Every Single Lie

by Rachel Vincent

  My laugh is half sob.

  I let my forehead fall onto his shoulder as my arms wind around his neck. “Why are you so good to me?”

  He pulls back enough so that I have to look at him. “Because I love you, Beckett.”

  Suddenly my chest feels tight again, and this is an entirely new kind of panic.

  He’s serious.

  I mean, he’s said that several times before, and I’ve even said it back. But this time, he means it.

  Maybe he’s always meant it.

  “I—” I have no idea what to say. Fortunately, at that super-convenient moment (it’s not convenient), his phone beeps, and he pulls it out of his pocket. “Your mom?” I ask. She’s probably pissed that he’s here with me on Christmas Eve.

  But then Jake flips his phone over, facedown on my comforter, and irritation whooshes like fire through my veins.

  “Seriously?” I launch myself off the bed, fighting whiplash from the sudden emotional one-eighty. “You’re still doing that? You just said you love me, and you’re hiding texts again. How am I supposed to trust you, if you—”

  “Beckett, I’m not cheating.”

  “Then show me! Show me the damn text, Jake! Otherwise, I can’t—”

  He exhales as he picks up his phone. Then he tosses it to me underhanded, like a softball pitch. I catch it, and my heart pounds while I stare at the darkened screen. “Really?” I didn’t think he’d actually show me.

  He shrugs, looking miserable. “You’re just going to dump me again if I don’t. And there’s no point in me hiding it from you if I don’t even have you.”

  I groan. “You couldn’t have thought of that a week ago?”

  Another shrug. So I tap the screen to wake it. The text alert is still there.

  Happy Holidays from all of us at Texas Tech. We’re really hoping you’ll grant our Christmas wish and reconsider our offer.

  TWENTY-ONE

  The pounding in my chest feels like those dinosaur footsteps in Jurassic Park. Like my whole world is quaking. I read the text again. “What does this mean? What offer?”

  Jake sighs. “You know what it means, Beck.”

  What I know about Texas Tech, in three bullet points:

  •They have one of the top five college baseball teams in the country.

  •They’re a Division I school and a member of the Big 12 Conference.

  •They’ve been Jake’s second-choice college—behind Vanderbilt—since he was twelve years old.

  “You got a scholarship? That’s great!” I smile so wide it hurts. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  But he isn’t smiling.

  “Jake?” And suddenly the rest of it sinks in. “Reconsider. Why would you need to reconsider?”

  He shoves his hands into his pockets and blinks at me.

  “You turned it down.” My hand clenches around his phone. “Why on earth would you do that?” And he’d been hiding texts from me for a couple of weeks before we broke up, which means he turned it down at least three weeks ago.

  He holds his hand out for his phone, before I can crush it, and I almost throw it at him. “Say something, Jake! Baseball is all you ever talk about! This is your dream! Why would you turn that down?”

  “Because I’m staying here.” He pries the phone from my grip and slides it into his back pocket.

  “The hell you are.”

  “Lubbock is too far away. Vanderbilt would be one thing. Or even Knoxville. But Texas Tech—”

  “Bullshit. It’s your number two pick.”

  “Yes, but you’re my number one pick.” He reaches for me, and I backpedal, horrified by this new understanding.

  “No. Don’t do that. Don’t say that.” I back farther away, as if I can distance myself from this guilt. Over something I didn’t even know about. “You are not staying here for me. Do your parents know you turned it down?”

  He doesn’t have to answer. I can see it on his face.

  No wonder they hate me.

  “Oh my god, Jake! I can’t be the reason you give up your dream! Don’t put that on me!”

  “I’m staying for you. For us.”

  He reaches for me, but I push him away. “Don’t be an idiot. You’re going to college. On scholarship. You’re going to pitch for Texas Tech, and you’re going to get a degree, and you’re going to get far away from this place. You’re going to do anything you want.”

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “What makes you think I’m staying?” I demand, throwing my hands in the air. “I have dreams too, you know!”

