Young Lies (Young Series Book 1) (10 page)

Have I? At least twice a day I make up my mind about what answer to give Tom, then promptly change it again. I don’t know what it is that has caused my hesitation. Tom would make an in
credible husband—he already makes an incredible stepdad—and I know he loves me. I suppose my problem is guilt: Without a shadow of a doubt, I know I could never love him the way he loves me. I do love him, but it’s not the same way I loved—
love
—Matthew, and it’s unfair to him to pretend that I can. “Not really,” I say in answer to his question. “Tom’s wonderful, he truly is. He’s put up with so much of my shit over the last five years and he absolutely adores Tyler. On paper, it should be a no-brainer, but in practice...”

I have no idea how to describe the look in his eyes that is pinning me to my chair. He nods fractionally and turns away to look at his fish. From the onset, Matthew was an enigma I could never completely work out. On the surface, he’s easygoing, fun, and flirtatious. Slightly beneath that layer is the dedicated businessman/inventor/genius that never admits defeat and doesn’t understand the meaning of “no.” Throughout our marriage, I learned of a third level of Matthew’s personality. The one that loves and protects what is his completely. That is the side of him that bottles up hurt and heartbreak and everything else. Only the people he cares most about can even access this part of him, and I was one of those lucky few. Until I walked out on him.

He gave you the choice
, my mind reminds me.
He accepted your decision. There’s only so much blame you can take on for that.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Again the words are spoken so quietly and I’m lost enough in my thoughts that I almost miss them altogether. I look over at him in surprise. He’s smiling.

“Well, the circumstances could be better, but I am glad you and Ty are here,” he goes on softly. “And I’m sorry I’ve been distant; I just don’t know another way to handle this if I want to come out whole on the other side.” My brow furrows in confusion at his words. “As much as I’d love to spend every waking second with you and getting to know my son, I feel like my only option right now is to keep my distance, especially knowing once this is over, you’re going home with Saunders.”

I swear my heart breaks a little. “Well, I’ve been thinking about it and maybe now’s the time to consider adjusting our agreement,” I say hesitantly.

He seems to stop breathing as his eyes widen slightly as he processes what I just said. “What do you mean?” he whispers.

Shrugging, I let my eyes drift around the room as I gather my thoughts. It’s true I’ve thought about talking to him about making different arrangements than the ones we’ve been adhering to for the last five years. Tyler is getting to the point in his life where he’s going to start wanting to know his father. He knows he’s not Tom’s biologically, and he knows who Matthew is in the abstract, but as he gets older, he’s going to want much more than that and I want to be able to give that to him. “Maybe instead of all of us keeping as much ground between us as possible, you could come visit once in a while. Maybe once he gets more comfortable with you, you can fly Ty out here over summer breaks.”

The expression on his face suggests I’ve just handed him the greatest gift ever. “You mean that?” he says breathlessly.

I nod. “Yes.”

A sound that resembles something between a gasp, sob, and laugh escapes his chest, and the next thing I’m aware of fully is that Matthew is bent over me, kissing me furiously. My brain and instinct tells me to push him away while the rest of me longs for this moment and more. I feel my fingers in his soft hair, hear him groan against my lips and as his grow more desperate, his tongue joins the fray. Matthew is somehow in the chair with me, pressed against me and I give in
to what we’re doing.

To my surprise and disappointment, he pulls away first, his breathing raspy, his eyes wide and dark with desire. His brow furrows for a second before his weight on mine disappears completely. Looking up, I see him fisting his hands in his hair, confused and torn. “No,” he whispers. I’m not sure whether the word is meant for me or him, or both of us. “Sam, please don’t do this to me.” He’s begging me. “Not again. I can’t do it again.”

My confusion only increases. “Can’t do what?”

His face contorts as though he’s in pain. “This is why I need distance from you,” he says through gritted teeth. “
Exactly
why.”

Without another word, he stalks out of the office, leaving me confused, hurt, and aroused.

