Why Lie? (Love Riddles #2) Read online

  Remember he’s th—

  My internal chant is interrupted when he says, “Sydney, will you at least look at me?”

  Stubbornly keeping my eyes on his shoulder, I repeat, “What can I get you?”

  I don’t need to see his frustration. I hear it.

  “You know what I want.”

  My eyes get squinty and I ignore how dangerous his face is so I can glare at him.

  “Tough luck. I’m not on the menu.”

  There are a couple of gasps behind me. Oh, shit, shit, shit. That came out louder than I thought it would.

  He’s up and out of the booth in a flash, his hand tight around my wrist as he pulls me out of the dining area, through the back hall, past the bathrooms, through the kitchen and into the back vestibule.

  “Don’t forget to club her over the head,” someone calls after us.

  Twisting my arm, I pull away. He follows me, his body pressing mine against the wall as his mouth covers mine. With my palms flat against his chest, I struggle to push him away, refusing to open my mouth to him.

  His tongue glides along the seam of my lips. Unwanted memories invade my thoughts reminding me of just how talented his mouth and tongue are. How easily he tricked me into thinking he actually cared.

  I won’t be tricked again.

  Lifting my knee, I plan to show him just how serious I am. He dodges me and steps back.

  I wipe his kiss from my lips and growl the words, “Like I said, I’m not on the menu.”

  Spinning, I start to walk away but he stops me, his arms around my waist, his chest to my back.

  “Please give me another chance?”

  “What?” I snap. “To fuck me and then ditch me again? No, thanks.”

  “I screwed up before. I’m not going to do that again,” he replies, his breath hot against my skin.

  “I don’t believe you,” I whisper.

  There are worse things than being lonely. When you’re lonely, you wish for something you don’t have. It’s an empty ache inside, but you can ease it, not fully, with friends and family.

  The week I spent with Heath filled me to the brim. Then I was left even more empty than I was before him. It was so much worse because, now I knew what I was missing.

  “You will.”

  “God, what is it with you?”

  His arms around me tighten. “I’m not walking away.”

  “Too late, you already did.”

  He spins me until I’m facing him and grins down at me. “I’m going to have fun changing your mind.”

  I shiver and his grin deepens.

  “Can I get back to work now?” I grumble.

  He dips his head, touching my lips with his before he lets me go.

  Without looking back, I move into the kitchen to catch my breath. Allen is standing close to the door so I know he heard everything.

  His eyes widen and he quickly moves away. Great, just what I need. This will be all over town in no time. Pulling my cell from my apron, I call Gigi.

  “Hello,” she greets.

  “Gigi, I know I took a couple weeks off not that long ago but I need to get away. I’m off tomorrow. Is there any chance I can take off Sunday and Monday? It’s last minute but I think I can get Clarey to cover for me.”

  “Is everything okay, baby girl?” she asks.

  “Heath just kissed me, twice,” I reply.

  “I see. Where will you go? Back to Cecil’s?”

  There it is. No judgment, no attempt to push her opinion on me, just support. I should have called her and not Gina earlier.

  “Can I go to the cabin?” I ask.

  What I need is to unplug. What better place than a cabin with no cell service, and no Wi-Fi?

  “Of course. You know you can use it anytime, but are you sure you want to go this weekend? The views are better when it isn’t raining.”

  “No, honestly, a rainy weekend at the cabin sounds perfect.”

  “Do you want me to come keep you company?”

  Turning toward the wall, I press my forehead to it. There’s a part of me that would like nothing more than a weekend at the cabin with my Gigi. I’m afraid I’ll be terrible company, though. What I truly need is time alone to gather my thoughts in a place that doesn’t remind me of him.

  Knowing that he wants to rekindle whatever it was we had will surely resurrect the ghost of his presence in my place.

  “Can I take a rain check, Gigi?”

  “Only if you promise to cash it in, baby girl.”

  Man, I love my grandmother.

  “Cross my heart,” I whisper.

