Page 111 of The Next Lie

So I do it. I set my fork down and take a fortifying sip of my wine. It’s more like a fortifying half-glass, but who’s measuring? Then I set the glass down on the table with a quiet click and reach for my rubber bands.

“Is this what we’re doing?”

The table goes quiet. Cal looks at me first. Shiloh sets his fork down. Ever wipes his mouth with his napkin and shakes his head, but his eyes are warm with…pride?

Somehow I know that Ever has my back. It has me straightening in my seat.

Nash leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “Clarify.”

I gesture at the table. “This. The dinner. The wine. The polite conversation. Are we pretending this is normal?”

Delia looks at me across the candles, her own wine glass loose between her fingers. “Would you prefer screaming?”

“I prefer answers.”

Deacon’s gaze shifts between us, coming to rest on me. I feel its weight before I let myself meet it.

“Answers rarely improve digestion,” he says.

I smile without warmth. “That must be why everyone around here keeps avoiding them. Very health-conscious. We’ll all live to be a thousand at this rate.”

Shiloh coughs into his napkin. Cal’s mouth tightens.

Delia’s attention slides to Deacon, quick as a blade flash. He gives her nothing visible, but something passes between them anyway.

I point before I can stop myself. “That right there. What was that?”

Delia’s brows lift. “What was what?”

“That look.”

“What look?”

“Don’t be dense. The one where you two silently decide how much of the truth I’m allowed to have before I choke on it.”

Cal says, “Reva.”

I turn on him. “Stay out of it.”

His jaw closes.

Good. Maybe cruel, but still good.

Deacon sets his wineglass down. “No one is deciding what you can handle.”

I laugh. “Do you hear yourself when you talk?”

“I hear you projecting.”

My temper catches fast. “Excuse me? That is some bullshit, Deacon⁠—”

His eyes hold mine, steady and dark, with that infuriating calm that makes me want to throw silverware. “You are angry with Cal because he kept things from you. Angry with Nash because he manages danger. Angry with me because I did both before you knew my name. Now you are looking at Delia and deciding she is hiding something because it gives your anger somewhere familiar to stand.”

Delia’s face goes still.

Mine gets hot.

I hate him. I really do. Especially because he is not entirely wrong.