Why Lie? (Love Riddles #2) (16 page)

Then I look back at Reilly and reply, “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

She grins and I walk away. Gotta go get my girl.

Ferncliff is no metropolis; the ride to her physical therapist’s office is a short one. Watching my speedometer, it’s a struggle not to speed. Her appointment was only forty-five minutes but I’m pulled back to her like a kite in the wind. As I park, she wheels herself out of the building. I’m out and circling my car by the time she reaches the passenger door.

“Did you have to wait?”

She shakes her head and the sunlight catches the faint line of sweat at her hairline. I wish she took it easier on herself. Ever since her accident, she’s been wearing track pants, the kind with snaps that go up the sides. They’re huge on her, large enough to accommodate her cast and cinched tight at her waist so that won’t fall off. They’re a far cry from the sexy dresses she always wore, working or otherwise, before.

Even in oversized track pants and a baggy T-shirt she’s still gorgeous. There are times her beauty renders me speechless. Today, tired, and still fighting is one of those moments. Maybe it’s the way the sunlight illuminates the golden strands of the tendrils of hair that have fallen to frame her face. Or, it could be the determined set to her full lips. She’s a fighter, and I admire that about her. I worry that she is pushing herself too hard. Her recovery isn’t some race she needs to win. Her impatience to be back to normal is understandable but I hate the way she’s exhausting herself.

“Good timing.” She breathes, and I notice her mouth doesn’t seem as tense as it was when I dropped her off. She is already getting used to having more range when speaking. “I just finished up,” she continues.

I open her door for her and she doesn’t argue with me when I push her wheelchair up to it. She stands, pivoting on her good leg to get into the seat while I collapse her wheelchair and put it in my trunk. Then I move back and close her door for her.

She’s used the side control to recline her seat more than normal, this therapy session clearly knocked her on her ass.

“You doing okay?” I ask, once I’m in my seat.

“I smell French fries,” she mumbles, her cheek resting on the seat as she faces me with closed eyes.

I laugh and reach into the backseat for the to-go bag. Her eyes flicker open when I set it in her lap. With her good arm, she reaches into the bag to grab a fry. One by one she manages to eat three before she falls asleep.

I don’t wake her when we get back to my house. I make one trip to unlock my door and put her wheelchair in my bedroom, turning down the bed before I go back out to my car and get her.

She presses her cheek to my chest as I carry her inside and to bed. She might be pissed that she fell asleep before she could finish her fries but there’s no way I’m waking her.

After I lock up my car and my apartment, I slip off my shoes, and the one flip flop she wears and crawl into bed with her.

Like every night we’ve slept in this bed, she curls closer to me. I’m not tired but that doesn’t stop me from lying with her. My hope is that, if it happens, the first night she sleeps alone, she’ll miss me. Here, with her curled up tight to me, I know this is how I want to fall asleep every night, forever.

I look down at her and watch as she sleepily presses her lips together. Dipping my head, I rest my forehead against the top of her hair. In two days the casts on her leg may come off and there’ll be no reason for her not to go.

If that happens, what can I do to convince her to stay?

I can’t stay here any longer, but there’s no place I’d rather be. This all seems like a dream, like this is what our lives could be like if we let it.

His motivation is clear though: guilt. I don’t want to be his obligation. That doesn’t stop me from enjoying my fix each time he gives it to me. I’ve become utterly addicted to Heath Mackey and when I quit him, I’m going to need to do it cold turkey.

This morning was so perfectly simple. We woke up together—me snuggled up tightly to him. His alarm went off and sleepily, he pulled away.

One of the perfect things about this morning was how he pulled away. He didn’t do it all at once. No, it was a struggle for him to leave the bed we were sleeping in. He had tightened his arms around me and murmured, “I wish we could stay in bed all day,” against the top of my head.

We, he said we. I didn’t imagine it and in that moment, that was exactly what I wanted too. Then, after that perfect we, he started to pull away only to come back to me and hold me even tighter saying, “Five more minutes.” I didn’t argue, how could I? I wanted those five extra minutes of his muscular arms wrapped around me, those five extra minutes of breathing in his musky scent.

How Heath can hold me so tight without being bothered by my casts is confusing. I should be repellent but he only wants to get closer to me. Last night, in the moment before sleep fully claimed me, I swear he kissed the top of my head. I’m too scared to believe it wasn’t a dream.

He kissed me three days ago when my mouth was still wired shut. Why? Why did he do that and why hasn’t he done it again? Now that the wires are gone, the thing I want to taste above all others is his skin.

This morning, pressed tightly up against him, I stared at his neck, wondering if he still tasted like I remembered. Also, wondering what he would do if I turned my head, opened my mouth, and pressed my tongue to his skin.

That’s the addict in me speaking. Everything he’s done since I’ve been in his apartment is confusing. Is he only taking care of me out of guilt or does he truly want me here and in his life?

If he does want me in his life, how long before he’ll throw me away again? It hurt so much the first time. The addict inside me wants to throw myself at him and take whatever scraps he’s willing to give.

I could see myself dining on those scraps like they were a full course meal. But, someday it would end and if his leaving the first time hurt so badly, what would him leaving a second time do to me?

After his five minutes were up, he again struggled to pull away. When he did, he asked me what I wanted for breakfast, telling me no matter what it was he could get it or make it for me.

My mouth was sore and I realized that my first night without wires I had already screwed up by not wearing the mouth guard or doing the flex thing before I fell asleep.

I pushed up to a sitting position using my good arm and lifting my casted one, covering my mouth with my hand. “My guard thing.”