  “You should pack up and go now. That way it won’t be dark when you get there.”

  “Okay, Gigi. Thank you.”

  After we hang up, I make sure my tables are set before turning them over to Wendy. Thankfully, I’m not closing tonight so I’m only cutting out an hour early. In no time, I’m up in my place and shoving my crap into a bag. My grandparents only keep the essentials so I pack enough food and liquor to get me through the weekend.

  Once I have everything loaded into Lady, my silver convertible bug, I hit the road. First stop light I hit, I rummage through my CDs. Adele is on blast by the time the light changes to green.

  I can’t sing. That does not stop me from belting out song after song with her. Her music reminds me of the music Gigi would play when I was little. There aren’t any gimmicks or weird auto-tuned electronic overlays. That’s a guess since I know zip about recording music.

  Adele has a gift, one that is keeping me company all the way to the cabin. The rain starts halfway there and is really coming down while I park. I reach into the backseat for my bags and make a run for it. I’m soaked by the time I hit the front porch. After I unlock the door, I toe off my muddy sneakers so I don’t track a mess in.

  It’s darker than it normally would be because of the rain. Using the flashlight on my phone, I make my way into the kitchen to turn on the breakers. Once the electricity is hooked up, I switch on lights as I head back to the front porch. It sucks but the water cut off is out there and the rain has not let up. I step back into my muddy sneakers and turn it on as fast as possible.

  Back inside after my mad dash, soaked and alone, I start to second-guess how soothing a weekend at the cabin will be.

  “Time for a bubble bath,” I tell no one in particular.

  Many minutes later, cup of hot cocoa with a healthy splash of Baileys, I sink into the tub. Once the water is up to my chin, I’ve had my second drink of spiked cocoa, and I have a chance to enjoy the patter of rain on the roof. This is exactly where I need to be right now.

  Tonight, I’ll clear my mind. I’ll let the stress and pain of the last few months go. I’ll find my center and hold on tight to it. I’ll let the rain be my lullaby and I will get a good night of sleep.

  Tomorrow I will pro-con the crap out of whether or not letting Heath back into my life is what’s best for me. As much as I have relied on advice and guidance from my friends and family in the past, the decision needs to be all mine.

  Shifting my arm out of the tub, I reach for my mug. Before my time and long before people in town started the tradition of giving us funny mugs at Lola’s, my great grandmother had simple white ceramic mugs with her name printed on the sides.

  There are a couple of those mugs on the display case at the diner. Gigi has a couple more at her house, the rest, and there aren’t many left, are here. It’s one of the mugs I’m using now.

  A short while ago, I was undecided about whether I would take over Lola’s. It was over a cup of spiked cocoa with Gigi that I made up my mind to stay.

  I’ve been to a lot of places. More than once I’d get a wild hair and hit the road. Lola’s and this cabin are the closest I’ve ever come to feeling like I belonged somewhere.

  Once the water turns lukewarm, I get out and dressed. Since I’m not hungry enough to cook, I curl up on the couch with a bag of chips.

  When I start dozing, I drag my ass off the s
ofa and up into the sleeper loft. There’s a bedroom on the main level, or I could have just crashed on the couch but the loft may be my favorite place on earth.

  There’s a ladder, a sturdy one with a decent angle so it isn’t scary, behind the woodstove. It overlooks the open-style living and dining rooms and covers the back half of the cabin.

  There’s one long low set of drawers that run along one side. There’s enough space to pull the drawers open but otherwise, the rest of the loft is one giant bed with a feather top. At the back wall, the one opposite of the opening, is a circular window.

  Growing up, it reminded me of the windows on a boat. I would pretend I was a pirate and the loft was my ship. If it were raining, like it is now, I’d imagine my ship was being tossed about in a mighty storm.

  Things were much simpler when I didn’t have to worry about broken hearts and whether to forgive the one who broke it. It seems silly to be this upset over what amounted to a week of fooling around.

