The Truth About Air & Water (Truth in Lies #2) (15 page)

What did he do to you?

“You shouldn’t be in here,” my dad says. “It’s
immediate family only
as I instructed.”

“Have me arrested then,” she says softly glancing back at me with this wicked half-smile. “My
dad
arranged it. It’s fine. Go…” She waves a dismissive hand back toward my dad but leaves the rest unsaid, apparently realizing she’s probably taken the hostility with
the famous Davis Presley
a little too far.

“Dad, give us a minute,” I say sharply in an attempt to help her out. The thing is I rarely go up against my dad, but for some reason I feel compelled to do so with this girl here now.
She gives me some extraordinary power, this girl. Or permission to be defiant. Or some kind of courage. One of those. Or, all of them.

My father looks increasingly offended by this turn of events—this girl’s sudden arrival on scene and my unusual defiance. I think he’s about to argue the point of me actually
telling
him to leave instead of asking, but then she turns to him and says in a low voice that I somehow deem incredibly sexy, “I’ve got this, Davis. I won’t say anything to upset him.
I get it.
It’s all about
baseball
.”

She’s said the word
baseball
like it’s a swear word. I imagine she uses those quite well too.

She turns back to me and rolls her eyes and then rewards me with this little angelic smile that my father can’t see. The gleam is back in her eyes, and she raises her chin defiantly and just looks at me, silently imploring me to make him go.

“Dad. A minute.”
Holy shit. It is liberating to go against my dad.
“And you don’t like baseball,” I say softly smiling at her again.

“I’m not a fan.”

My dad snorts at her honest answer, but then he surprisingly leaves the room and the two of us alone.

A long silence ensues. It appears that since it is now just the two of us we've both run out of things to say to each other.

Wary.

We are wary of each other as if it is our first date and we are filled with complete awkwardness.

“How are you?” she finally asks drawing in her breath so slowly it’s as if doing so requires her sole concentration.

“I have a raging headache. Probably should have taken the painkillers they offered up a few hours ago.”

She snatches up the call receiver that dangles at the side of my hospital bed and presses the button. When a nurse answers and talks through the speaker at us, she says, “Mr. Presley is in a lot of pain. His head hurts. Can we give him something?”

She gives me a conspiratorial smile at the word
we
and then proceeds to catch me watching her face and the way her lips part. She gestures with her small hands and tilts her head to one side as she hangs up the call button.

I’ve seen her do this before. Tilt her head like that.

I ignore the throbbing headache and dazedly sit up in bed a little straighter in a vague attempt to concentrate more fully upon her. Meanwhile, her scent intoxicates me as she shifts around the edge of the bed and stirs the air with her very presence.

She clasps her arms around her knees in an effort to get comfortable or to just keep moving I'm not really sure which. She’s wearing black jeans and a matching T-shirt. I decide this must be her signature style.

Awkward.
She’s caught me examining her fashion choices and now subconsciously pulls at the neckline of her T-shirt.

“So, you’re a nurse,” I say in an attempt to say something meaningful and cover up the fact that I was checking her out so closely.

“Not a nurse.” She looks amused and gets this ghost of a smile, unable to stop herself.

We share this weird moment and just stare at each other some more.

The thing is if she could read my mind, she might actually freak out because I want to feel her lips on mine. I really want to kiss her however inappropriate that might be.
She’s attractive. Seriously attractive.
It must be pheromones or something, or the remnants of all the drugs in my system from the past couple of weeks, I’m not sure. She is causing all kinds of strange sensations for me. And so, yes, if watching her facial expressions change, or watching her body gracefully move through time, or seeing her lips part whenever she speaks over the next hour of time, is part of the plan, I am all for it.

She’s talking, but I can’t hear a word she’s saying because my heart beats so damn loud and fast. I just nod instead.

The hospital door swings open. It takes us both by surprise. Our mouths partially drop open as if synchronized. We exchange this conspiring look rimmed with panic as if it might be my father returning all too soon.

But it’s just Elissa, the night nurse, who hands me a paper cup of pills and a fresh glass of water and watches me as I take the medication. Then, she makes a note on her hand-held chart, refills my water pitcher, and continues to chatter away to both of us.

Meanwhile, this girl and I share a look that seems to connect us almost physically.

We are bound, somehow, her and I.

I start to smile and she slowly returns it.

Elissa must see our heady exchange because she sighs to herself and exits the room within next ten seconds.

We both take a breath at the exact same moment as the door closes behind her.

“Not a nurse,” I say softly again in an attempt to restart the conversation with this beautiful girl.

She slides off the bed and away from me with a little laugh. “Not a nurse. I’m a dancer.” She shakes her head side-to-side and starts to laugh. “Not that
kind
, Elvis.” Then she looks troubled by what she’s just said and looks unsure as to what she should say next. After a minute or so, she says, “I dance for the San Francisco Ballet Company. Lead role in
Giselle
, actually.
Hopefully.
My boss? Mikhail Rostov? He’s not too happy with me right now. C’est la vie. Right?”

She does this little pirouette. That’s when I notice the ballet slipper-like shoes on her feet. I grin at her. “Can you do the toe thing with the shoes?”

Her smile falters as if she’s remembered something that can only make her sad. She kind of gasps at the air before saying, “I can, but not today. I’ve spent the last few weeks away from rehearsals so I’m not in my finest form today.” She gets this haunted look, similar to my father’s. It’s always how I know he’s missing my mom. It’s uncanny. The look on her face is exactly the same as my dad’s.

