Page 27 of The Truths We Burn

She touches her tongue to her upper lip. “What is it?”

I bend down to her height, my face level with hers, our eyes creating one direct line. “Tell me the truth. Why do you care?”

“About what?” She’s stalling, trying to avoid the question.

“Don’t play dumb, Sage. It’s not a good look on a girl like you. Why do you care if people find out about your hobby? It’s not something that would be frowned on or taint your image, so why do you care?”

My eyes flick to her body, seeing her fists clenched so tightly that her hands are ghostly. Even so, she stands her ground, keeping her eyes on mine. Like she’s so confident that I won’t see through her, into her.

“Because when you give the people here genuine pieces of who you are, they blend them up and drink it down with their morning breakfast. They will stomp out every hope you’ve ever had. When Ponderosa Springs learns your secrets, it holds you captive forever. There is no getting out, and I am not letting that happen.”

I’d be lying if I said her answer didn’t shock me.

It makes me wonder if Sage has already seen the wicked ways of this town up close and personal, if the sweetheart everyone knows is harboring something disastrous and twisty within the walls of her mind.

“What happened to you?” I ask accidentally, meaning to say it in my head.

“Enough to know better.”

A bell rings abruptly, the sound of students filling the halls, and all authenticity disappears. She picks her bag up off the stage, moving past me and down the steps.

It makes sense now, how she starred me down when I threatened her on the side of the road. How she was so unafraid.

There are only two people who can look the pits of hell in the eyes and not flinch.

Those in Hell and those who already made their way out.

Sage

I knew something was wrong the moment I walked into the Sinclair household. Actually, I think I figured it out when my parents told me we were going to dinner there.

We’ve been invited to holiday parties every year, birthday events, even hosted one of my father’s campaign brunches in their backyard.

But never just dinner.

Easton sits to my direct left, his father at the head of the table. His mother sits across from her son and my parents beside her. There’s nothing but the quiet clutter of silverware hitting plates as they all eat in what’s a peaceful silence for them.

I feel Easton’s hand glide to my thigh, resting there, giving me a gentle squeeze as he sits back in the wooden chair.

“So, Sage, you’ve received another homecoming nomination this year? What is that, four years running now?” Stephen asks me directly, my spine stiffening as he uses my name.Every time he speaks, it’s with a tone of discipline, even when he’s being chatty.

I nod politely. “Yes, sir. All four years of high school.”

“She’s being modest, Dad. It’s already a win for her. Sage has won homecoming court every year. As if they’d pick anyone else.” Easton bumps my shoulder with his own.

“Some people enjoy being humble, son. Not everyone needs to flaunt their accomplishments. You could learn a thing or two from her,” he taunts, lifting his wineglass and sipping the dark red liquid.

It’s a crash course in how to patronize someone. Easton’s father is a professional at it, so good that everyone around laughs at what they think is a good joke.

Although I’m not fond of my boyfriend all the time, I also know what it’s like to be a prisoner in your own home. To be talked down to by the people who are supposed to care the most.

I reach over, fixing a piece of stray blond hair lovingly. “I beg to differ, Mr. Sinclair. Your son has taught me more than you’d ever know over the years. I wouldn’t be who I am without him.”

All of which is true—he did help show me what I could be and what I couldn’t be. Easton showed me how to have power; it’s his own fault that I took it all for myself.

“That’s sweet of you, honey. Makes me proud of my little boy,” says Lena.

Lena Sinclair, his mother, is a stunning woman.Age has gifted her with more and more beauty as the days go by. The short blonde pixie cut makes me jealous of her bone structure, all angles and dimensions while mine sits neutrally round, and my forehead always looks longer even after I’d learned what contouring was.