The sleepy fog that had clung to Heath and made him struggle to get out of bed faded away. He bolted upright and climbed off the bed. I watched him move quickly from his bedroom, my eyes lingering on his too scrumptious ass.

It was impossible to focus, Heath made it like that. He had hurried back, carrying my bag and pulling the plastic case from it to hand to me.

“Do your jaw exercises now and wear the guard while I’m in the shower. We’ll eat something soft like oatmeal for breakfast,” he had said before placing a hand to the bed beside me and bending forward to kiss my forehead.

A
we
and a forehead kiss in the same minute? Heath Mackey was not fighting fair. I had done what he told me to, putting the guard in my mouth and flexing my jaw. It was strange how making such a small movement with one part of my body could tire me so.

By the time he was done with his shower and walking around his room in only a towel, I was lying back down.

He didn’t get dressed in front of me, much to my addict’s disappointment. Once he was deliciously attired for work, I took out my guard, got into my wheelchair and wheeled myself to the bathroom to wash the guard and freshen up.

He had a bowl of apple cinnamon oatmeal ready for me by the time I was done. We ate together like it was something we did every morning and had done every morning for years.

Pops showed up then and headed straight for his favorite seat in Heath’s living room and turned on the morning news. While I ate, they made small talk, Heath letting Pops know I only ate three French fries before passing out last night and that if he already didn’t have plans for lunch, he should take me to Lola’s so I could get some more.

It was surreal watching my grandfather talk to Heath in the casual way he did. His gaze would move between us and soften. I wanted to warn him not to get too attached to Heath, but I couldn’t even do that myself.

Before Heath left he took my bowl and washed it. Then he grabbed his briefcase and leaned down to kiss my forehead just as he had earlier. My eyes had closed as his lips pressed against my skin. With every single molecule of my being, I tried to memorize that kiss, this morning.

“I like that boy.”

My grandfather’s random remark has me blinking at him. Where did that come from?

Instead of asking that, I ask, “Why?”

“I’ve known his family a long time. The way he helps look after his mom, and the way he’s helped look after you says a lot about his character.”

I don’t argue. I can’t argue. Well, I could but I don’t want Pops to think badly of Heath. I’m not sure how much he knows, if anything, about what happened between the two of us.

I’m not sure what to do with Heath, how to think of him. He’s a contradiction. He left me but he’s staying by my side. It’s confusing. Which side of him do I believe, the one that looked past me, or the one that’s watching over me?

I’m getting sucked into him all over again. It’s not his body that’s drawing me in this time; it’s him. My attraction to him has not gone away, no matter how many times I wished it would disappear.

It’s my attraction to his actions that’s evolved. Those first weeks in the hospital I pushed him away. He kept coming, despite the distance and despite needing to be at home with his mom.

He wants me in his life. That is crystal clear. I don’t understand why or what’s changed. As much as I like Kacey, I’m nothing like her. Going from me, to her and then back to me again makes no sense.

Is he only interested in me because she isn’t available?

What is it about Heath Mackey that makes it impossible to get him out of my mind? He’s like an unexorcisable demon. Why can’t my heart beat faster around Trip? He’s seriously sexy and saved my life. He actually waded into the mudslide to get me. He could have died. The least I could do is have a crush on him. Not that I don’t have a crush on him, he is ridiculously attractive. Thing is, no matter how hot he is, my brain thinks Heath is hotter.

I was sure seeing Trip in his police uniform, all “defending the peace” and “you have the right to remain sexy as all hell” would do it for me. There was a reaction; it’s impossible to not appreciate a sexy-ass man, but it wasn’t even close to how my body reacts to Heath.

Even worse, Heath in a suit. What is it about his suits that turn me on so badly? He wasn’t even my type before he ruined me for all other men.

I realize I haven’t replied to Pops so I hurriedly mumble, “He’s a good guy.”

That seems to appease Pops. He starts flipping channels and stops on a basketball game.

Pops loves basketball. It does not matter who is playing. He has his favorite teams but he’ll watch any game. I can get into college games; especially March Madness but I don’t make a point of watching.

The Cinderella stories are what get me every time. There’s nothing like a team from a school no one has ever heard of making it to the sweet sixteen or further. I’ll always root for the underdog.

“This good?” Pops asks.

Not sure why he bothered. I’ve watched basketball with him without complaint the other times he stayed with me.

I answer him anyway. “Works for me.”

Before I have a chance to even get into the game, there’s a knock at the door.

“You expecting company?” Pops asks, getting up.

I shake my head and wait while he answers it.

“Hey, I hope it’s alright I stopped by to see you,” Reilly Whitmore greets after Pops let’s her in.

“Oh, hey. Of course. How are you?” I reply surprised.

I know Reilly but it’s not like we’re close. There’s something about her being on TV that makes her seem more like a buddy than she actually is. When her reports come on, we always turn the volume up at the diner.

She has a way of speaking to the camera that feels more personal than a reporter telling the news. It’s like she’s right there with you, sitting on her sofa or on a stool at the counter chatting.

She also has a way of looking put together without looking overdressed or too businessy. It’s hard not to relax in her company.

“I ran into Heath last night and he said it’d be okay if I stopped by. I meant to visit sooner but work has been busy.”

I glance down at the gigantic track pants and huge T-shirt I’m wearing and then with envy at the adorable dress she’s wearing.

First thing I’m doing when I get these casts off is shaving because . . . I don’t even want to know how long my leg hair has gotten under that cast, and then I’m getting dolled up. I’m talking the works. I still haven’t decided whether the works will include my favorite pair of designer jeans or not.