Why Lie? (Love Riddles #2) (13 page)

Did I move on my own? In my sleep did I do what my conscious mind was too afraid to and reach out? Could I allow myself to enjoy the make-believe perfection being in his arms offered?

I didn’t want to be awake. I wanted to drift again, this time content to know he held me. When I was a little girl, my Gigi would tell me bedtime stories and hold me until I fell asleep. She always said that if someone who loved you held you when you slept, that you could only dream good dreams.

I’ve never had a nightmare when I’ve fallen asleep in the arms of someone who loved me.

I’ve had nightmares each night since the mudslide, until last night.

Why waking up, warm and content in Heath’s arms reminds me of that I do not know. What I do know is it’s not fair. It isn’t. After weeks of recovery, and weeks more to go, I hate that the first time I’ve felt right again is in his arms. It has to be some tripped wire in my brain confusing now with then. Then, when everything was shiny and new with the possibility of us. Asleep I didn’t remember to hate him.

Awake I should pull away, but I don’t. No, I somehow snuggle even closer. My excuse is he doesn’t know I’m awake, so there’s no risk. When he wakes up, I’ll act all annoyed and offended by his proximity, as I should. I’ll also be firm on the no more movie watching together in his bed, or his room for that matter.

His excuse last night was he wanted to see how the TV compared to his old one. I still don’t get why he had to do it last night but, whatever. That’s done so he won’t be able to use that reason again. Besides, I only agreed to stay here one night. I held up my end of the bargain. Once I’m truly awake, I’ll find someone willing to take me in. Hell, I’ll even crash in someone’s garage if I have to. Anyplace would be better than here. Glancing up, I stare at the underside of Heath’s annoyingly square jaw.

He’s overdue for a shave. The stubble looks good on him. That annoys me for some reason. When you’re angry with someone, no matter how benign their appearance or behavior is, they still piss you off just by existing.

If the universe was kinder, I would look amazing every time I chanced seeing him. I would also know exactly what to say. No, since the universe hates me, I’ve had to see him day in and day out looking like he stepped off the pages of a magazine while I look like a hot mess.

I clearly pissed off karma in a former life. What am I even thinking? I should be grateful I’m alive and only temporarily injured. It’s hard to remember to count your blessings when you haven’t been able to eat real food in weeks.

Food, that’ll take my mind off Heath. Closing my eyes, I imagine every chewy thing I’m going to gorge on as soon as I’m allowed to chew again. I want tortilla chips and guacamole, I want the biggest caramel apple, and I want pecan pie, possibly in that order.

“Why are you moaning?”

What?

Was I?

Oh God.

I force my panicked face slack in an attempt to still appear asleep.

“I know you’re awake.” Heath chuckles.

Shit.

Another thing that sucks about having your mouth wired shut is you can’t yawn. Oh, if you’re tired enough your body will try to but there’s absolutely no satisfaction in it. Also, if you want to appear nonchalant as you fake waking up, you can’t do it.

Instead, I start blinking my eyes like I need to get used to the brightness of his room. “Hm?”

“Cut the crap, faker.”

“What?” I hedge.

He shifts his body so we’re nose to nose and looks me dead in the eyes. “Why were you moaning? Were you thinking about me?”

It’s an effort not to roll my eyes.

Instead, I answer him honestly, “I was thinking about what food I’m going to eat as soon as I can chew again.”

He blinks, and then slow-motion grins before throwing his head back and laughing. He is so devastatingly beautiful when he does this that I just stare at him, dumbfounded.

How am I ever going to get over Heath Mackey?

The universe doesn’t just hate me; it cruelly wants to torment me as well.

“Can you move?” I snap, best I can.

He instantly sobers and shifts in a way that none of his body weight is pressing down on me. Stupidly, I curse my words for pushing him away.

“Are you sore? Did I hurt you?”

His earnest concern only makes knowing I’ll never be able to trust him hurt even more.

I avoid his questions. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He’s up in a flash, off the bed and to my side, lifting me. Once I’m settled in my chair he pushes me right to and then into his bathroom.

He didn’t even give me a chance to try and get up on my own. Sure, I can’t walk on my bad leg until it’s healed but I can sit up and stand on my good leg. As long as my chair is close enough, I can pivot and sit.

“I could have wheeled myself and I can take it from here,” I hurriedly murmur before Heath tries to help me get on the toilet.

In the mirror I watch as he leaves, closing the door behind him. My gaze moves until it’s my eyes that I stare into. I should have thanked him; instead, I was inadvertently a bitch.

Great job, Sydney.

Once I’m done in the bathroom, I wheel my way back into his living room. His back is to me as he slices up cantaloupe.

“Thank you for helping me to the bathroom,” I quietly say.

He looks over his shoulder, his eyes scanning me. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” I argue.

He shakes his head and looks back down at the cutting board. “I’m making you a smoothie. It’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Heath, you don’t have to take care of me,” I reply.

He looks back at me again. “The thing that you aren’t getting is I want to take care of you.”

She looks away.

I knew this wouldn’t be easy. If whatever you are working toward is worth it, you do what it takes to succeed. Sydney Fairlane is worth it.

The silence between us isn’t as noticeable once the blender is going.

Once it’s off and while I pour her drink into a glass, she speaks, “Don’t you have to leave for work?”

Shaking my head, I reach for a straw. “I took today off to get you settled.”

There’s a pause and then she asks, “Why are you doing all of this?”

Turning, I hand her the drink, then move around her so I can push her chair up to the table. Then leaning down to press my lips to the top of her head I reply, “I care about you.”

Before she can pull away, I move first, backing up. Her pain meds are on my counter. I grab her morning dose so she can take it with her drink.

