The Truth About Air & Water (Truth in Lies #2) (48 page)

“Yes, Mr. Presley.” He winces at my formality, but then he gets this dazed smile and traces my lips, which have been all over his body in the last half hour, and leans in closer and kisses me again.

“It’s important. Don’t ruin it,” he says breathless when he finishes his latest exploration of my mouth.

He watches me closely again. I can’t help but smile at his suddenly serious expression. “Okay, I won’t ruin it.
Go.”

“I love you.”

“Elvis,” I say helplessly. He puts his fingers to my lips.

“
Listen
. I love you. You need to know that and
hear
it. I think I fell in love with you that last night in the hospital when you swung by my room all pissed off with my dad and me in being unbelieved and wrongly accused about my money.
You owned me then.
Or maybe it was even sooner—when I woke up and you were the first person I saw—of course this was before I threw the water pitcher at the wall and demanded to know who you were. And yet I think my heart knew, has always known since the first time I saw you.” He nods while I just stare at him feeling completely undone. “All I know for sure, right this very second, is that I love you, and I will always love you. I should have told you sooner—that day at Cara’s birthday party—when I realized….you are my water. I love you, Tally. And I need you in my life.”

“Why are you doing this to me, Elvis? Not part of the plan. Don’t love me. Don’t
say
you love me.
New rule
.”

I move to get away from him, but he grips my arms from both sides and keeps me in place. In the next, he’s switched positions and I’m pinned beneath him because he’s definitely moving faster than I am now.

I’m seized by recognizable panic even while he’s kissing my face and my throat. I gasp for air. “Don’t. Love. Me.”

“I’m going to make you want to stay. With me. That’s my plan,” he says into my neck then trailing his lips down to my breasts where he swirls his tongue and lightly blows air on them which causes the entire conversation to come to a full stop. Now, I’m breathing fast for a whole new set of reasons.

I open my eyes and recenter myself gaining a little equilibrium noticing the last traces of alcohol have finally burned off in my system.
Gratitude.

It’s dark. We’re lying together, intertwined actually, on the living room floor. A naked, sleeping Lincoln Presley imprisons me with his arms and legs effectively holding me in place, and I have to wonder if this is a part of his plan—the one he spoke of a few hours before. I squint and make out the time as half past four on the mantel clock.

The sudden urge to pee won’t leave me, so I cautiously lift one of Linc’s arms and with the stealthiest of moves, I escape his captive grip. He murmurs in his sleep as I get up, which freezes me into place for another sixty seconds. It’s comical; I stand over him completely naked, and he’s missing the whole thing. When he begins to make recognizable sleep sounds again, I gingerly walk down his hallway in search of the restroom.

After doing more ladylike things than I’ve done all night, I stare at myself in the mirror. Let’s face it I have been out of control for the past ten hours, give or take. I need to call Sam and at least apologize. I should call Marla and check in on Cara. My parents. Mikhail. I still need to check out the Saroyan Theater for SFB while I’m here. It’s all good to have a meltdown in Fresno and make the headlines in sports America and on TMZ and all the rest, but I still need to keep my job.

There are no promises here. There is Trinna Danner. There still needs to be a conversation about all of that. There is the possibility of a paternity suit. There is my broken heart which is still broken.

I
am still broken.

Some things change. Some things are different. Not enough things stay the same.

There is nuclear. There is fire. Air and water. There is us.
There is no us.

There are the lies and lines and things—horrific things—and a forgotten past between us.
It’s not a lot to go on.

This huge chasm of deception and dysfunction that lies between us.

A good name for a book. A movie. Our life. I mean,
my life
.

My list. This show. My show. The plan.

Where is the plan,Tally?

Stick to the plan.

Let the self-talk begin.

I thought it had?

The best thing I can do is leave. Pack up my stuff, call a cab, stop by the convention center downtown, check the stage, amenities, dressing rooms, get to Greyhound, buy a ticket to San Fran, get in line, climb those bus stairs, grab a seat, see Rose again, and return home.

