Page 139 of The Complete Truth Duet
As much as I hated to admit it:
Shane was the truth.
And my Penn—the most incredible man I’d ever met—was the lie.
I couldn’t fault him. I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t even be mad at him anymore.
In his infamous words from all those weeks earlier, not all lies were bad.
The one tall, dark, and breathtaking one standing across the kitchen was actually pretty amazing.
And in my world, you held on to any good you could find.
Even if it killed you.
I could pretend.
It wasn’t the same, but he was the closest thing to Penn I could ever get.
I could accept this new guy.
Embrace him for however long he decided to stick around.
It was a lie. But I knew it and could prepare for it.
And maybe I’d be ready for it to end when the time came.
I could use him like he’d used me.
Anything was better than the pain of accepting that he was truly gone.
Or so I told myself—for, oh, about sixty seconds.
Penn
“What’s wrong?” I asked as her face paled.
She smiled—bright, wide, and fake. “Nothing, why?”
“You’re looking at me like your boyfriend just walked in and you’re trying to play it cool so he hopefully won’t notice you, all the while trying to force yourself to focus on me so I won’t notice you’re watching another guy, either.”
She blinked, and the pressure in my chest eased when her face lit in genuine amusement. “Wow, that was strangely specific and yet made no sense.”
I laughed. “CliffsNotes: You look uncomfortable and ready to bolt.”
She turned on the stool. “I’m not uncomfortable. This has been a good chat. It really helped shed some light on what’s been going on between us for the last few months.”
It didn’t sound good. And I’d noticed that she hadn’t denied the “ready to bolt” part.
My suspicions were proven correct when she rose from her stool, stating, “I need to take a shower.”
My gut twisted.
Shit. Maybe I’d told her too much about Lisa. Nobody wanted to hear about the ex. But she’d seemed interested and even smiled a few times during those parts. I pillaged through my memories, trying to pinpoint the moment she’d started to fade. Hell, maybe she was tired. God knew neither of us had slept. And then I remembered the half a pot of coffee she’d downed. She’d be lucky if she was tired again this time next week.
I cussed under my breath as she started down the hall. Shoving off the counter, I followed after her. “Cora, please.”
She made eyes at me over her shoulder. “You coming?”
My back shot straight, my bones turned to stone, and I froze mid-step.
And, kiddos, that’s the story of how I became a sculpture.
“I’m sorry. What?”
She smiled—brighter, wider, and faker. “Nobody’s awake yet. I noticed there was a shower in the hall bath. It might be our only shot.”
Everything below the belt responded with an Oh, hell yeah. Above the belt was a little more cautious. “Our only shot at what?”
She twisted her lips. “Don’t play coy with me, Shane.”
She might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water at me. “Don’t call me that.”
“It’s your name. I feel stupid calling you Penn.” She tipped her head to the side like a cherub, but I knew Cora.
Something was happening in her head. It was ugly and dirty, and I wanted nothing to do with it.
But most of all, I wanted her to have nothing to do with it, either.
“My last name is Pennington, Cora. People have called me Penn since high school. And you’ve called me Penn since the day you met me. No sense in stopping now.”
It was a simple, honest statement. When Drew and I had decided to go in search of Lisa’s killer, we’d thought the best plan of action was for me not to walk in with the name of her next of kin. Penn was the logical choice.
But something about my correcting her had lit her on fire.
Her eyes flashed wide, and I could see it burrowing to the surface. I didn’t know what it was or when it was going to break free, but it was coming and it was going to be huge.
“No sense in stopping now,” she mumbled to herself.
“Nope,” I replied.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No sense, huh? None. Not at all.”
I mirrored her position, spreading my legs shoulder-width apart, bracing for impact. “Nada.”
Her shoulders squared and her neck strained. Swear to God, I think her face vibrated for a second, and then all of a sudden, the ticking time bomb inside her detonated. “It’s your fucking name! You are not Penn Walker. You are not my boyfriend. You are nothing but a fraud.” She slapped a hand over her mouth.
This was not how that conversation was supposed to end. The shower, absolutely. But not with her breaking down again. I’d only had her back not even a day, and she’d spent the majority of it crying. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back at all.
