Page 17 of The Lies Always Told (Baker Oaks #4)

“What’s going to happen, Gus? I won’t bite, and I’m a strong swimmer.

If you’re worried about drowning, I got you.

” She lays her head back, letting her legs come up, floating away from the boat and taking all my rational thoughts with her.

What I do next has no logic at all. I remove my pants, and I jump in the water with her.

The water is perfectly warm. It’s too salty for my eyes, but the temperature is perfect. I tread water, waiting for Nellie to swim back to me, and she does with a big smile on her face. Her soaked hair falls over her shoulders, and her smile brighter than the sun itself.

“Hi, handsome,” she whispers, treading water in front of me, only her shoulders out of the water, the rest hidden under the waves.

A wave . She has a little wave tattooed right under her collarbone.

I’ve been so focused on all of her , I’ve missed the little details.

I missed how her green eyes have golden and brown specks intertwined with the most perfect green, how she has two small freckles right above her full lips.

Her little wave tattoo and the little three dots between her breasts.

The latter, I’ve noticed before, but not like now, with the water brushing over it.

The lack of tan lines or, better yet, faint ones that indicate she either sunbathes naked or tans.

Her beautiful ears don’t have anything adorning them.

Her damn smile—the one she’s flashing me right now.

“Hola, hermosa,” I reply, out of breath, and not because of the physical exertion. She steals my breath away.

“Promise me you won’t ever stop looking at me like that,” she says, smiling bigger and reaching for my body with her hands.

“Like what?” I curl my hands around her hips and wrap her legs around my body.

“Like I’m the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.”

“You are.”

“There are a lot of promises being tossed around here today.”

“I hope you’re a man of your word and you don’t break them. Now, promise me. No matter what happens, I want to feel the same way when your eyes are on mine, always. Even if we’re old and married to other people. Even if you don’t like me anymore.”

“Nellie, I could never not like you. I think our problem has nothing to do with that and everything to do with…well, everything else.” She traces my neck and my shoulders with her fingers as she tilts her head and flashes me another smile.

This one is a little sad, like she knows this is over before it can even start.

“Even if it kills me…I promise.”

She brings her lips to mine and kisses me softly until I can’t hold on anymore. I sink underwater with her body wrapped around mine.

“Tell me about your job.” We’ve been talking for hours, and it’s time to go, but neither of us are ready to burst our little bubble.

“I don’t work a lot anymore. The company runs itself, and I just make sure my clients are satisfied and their portfolios are up to date.

” My brother and I own a finance firm we built from scratch.

It works really well, and it made us millionaires before we were twenty-two.

I have an “as needed” relationship with it.

I go when I need to, and I don’t go when I don’t.

I treat it as a job, as a career, not as my life—unlike Manny, who breathes and lives Zabana Enterprises.

“So you have millions of dollars, and you don’t even go to work?

How is that fair?” She finishes braiding her hair after combing it with her hands.

She’s been wearing my shirt since we got out of the water, and she let her hair air dry.

She’s beautiful, breathtaking, and I love that she’s so careless about things other girls I’m usually with care about.

Not once she has worried about makeup, her hair, or even her clothes.

She did mention needing her glasses, since she didn’t bring them to the party, but other than that, she’s just enjoying the moment.

“Well…kind of. I still go when I have to, and I oversee a lot of accounts from home. Manny, on the other hand, is always there.”

“So he makes sure everything runs smoothly?”

“No, more like he makes sure everything is micromanaged. He’s approaching burn out, and he needs to take a break sooner rather than later. I’m worried he might die there, miserable and mad at the world. ”

“But he’ll have money…”

“Wasn’t it you who told me just a month ago that you weren’t going to choose a career based on the zeros of your bank account?”

“Touché, touché, but don’t men always want more? More money, more status, more ass, more women? Isn’t that how you measure power? How do you measure success?”

“Not all of us.”

“Statistically speaking, though.”

“I don’t want my brother to be a statistic.” A comfortable silence falls between us, letting the conversation drift away. “And to answer your question, the only thing I want more of is health and life. Everything else comes and goes, but how are you supposed to live the latter without the first?”

“You seem pretty healthy to me…”

“I wish I could say I was healthy too…but enough about me. How about you? Are you excited about moving back to Baker Oaks?” I add, changing the topic drastically when I see her visibly concerned. She waits but doesn’t acknowledge it. Good. Crisis averted.

“I’m about to interview for my dream job at my dream school, and I can’t wait.”

“You look pretty happy about that. I hope it ends up being exactly what you hope for and that you get the job.”

“I hope so too. I’m damn good at it. My internship was dreamy, and my professors sent outstanding letters of recommendation. That brings me joy.”

