Page 107 of These White Lies

My hand slides to her waist. “You don’t have to pretend it didn’t matter. Or that you’re not sad he’s dead...”

She holds my gaze. “I’m not. But I’m also not the same young girl who loved him once. Honestly? I’m sad Keith died afraid, the same as I would for anyone. But it was of his own making. The choices he made and probably would have continued making.” Her shoulders lift in a helpless shrug. “That sounds awful, but it’s how I feel.”

“I think you’re entitled to conflicting feelings, Firefly. He dragged you into this mess. Put your life at risk.” I pull her into my side, nestling the top of her head under my chin, and try to keep my anger in check. It’s understandable that this is a complicated situation for her emotionally, but my feelings toward her ex-husband are much more clear cut. And if he weren’t already dead…

The breeze picks up around us. The leaves in the oak rustle loudly, and the faint sounds of thunder reach us again.

I hold her for another few seconds before stepping back and reaching for her hand again. “We need to hurry if another storm is coming. Don’t love the idea of standing next to a lightning rod in the open.”

Elizabeth gives her head a little shake and drops my hand, stepping closer to the tree. A long, thin, blackened scar coils from the base upward toward the wide branches. Running her hand up the groove in the rough bark, her fingers curl, and then she is on tip toes, fingers disappearing into a hidden hole and reaching inside.

A moment later her hand emerges, clutching a bundle. She stares down at it wide-eyed before peeling back what appears to be dirty oilcloth, revealing a sealed plastic bag. Inside is a long, white, velvet box.

“Can it really be this easy?” she whispers.

“Sometimes we just need luck,” I offer, even as my gut pulls at the knowledge that this isn’t over yet.

Elizabeth pulls the box from the bag, and without hesitation, she flips up the hinged lid. “It's a pity something so beautiful is hiding something so ugly.” Even in the dim light the stones sparkle.

Thunder sounds again, closer this time. Snapping the box closed, she slides it back into the plastic bag. “Let’s go.”

I consider her. “You aren’t even tempted to try it on?”

Her lip curls. “Not even a little bit.” She gives me a mischievous grin. “I’ve always been more of an emerald girl in case you’re shopping.”

Elizabeth hands me the box, and I stick it into my waistband, pulling my shirt over it.

“Can’t hold it and you. I’m more stallion than beast of burden.”

Her eyes sparkle. “I don’t know… I’m getting definite jackass vibes—” She squeals when I scoop her up and cut her off with a kiss.

30

ELIZABETH

By the time we pull into my parents’ driveway, the rain has slowed to a steady drizzle. Porch lights glow against the clapboard, but the house itself is dark. The phone buzzes in my lap, and when I glance down, I let out a laugh.

“What’s up?”

“My parents are at the theater. Apparently, my mom’s best friend, Terry, finally got a lead part, and tonight is her debut. They couldn’t miss it.”

Brady’s mouth curves. “Community theater night. Sounds serious.”

“Very.” I grin.

Just as we exit the car, the rain grows heavier, and we race for the porch, puddles splashing up around our ankles. My fingers are slick, and I fumble with the door, laughing before finally getting it open.

“So much for not getting my stitches wet.” I gesture to my soaked shirt.

“That’s only for the first forty-eight hours.” Brady’s brow creases. “Are they bothering you?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m a quick healer. I barely even notice them anymore.”

The door clicks shut behind us, leaving the rain to pound on the porch roof outside. My shirt clings to my skin, the thin cotton plastered against me. The air-conditioned house feels cooler than I expect, and my nipples pebble instantly, the hard points visible through the damp fabric.

Brady’s gaze drops the second we step over the threshold, the light in his eyes so hot it feels like he’s physically touching me. My breath catches, and sparks light up in my chest and race down my spine.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The muscle in his jaw flexes; the pulse in his neck is visible.