Page 67 of Wild Lies

Fiddling with the ball of material that I think is a skirt, I move up the bed and lean against the headrest. I’m tired of the secrets. Just look at all the damage they’ve caused for both me and Kade.

“I lost my job two weeks before your wedding. Glow laid me off, and I didn’t want to deal with Mom and Dad’s judgment, so I kept it to myself. Although I did tell them eventually, in anger, at the dinner they forced me to have with them.”

“That’s fair, but I’m struggling to see how all of this is connected, Chloe.”

Swallowing, I continue, “My boyfriend, Paul, who was supposed to be my plus-one, broke up with me, and on my first day in Coldwater, I asked Kade to be my date. He agreed, and when Mom and Dad assumed he was my boyfriend, neither of us corrected them. We just went along with it.”

I hiccup, closing my eyes as Rachel listens. “I spent ten glorious days with him, getting to know him and this town. I started to fall in love, and when it was time to leave, I didn’t want to. When Maddie offered me the job, I couldn’t say no and it felt like the stars were aligning. So I went back to Seattle, packed up my things and moved into an apartment his cousin owns. But then it all went wrong.”

“I’m going to skip over the fact that you’ve lost your job, moved to a small town and fallen in love in a matter of weeks and ask you how it all went wrong?”

“I accidentally posted the picture of him riding at the rodeo, and he was so furious. His family doesn’t know that he rides and I told him I’d keep his secret because, well, who am I to judge?” I lift a defeated shoulder and suck in a shaky breath. “Rach, his uncle died riding in the rodeo, so this isn’t just a ‘oh this is a thing I like to do that if people found out it will be okay’ kind of thing. This is a ‘I could be disowned’ kind of thing. He thought I posted the picture on purpose because I’ve been telling him to come clean, but I would never do anything like that, Rach. Like, yes, I think he should tell them, but I’d never force his hand, not when I’d hate it if someone did that to me.”

“Oh, Chloe, I’m so sorry.” Sympathy fills her voice, and I sob gently, covering my mouth with my hand.

“He’s gone, Rach. He said he’s never going to talk to me again. I haven’t got anywhere else I can go and I can’t stay here. I’ve been so stupidly in love that I didn’t think to make contingencies in case it didn’t work out. I uprooted my life, thinking everything was falling into place with the job and that I’d found the man I might marry. How could I have been so reckless?” There’s a hopelessness in my tone; one I don’t know how to get rid of.

“You were brave. You took a risk, and nobody can take that from you. Given everything we went through as kids, with the pressure from Mom and Dad, you still did it. I’m proud of you for doing something for yourself, Chlo.” I cover my mouth with my hand, my sob muffled as the line falls quiet. “You can stay at our place until you figure out what to do. Book a flight, and I’ll text you the key code.”

My voice sounds small when I ask, “Are you sure?”

Rachel doesn’t hesitate when she replies, “Yes. I’ve always got your back. If you’re sure that you won’t be able to work this out with him and you can delay your start date until you figure this out, then my home is there for you.”

I want to work this out, despite the hurtful things he said, but I don’t think Kade does. Like he said, I broke his trust and blew up his life with one stupid mistake. Maybe the space will be for the best, and if, in a few weeks, when things have calmed down, he is open to listening to me and accepting my apology, then we can go from there.

But for now, I simply reply, “I’m sure.”

43

KADE

I’ve been sitting on the couch with the curtains closed ever since I got home. Aimlessly staring at the wall like it might fix the mess that’s waiting for me with my family. I know it’s there. I’m just not ready to face it. My mind is still reeling from seeing Chloe, playing every second after she opened her door on repeat.

When I stormed through my door, my anger was still burning like a wildfire. I poured out a glass of whiskey before throwing it in frustration at the wall, the glass shattering on impact as the amber liquid clung to the paint. And now my senses are assailed by the drink I remember tasting on her tongue.

Did I handle this in the best way? No. And, in the heat of the moment, I said some things I’m not sure I actually meant. Hell, I know I didn’t mean them, but I can’t take them back. Just like she can’t undo posting that picture or wipe away the stain of my lie.

There’s a pounding on my door, and I close my eyes as my stomach twists. I know what’s coming just from the urgency, and if I’m being honest, I don’t think I’m ready for it. Selfishly, I want to hide away a little longer, wallowing in my heartache. But instead, I suck in a deep breath, steeling myself as I head for the door.

“Mom?” I question, panic squeezing my chest as I look over to Grayson, who stands a little behind her on my front porch.

He shrugs as Mom pushes her way into the house like she owns the place. When he passes, he claps me on the shoulder and says, “Maybe if you’d been answering our calls and messages, she wouldn’t have insisted on coming over to check on you.”

I look at my truck, haphazardly parked where I’d left it in my angry haze. “My phone’s still in the truck,” I mutter.

Ignoring me, Grayson follows Mom into the living room. His nose wrinkles in disgust before he asks, “Why does it smell like The Wildflower in here?”

Mom tsks, heading for the kitchen, leaving Gray and me to stand in the loaded quiet. Just what I need, Mom giving me the silent treatment. If this is a sign of what’s to come, I wish I’d never answered the door. At least in my own company I could have pretended everything was okay for a little longer.

Tension swirls in the air. I’ve never felt more out of place in my home before as I wait to find out my fate.

“Where’s Chloe?” Grayson asks, looking around the room as if she might appear, apparently either unaware or uncaring of the torment I’m in.

A muscle ticks in my jaw as pain shoots through my chest at the mention of her name. “Probably at her apartment.”

“Have you spoken to her?” he asks, like this is an everyday conversation.

“Yes,” I grit out. Stuffing my hands in my jeans pockets, I demand, “Can we get this over with?”