  I mean, I certainly plan to have dreams. Yes, right now it feels like I’m the only member of the junior class who has no idea what she wants to do or who she wants to be, but where does it say I have to have my whole life planned out at sixteen?

  I’ll figure it out.

  “I just . . .” Jake runs one hand through his hair. “I don’t want to leave you here alone. Penn will be in New York—I know he’ll get into West Point—and your mom’s never really here, and . . .” He shrugs. “You have nightmares. And panic attacks.”

  “I’ve had two panic attacks in seven months. That’s not exactly a chronic condition. And I haven’t had nightmares in a long time. Look, as sweet as it is that you want to be here for me—like, melt-my-insides sweet—I’m a big girl, Jake. I’m going to be fine. And even if that’s not true, you need to listen to your own advice. It’s not up to you to take care of me.”

  Like it wasn’t up to me to take care of my dad.

  Though I, of all people, understand why it may feel that way.

  “But now you’re getting death threats,” he insists. “I’m not going to abandon you with all that going on.”

  “Going to college isn’t abandoning me. Besides, you won’t even be leaving for eight more months. This will blow over long before then.” Especially now that Lullaby Doe is buried and we’ve shut down the Crimson Cryer.

  I take his hand and tug him down onto the bed next to me again. “What’s this actually about?” Because it isn’t about me. Not really.

  “Nothing. I just . . . ​I don’t want to leave you, and I don’t even know that I want to live in Texas. I’m just going to go local. I can commute from home and save money on housing. That’s what Cameron’s doing. We can both play for CCCC.”

  I roll my eyes at him. I can’t help it. “You do not want to play baseball with Cameron Mitchell at Clifford County Community College.” Jake has good grades, decent scores, and endless talent. He works hard, and he deserves so much more. “Are you . . . ​Are you scared?”

  “No.” Yet the doubt creasing his forehead says otherwise. “But Beckett, I’m not Penn. I don’t need to conquer the world, and I don’t have anything to prove. And I’m not sure I want to be out there all alone.”

  “Okay, then.” I squeeze his hand again. “Be honest, at least with yourself. If you don’t want to go, that’s fine. But don’t use me as an excuse for giving up this chance. That’s not fair to either of us.”

  “You’re not an excuse. You’re a reason.” He pulls me close, trying to distract me with a kiss. “I’d miss the hell out of you.”

  “I’ll miss you too. But what do you have to lose from trying it?” I shrug. “If you don’t like it, you can always come back. Or transfer. To Knoxville, not to CCCC.”

  Jake blinks at me, staring straight into my eyes. “You really think I’m cut out for this?”

  “I do. And so does the Texas Tech coach, obviously. And that’s exactly what I would have told you three weeks ago, if you hadn’t started hiding texts from me.” I punch him in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you did that! And you let your parents blame me for this!” I frown up at him. “You have to tell them I talked you into reconsidering the scholarship.”

  “I’m not sure I’m reconsidering. Yet. But they did invite me for a campus visit next month. Come with me?”

  “To Lubbock? My mom will never—”

  “Use one of your coll
ege days. We can take a road trip.” He shrugs. “Who knows. Maybe you’ll like Texas Tech.”

  “I’ll ask my mom.” I still don’t think she’ll say yes, but crazier things have happened. “Next week. When things have died down a bit around here. Speaking of which.”

  “I know. My mom’s going to kill me as it is.” He stands and tugs me up. “We’re supposed to be opening one present each tonight while we watch Christmas movies.”

  “Sounds like fun. I’ll walk you out.”

  To my surprise, the living room is empty, and when I walk Jake to his Camry, I see that the Andersons’ car is gone. As is Penn’s truck. He must have gone for dinner.

  “Talk tomorrow?” Jake says as he unlocks his door.

  “Maybe even later tonight.” I go up on my toes to kiss him. “But only if you redeem me in your parents’ eyes.”

  “I will do my best,” he promises. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas.” I shiver while I watch him drive off, reindeer antlers bobbing in the wind. Then I head back inside, where I find Mom and Landry in the kitchen.