Last night I slept with Tom. And I’m not talking the innocent, lying beside one another all night spooning. I mean down and dirty, or as dirty as Tom ever gets, sex. To say he was surprised when I initiated intimacy with him when over the last five years we can count the number of times I’ve done so on one hand is an understatement. His surprise only lasted a few moments before pressing me into the mattress. I tried to let go of my thoughts and hurt long enough to enjoy this time with Tom. For a while, I managed pretty well. It wasn’t until Tom climaxed that guilt started to wash over me. I hadn’t done it for him or even for me. I did it for purely selfish reasons that involved a sense of getting back at Matthew for leaving me in the office the way he had.

I still don’t understand what he was talking about. What did he seem to think I was doing to him? He kissed me, not the other way around, the
n pulled away without any explanation or warning. Then he had the audacity to be angry with me. I kept my distance from him for the rest of the evening, though apparently there had been no need: according to Leo, Matthew decided to make an emergency visit to the office and from what I could tell, he didn’t come home until the very early hours of the morning. I know this because once Tom fell asleep, I remained awake and saw a set of headlights pulling up to the house. A few minutes later, I heard floorboards creaking outside the bedroom and I stopped breathing, knowing exactly who they belonged to. I waited to see if Matthew opened the door, imagined him running his hands through his hair as he cursed under his breath for several minutes, then listened to his footsteps retreating again. I’m glad he didn’t open that door; I’m well acquainted with Matthew’s jealous side and I can only imagine how he’d react seeing Tom and me naked in bed together.

Not that he has any right to be upset.

Right now I’m in Matthew’s fantastic kitchen preparing breakfast. The best stress reliever in the world when I’m upset, confused, and irritated is cooking. During the night when I wasn’t sleeping, I came to a decision about Tom and me. Even now with Matthew back in my life, nothing has changed. We’re divorced. We agreed we wouldn’t be together again in that way. Matthew is my past; Tom is my future. When this is over, there is every chance in the world that I will never see Matthew again, unless he decides to take me up on my proposal to see Tyler when he can. Since I’ve been here, I’ve found myself living more and more in daydreams about this situation leading to some sort of reconciliation between Matthew and me. It’s all been very fairytale-ish and unrealistic, and I know I’d just be setting myself up for severe disappointment if I continue dwelling on it.

Last night in his office, Matthew and I got carried away. We had a few moments of peace and were talking like we always had, and he was grateful for my offer of getting to know his son. That’s all. Letting myself believe otherwise will do nothing for any of us. So fuck it.

As I’m adding the finishing touches on our omelets, I feel pair of arms wrap around my waist, and I tense for the briefest of moments until I remind myself of the decision I made last night. Relaxing against Tom’s chest, I inhale deeply, finding comfort in his cheap body wash scent, ignoring my heart’s insistence that this is all so very wrong.

“Good morning,” Tom murmurs, pressing a kiss against my neck.

“Good morning.” I move my head to the side to give him better access as I finish breakfast. “Hungry?”

He lets out a low grumbling sound, holding me a little more tightly against him and I flinch when I feel his erection pressing against me. “You really have to ask?” he says, his lips moving up to my ear.

“I meant for breakfast,” I say quietly.

He kisses my neck once more before releasing me and backing away. I glance over my shoulder to find him smirking at me. “I suppose breakfast will do for now.”

Rolling my eyes, I direct him to set the table just in time for Tyler to come sprinting into the room. I never understood how children could have so much energy first thing in the morning when it takes adults hours and several cups of coffee before we’re even somewhere approaching normal function. Sitting at the table, all three of us with ham and cheese omelets, bacon, and toast, I let myself pretend that everything is as it has always been, that we’re not in my ex-husband’s kitchen because we’re on the run from some unknown threat.

Halfway through our meal, during which Tyler is once again recounting his time on Matthew’s boat yesterday, Matthew enters the kitchen. He stops dead at the sight of us, his eyes darting between me, Tom, and Tyler, before resting on me. I see his brow furrowing as he scans my body, not missing a single thing. When his lips press together to the point of turning white and his jaw tenses, I have the horrible sense that he knows what Tom and I got up to last night, and he’s not happy about it.

