From the Jump(76)

“You should’ve chosen us over them,” I whisper to her younger self.

I don’t know if I’m referring to Boots and me or her and me. Either option works. I wish I could say it to her face, but the timing would be cruel. She’s so desperate to impress Deiss. And there’s nothing she loves more than this part of meeting someone, when she can sparkle brightly enough to distract—when they haven’t yet discovered the flaws that lie beneath that perfect facade.

I walk into my bedroom, easing the door closed behind me. The pink duvet has been fluffed, and the dresser gleams from its recent dusting. The pictures tacked on the wall are messy, though, and they’re all mine. I smile at the one where my hair is stuck to my head like I’ve been slimed. Beside me, Phoebe has a trickle of yellow from her hair down to her chin. Next to her, Deiss is holding up one of the eggs we’d meant to unleash on Simone’s ex but had ended up hurling at each other instead.

I pull it down, wanting something tangible to replace the ones I lost when my condo got emptied out. My smile falls when I discover the picture beneath it. It’s me before prom, wearing the dress Cara Jenkins had lent me. We both knew she’d shoplifted it, even though I pretended to believe her when she said she’d bought it on sale and couldn’t return it. I shouldn’t have been so surprised when she helped herself to my college money. In the picture, I look beautiful and exuberant, as if I hadn’t spent the day terrified that the girls who had been bullying me for years were going to pull some kind of bucket-of-blood Carrie prank on me.

“Liv?” Deiss raps lightly on the door.

I open it, and he presses in, moving me backward with his body. A naughty smile plays at his lips, making my stomach swoop. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to Lucas Deiss looking at me like he wants to consume me.

“Is the history lesson over?” I ask, feeling the backs of my legs press against my bed.

“The visual portion of it, at least.” He slides his arms around my waist. “I think there are more stories in the tank.”

I want to snort at his use of the word stories. He has no idea just how fictional the things he’s just heard are. His stormy blue eyes dip to my mouth as his hand slips up my back. My stomach lurches again. He’s so much. So self-assured and dynamic and real. He doesn’t belong in this house of lies. Neither of us do.

“We should go,” I say, nudging him back.

“Yeah?” His arms drop immediately, leaving my back cold.

“It’s a long drive,” I say.

He nods and turns, heading for the door. Regret surges through me for disappointing him, but he smooths a balm over it when he reaches back for my hand. Our fingers wrap around each other, and I focus on the feeling of connection as I say goodbye to my mom and thank her for the tea.

In the car, I struggle to stay present, but the day has gotten under my skin. The anger about Boots. The lies. The worry that my refusal to tell Deiss that I’ve given away his secret makes me just like my mom. To compensate for my distraction, I smile and agree with everything he says.

“Yes,” I say, my grin widening to something Joker-esque, “she’s the best.”

“It is,” I say, bobbing my head enthusiastically. “The house is always that clean.”

We drive for a while, Deiss tapping his thumb against the passenger door to the beat of the radio. It’s a pop station, playing songs Mia would never allow in his shop. In front of us, the sun is turning orange, splintering off into pinks as it seeps into the ground.

“Pull over,” Deiss says unexpectedly.

Surprised at Deiss’s tone, I swerve at the command, coming to a stop on the shoulder of the road without giving any thought to our safety. Loose gravel crunches under my tires.

Before I can ask what’s going on, Deiss slides his hand behind my neck, pulling me toward him. He covers my mouth with his, kissing me so soundly that I soon find my fingers in his hair, pulling him even closer. The day disappears, leaving only a quickly fogging windshield and the silk of his tongue tangling with mine. His scruff scrapes my chin in a way that feels deliciously savage. Too soon, he pulls back, leaving me panting as he presses his lips against my forehead.

“I did something wrong today,” he murmurs against the skin. “Tell me what it was so that I don’t do it again.”

I pull back in surprise, the spot where his lips were becoming immediately chilled in their absence. Cars zip past us, sending whooshing sounds through the windows.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. “You were great.”

His eyes search mine. “But something upset you.”

There’s something about the way he states it so simply, recognizing the truth without demanding explanation, that makes my heart swell.

“She was lying to you,” I blurt out. “All of it was lies.”

“Okay,” he says.

His pause is an unspoken reassurance that he doesn’t need any details I’m not ready to share. It provokes an urge to spill everything. He’s entrusted me with his past, despite the fact that he clearly shouldn’t have. Can’t I do the same?

“I wasn’t raised in some charmed mansion where fathers were in abundance,” I say, speaking too quickly. “We couldn’t get any of them to stick around, and we were so poor we didn’t even have a home at one point. The kids at school made fun of me for being smelly because we had no place to shower, and it took years of making myself up to perfection to feel confident again. And even as I’m saying this, I want to die because it’s so much more information than anyone needs to know, but at least it’s real. And I wanted this day to be real, Deiss. I hate that I had the opportunity to share a part of myself with you and instead I let my mom paint over reality until nothing of me was even left.”