Wicked Lies Boys Tell

“So another day of pretending, huh?” he asks bitterly.

Shame courses through me. I’d give anything to hold hands with him as we walk down the halls at school. Anything. But then what? The news would travel like wildfire back to my dad. Everything hangs in the balance. My future, especially.

“I guess.”

He chuckles and squeezes my hand. “It helps to know you fucking hate this every bit as much as I do.” He brings our joined hands to his mouth and he kisses my knuckles. “Maybe one day we won’t have to pretend anymore.”

“Not maybe. One day we won’t have to pretend,” I assure him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he utters. “After college. Get what you can from your dad. I can be your secret for four more years.”

While he seems outwardly okay with that notion, I know better. I’ve grown up with Cope. I’ve fought with him like a brother. Spent the night at his house more times than I could count. Held him through his tears when his dad was being a dick. He puts up walls. Walls no one can see past. Walls built of lies. But I’m on the other side of that wall with him.

“Leah texted that she’s driving herself to school today,” I tell him as we pull into the school parking lot.

I park far away because there are already a million cars here this morning. We exit my Jeep and grab our backpacks from my back seat. Last night, we made quick work of packing up his clothes and belongings while his dad drank himself stupid in his home office. We stashed most of his things in my back seat. Lars said he could sleep on the couch in the breakroom at Fenway Ink, but he needed to find somewhere else to go by the weekend. And he sure as hell can’t stay with me.

The urge to grab his hand is strong. As we walk side by side, our arms brush against each other. His fingers dance across mine briefly. I’m thankful for the contact. He steps ahead of me as we squeeze between two big trucks. Before we make it to the other side, he spins and stops, blocking my path.

“You’re too fucking hot not to kiss right now,” he murmurs as he slides his palms to my neck and crushes his lips to mine.

My hands find his hips, pulling him against me. Our tongues meet in a heated, frenzied tangle as we desperately take the stolen moment. He groans and his fingers slide into my hair, messing it up. I nip on his bottom lip.

“This is too hard,” I grumble. “I hate my dad. I hate your dad. I hate everyone.”

He laughs and pecks my lips. “Me too.”

Reluctantly, he steps away and starts to back up. I rake my gaze down his front, lingering on the bulging hard-on in his jeans. If we weren’t surrounded by all these people, I’d be sneaking a hand inside his holey jeans on a hunt for that perfect cock of his. I reach out a hand, unhappy as fuck that we’re no longer touching. His fingers slide against mine before he turns and walks away.

This is going to kill me.

I could give up everything for him.

It’s not like I love being at home with my abusive dad and wasted mom.

But my dad is vindictive as hell. He’s not the type to cut me off and kick me out like Bryan did. No, my dad is worse. Evil. Cruel.

Maybe if we can make it to graduation, then Cope and I can slip away unscathed.

Feels too easy.

Nothing, for me, is ever that easy.

“Max stepping up?” Cope asks Leah from our normal spot on the picnic table at lunch.

She nods and chews on a grape. “As much as one can do in secret.”

“This is stupid,” I grumble, tossing my crumpled sandwich wrapper at the trashcan. It bounces off the edge and falls into the basket. “We should just tell our parents to fuck off.”

Her glassy eyes meet mine. She’s pale and dark circles are under her eyes, her glasses magnifying her lack of sleep. “Your dad made it perfectly clear that this marriage will go on without a hitch. Or else.”

“Or else what?” Cope demands. “He can’t ruin your dad. He’s already successful.”

She drops her head, plucking another grape from the vine in her sandwich bag. “I wish that were all.”

Cope wraps an arm around her and hugs her to his side. “Whatever it is, it’s not worth it.”

She sniffles. “You. It’s you.”

“Me?” Cope asks with a surprised laugh.

Her head turns and she shoots me an apologetic look. A look that says, I’m sorry your father is a monster who plays with people’s lives. Me too, Leah. Me too.

“Jason called my dad and threatened him. With you, Cope,” she says, looking back at him.