The Lie by Natalie Wrye (most inspirational books of all time .txt) 📗

hours, and she's not even tried to reach me.

I curse out loud, a sharp sound that rings in my ears as I stand. “Have you seen her?” I ask Kev.

He shakes his head. “No, I haven't seen her since left around late morn’. But if she hasn't been here, she's been at her house, aye?”

I nod, feeling my blood run cold. “Right.”

I start walking back to the pool, full of energy, my blood pumping. “You know, I think you're right…she has to be. I'm going to go check right now.”

“I'll meet you there,” Kev says.

“No. Stay by the bar in case she comes back to it.”

I hang up. Calling Nancy's phone, I already know what answer I'll get it, and I'm right.

Her voicemail picks up.

Which means her phone is off. Or she blocked me.

Or both.

And I deserve it.

I should have told her the truth about the loan I was securing from the bar—and the dirty deeds I was committing to get it.

Lachlan was right. Frank Levins does have connections and I need to know how deep.

I head back in Lachlan's direction, moving fast.

Because I have to find Nancy. I have to get her to listen to me.

I have to make sure she's safe.

But in order to do that, I need to find the fuckers who would get in the way of that.

Starting with Frank Levins.

My past and present demons—both inside and outside—are converging, enemies of old and new crawling out of their graves.

But for the first time in my life, I finally realize, it will take two men to defeat them.

The old Lincoln.

And the new Andrew.

But first, I gotta find the woman who brought the two of them back to life.

In the hallway, pool area in sight, I start running, not wasting a second, my heart thundering.

Chapter 23

NANCY

The black and white marquee above the cinema welcomes me into one of my favorite places in the city with open arms.

I feel free in the dark—myself more than ever.

I run my hand over the scarred leather seats at the back of the theatre and remember what it was like when I used to come here years ago.

The seats are worn and torn in places, and the red velvet is frayed. But there's a beauty in that old theater that never left, and as I settle down in a lonely seat, the smell of popcorn saturating the air as the double feature cues on the screen, I let the tears fall.

Big, lonely ones.

The tears are all I have with me today.

With Sophia and Deacon out of town for the weekend, I have nobody to turn to.

Nobody to talk to.

No one to share the load of this weekend from both Heaven and Hell.

I watch the opening credits and I’m transported to another time.

What I thought I was a happier time.

A time when my mother and father were still alive.

And it had all been a lie.

The dad who raised me wasn’t my dad. I was the result of my mother’s affair with her ex-husband—a secret, a lie, my mother had died with, leaving behind a broken father figure and a daughter who learned to live with the art of fibbing to herself.

My mother was sick—a sickness that had put her into an early grave. But the real cancer had lived on through family secrets, hidden lies and early goodbyes, until a year ago, when I found my brother Deacon, shortly after my “father’s” death.

I turn my head to the screen, my tears flowing freely now.

The popcorn is cheap and salty, and the seats are worn, but I don't care.

All I need is this. All I need is the darkness.

And the movies.

I look at the screen and I watch the credits roll through.

The familiar names of actors and actresses I recognize and ones I don't.

I shouldn't be here.

I should be at home.

I could be at home.

But I know he might be there…

Andrew. Waiting for me.

I should be at home, getting ready to leave.

All my bags are packed.

I'm ready to go.

I'm ready to get the hell out of this town.

But I'm sitting here.

Because of Andrew.

I can't stop thinking about him.

He's the reason my bar is shut down.

He ruined me.

Ruined my life.

Ruined my future.

Ruined my business.

And I want to hate him. I know I should.

But for some reason, he is all I can think about.

About the way he kisses.

About the smell of his warm, woodsy-scented skin.

About the way his eyes would glow—that icy color melting to a cool sexy blue—when he was looking at me.

He wouldn't be the most proper man in the world, but he would be mine, and that would be all that mattered.

I want to kiss him again.

I want to feel his hands wrapped around me.

I want to feel his touch.

I want it so much it hurts.

I want him to hold me.

I want him to love me.

I want him to take me away from the pain.

I want him to make it all better.

But I don't know if I can trust him. I don't know if I even know him.

I don't know that I ever have.

Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Andrew. Mr. Bartender. Mr. Billionaire.

Mr. Greatest-Sex-I-Ever-Had.

And, most importantly, Mr. Liar…

And suddenly, I need more than lukewarm popcorn to get through this next movie. I get out of my seat as the first scene of Gilda begins to play.

My footsteps heavy over the thick carpet, I make it to the bar, beckoning the theater bartender for a quick Cabernet.

The order is barely out of my mouth before the air in the large refreshment area starts to shift. The sounds of footsteps thud dully behind me, and when I turn to see who's coming, I suddenly wish I hadn't.

Every ounce of me, every centimeter of my body, goes still, reacting to his.

It’s because my soul, the very nature of me, is ice and melts to a puddle when he’s close.

Andrew is here. And I didn’t have to see him to know it.

My body knew it the second he walked in the door.

And I’ve never seen him this