Forgiving Lies (Forgiving Lies #1)(98)

Too late. I was always asking Rach if that’s why she was in a bad mood. And if I was right, there was no way in hell I was going to tell her I was in the wrong. She could bitch about it if she wanted, but I wasn’t going to go easy on her for the sake of getting out of an argument. Arguing with her was one of my favorite things.

Nodding, I slapped my dad’s shoulder and smiled. “Thanks, Dad, I’ll remember all that.”

“. . . have to go back and see if they’re still there.” Mom was excited about something, and from the look of it, Rachel was too.

“Yeah, we do! Anyway, I just had to tell you about that, I knew you’d flip,” Rach mumbled as she flattened the last box of shoes. Thank God Mary Poppins’ box had officially emptied out.

“That was a lovely story,”—Dad drawled again—“and you tell it so well, with such enthusiasm.”

Mom rolled her eyes and shook her head as she smiled, and Rachel just looked at my dad like she was about to let him have it. At the last second, her head jerked back. “Wait. Forrest Gump . . . really, Rich? You’re using Forrest Gump quotes to insult me?”

“You have met your match, honey!” Mom cheered, and Dad just huffed in annoyance toward them, but shot me a wink.

“She doesn’t put up with your bullshit or mine. Son, I’m telling you, you better hold on tight to that one.”

“I will, Dad. Rach, are you done with the shoes?”

“I’m not sure. If you bring up my shoes again, I could probably sit here and re-arrange them, maybe set them up by color, size of the heel, and length of the boot.”

“Woman, get out of the damn closet. I have to put this up, and if you coordinate your shoes, I swear to you they will be in a pile on the floor the next time you come in here.”

“Logan Kash Ryan!” Mom chided at the same time Rachel swore, “I will gut you.”

My little Sour Patch. So damn cute when she’s threatening my life.

“Wait, what are you putting up?” she asked as she walked out of the closet that could fit a car inside it.

“Fake wall.”

“Uh. Why?”

“Kind of like a really cheap safe room. Actually, that’s a lie. It’s just for you to hide behind if someone were to break in or something.”

She laughed loudly and kissed my throat. “Kash, really? You’re being just a little bit paranoid. We’re not putting up a fake wall.”

Before she could move away, I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “I almost lost you once, I’ll be working shitty hours and there will be a lot of nights you’re here alone. This is for my peace of mind, don’t be difficult.”

“Nothing is going to—”

“Rachel, stop. We’re putting up the wall.”

“You’re being paranoid!”

I kissed her hard once before pushing her gently away. “I probably am, but I don’t care. With all the clothes hung up, you won’t even notice it’s there. And if something happens, it’s there for you to hide behind. I love you, but I’m getting my way on this, okay?”

She rolled her eyes and gave my mom a look that Mom clearly understood since she started laughing. “All right, Kash. If you want to put up the fake wall to help you sleep at night—err, to keep you happy when you’re away—then have at it.”



Rachel

“OH MY WORD this is going to be a disaster,” I whispered as I pulled yet another shirt off my body and threw it on the bed before heading back to the closet.

I was so done meeting people in Florida. I had already established I was the Queen of first impressions gone horribly wrong with Floridians, and I could only imagine this one going the same. And, to make it worse, it was Mason’s family. Which meant I got to meet another family of someone that got shot because of me. Well, Blake . . . but still.

I’d been in Florida for two weeks, and though we saw Mason practically every day, I had yet to meet his parents or sister. To be honest, I’d much rather go through meeting Kash’s mom and dad again. Other than the humiliating first few seconds of meeting Marcy, the dinner had gone smoothly and I absolutely loved both of them.

But this particular meeting? I had a bad feeling about it. Call it bad juju, paranoia, premonition or an omen. I’d had my first dream about Blake in over a month the night before, and to make matters worse, Kash had been gone because he’d gotten a call for work as we were getting ready for bed. Ever since I’d woken up in a cold sweat at three AM, I’d been positive that this dinner was going to go wrong on so many levels. Blake being one of them. I was ready for him to be gone from my life. It was ridiculous that even in death, he still found ways to torture me.

Now I was running fifteen minutes late and I still couldn’t find something that would cover all my scars. I didn’t pay a lot of mind to them now, but after the dream, it was like they were neon signs on my body screaming, “Look, look, look, look, looooooook!”

I grabbed a thin, long-sleeved shirt and threw it on, but the MINE on my chest was flashing its bitchy, bright lights at me; so I grabbed a button-up shirt and pulled it over. Even though the top buttons couldn’t button without looking all kinds of messed up because of the size of my chest, the collar still covered the little scar.

There. I’m ready now.