classes while he was about to graduate medical school.” I begin, setting my spoon down. “You know about everything with Ryan, how he treated me after... well, anyway, Sam and I became good friends. Until we weren’t anymore. And that’s that, now I’m going to bed. Goodnight!”

  I hop up quickly and scuttle down the hallway, ignoring their boos and shouts of protests.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket as I close my bedroom door behind me. I whip it out and answer before looking at the screen, thinking hopefully that it’s Sam.

  “Hello?”

  “Wow, she answers on the first try,” my mother says in a dull tone.

  “Oh.” I sigh, disappointed. “Hi, mother.”

  “Don’t sound so excited.” She growls. “I just wanted to tell you the charity gala is going to be next weekend and you have no excuse not to be there. I’ve gotten your dress and shoes already, you can pick them up from Nordstrom on Monday.”

  I hang my head and try to quickly come up with a reason why I can’t go. Usually, I have at least five excuses lined up, but I’ve been so distracted the past few days with Sam, I haven’t even thought of fighting off my mother and her stupid gala.

  “Stop trying to think up excuses and just go get the damn dress, Bree.” She huffs, a note of victory in her voice.

  “Fine,” I grumble. “I’ll see you next week then.”

  I hang up the phone and set it on my nightstand, where I proceed to have a staring contest with it for the next hour until I finally fall asleep. But Sam never calls.

  Chapter 12

  Bree

  Three years ago...

  I will give it to Vivien, she sure as hell can pick out a cocktail dress. It was hanging in a garment bag on my front door when I got home from work with a note demanding my presence at the charity gala she organizes each year. It’s the one function I will never get out of going to, regardless of how my parents and I feel about each other.

  I drag the dress inside with a huff and go to my room to try it on. I hate that I want to go just so I can wear this gorgeous dress. The shimmery black fabric is heavy and clings to my hips. The floor-length gown is lined in gold silk to give it an iridescent sheen. I turn to the side in front of the long mirror behind my door and stick my leg out. This thing has a slit clear up past my knee! My mother must be trying to pimp me out to one of her friends’ sons.

  Again.

  She’s always hoping I’ll ‘come to my senses’ one day and leave my husband for a rich doctor or something.

  Ryan swings the door to our bedroom open, replacing my view of the mirror with his infamous sneer. He really should try out acting, this guy. Its impressive how someone can look at you with such boredom and disgust, all wrapped into one nasty glare. It rivals my mother.

  He just stares at me coldly, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. He’s wearing the same clothes he left the house in yesterday and he smells like a smoky bar. His sandy blond hair has grown out from its usual cropped cut to an awkward, unkempt length. He looks like hell, but it’s the look in his eyes that chills my bones.

  “Hey,” I start softly. “Where were you last night?”

  “Where were you?” He snaps back, brushing past me. He pulls off his jacket and lets it fall to the ground and tugs his shirt over his head. He makes his way to the bed and falls across it long ways. I wonder what’s going on, why he’s suddenly talking to me again. He hasn’t spoken to me in over a month, not even so much as the snarky remark he just made. And he definitely doesn’t sleep in the same bed as me anymore. He hasn’t since the night I-

  “Where are you going dressed like a whore?”

  I bite my tongue.

  He’s hurting. He’s angry. He’s blaming me, but he doesn’t mean it. Don’t respond hatefully, I urge myself.

  I take a deep breath and walk to the closet to fish out a wrap. I grab a black velvet cover-up and drape it around my shoulders. I turn around and he’s watching me from the edge of the bed. “Is this better?” I ask with a small smile.

  His eyes fall shut and his face becomes tortured. His shoulders begin to shake and silent tears slide down his cheeks.

  “Ryan,” I whisper.
/>
  “No,” he opens his eyes. They’re bloodshot, but they are still the steel gray that I used to love. “No, it’s not better Bree. We are not better and I can’t take it anymore.”

  My heart beats frantically in my chest. He’s opening up. I can’t believe he’s finally opening up to me! I walk over and sit at the edge of the bed next to him. I hesitantly take his face in my hands so he will look at me. He feels foreign and familiar all at once, like an old favorite shirt that I’ve grown out of.

  “We can be, we can try.” I breathe. “I know it’s been hard since-”

  “Hard?” he recoiled, pulling out of my grasp and pushing off the bed. “It’s been more than hard, Bree. I can’t even look at you without hating you and it’s killing me.”

  I look away from his desperate expression and bite my lip until I taste blood. I refuse to let any tears fall. I refuse to let this disappoint me.

  “Do you think I want to hate you Bree?” he asks, incredulous. I don’t respond. I pick a spot on the floor and I stare it like I can catch it on fire. Burn this whole damn house and all of our pain down to nothing but ashes.

  “Answer me!” He screams. I flinch, a stream of tears breaking free and sliding down my cheeks. He falls to his knees in front of me, forcing me to look at him.

  “I don’t want to hate you,” he whispers, placing his hands on the bed on either side of my legs. I can feel how tightly he’s gripping the mattress, the barely restrained rage flowing through him. “I loved you. I didn’t want to get married, but I did love you. And now I go out every night and I drink and I sleep with other women and then I come home to my wife who I can’t look at without seeing everything that we lost and everything we will never have.”

  I’m holding sobs in now, and it’s making it hard to breathe. I can feel my face getting hot and my shoulders shake to suppress the sorrow filled sobs clawing their way up my throat.

  He loved me. Past tense. He hates me. Present tense.

  I knew he slept around, but he never admitted it. He never admitted to hating me either or blaming me for losing the baby. But now I know he does. Now he has verbalized all of the pain that has been following us around for six months.