  “That was quick,” I say as I slide onto the bar stool next to my sister, pleased to see that my mother is making a pot of real hot chocolate. On the stove, with milk, sugar, and cocoa powder.

  “Yeah. Turns out there’s not really much to say after ‘Sorry I had your son’s baby without telling you. Happy holidays!’ ” Landry mimes a wave with a half-hysterical laugh.

  “They have a lot to think about,” Mom says, stirring the pot with a whisk. “And a lot to talk about.”

  Landry moans. “Fletcher’s dad’s going to kill him.”

  “No he won’t,” I assure her. “It was a mistake and a tragedy. But you were right. It’s all over now, and—”

  “And now everything’s ruined.” Landry’s chin quivers.

  “No. Now everything’s different,” I tell her. “Not gonna lie. I don’t think you can go back from this. But you can move forward. And we’ll be right here beside you.”

  “Beckett’s right.” Mom pulls two mugs down from the cabinet and turns off the stove. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there before.” She leans over the island and takes both of Landry’s hands. “Sorrier than you’ll ever possibly understand. But I will be from now on, and I need you to start trusting me. Talking to me. Even if that’s just to tell me that I’m totally screwing up this single-parenting thing.”

  “You’re not—” I begin, but my mother shushes me as she stands to pour the cocoa.

  “Things have to change around here. So we’re going to have a nice, peaceful Christmas. Just the four of us. Then I’m going to lay down some new rules.”

  I frown into the mug she sets in front of me. “I think that may be an overreaction.”

  “It isn’t. There are going to be far fewer unsupervised study sessions and closed bedroom doors when you have company.”

  I groan.

  “And there will be more family meals.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be home for dinner?” Landry asks.

  Mom grins at her. “I may even cook occasionally.”

  My sister rolls her eyes. “Frozen pizza doesn’t count.”

  “Noted. But you will be expected to talk at these family dinners. I want to hear what’s going on in your life. Good or bad. I want to know who you are these days.” She reaches out and tucks a strand of Landry’s hair behind her ears. “And we’re not going to have any more secrets, okay? That doesn’t mean no more privacy,” she adds when I open my mouth to object. “But no more secrets. And that’s not up for discussion. Got it?”

  Landry nods, and though she’s frowning, trying to appear irritated, the look in her eyes is pure relief. I think she’s done with secrets for a while. For a long, long time, I hope.

  “Because like it or not,” Mom continues, blinking back the sudden shine in her eyes, “you’re still a child.”

  God, please let her have some childhood left.

  The front door opens, letting in another cold gust, and Penn appears in the kitchen. “Hot chocolate and pork dumplings?” he says, eyeing our mugs and the pot on the stove. He frowns as he sets the takeout bag on the island. “That’s weird.”

  “What says our resident culinary expert?” I arch one brow in Landry’s direction.

  She grins. “I’ll allow it.”

  I take the steam-damp bag and set a series of takeout boxes on the coffee table, where multicolored lights reflect on it as the Christmas tree blinks. Mom grabs four plastic cups and a two-liter bottle of Coke from the fridge, while Penn turns on How the Grinch Stole Christmas in the living room.

  We gather around the coffee table, Penn in the armchair, the rest of us on the couch, and reach over one another to grab egg rolls, wontons, and dumplings from open containers. We don’t talk. No one’s really smiling. But we’re together, and the food is good.

  Tomorrow’s going to be hard, because Dad isn’t here. Because we’re not the same family we were when he was alive. Before he got sick. Because in some ways, we hardly even know each other anymore.

  But I don’t think it’s too late for us, just yet.

  EPILOGUE

  The sun beats down on my scalp, and I wipe sweat from my forehead. July in Tennessee feels like breathing through a warm, wet rag.

  “Did you put those there?” I nod at the fresh flowers in the marble vase built into the base of Lullaby Doe’s headstone. It’s beautiful, especially now that the grass has filled in around it.

  Landry shakes her head as she bends to add her own pink rose to the arrangement. “People keep leaving them. I thought they would forget, but someone keeps visiting.”

