Perfect Lie (21 page)

“This is better.” I smiled as Abel picked up the larger sledgehammer and held it in two hands.

“We’re gonna take down this little wall here to open it up into what will be the formal dining room. With each swing you say something that scares you or has hurt you. Got it? I’ll go first.”

I nodded, my teeth digging into my lower lip as Abel stepped toward the wall. “It wasn’t fair that my entire life was taken from me.” He swung hard, the sledgehammer digging into the drywall and causing it to crumble around the head of the hammer. He stepped back, panting. “Your turn.”

I stepped forward, the hammer in my hands as I looked at the huge hole Abel had left. “I hate…that…” I sighed and held the hammer at my side. I swung it up to my shoulder and adjusted my footing. “I hate that you won’t just go away.” I swung, the hammer stopping abruptly as it lodged into the wall next to Abel’s crater. I tugged on it twice before it came loose and swung down to my side.

“Fair enough.” He stepped forward, and I pressed myself against the side wall. He rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, stretching his neck. “This one is for my grandpa thinking I was too spoiled and needed to learn to live like him.” He swung and hit just a few inches from his first mark. “Would’ve been nice not to have to deal drugs to survive just because he hated my dad.” He pulled up
his damp, white shirt and wiped it over his brow. I tried not to stare at his abs as he walked by me and grabbed a gallon of water from the mantel and guzzled a large swig.

I positioned myself in front of the wall. “This is for my mom. It wasn’t my fault she was raped. I still deserved to be loved.” I swung hard, throwing all my anger into my swing. The hammer wedged into Abel’s growing crater. He walked up beside me with the water in his hand. I took it and drank a sip.

“That was better.” He motioned for me to move back, and I stepped back to the side wall as I waited for him to swing. He focused on the wall as his eyebrows pulled together.

“This is for scaring you last night, Kettle.” He swung, and the sound of the hammer hitting the wall echoed in my heartbeat. He observed the hole in the wall as he stepped back. He propped the hammer next to me as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on top of an old paint bucket.

“This is for everyone who bullied me in school.” I stepped forward and took a swing, surprised at how much my muscles burned and how the pressure from my chest was beginning to ease. I glanced over my shoulder at Abel, whose body glistened with a fresh layer of sweat, his jeans hanging low on his hips.

“This…” He glanced down at the hammer and back at me as he took his position in front of the wall. “This is for not being able to save them.”

My heart sank as he swung, the hammer breaking through to the next room. I hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding back.

Our eyes locked, and I nodded as a tear stung my eye. “This is also for not being able to save them.” I broke eye contact and took my shot, but my arms were growing weaker, and I barely made a dent. My eyes met Abel’s again, and he looked confused but quickly masked his reaction.

“That all you got, slugger?” Abel winked as he switched positions with me. “This is for…Becca.” He swung, knocking a basketball‐size hole in the wall. Panting with exhaustion, he dropped the sledgehammer at his side.

“You brought up Becca to James. Who was she?” I asked, as I tucked my damp hair behind my ear.

“That’s not how this game works, Kettle.” He scratched the back of his head as he released a frustrated sigh. “Becca was my girlfriend. She’s the reason I gave up selling. What I had that night I met you…and what was in the car—that was the last of it. I was telling you the truth.”

“She didn’t approve?”

“It’s not exactly an honorable profession. I’d finally gotten my inheritance, and there was no reason anymore. Becca was on my case about stopping.” He nodded, and his hand ran over his jaw. “She trusted me.” He picked up the hammer and swung at the wall, connecting with a grunt. “She shouldn’t have.”

I stared at him as his eyes dropped to the floor. “You’re not a bad guy, Abel.”

“Not a good guy either, Lie.”

“You…want to talk about it?” I grabbed the jug of water and held it out for him. He nodded a thanks and took a drink.

“Not much to say. Boy meets girl. Boy lies and loses the only person who gave a damn about him.” He smiled sadly. “One night we went to bed, and while I slept, she went through my phone. The next morning I woke up alone in bed.” He tapped the head of the sledgehammer against the floor like he was debating whether to finish his story. “I found James and Becca practically fucking in the spare bedroom. She was fucked up out of her mind. She did it to get back at me.” He shrugged, and I saw him fight back the sadness.