“Can I see you dance sometime?”

“Sure. That would be great.” She looks even more uneasy and bites at her lip again. “There’s more to say. Just not today. I think your father’s right about that. You need to concentrate on your recovery right now. I talked to Kimberley after the big meeting, and she said—”

“What big meeting?” I ask, confused and irritated with her all at once. The drugs aren’t working yet. My head starts to really pound, and this girl suddenly isn’t making sense anymore. “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on. No one else will.”

“There was a big meeting. What one might call an
intervention
.” She smirks at saying the last word, but then her features harden. She’s angry again. It’s written all over her face.

I go for a change of topic. “I leave for LA for Beau Wilson’s camp tomorrow as soon as they let me out of this place.”

“It’s always about baseball. Isn’t it, Linc? It always has been. No matter that you almost get yourself killed with that line drive. Baseball is all that matters.”

“Well, yeah, that’s all there is.”

She takes another step back. “Well, when you finally figure out what’s more important than baseball, you give me a call.”

“Baby, I don’t even know your name, let alone have your number, but I’d love to call you sometime, if you—”

“You’re trying to pick me up with that line?” She shakes her head in disgust. “Word of advice here. Don’t call me
baby
like
ever
. I hate that term of endearment. I really do.” She rolls her eyes, sighs big, and then digs her iPhone out of her bag and checks the time. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a late rehearsal, and Mikhail said he’d replace me if I didn’t show tonight.”

Now she looks as if I’ve disappointed her in every possible way.

“Don’t go yet.
Stay
.” My word choice seems to make it even worse. She looks even more unhappy.

“No. I really need to go. I’ve said too much already and we certainly don’t want you even more
confused
than you already are.”

She’s not exactly sounding sympathetic and for some reason her jeering attitude seriously pisses me off. “I’ve got a head injury,
baby
…cut me some slack.”

“No slack,
baby
.” She starts for the door without a backward glance.

“Hey,
come on
, wait a minute. I don’t even know your name. How will I find you? When will I see you again?”

I’m desperate now and fear an ending because I’ve mangled up the last five minutes with her. She’s pissed and disappointed in me for calling her
baby
again and who knows what all else. I can see it in the way her hands shakes and the way she stalks toward the door. I know what that kind of fury feels like. Then my own anger comes out of nowhere because this supposed truth-telling session has been little more than a dangerous sexy taunt and a waste of my damn time.

“You’re supposed to be giving me the answers here. You’re supposed to tell me the truth and not keep me in the dark. You’re not supposed to
lie
!” My voice gets louder with each word.

She turns back looking stunned as if I’ve never yelled at her before.
Maybe, I haven’t.
I attempt to clamp down on my rising anger and take in some air hoping it will lead me straight back to calm like the counselors here keep telling me it will.

“I’m
not
lying to you,” she says quietly. “And we don’t
fight. Hardly ever
.” She takes an unsteady step toward me. “We don’t fight. We don’t…fight.” She brushes at her face and then looks away from me. When she turns back I can clearly see the grief that swells her features and the tears that rim her eyes. “I don’t even know who you are anymore,” she whispers in defeat, lifting her arms, looking helpless. “Who are you?”

“Who. Are.
You
?” I shout the words back at her, but get uneasy when she actually flinches as if I’ve just slapped her.

Now, she stares at me, transfixed, for a full minute as if she can’t quite believe what she’s just heard me say. Then, she gasps for air as if all the oxygen has somehow been sucked out of the room. “I’m no one. Just a girl you hooked up with one-night.”

She winces and then smiles ever so slightly. “I’m just one of those mistakes you wished you’d never made and most likely the one person you never should have laid eyes upon. That’s me,” she says with disquiet and takes an unsteady breath but looks determined to finish what she has to say. “The thing is…the thing is, it will always come back to baseball, won’t it; Elvis?”

She nods while a single tear starts to make its way down on her face. She impatiently wipes at it with the back of her hand and forms this tight smile with her lips and then suddenly laughs. But it’s a bitter sound, not joyous.

“I was the best one-night stand you’ll ever have, but that was a long time ago—a time you don’t even remember. So, let’s just forget the whole thing. Just say our goodbyes and move on, shall we? And I didn’t take your money and now that that’s all straightened out, just get your dad to stop accusing me of things like that.
Enough
already.
I get it.
And just know that I wouldn’t lie to you. I actually never really did.”

“
Never really did
?” She is seriously pissing me off right now for some inexplicable reason and my head hurts and the meds Elissa gave me haven’t kicked in yet.

“Forget it. When you’re feeling up to it, give my lawyer a call, and we can arrange things through him.”

“What lawyer? Why would I need a
lawyer
to talk to you?”
Wrong question.
I see it in the withering look she throws my way. Her beautiful green eyes narrow further as she studies me and my response to this news that she was a one-night stand at some point in my forgotten life.
I’m going to fuck this up. I just know it.

“The thing is I can’t be the only one who remembers.” And then she just stops talking for a moment as if taking in the full measure of her own words and starts to nod as if she’s suddenly figured out an answer to a really hard question she already knew. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this. I wish…I wish I could be that strong for both of us. I really do but I have to think of... And I can’t do this.” She waves her arm wides around the room and gets this dazed look as she absently wipes away her tears. “It is truly hard to compete with America’s favorite pastime, and you have to really love it.” Her smile disappears completely. “And I just don’t.”