  The part that hurts the most, that is making it so difficult to get over it, was it felt so real to me. So real that I thought Heath was falling for me. If I forgive him and give him another chance, how will I know what’s real or not real if I didn’t before?

  “Where is she?” I ask, not bothering to sit, but instead, stepping to stand between two stools.

  Gigi’s brows pinch together in apparent confusion. “Who?”

  Her question is part tease part insult. She knows exactly who I’m looking for.

  “Sydney. Her bug is gone and her phone is going straight to voice mail,” I reply.

  She shrugs. “I’m not her keeper.”

  Leaning toward her, my weight on my elbow, I say, “But you are her boss so she’d tell you where she was going.”

  She shrugs again, this time with a Cheshire cat-like smile. “Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t.”

  “Please,” I murmur. “Tell me where she is.”

  She moves to stand directly across the counter from me, her hands on her hips. “Why should I, Heathcliff?”

  “I need to talk to her.”

  She tilts her head to one side, her gaze moving over my face in a blatant evaluation. “You talked to her yesterday.”

  That confirms my suspicion that she’s shared our issues with her grandmother. My throat tightens and I fight the desire to drop my eyes to my feet. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, facing accusation in someone you admire.

  I’ve been coming to Lola’s my whole life. Gigi has always been good to me and has been especially kind to my mom since she’s been sick. Shame. It’s a solid weight in my gut. There’s only one person who can free me from it, and she’s nowhere to be found.

  “I don’t know what she’s told you but she has every right to hate me. That isn’t going to stop me from trying to get her to forgive me.”

  She nods, her expression staying blank. Gigi Fairlane isn’t making this easy for me; she’s not going to give me an inch.

  “When she is ready to talk to you, she will let you know,” she replies.

  “Where did she go? When is she coming back?” That weight in my gut twists. “Is she coming back?”

  She shrugs again, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she turns to walk away.

  Over her shoulder, she murmurs. “Is she worth waiting for?”

  Yes.

  I keep that to myself. She’s the one who needs to hear that, not the breakfast crowd at Lola’s.

  It’s pointless to stay there since Sydney is somewhere else. On Saturdays, I’ve been going to my mom and dad’s place to sit with her.

  I was eight years old when I learned the name for why my mom saw so many doctors, primary pulmonary hypertension. The arteries of her lungs didn’t work as they should have. They made her heart have to work harder to oxygenate her blood.

  Her condition sucked but wasn’t terrible. She was tired a lot, and never carried groceries or anything heavy.

  Since I didn’t know any different, I never thought it was a huge deal. It wasn’t until I was eight that my parents let me in on how serious her condition was.

  She was not born with a heart condition. During her pregnancy with me was when it reared its ugly head.

  It’s the complications from her condition and a strain to her other organs that have become too much for her. They’re failing and given the number of surgeries she’s already had, she isn’t a strong candidate for a transplant.

  She and my dad decided that they didn’t want to take away someone else’s opportunity to get an organ so they asked that she not be added to any lists.

  I say “they” but that choice was all her. My dad only goes along with it because it’s what she wants. She’s the one who has lived with the condition for over thirty years.

  My dad shared there were times so bleak that her wanting to see a milestone in my life is what got her through it. She wanted to see me walk. Then she wanted to see me ride a bike. Next she wanted to see me turn ten.

  There was something monumental about that birthday for her. She decided that if she lived until I was ten, she was certain that I wouldn’t forget her after she died.

  Then she wanted to see me start high school. Through those years, there were a handful of events she wanted to be front row and center for. She sat in the backseat while dad taught me how to drive.

  She was in a wheelchair that day, but she watched me graduate high school and then college. It’s crazy, but all the effort I put into convincing Kacey to stay engaged to me was so I could give my mom another thing to stay alive for.

  She’s done it my whole life.

  It wasn’t fair to Kacey but selfishly, once I saw the opportunity, I didn’t think about anyone other than myself. I wanted to give my mom a reason to live, a day in time to mark on a calendar.