“Why would you blame yourself for that?” I took a step toward him, and his gaze met mine, stopping me.

“I promised her I’d go straight, and I lied. The fucked‐up part was that I didn’t need to do it anymore. I became addicted to being needed, ya know? I grew up in the in‐crowd, and after being on
the outside for many years, I didn’t want to step away from it again. I lost it—I beat the hell out of James. Becca never talked to me again.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. It was a shitty night.” He smirked, but I knew he was hurting. “You should choose your friends more wisely, Kettle.”

I rolled my eyes as I stepped next to him and nudged him with my hip. “Who said we were friends?” I joked, as I looked over my shoulder to make sure he was out of the way.

“Funny girl.”

I lifted my hammer to take aim at the wall. I was grateful Abel had opened up to me, but I wasn’t sure I could do the same. “I think I’m too tired to do this again,” I said.

“You want to take a shower? Get out of the wet clothes?”

“If that’s some lame attempt to get me naked, it’s not going to work.”

“Suit yourself. I’m going to make something to eat. Bathroom is upstairs, and you’re welcome to anything in my dresser.” He propped his hammer against the wall and walked out of the room. I felt like a jerk for not sharing anything more with him, but I couldn’t form the words.

I made my way upstairs and into his bedroom. I grabbed some clothes from his dresser, a large gray T‐shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs. Under the clothes was a tattered picture, and I pulled it out to look at a young Abel with his parents. His mother was smiling, with her arm over his shoulder. His father stood on the other side of her, his arm around her waist. I heard a noise from downstairs and slid the picture back where I’d found it and tiptoed from the room and into the bathroom.

I stripped off my damp clothes and put them in a pile by the door. I made the shower as hot as possible and stepped under the water. I hated how easy it was for Abel to let me in, and I was unable to do the same. I knew it pained him to talk about his past, but he was willing to do it just to make me feel better. I washed away the memories of my past and quickly dressed.

As I slipped down the steps, I caught sight of Abel, his shirtless back to me in the kitchen.

“What ya making?” I asked, as he spun around and shot me a lopsided grin.

“Well, it’s no spaghetti, but raviolis are always a favorite.” He held up a can, and I shook my head as I walked into the kitchen and sat at the island.

“You have horrible eating habits,” I joked, as he slid a bowl in front of me.

“Yeah, well…that’s a fact. I’m gonna take a quick shower. Hope you saved me some hot water.” His hand fell on my shoulder as he walked around me, and I grimaced, knowing there was none left. A few minutes later, Abel came downstairs with my damp clothes. Then I heard a dryer begin to run before he disappeared up the steps again.

I pushed my food around the bowl, my stomach twisted in knots as I thought about finally telling someone about my past. Becoming someone new didn’t make anything go away. It didn’t change anything. I couldn’t escape what had happened, and keeping it to myself made my life a miserable and lonely existence.

Abel came back down the steps a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a pair of hunter‐green boxers, drops of water dotting his tanned skin. “Why aren’t you eating?” he asked, as he pulled open the fridge and bent over, pushing around the contents inside. He stood, a soda in hand as he cracked open the can and took a drink.

“Do you think things happen for a reason?” I asked, glancing up at him and back to my bowl.

“No. Not at all.” The muscles in his jaw jumped under his skin.

“You don’t think this is all part of some big plan?”

Abel laughed sardonically as he shook his head and took another drink. “What plan, Kettle? What plan is there that involves destroying a family? What plan would ever involve hurting you?”

I shrugged as I took a bite of my food. “The hardest part is that I still care about him.” I chanced a glance at him, and he looked deep in thought. “It wasn’t me he hurt, Abel.” His gaze snapped to mine.

“I’d have to disagree with you on that.”

“I don’t even know where to begin.” I shook my head as a tear slipped from my eye and rolled down my cheek.

“How did you two meet?” he asked, as he sat on the stool across from me. I ate as I slowly recounted the events that had brought me to Brock. I expected sarcastic remarks, but Abel just listened as I told him how I’d run away and ended up in the shelter. It was embarrassing to say it out loud, but he knew about struggling.

