Page 82 of This Beautiful Lie
“What about your parents?” I asked quietly. “What were they like?” My heart was beating like a drum. Not only because of our closeness, but also because of my question—and the fact that everyone around us seemed to gloss over his parents’ existence.It was as if that entire part of his life had been erased, edited out of the family stories I’d heard tonight. I wondered if there was a reason. If it was just too painful for them to bring up…or if silence had simply become their way of protecting him and his sister.
He turned toward the lake, gazing out over it, shoulders rising with a breath that seemed to catch halfway through. “My dad…” The words dragged from him like something heavy. “He was an engineer.”
His voice went quiet, but his eyes seemed far away, as though rifling through a photo album only he could see. “Smart. Good-looking. Good with the ladies.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile, then he looked at me again, his eyes searching mine, as though willing me to see his mental image. “My mom… she was beautiful. A runner in college.” His lips tugged into a faint smile before softening again. “She and my dad met junior year—fell in love, got married, had me. All before they were twenty-one.”
“Sounds like a fairytale,” I whispered.
His arm tightened, pulling me in closer—as though using me to ground himself somehow. “She put her career on hold to stay home with me. Never went back. Then—when I was nine—she got pregnant with Blair. She was over the moon about it.” His voice cracked slightly. “She loved being a mom. She had the patience of a saint, and it kills me that Blair doesn’t have a single memory of her.”
I rested my head against his chest, letting his heartbeat drum through my ear. For a moment, I could almost see them too—his parents, full of life and laughter, suspended in some golden moment before everything went dark.
His voice dropped. “The day of the accident still feels like a dream I can’t wake up from. We were driving home from a barbecue at my grandmother’s house. I had just gotten one ofthose toy helicopters—the kind with the plastic propeller you twist until it launches into the air. I wouldn’t put it down.” His jaw worked as though the memory pressed against his teeth. “My dad told me to stop—more than once. I remember him glancing over his shoulder. And then?—”
He broke off, swallowing hard. “Then it’s nothing. Just a blur. And the next thing I knew, I was standing on the side of the road holding Blair. I don’t even remember how I got out of the car. One moment I was inside, the next…” His breath shuddered. “We were just there. Alone.”
His arms locked tight around me, so firm, it nearly hurt. But I didn’t pull away.
“Dean…”
His voice was flat and raw. “The other driver was drunk. Crossed into our lane. Hit us head-on. But I’ve always wondered—if I’d listened the first time… if I hadn’t been messing around…”
I pressed my hand against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath my palm. My throat was so tight the words nearly choked out of me. “You were just a kid.”
Our eyes caught, and for a beat it felt like something between us finally snapped loose—the space we’d been holding, the walls we’d both kept so carefully in place. His expression was unguarded, raw with grief, and something else that gripped me just as hard. Then his hand lifted, fingers brushing softly against my cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I’ve never shared that story with anyone else,” he said, voice rough with truth, and maybe a little surprise.
I swallowed, my chin wobbling under the weight of what that meant. “You and I… we’re more alike than I realized. We carry our guilt like armor, convincing ourselves we should have done something different—when really, we were kids. Thrown into battles that we were much too young to handle.”
He nodded once, the motion tight, his jaw flexing as if words wanted to follow but couldn’t quite make it past his throat. So instead, he just held me with his eyes, and in the silence, it was enough.
The moment hung fragile between us, tender in a way that made my chest ache. His gaze held mine, steady and searching, before it dipped—slowly—to my mouth. My breath caught, because this time there was no chorus of voices pushing him forward, no teasing audience in the shadows. Just him. Just me.
He leaned closer, careful, almost hesitant, like he was afraid the smallest misstep would shatter what was hanging between us. My heart hammered so hard I thought he must feel it in his own chest. His hand slid higher at the nape of my neck, warm and sure, his eyes locked on mine, holding for a final beat.
“I was thinking about our first kiss,” he murmured, his voice roughened by something deeper. “And it bothers me.”
I blinked, my breath catching. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t have your permission. And that goes against our contract.”
A sound broke from me—half laugh, half ache. “Dean… That was…a special circumstance.”
His mouth curved, the smallest flicker of humor breaking through the gravity. “A good lawyer would tell you never to admit that on the record.”
My chest tightened, the ache and the warmth colliding all at once. “Maybe I’m not worried about the record.”
His smile faded, replaced by something far more dangerous. His thumb traced lightly against my skin, and his gaze burned into me. “Then how about a do-over?” His voice dropped, a whisper that felt like a vow. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes.” The word left me before I could think.
And then his mouth was on mine, and he was kissing me as though his life depended on it. There was nothingtentative about it this time. No hesitation, no careful testing of boundaries. His lips claimed mine with a kind of urgency that made my whole body tremble, like we’d both been starving and only just now allowed to taste. The kiss was fierce, desperate, all heat and unspoken words. His hand tightened at the back of my neck, anchoring me, while the other pulled me flush against him, erasing every inch of space between us.
I let go. Completely. My fingers curled into his shirt, holding on like he was the only thing keeping me upright. The world narrowed to the press of his mouth, the rough edge of his breath, the unrelenting tenderness hidden beneath the hunger. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything we hadn’t said, everything we’d been denying, breaking free all at once.
And God, it felt like coming home.
