All the Little Lies (English Prep 1)

The word sounded strangled as it came out of my mouth “No.”

“I hired Jim before the crash to look into things because your mother seemed off.” He began to pour bourbon into his glass cup. “She liked to party in college and before we got married and had you boys. I knew the signs; I was just too afraid to face the truth.”

My chest grew tighter with every word that passed his bourbon-stained lips. Anger had my neck tensing. My hands held on to the bottom edge of the counter, my knuckles white from the pressure.

“Once it was confirmed, I confronted her. She denied it. And then she got into the crash a week later.” He dropped his head down low, I’m sure full of regret. “After she got past the hump of her injuries, she seemed like she was back to normal, so I didn’t press any further. I buried myself in work. I ignored the signs again.” He shook his head, not meeting my eye. He was lost in his own memories. “Maybe because I didn’t want to believe them. I even lashed out at Jim when he came forth with what he’d found. And then…” It almost pained him to say it. “And then, she overdosed, and I will never forgive myself for not paying attention. For leaving you and Ollie here to fend for yourselves. For believing her lies and deceptions.”

My voice was on the edge of breaking. I was on the edge of breaking. “So, you knew? You knew she was getting high off pills before the wreck, and you thought it was smart for the doctors to give her more narcotics for her injuries?”

My father’s face was full of uncertainty. His hard brow line dipped, and he clutched his glass tighter in his hand. “They didn’t give her narcotics. The doctors weren’t the ones who pr

escribed her that kind of pain medicine. In fact, I don’t think 90% of her injuries were even real.”

My nostrils flared. I was losing my grip on my sanity. “Are you saying she made it up?” No. Fuck that. I refused to believe a word that was coming out of his mouth. I saw the crash. I was there. The broken headlights, the way the metal of the car was bent. She was injured. I saw her.

“I think she had injuries, but I don’t believe they were as severe as she made them seem.”

And there it was. My breaking point. I rounded the corner and got in his face. We were the same height; I might have even been a little taller. “No! No! You can’t try to turn this around on her! You can’t make her out to be the bad guy. I saw her! I saw the way the fucking car bent with her inside. You weren’t there.”

“Christian.” Jim’s stern voice caused me to snap my head over to him. “He’s telling the truth. I dug. I dug deep after she passed. The doctors did not prescribe her narcotics. There were no doctor’s appointments a month after the accident. They cleared her on a clean bill of health.”

“Why do you think no one was held responsible for her death? It’s because the doctors didn’t prescribe her those pain pills. Your mother had an addiction. She sought out dealers on her own and got in over her head.” The smell of my father’s alcohol-ridden breath had me cringing. “It wasn’t your fault. With or without the accident, your mother would have found her way to the same end.”

My eyes were burning. My throat was tight. My anger from the grief was slowly fading away. My father’s eyes were pleading. Jim was staring at me expectantly. It felt like small shards of glass were cutting into my chest and carving out the last bit of respect I had for my mother.

No.

I swung my arm out and swooped my father's bourbon and cup off the island. It was a small slip of my temper, but it still felt good. Once I heard the glass shatter onto the floor, I stormed my way to the back deck, needing the fresh air to hopefully bring my sanity back.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Hayley

I’d been in this exact position before, cowering on the landing above a column of stairs, plush carpet underneath my body as I crouched down with my head peeking through the slats of the railing. Only this time, instead of watching my father die, I watched Christian storm off through his house and out the back door.

I heard bits and pieces of the conversation with his dad, but with my attempt to give them privacy, I couldn’t hear everything.

I wasn’t sure what Christian needed at this point, but something had me standing up and slowly creeping down the stairs of his house in search of the boy that somehow found his way into my heart.

I cared.

I paused with my hand hovering over the doorknob, blinded by my last thought. I cared. It seemed as if a waterfall of warmth washed over my body. My neck felt warm; my fingers were tingling. My heart skipped a beat. I cared about Christian.

As soon as I opened the door and the air cooled my warm face, I found him. He still didn’t have his shirt on. His smooth, bare back was facing me as his arms were resting in front of him on the deck railing. His head was bent low, showing off the muscles along his shoulders. Images of us kissing came back to me, but I shook them away, knowing this wasn’t the time.

“So how much did you hear?” he asked without moving.

I crept a little closer to him. “Not much. Just some bits and pieces.”

And that was the truth. I heard my name a few times, some yelling about his mom, but that was all. There were huge gaping holes of information left out.

And the strange thing was, I didn’t really care to know them, even if they were about me. In this moment, all I cared about was him.

“Are you okay?” I slipped up beside him, looking out into the backyard. It was huge. The treehouse we used to play in still sat up in the oak tree off to the right. I could see other large homes in the distance, just past the fence, and if I moved over a bit, I bet I could see the tall front arch of my old house.

“I don’t know.”

I nodded. I understood that. “I’m sorry.”