The Lies About Truth(46)
Thwack. Thwack. Someone else took care of that for me.
“Sadie, shoot me.”
“You’re already out.”
“You know you want to,” he whispered.
I did—I wanted this anger to have a target—but I argued, “That’s stupid, Gray.”
“It’s what I deserve.”
“None of us deserved any of this.”
Tears emptied out of him. “Please, Sadie.”
I’d never been able to refuse a please from Gray Garrison. From six feet, I fired a single shot at his chest. One kill shot to the heart. I dropped the gun, unable to manage more than that.
He fell on his knees and cried.
Gray wanted to be punished, and I chose words instead of more paint. “I hate you for lying to me.”
“I hated you for loving Trent.”
“Trent was gay, you idiot.”
Truth stood between us as still as a statue.
To me, that moment was like putting on contacts in the morning. The blurry world sharpened with crisp understanding. And regret. We’d lied. And lies, whether good or bad, always did irrevocable damage.
“You could have told me,” he said. “It wouldn’t have changed the way I loved him.”
Gray Garrison: liar, heartbreaker, and beautiful friend to Trent McCall.
“No.” I shook my head. “He should have told you.”
“And now he can’t.”
“Now he can’t,” I repeated.
Gray’s shoulders folded. He looked at Idaho and the scar at my mouth, forced himself to own his actions and misinterpretations.
This time, I was the one who looked away.
“I’m sorry . . . for everything,” he said.
Even though I was sorry too, I didn’t say it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Some Emails to Max in El Salvador From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: May 10
Subject: nitty-gritty
Max,
Whoa, where did that come from?
I promise you that Trent and I didn’t have anything going on. Ever. You are NOT stepping into his territory. You are not his replacement. You are also not a rebound from Gray. Please trust me. Oh, I wish I could explain how sure I am.
Love,
Sadie
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: May 12
Subject: RE: nitty-gritty Max,
I can’t tell you, but I am positive.
Trent and I talked about it.
I know that he didn’t love me—except as a sister.
Sadie
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: May 14
Subject: RE: official?
Max,
Yes, I assumed we are a real couple. Exclusive.
You don’t?
Love,
Sadie
From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: May 17
Subject: listen to “Better Together” by Jack Johnson Max,
Just so you know, sometimes, when it takes you a while to respond, it freaks me out. Especially after I send emails like the last one.
I’m really glad we’re on the same page. It’s weird how two people often worry about the same thing, and stew over that thing, and create assumptions and fallout plans over that thing . . . without ever talking about the thing. So let me say this, loud and clear: I like you for you. Beginning and end of story. I’m going to write that down and put it in Big right now.
Thank you for what you said about my face. I grant you the freedom to change that opinion after you see me.
Okay, I’m going to hit send. Honesty is uncomfortable.
Love,
Sadie
CHAPTER THIRTY
I put my hands up in an act of surrender—for the game, for myself—and walked toward registration. My autopilot was set to the Jet Ski, and somewhere on the island, Max’s autopilot was set to me.
Gray stayed on the ground.
Back on the main beach, paint splatters covered various pirate costumes, and participants who had lost sat on the sand recounting war stories, addressing blows to their pride with Miller Lite and suggestions of cheaters. I’d never been in this crowd before, and I had no plans to stay now.
My skin swelled in the few places I’d been hit. The whelps didn’t compare to the hit I’d taken in the heart. Lies were like that. They barreled straight into deep tissue.
I made a beeline to the Jet Ski and sat down. Max appeared beside me wearing not a single fleck of paint. His hands on my shoulders, he gave me a quick hug, and looked me over, worried.
“I need to get out of here,” I said.
Wordlessly, he gathered our stuff and waved away other curious participants who couldn’t believe we weren’t staying until the final horn. Behind me, Max apologized to someone—I didn’t turn and look—saying we’d be back next year. I hated to leave Tommy and Marge without saying good-bye, but they wouldn’t want to see me like this. I didn’t want to see anyone.
Max stowed our gear in one of the Jet Ski compartments and swung his leg over in front of me, facing me.
“You want to talk?”
He was hoarse.
“I just want to go.”
Max held out a life jacket. When I didn’t react, he spoke to me the way I’d spoken to him at Trent’s funeral.