“What else brings you joy, hermosa?”

“Swimming. I started swimming in middle school, when the school counselor introduced me to the swim team. I’ve done it ever since.

That, and escaping to my friend’s house in Georgia.

Picture this. Small cabin in the middle of Georgia, not too far from home.

Her family doesn’t use it much, and I’ve been escaping there since I can remember.

Sometimes, during school holidays, I just drive there and stay by myself for days.

I like being able to shut it all out sometimes. ”

“What are you shutting out?”

“The world. The chaos. The noise. The pain.” She lays her head on my lap and grabs my hand. “Being in the cabin is like reading—an escape when the world hurts too much.”

I both love and loathe how much I like spending time with her. How is it possible that for my entire life, I’ve only been able to connect with family and friends, and the first girl who makes me interested in more is one who would come with so many challenges?

She brings her hand up to my lip, and when I look where I would find a smile, I find a frown. “Hey, Gus?”

“Yes?” She sits up and brings her other hand to my eye.

“Are you allergic to anything?”

I’ve been so focused on Nellie and getting to know more about her, I missed all the signs. No, no, no . I didn’t notice the tingling right below my lips that comes at first, or tight sensation that seems to focus on my lower lip and on my tongue right before it gets worse.

“I’m sorry, Nellie, for what’s about to happen. Just don’t freak out, okay?” I stand and walk to the cabin, pulling all the drawers out and looking under the cabinets for my emergency bag. I can’t find it anywhere.

“Gus, what is going on?” Nellie asks somewhere behind me, but I can’t stop to look at her right now, not until I find my medicine.

My lips feel heavier. I feel the same tingling in my hands too. Fuck, it may be too late. I look one more place, and it’s not here. I swear to God, if someone took it out when cleaning and didn’t put it back… Fuck.

“I need my phone,” I say sharply, looking at her while I plead with my eyes. I don’t have the words to explain it right now. I can’t explain. Every second is precious, but I can’t dwell on it. The higher the stress, the worse the flare. I don’t have the luxury right now to think about it.

She fumbles next to the bed looking, and once she finally finds it, she hands it to me. I click the emergency feature on my phone and put it on speaker, waiting for the emergency department to pick up.

“Gus, please. What’s going on?”

“I need you to stay calm, but…”

“911 ?Cual es su emergencia? ?Me puede decir su nombre?”

“Augusto Zabana. Estamos a aproximadamente a un kilómetro del rompeolas de Cabarete cerca de Playa de Oro. Estoy en medio de un ataque de angioedema y necesito mi medicina pero no la tengo conmigo. Necesito un rescate urgente.”

“De acuerdo senor Augusto. ?Tiene a alguien con usted?”

“Si, Nellie Thompson está conmigo. No habla espanol.” I look at Nellie and see two tears rolling down her cheeks. Fuck, fuck.

“I’m sorry. Nellie, here.” I hand her the phone and lie down.

The pressure in my throat increases, the subtle tightness that threatens to cut my air supply.

It’s not much at first, but having gone through this before, I know how bad it will get soon.

Nellie speaks with the operator in the distance, but I’m focusing on managing my breathing.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. How can I help?” Nellie asks, her voice trembling as she’s trying to answer the questions I’m sure are being fired her way.

The vicelike grip tightening on my throat and around my mouth is scaring me; they need to hurry up.

There’s a pause. I don’t hear Nellie anymore, so I turn around and find myself alone in the cabin. I don’t want to step out. It’s better to stay out of the sun.

“I don’t know!” Nellie shouts from the door. She’s wearing the dress she had on last night. Her hair is up, and there are no tears left. She’s screaming into the phone over and over again. “I can’t answer any more questions. Get help here, now!”

The distant hum through the water tells me something is coming. The boats sway side to side, and in what feels like the blink of an eye, four men are onboard, carrying me out into the orange rescue boat. After Nellie gets her life vest on, she sits on the opposite side from me, and we get going.

Her scared gaze is on me, and I want to let her know I’m okay, but I can’t. I need to conserve my energy and let them do their job.

“Tengo la medicina de rescate en mi casa. En la marina.” I cough in between words, my breath shallow as we speed through the waves and head the few miles back to shore. She will never forget this, and I will never forgive myself for putting her through it.

No matter what I want or how much I do to keep my triggers at bay, my body always betrays me.

There’s nothing I can do, other than deal with the death sentence I’ve been given and make my peace with it.

I can feel the tightness in my chest, the skin around my lips stretching uncomfortably.

My mind’s a mess, foggy, but I’m fighting, trying to hang on.