“Good morning,” he says stiffly, crossing the kitchen to the coffee pot where he proceeds to pour himself a cup. Turning, he leans against the counter as he sips, his eyes not leaving me. “I hope you all slept well.”

I’m probably the only one who notices the accusing edge in his voice, probably directed at me. I find the guilt I felt last night has faded into annoyance. “We did,” I tell him evenly, looking him right in the eye. His eyes narrow on me. “You?”

He murmurs something I can’t quite make out, nor do I believe I want to, finishing off his coffee and leaving the cup in the sink. “Well, Leo has your cell phones—they’re safe to use again. All I ask is that you keep the details to a minimum when you call anyone. Again, make yourselves at home, though it seems you’ve already done that.” His eyes switch between Tom and me, which is all the evidence I need that he somehow knows exactly what happened. “I need to go. Have a good day.”

With that, he leaves the kitchen and moments later, we hear the slamming of the front door, then screeching tires leaving the driveway.

“What’s his problem?” Tom asks through a mouthful of omelet.

“Don’t know,” I lie, my appetite suddenly gone. “Let’s go out today. We can take one of Matt’s cars and I can show you two the town.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “What happened to his insistence that we take security with us?”

“They’ll have no problem following us in another car,” I say, trying to keep my bitterness to a minimum. “It’ll be fun.”

Smiling, Tom nods, finishing off his meal. “Sounds good.”

-------------o-------------

An hour later, we’re setting off in one of Matthew’s fleet of cars and I sigh when I see a black SUV creeping up on us. It’s a familiar sight, one I got used to when Matthew and I were married, and for the most part, I tended to forget they were there at all. Now I’m so out of practice and accustomed to conducting my personal business alone that the car following us sticks out like a sore thumb. I’m sure Tom is at least somewhat bothered by it, but he won’t say anything in front of Tyler, who has no idea what we’re being tailed by anybody.

The town closest to Matthew’s house is Santa Clara. Only by technicality is this his hometown. The population is less than 400 and on my first visit here, I was immediately reminded of my home in Iowa. Of course there were huge differences between here and there: for one, there was more to see than flat farmland. Unlike home, where we’d hardly reached the twentieth century when I
moved away, this town was light years ahead. They’d succumbed to the usual small town USA problems and had allowed a few corporations to move in and take away local business. Just on the town’s edge is a Wal-Mart. Down the block from that is a huge shopping mall. Still, once you move further into the town limits, the streets are lined with small shops: a toy store, music shop, cafés and restaurants, the library... Matthew and I used to wander the streets on foot whenever we had the chance and I always loved how everyone in town seemed to know and love him.

We park in the middle of town and start our walk by having ice cream at the tiny hole in the wall shop. The first time Matthew brought me here, I swear I had a foodgasm when I tasted the ice cream. It was better than any other I’d ever had and nothing since has ever measured up. We take our pre-lunch dessert to an open table beside the shop. I take a bite of my double chocolate chunk sundae that’s covered in marshmallow sauce, whip cream, and cherries, letting my taste buds remember what they’ve been missing these last five years. Tyler is demolishing his treat—a large scoop of chocolate ice cream sandwiched between two freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and rolled in more chocolate chips. Allowing him all that sugar is probably something I’ll regret later when I can’t stop him bouncing off the walls, but at the moment, I don’t care. Tom chose a simple vanilla ice cream waffle cone topped with rainbow sprinkles. I only shook my head sadly at him at his simple choice, causing him to shrug cluelessly at me.

“Samantha?”

My head jerks away from my ice cream and I look up t
o find an older woman with shoulder-length gray hair standing nearby, staring at me in shock. I grin. “Hi, Bonnie,” I say, standing to greet her.

She shakes her head in disbelief and pulls me into a hug. When she pulls away, she’s smiling. “When the hell did you get back, little girl?” she asks.

