Consumed by Truths (Truth or Lies 6)

But then he kicks his legs up, throwing his body back on mine, we crash to the floor, and I have no option but to let go.

It’s a move I know well. I invented it for just this kind of situation. But it’s not a move my father taught me. It’s not one Felix would have learned from our father.

I created the move.

It’s counter-intuitive to what you want to do when you are trapped and fighting for a breath. You sacrifice your body, surprising your opponent, and in turn, it allows you to again have the upper hand.

I’ve only taught the move to two men. Two men who I thought were dead—Langston and Zeke.

But one of them is alive.

I thought I was fighting Felix—my enemy.

I was wrong. I’m fighting my only friend still alive in the world. I thought everyone I loved was dead. I had given up hope. But sometimes people return from the dead.

2

Kai

Days.

Weeks.

Years.

I can’t tell the difference anymore. All I know is time is passing too slowly and too quickly. I’m never going to survive if the days continue on like this.

The only way I know time is passing at all is my growing bump. It seems every time I look down at it, it has doubled in size. I feel huge, like I have a giant bowling ball in my belly. I know it isn’t that big yet, but tell that to my back, which aches and agonizes. All I ever do is move between the bed, couch, and rocking chair on the back deck.

Right now, I’m in the rocking chair.

Gliding it back and forth as I stare out at the Alaskan wilderness. It’s the middle of summer here, which means the air is a warm seventy-five degrees. I can’t imagine what winters are going to be like here. I plan on surviving by burying myself under a pile of blankets and never leaving the house until summer returns.

Or I could leave? Find somewhere else to live?

Not going to happen. This is the best hiding place, because no one would ever expect me to have sought out my dad.

No, I’ll stay.

My father—scratch that—my uncle, walks out onto the back porch carrying a tray of orange juice, bacon, eggs, and toast. He never once made me breakfast while I was growing up. But now he won’t let me skip a meal. I blame him for my belly doubling in size in the few weeks I’ve been here.

He sets the tray down on the table between the two rocking chairs.

“Any news about Enzo?” I ask.

My uncle freezes for only a moment, and then he hands me a glass of orange juice.

I take it, but I’m not letting him off the hook. If I’m going to survive a life without Enzo, then I need as many updates as I can get about him.

“No.”

I growl. “What use are you if you aren’t going to do the one thing I need? I need updates on Enzo.”

“No, you don’t.”

I glare at my uncle. “Yes, I do! You have no idea how hard this is on me.”

My uncle gets right in my face, scolding me like I’m a child. Maybe I am. Maybe I shouldn’t be acting out. But I can’t help it. I need Enzo. I need to know he’s alive. I need to know what he’s doing. What he’s thinking. Does he know I’m alive? Is his heart broken? What’s happening?