I pushed my bowl aside, and Abel stood, taking my hand and pulling me to the front door. I sat next to him on the porch steps as he lit a cigarette and held it out to me. I shook my head as I folded my arms and rested them on my knees.

“It feels like life ended when things went sideways.”

He took a drag, surrounding us in a cloud of smoke. “It feels like mine is finally beginning,” he said quietly.

“Must be nice.” I thought of Abel and Trish together, and the idea of it turned my stomach, but I still refused to admit to myself why. He deserved to be happy. As frustrating as he was, he really was a good person; he just couldn’t see it.

Shaking his head, he pulled another drag from his cigarette and ran his free hand over his damp hair.

“What?” I studied his profile.

“It’s not easy, Lie. None of this is fucking easy, but I’m trying.”

“So am I.”

He pushed to his feet as he flicked his cigarette into the grass and turned to go back inside. “Bullshit.” The door closed behind him, and I felt like all the air had been pushed from my lungs.

All my confusion became clouded by anger because that was easier than facing the truth. The truth was that he was right. I opened the door and went inside, determined to tell him to go fuck himself once and for all. Abel stood just inside, his back to me with his hands in his hair.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I spat, and he turned around, his eyes glazed over with unshed tears.

“You. You’re my fucking problem, Lie.” His tone softened. “
You
.” He took a step toward me, his large, warm hands sliding over my cheeks as his lips pressed hard and desperately against mine. My knees threatened to give out as my lips moved against his on their own accord.

It took only a few seconds for me to come to my senses, and I pushed against his chest, angry, but not exactly sure why.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I shouted, as I shoved back harder.

“What I’ve been wanting to do since the moment I met you.”

“Funny, because you had the opportunity to kiss me the night we met, and instead you made a fool out of me in front of my only friend.”

Abel’s expression turned angry as he pointed at my chest, and I pushed my back against the door. “I’m your friend, Lie.
I’m
your friend, but you’re too damn stubborn to let me in.”

“The last time I let someone in, a lot of people got hurt,” I shouted back with just as much anger.

“I’m not Brock, Delilah. I’m not him!” His voice echoed off the walls in the nearly empty house.

“You’re not. So stop trying to be, and leave me the hell alone!” Anger flowed through my veins, but I knew it wasn’t him I was mad at. I was mad at myself, because try as I might, I had feelings for this guy.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, Abel. I mean it.”

He closed the gap between us as he swallowed hard. “You think if you keep saying it, I’ll suddenly stop caring? It doesn’t work that way, Kettle. Trust me—I’m fucking torturing myself here, and I can’t stop. I’m falling for you. If it were that easy, I would have walked away by now.”

His last sentence cut deep, but I deserved it. He was hurting from his own past, and I wasn’t helping him. “Abel…” My voice shook as I stared into his stormy ocean‐colored eyes. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. But me…” My voice trailed off as I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to continue. My eyes slowly opened as his feather‐soft fingers slid over my jaw. “I’m responsible for what happened.”

“You can’t believe that. You can’t control what other people do.”

My hand covered his, intertwining our fingers and pulling his hand from my face. “I can prove you wrong.” I smiled sadly as his eyebrows knitted. I stepped around him and grabbed my purse. With shaky fingers I called Marie.

“Can I see you?” My eyes met Abel’s as he leaned against the archway to the living room. “I think I’m ready.”

“I can be at the office in twenty minutes, Delilah.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “I want to bring along someone…a friend.”

“All right.”

“All right,” I repeated then hung up and slid my phone into my purse.

“Where are we going?” Abel asked as he pushed himself from the wall. I walked around him to where I’d heard the dryer running earlier and grabbed my clothes.

“We’re going to go see Marie, my therapist, and I’m going to tell you what happened to me.”

Abel nodded and went up the stairs to get dressed. I let my fake smile fall as I undressed and pulled on my own clothing. There was no doubt this would end whatever it was we had, and as much as I tried to convince myself that was what I wanted it, the stabbing pain in my chest disagreed.