I chuckle. “Few days ago,” I tell her. “Didn’t expect you to still be here...”

Bonnie Harris is a local nonsense woman who owns the town’s only decent bookshop. I met her within a week of my first visit to Matthew and immediately loved her. We spent hours talking about everything from books to local gossip. Her husband died fifteen years ago and she took over the bookshop from him to keep it from closing. With no children of her own, she took to mothering Matthew whenever he let her, and then me when I came along. She really did become a second mother to me—the first to befriend me when I moved to the area; the first to congratulate us when Matthew and I got engaged, then when we got pregnant; she was with me when my water broke and rushed me to the nearby hospital, staying with me until Matthew was able to get a flight home from a business trip in Arizona. She positively adored Tyler like he was her own grandson and often offered to babysit so Matthew and I could have an evening to ourselves. She was also the first person at my side when Matthew was hurt after the accident, making sure I was eating and had someone to comfort me, to talk to me if I needed it. When I didn’t need someone to talk to, she remained at my side, silently knitting.

When I left Matthew, I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to her, and even if I had, I’m not sure I could have faced saying goodbye to her. I often wondered if she was angry with me for leaving without a word and I wished I could contact her for advice. Nothing specific, just whatever she could give me. Now, though, I see there’s no anger and resentment towards me. She just seems pleased that I’m here now.

“Well, where else would I be?” she challenges, placing a kiss on my forehead. “Are you here for long?”

I hesitate. Much as I love Bonnie, I know I can’t reveal the reason I’m in town. “Not sure yet,” I tell her. It takes a moment, but I think she understands what it is I’m not saying.

She glances over my shoulder and her eyes widen, and I know she’s found Tyler. “Is that...” she whispers, her eyes darting back to mine briefly.

“Yes,” I say quietly, turning towards the table. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.” I entwine our arms and lead her over. Tom is looking at us suspiciously while Tyler is still so preoccupied with his ice cream that I don’t think he’s realized I walked away from him at all. “Tom, Ty, this is my very good friend Bonnie. Bonnie, this is Tyler and Tom, my...” I trail off, uncertain what to label my relationship with Tom, especially to someone who was so close to me when I was married to Matthew.

“Boyfriend,” Tom pipes up, standing to shake Bonnie’s hand. “The word she’s looking for is boyfriend.”

“I see,” Bonnie says slowly, her eyes darting between Tom and me before resting on Tyler. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Would you care to join us?” I ask.

Bonnie smiles regretfully. “I’d love to, but I’ve got to get back to the shop. We’ve got a shipment coming in shortly and I can’t trust those damn teenagers to put it away properly.” I laugh at her grumbling. “Before you leave, you should pop in. I’ll make a pie and we can catch up.”
“I’d like that,” I tell her sincerely.

“Good,” she says. “It wasn’t so much a request as a demand.” She tries to look at me sternly, but I see her lips twitching. “Well, I’ll let you three enjoy your ice cream. Tell Matthew hello for me.”

She leaves and I turn to face Tom’s inquisitive expression. I’m not sure if it’s because of Bonnie or the fact that I didn’t introduce him as my boyfriend, but he doesn’t look pleased and I immediately distract myself by cleaning the ice cream that covers my son’s face, hands, and neck.

Resuming our town exploration, I’m now sensitive to every look I’m getting from the town residents, all of whom recognize me after a second glance and all of whom stare openly. Tom, thankfully, is clueless to my increasing distress at being recognized and lets Tyler lead us around until he eventually crashes from his sugar high and I take the opportunity to suggest we head back home. And I don’t miss the shadow that passes across Tom’s face when I refer to it as “home.” I ignore it.

-------------o-------------

When we get back to Matthew’s house, I’m feeling a little down. I saw so many people in town that I missed and every one of them, save Bonnie, looked at me as though I’m the antichrist who left the town’s golden boy. Probably should have expected it; everyone around here loves Matthew and once, by extension, me as well. Clearly those days are long gone.