How can I leave
him?

I try again.
Leave. Now. Tally.

Nothing.

The girl in the mirror is still smiling. Some weird-ass grin is on her face that will not leave.

The truth is I
breathe
with him. He is my
air
.
Raison d’etre
.

Why don’t I tell him?
Because there’s a plan and we—
I—
need to stay with the plan.

I need to stay with the plan.

Falling in love with him again is
not a part of the plan
.

Falling in love with him again is
not a plan
.

Stop this while you can.

Save yourself.

Save your sanity.

Get it together.

Go home. To Cara. To Mom and Dad. Tommy. Marla. Charlie. Elliott.

Sam?

I could go home to Sam.

I could feel safe with Sam.

We could be sane. Together. Sam and me.

Sam, me, and Cara.

Sam hates me now.

Go home.

Tally.

Tally.

Tally.

What are you doing?

What do you think is going to happen here?

You’ve got to stick to the plan. He will hurt you. You will hurt him.
You
know
this.

You need to go. You need to leave like the plan says you will.

Leave Tally.

Just go.

Stop this while you still can.

Get it together.

A shower is in order for lots of reasons.

I stand under the water and make it as hot as I can stand it in an attempt to clear my head. And yet the more I try to put him out of mind the more persistent Linc’s face appears in it. I cannot escape these salacious thoughts of him and how he makes me feel but that’s not good because we are out of control.
Out of control.
I lean against the shower wall beginning to ponder how this will end. The urge to cry is powerful and begins to overtake me. My breath comes too fast and I gasp for air.
Why is this happening to me? How can I stop this? How can I stop?

And then he’s here.

“I missed you. I thought you’d left.” He looks worried knowing leaving is part of the plan.
My plan.

“No.
I've decided to stay and see your game tonight.”

Wait.

What?

What did I just say?

He gets this very satisfied smile.

Relief.

We both feel it.

Relief. It’s like a hit of pure oxygen to our brains.

Instant relief. Floaty.

Don’t be floaty, Tally.

Stop this.

“I’ll stay one more night and then I’m
outta
here.”
Such brave talk for a girl whose heart is racing at more than a hundred beats a minute.

“You’re going to want to stay. We haven’t even done the deed
slow
yet, that will
really
win you over.”

I have no reply to his little speech or this air of confidence he exudes like a superhero.

I’ve got nothing.

No comeback of any kind.

I’m in deep trouble here, and he knows it. It’s the way he’s looking at me as he steps in the shower and the water runs over both of us.

“Plans change,” he says with a laugh. “They always do. And the best way to handle a change in plans is to
adapt
, Princess.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Suspicious Minds -TALLY

“Bacon,” Sam said once. “You put it in a pan on medium heat, and it cooks. Whisk the eggs and scramble them up with a little butter in the pan. Done. Timing the toast with the eggs? Tricky, but doable.” Lucky I remember what all Sam Wilde said and taught me, and it works. I spent many a morning cooking breakfast with Sam. He’d come over before heading to work at
The Promissory Note
.
How many? Some thirty times over the last four months. Maybe more? More than I ever have with Lincoln Presley.
This last thought has me pausing in midair with the spatula.

“You’re cooking,” Linc says looking at me in surprise.

“I cook.”
Turn over the eggs. Don’t look at him.
“Sam taught me,” I say softly.

“Sam. I’m sorry about Sam. The break-up thing.” Linc gets this twisted face. It’s not quite a frown, not quite a smile.
Twisty.
He’s twisted up.

“No, you’re
not
,” I say trying to sound annoyed with him but failing. I grin instead because he is too.

“No. I’m not.”

We look at each other. Three hours of sleep has partially restored us.

“What can I do to help you?” He asks. “I called Hillman and told him Lily’s Diner wasn’t going to work out for us today and that we’ll see him at the game. He’s stoked you’re coming. So, how can I help you?”

All I can do is nod because I’m thinking about the plan and Trinna Danner all of a sudden. “The toast? You could butter the toast. Then, we’re all set.”