  And as nice as it is for Lullaby that the community hasn’t forgotten her, it’s even better for my sister. Because if there are other regular visitors, she won’t look suspicious coming here on occasion.

  It took nearly a month to get her here. Her therapist kept encouraging gently, but ultimately, it had to be Landry’s decision. That first time, back in January, she cried for a solid half hour.

  She’s come twice since then. Once with me, and once with the whole family, on the anniversary of my father’s death, in May. Because we were visiting him anyway. Landry never says much at the grave site. I never do either. But this place is peaceful, and I think having a grave to visit has helped her.

  She stands and kisses her fingers, then presses them to the top of the headstone. “Sleep well, baby girl,” she whispers. Then she follows me over three rows and down one, to where Mom and Penn stand in front of Dad’s headstone.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say, while my brother scoots over to make room for us. “I guess Penn told you tomorrow’s the day.” But he didn’t, of course. Penn doesn’t talk to Dad. Not out loud, anyway. “He’s trading in his running shoes for boots and a rifle.” And more physics and calculus than anyone would ever take on a volunteer basis.

  Penn reports to West Point in five days, and we’re all taking him. We’re making a family trip out of it: a three-day drive, then a day and a half in New York City, right before we drop him off.

  I mean, we can only afford to stay in New Jersey, but we’ll get to see New York.

  “He’d be so proud,” my mom says, wrapping her arm around Penn’s shoulders. “As I am.”

  We all are. Penn’s going to get his dream. He’s going to work really, really hard for it, but he’s going to get it.

  A month after we get back from New York, Jake leaves for Lubbock. He met several of his new teammates when he went down for freshman orientation last week, and he seems to like them.

  I’m not sure he and I have forever in our future, but I’m sure we’re going to try. I mean, a guy who doesn’t give up on you even after you accuse him of getting some other girl pregnant . . . ? He might just be worth fighting for.

  School starts for Landry and me that same week. She’s going to be a freshman, and like all the other freshmen, she’s going to have to change for PE in the girls’ locker room. I’m not sure s
he’s ready to go in there again. The therapist says she may have issues, so Mom and I are kind of preparing for the worst. But hoping for the best.

  On the bright side, the media has long since moved on from Lullaby Doe. Someone online mentions her from time to time, along with a few other “unsolved mysteries.” But suspicion and outrage are exhausting, and people have mostly moved on from the #babykiller obsession as well. Online, anyway.

  Here in town? They’ll probably always give me strange looks. Some of them will probably always think I got away with something horrible, because the only way to clear my name would be to drag my sister’s through the mud, and I’m not going to do that.

  As hard as it is for me to accept, sometimes, that people are always going to believe a lie about me, the truth is none of their business.

  My life is none of their business.

  In one month, I’ll be a senior. I’ve even—finally—signed up for the ACT. I’m thinking about UT Knoxville. About maybe rooming with Amira. About meeting some people who’ve never heard of Beckett Bergen, the #babykiller.

  I still don’t know exactly what I want to do with my life. But for the first time in a long time, there is nothing holding me back.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Dear Reader,

  This story is not autobiographical, but it is without doubt the most personal thing I’ve ever written, and parts of it were inspired by events from my own life. I really had a pregnant teenage sister. But unlike Landry, she was fifteen, and her pregnancy was the exact opposite of a secret. It was also not a rarity, in my small Tennessee hometown. Fortunately, my sister’s baby lived, and he grew up to be my amazing, kind, compassionate nephew.

  I also really did grow up with a parent who was addicted to painkillers, though we didn’t know anything about an “opioid epidemic,” back then. The origin of the addiction was an entirely legal prescription for a real medical condition, though I didn’t know any of that at the time. In fact, I was much less in the know about the situation than Beckett. I knew something was wrong. I knew things weren’t adding up. I knew there were rumors, and that my mother had lost a series of jobs with no explanation that made sense. The scene in the book where Beckett describes calling her father’s boss? That really happened. I actually made that call, but it was at Christmas, not Thanksgiving. It broke my heart. It changed my perspective in a brutal way.