Page 47 of Ly to Me

More bile rose, and I rushed to the toilet, clutching the rim as I hurled into the basin.

At some point in our past, Carver Roland had lied to me. I’d always believed the lie was that he wanted to be with me. That he felt something for me—but now…

Now, I wasn’t so sure.

TEN YEARS AGO

I must’ve skimmed my palms down my dress a thousand times by now, stretching the bottom hem to make it reach lower than an inch above mid thigh. If I bent over too far at the party, there would be no hiding my underwear.

“This is why people get the wrong idea about you, Lyra,” I murmured to myself, then rolled my eyes up to the stars. “Alright, and the fact that you pick up jobs you shouldn’t.” I recoiled, pressing my back into a tree as I thought about that list of odd jobs. I’d once had a man hire me to wash his dishes—his alreadycleandishes. While he watched. I started off as a babysitter, but as I got older, and my mama showed me how much men would do almost anything for a pretty woman…well, I used it to my advantage.

Word got around about the jobs I did, but just like that game of telephone, facts started getting wonky. I’d heard about a wild threesome from a group of girls in passing one day, then later that same day, realized it wasmythreesome they were talking about.

The one I didn’t have.

I hadn’t even—

A car horn honked, and lights flashed as an older Ford pickup pulled into the dirt. Carver hopped out, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, looking as effortlessly handsome as he always did with that cheesy grin of his that made one of my own bubble to the surface.

Never had I thought about a guy in the way I thought about Carver. Chet made me terrified of them, my mama had encouraged me to take from them, and the boys at school made me want to hurt them.

But Car was different.

He made me happy.

“Wow,” Carver said as his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him and kissing me softly on the lips. Happywasn’t exactly the extent of what he made me feel. It was more like a bunch of butterflies had all emerged from their chrysalises and had taken flight in opposite directions before their wings had dried enough, causing them to rise and fall in a flurry. The rabble in my stomach lurched up to my heart as he broke the kiss and moved his lips to my ear. “I can’t wait to show everyone you’re mine.”

I struggled to form thoughts as he reached for my hand and tugged me to the truck.

“After you.” Carver opened the passenger door and gestured for me to get in, and after I did, he ran around the front and hopped into the driver’s seat.

I looked him over as I buckled my seat, then at the leather surrounding the interior. “Your dad let you borrow this? Just because you asked?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and steered the truck back onto the road. “Why wouldn’t he?”

I shrugged. “I dunno.”

He reached over and grabbed my hand from my thigh, lacing our fingers together. “He’s really nice. I still want you to meet him. Both of them.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed the back. “Whenever you’re ready.”

My fingers tapped along the divots between his knuckles. “You really think they will like me?”

“Anyone who makes their sonthishappy will make them ecstatic.”

“I make you happy?”

“The happiest I’ve ever been,” he replied without pause, though my own pause stretched. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel. “Is that…okay?”

I smiled solemnly. “Yeah. I feel the same.”

“Great.” He grinned and squeezed my hand. “When can I meet yours?”

“Oh. Um…” I acted like I was calculating days or minutes—any stretch of time—when really all I could picture was Chet walking in hammered, yelling at Carver for being near me, or liking me. And if he kissed me? Chet would lose it.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to pressure you.” His words would have sounded reassuring if not for the deflated tone to his voice. The truck came to a stop behind a line of cars, the sounds of loud music making the windows shake.

“Carver.” I squeezed his hand, forcing him to look at me. He sighed and gave in, the dejection I’d heard clear as day on his face. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Need time. I get it.” He turned and reached for the handle with his freehand, but I squeezed his hand again, drawing him back to me, though no words formed past my lips. His blue atala eyes searched my face. “We can talk about it when you’re ready, Ly. Really.”