“Thank you,” she murmurs when I set it on the table in front of her.

As I make my breakfast, I lift my gaze to look at her profile. I will never, not until my dying day, forget what she looked like the first time I saw her in her hospital bed. She was groggy from all the pain medicine they had her on. She blinked up at us and pursed her lips as she groaned incoherently. Her face was swollen, bruises already painting her skin with their angry strokes.

Gigi and Pops stood almost constant vigil by her side while I came and went, still needing to be in Ferncliff. I felt torn in two. Each time I left either Sydney to be with my mom, or my mom to be with Sydney, I lived in fear that the condition of one of them would worsen.

I wore the stress of it like a cloak. People avoided me, sympathy clear in their retreat. During those days I was not up for conversation. As she slept, I held her hand, grateful that Gigi and Pops would conveniently go to the cafeteria to give me time alone with her.

She mainly slept those first couple of days. During that time, we anxiously waited to see if she suffered any brain damage. Somehow, despite her broken jaw, the fracture to her skull was minor. She had a concussion. As long as she does not experience another one in the next six months, her brain should fully heal.

I wasn’t there the first time she truly woke and wasn’t out of it from whatever drugs flowed through her IV. Her eyes widened with shock then narrowed as they turned guarded the first time she saw me.

She didn’t want me there. That didn’t stop me from coming to see her every day. I knew when she tried to fake being asleep. I also knew that she spoke more when I wasn’t there but went silent whenever I walked into her room.

I didn’t care that she didn’t want me there; I needed to be near her. Each day I mentally cataloged her recovery. As the swelling on her face lessoned, the bruises on her body darkened. When she didn’t think I was looking, she watched me too. While nowhere near as blatant as her injuries were, I had not come out of that canyon unscathed.

An angry scratch ran from one side of my face to my mouth. There were a couple dozen or so smaller scratches covering whatever skin happened to be exposed that day. A nasty one on the palm of my left hand needed to be wrapped with gauze at first. Her eyes would flicker from it to the scratch on my cheek. She’d look away when I caught her.

Someday, I hope she won’t look away.

Her profile now is almost as it was before that day. The swelling is gone, the bruises all but faded away. You can’t see the wires that hold her jaw together. The only hint of their existence is her lips look puffy, not swollen, but full. Full in the way they would get after I kissed her hard.

Her now blonde hair is still messy from sleep. It looks as though she tried to smooth it in places while she was in the bathroom but gave up.

Carrying my plate, I move to sit next to her. She keeps her eyes to the table.

“Would you like to watch another movie?” I ask.

She lifts her good shoulder before placing her now finished glass onto the table. “If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll go lie down.”

Setting down my fork, I move to stand so I can help her.

“I can wheel myself there,” she murmurs, making me pause mid-movement.

Settling myself back down, I reply, “I’ll be in once I’m finished.”

Her violet eyes focus on mine before flittering away. “Don’t. I want to be alone.”

“Syd,” I argue, this time standing.

She wheels away from the table but I stop her, grabbing the arm of her chair. “All I want is to spend some time with you.”

Her gaze is locked on my hand. “Please let me go.”

I gulp and let go.

It isn’t until her chair is out of sight that I whisper, “I can’t.”

Slumping back into my chair, I finish my breakfast. It could be cardboard considering each bite I take is now devoid of taste. Biding my time, I clean the mess I’ve made of the kitchen. After thirty minutes, I creep down the hall to my bedroom, stopping short at the entry to my spare room when I see her chair.

That stubborn woman.

I assumed she would have gone back to my bed but instead, she went to lie down in the spare room. Her pain medication has a tendency to make her drowsy. Even though I would have preferred her in my bed, I still quietly climb into bed beside her. In sleep, she doesn’t push me away.

I’m not tired; I’m capitalizing on the fact that she is to get close to her.

Is it fair to use her unconscious state to my advantage?

Probably not.

When she sleeps, she either does it turned somewhat onto her right side, or flat on her back, like she is now. Hoping that she’ll turn into me again, like she did last night, I’m stretched out to her right. She moves in her sleep, not a ton, and not to the point that she ever disturbed me while I slept.

She didn’t.

In fact, after I destroyed us, it took me weeks to figure out how to sleep without her. Guilt could have also played a role.

In her sleep, when she moved, it was subtle, and it was smooth. She’d slowly reach out for me, and then gently curl into me. Her soft curves would fill my negative spaces. It’s been almost five months since I slept in her apartment. Last night was the best night of sleep I’ve had since then.

Lying next to her, I take the time to enjoy her unguarded proximity. It’s relaxing to watch the rise and fall of each breath she takes, to appreciate the delicate beauty of the way her eyelashes rest against her skin. She shifts and I brace against the chance that she’ll wake and be annoyed to find me in bed with her.

She doesn’t wake; instead, she turns closer to me.

A faint hint of her apple blossom lotion hits me. An unexpected memory of her rubbing it into her skin as I watch flows in the wake of its scent. She is the most effortlessly sexy woman I have ever known. Her sassy confidence is what first drew me to her, that and the fact that I couldn’t keep my eyes off her legs.

I knew she was easy to talk to from all of our run ins at Lola’s. What blew me away was how the simple act of sharing my day with her took the stress of it away. That was a first for me. Since it was new, I didn’t recognize it for how unique it was at the time.

She shifts again, this time closer to me, her face turning till her right cheek is against the pillow. Sydney is just as beautiful, if not more so, without makeup as she is when she puts that stuff on. Unable to stop myself, I dip my face and press my lips to her forehead. When I back away, her eyes are open and on me.

She blinks, then blinks again before her eyes widen and she shifts away from me. “What are you doing in here?”