  With each life event she made it to, we were able to set another one. What would have come next, a grandbaby? A life created with a woman I cared about but was not in love with just so I could try to give my mom a reason to live?

  I was even bitter when Kacey broke things off with me. Nearly losing Jake to that rig explosion was a rude awakening to what a massive asshole I’d been. That was what got me off of my ass and into Lola’s. Through it all, I couldn’t get Sydney out of my head. Believe me, I tried. Seeing two of my closest friends almost torn apart was too much for me.

  I’d rather apologize to her for the rest of my life than live with the regret of not trying. Ultimately, it is up to her to decide if she’ll ever give me another chance.

  Gigi asked if she was worth waiting for. Deep down I know she is.

  After I pull into the drive and park, I stare up at the house I grew up in. Should I tell her about Sydney? So far I haven’t because I don’t want her to think I’m inventing another reason for her to keep going. All of these years I’ve been her reason to live. She’s fought and held on, that is until she decides I don’t need her anymore. Thing is, I’ll always need my mom.

  After what I pulled with Kacey, I’d hate for my mom to wonder if my feelings for Syd aren’t real. I don’t want her to think it’s another ploy for her to keep fighting.

  What I did was selfish. It’s my mom’s wishes that I should have been worried about, not mine. Her heart has been working extra hard to make up for her lungs for so long. PH in real life is nothing like the movies. It’s confusing to people outside of the family because, for the most part, my mom seems fine.

  When her condition was manageable, she rarely needed to use her wheelchair or oxygen. What people don’t see are the scars from all of her operations, though. For her pace makers alone she’s had six operations.

  Now, because her heart is done working overtime, it isn’t pumping the blood through her body like it should. This causes a backup in her liver. It’s a domino effect from there with swelling and pain, not to mention pushing against and inflaming her stomach.

  She’s taking water pills, which are helping with her discomfort. The fact that she feels any pain
at all with the amount of pain medicine she’s on is insane. She can barely move now without losing her breath. That’s the hardest part for me, listening to her struggle to breathe. Even advanced medicine and breathing machines don’t help much. Her lungs and heart are shutting down. All we can do is sit back and watch.

  When I was eight and they first explained to me that she was sick, I thought I had the power to fix her. Earlier that week I had gone over to Jake’s house to play. Reilly was watching Snow White and the only part I saw was the huntsman bringing the queen a heart.

  So I drew heart after heart and gave them to my mom. As young as I was, I didn’t understand that my paper hearts wouldn’t fix what was wrong with her.

  “Are you going to sit in your car staring at the house all day?”

  My head jerks to the left. So lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice my dad walk up holding an umbrella. Shaking my head, I kill the engine before unbuckling my seat belt.

  He waits for me as I get out of my car and close the door behind me. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Together we make our way to the front walkway, his arm coming around so his hand can squeeze my shoulder. “I couldn’t figure out if it was the rain that was keeping you in your car or our talk the other night.”

  When we reach the front door, he shuts the umbrella and leaves it leaned up against one of the wicker chairs on our front porch.

  “I was lost in thought,” I admit.

  He pulls open the storm door. “Good ones I hope.”

  There, in the foyer of the house I grew up in, I ask, “Have you heard any gossip about me recently?”

  My dad has never been one for talking about anything besides sports or politics, and both piss him off, so my question makes him uncomfortable.

  “I try to avoid gossip, son.”

  I look past him to the den that we converted into a bedroom for her, relieved to see the door shut. “Did you hear anything about Sydney Fairlane and me?”

  He pushes his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. “There was talk of a soda being dumped over your head.”

  Grimacing, I nod. “I deserved it and am trying to convince her to give me another chance.”

  At that he looks up, his brown eyes focusing on mine. I inherited my height and build from him, and my coloring from my mom. My father, Thomas Mackey, is tall and dark-haired. He also has brown eyes and is naturally tanner than either my mom or me.