Page 70 of The Next Lie

I groan. “You’re not surprised.”

Shiloh’s expression softens, but his voice stays careful. “We suspected he knew more than he gave you.”

“Awesome.”

“Yank—”

“No, it’s fine.” I stand because sitting suddenly feels impossible. “Everybody knew more than me. It’s becoming a theme. Very cohesive. Love that for the narrative of my freaking life.”

Ever sets his bottle down. “What else?”

“He said Deacon and he had an arrangement. Deacon made sure Cal could get to me when I was a kid. Cal made sure I disappeared.”

The carriage house goes quiet. Not because that is new to them, I think, but because it hurt me to learn.

And they know it.

Shiloh’s voice drops. “I’m sorry.”

I hate that. I fucking hate sorry right now. Sorry is a garden hose too small for a house fire.

“He said he was coming to New Orleans,” I say.

Ever’s eyes sharpen. “Is he?”

“No. I told him not to bother.”

Shiloh’s brow lifts. “Is that going to work?”

“For today.”

“Cal Boudreaux does not strike me as a man easily vetoed.”

“He raised me,” I say. “He should be used to disappointment.”

That earns half a smile. Then it fades.

“He told me not to trust Delia blindly,” I say. “And not to hate her for surviving.”

My voice catches on the last word. Damn it.

Ever crosses the space between us and stops in front of me. “That doesn’t make it easier.”

“No.”

His hand lifts, then stops short of touching my face. The unfinished thing between us comes back. Sexual but not only sexual. The intimacy hangs there, thick with intent.

Heavy with promise and complicated by the fact that he left. The fact that he came back. The fact that I spent the night in Nash’s bed and woke up with Ever’s words still tucked somewhere behind my ribs.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he says, voice low.

Shiloh makes himself busy on the other side of the gym suddenly.

My throat works. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I allowed Nash’s…upset…to interfere with my promise to you, and for that I’m sorry.”

“You came back, though.”