Page 23 of Tell Me No Lies

"Of course." Christian glances at where Piper sits "Make sure she puts it up too."

I don't acknowledge his recommendation. I know how to take care of this. I might not have a perfect house or the kind of life a woman would want to find her way into, but I can fucking make sure Piper’s foot feels better.

I jog up to the driver’s side of my SUV and climb in to find Piper looking just as pale as she was when I left. She’s got one arm across her eyes, blocking out the light of the parking lot and I don’t want to disturb her, so I reach across to carefully buckle her in before starting the engine and cranking up the air. The interior isn't warm, but hopefully the cool air will give her something else to focus on. Her arm stays in place as we drive, and she barely moves until we’re pulling up into my doorless, detached garage.

She makes like she's going to get out on her own, and I shoot her a sharp look. "Wait for me." I hustle around the back end, opening her door and scooping her out, carrying her across my chest. The fact that she doesn't argue with me tells me everything I need to know about just how much pain she's in.

Moving carefully, I take the steps up to the back door, doing my best not to jostle her as I unlock the deadbolt and let us in. Once again, I'm disappointed in myself for slacking on the remodel I should have finished long ago. No doubt Piper would be more comfortable in Christian’s cozy, perfectly thought-out home, but I brought her here instead. Shouldn't have, but just like so many of the other things I shouldn't do, I did it anyway. And I’m getting less and less bothered by it with every self-imposed rule I break.

After carrying her to the sofa, I gently settle her down in the spot I usually occupy. Holding her legs steady, I carefully raise the footrest, rocking her body back as her feet lift as high as I can get them. For added height, I grab one of the pillows from the opposite end and carefully stack it under her left foot. It’s a bed pillow, not a throw pillow, so it cushions not only her foot and ankle, but also the rest of her leg from the knee down, offering extra support on the injured limb.

Once she's in place, I go to the fridge and dig out my ice packs. I keep a number of them on hand because I'm prone to injury myself. I like to stay on schedule, so when things are running behind in the shop I frequently pitch in, and I'm not a careful mechanic. More often than not, I smash a finger or burn a palm, so I keep an ample supply of first aid at the ready.

I wrap a few of the larger packs into a kitchen towel and carry it over, carefully resting the collection across the area where Piper’s bone was broken. With that done, I go back to my counter, selecting the frequently used anti-inflammatory from its place and tipping a few out into my palm. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I go back to her side, sitting carefully so I don't jostle her. "Take these. They'll help."

Piper doesn't ask any questions, she throws all three pills into her mouth, and swallows them down with a few long gulps of water. She hands the bottle back, inhaling slowly through her nose and blowing slightly shaky breaths out her mouth. "I don't know why it started to hurt like this all of a sudden."

I look her over, thinking through the events of the past few hours. Guilt crashes into me as I realize whose fault her pain is. "Shit." I rake a hand through my hair, feeling like an even bigger asshole than I already knew I was. “It’s my fault.” I struggle to meet her eyes as I remind us both of my indiscretion. “You were balanced on your bad foot…” I search for a suitable word to narrow down the timeline without ramping up my guilt, but fail. “Earlier.”

Her eyes widen a fraction. “Oh.” Her skin pinks as her head spins away, gaze drifting around my house, moving across all the things I should have done long ago.

I’ve been fine living this way. Fine with the unfinished floors and walls. But having her here beside me, looking it all over, makes me wish I’d done more. Made it more comfortable. More attractive.

More appealing.

“Why do you live like this?” She meets my gaze. “Really?” Her question is soft. Gentle. Nothing like the ones she normally slings my way. It carries zero judgment. Only curiosity.

And maybe a little sadness.

“I—” It’s not easy to explain. Not to someone who didn’t grow up the way I did. “It just didn’t seem like there was a point to spend all the money it would take to finish.”

"It doesn't have to be crazy expensive." She snorts out an amused little laugh. "You don't have to go as crazy as Christian did in his place." Her nose wrinkles a little. "His house is pretty, but everything in it is so expensive and perfect and it just feels like I have to be careful not to bump into anything or spill something. I can't just flop down on the couch and relax with a bowl of cereal, you know?"

I'm stunned at her assessment of my best friend’s place. It's always been the kind of house I assumed everyone wanted. "I think his place is nice."

"It is nice." The words rush out. "I'm not saying it's not." Her brows pinch together, like she's not sure what to say next. "I guess I’ve just gotten used to secondhand furniture and hand-me-downs, so it doesn't really feel like a home to me."

Piper hasn't directly offered up any information about her past. Everything I've gotten has been inferred through an unrelated discussion. Just like now. But I want more from her. As much as I appreciate who she is now, I find myself wondering what's brought her to this point. "Is that how you grew up?"

She snorts again, but this time it carries no amusement. "No." She chews her lower lip for a second, and I think that's all I'm going to get. It's more than she's offered so far, but I'm still disappointed.

But then she says, "I grew up in a place way nicer than Christian’s house." Her lips flatten, pressing into a thin line. "And it sure as hell never felt like a home."

I soak up this new, and admittedly unexpected information. I know I should stop while I'm ahead, but I can't. Piper is turning out to be quite a fucking drug, and it's making me into a junkie. Willing to do anything to get another hit. "That explains why his place doesn't feel homey to you, but not why secondhand shit does."

Again, Piper hesitates, and again I think I've gotten as high as I'm going to get tonight.

Her eyes fall to the sofa, one finger sliding along the seam at the edge of a cushion. "I moved out when I was sixteen, and I couldn’t afford much." She continues following the corner of the cushion with the tip of her finger. "I worked as many hours as I was allowed at the grocery store in my neighborhood, but I was so young there were limits." She shrugs. "Once I paid my rent and bought food, there wasn't much left to go around, so I had to figure out how to make it work."

I have a million questions. How in the hell did she get an apartment at sixteen? Why did she have to move out in the first place? If her parents had a house nicer than Christian’s, why the fuck didn’t they help her out?

But only one question feels like it matters.

"Did it feel like a home?"

Her lips pull into a slow smile as she finally lifts her eyes to mine. "It did." Her expression is suddenly soft and open. "I got the ugliest couch I've ever seen from this older lady at work, but it was so comfortable. All my dishes were mismatched, so I'd pick whichever one fit my mood for the day. It was kinda fun to have something different all the time." She blows out a breath, shoulders dropping as her posture relaxes. "It wasn't big or fancy like the house I lived in before, but it was always quiet and calm and cozy and safe. And I fucking loved it."

When she falls quiet, I let her. Piper's given me more insight than I expected to get, and it's helping me understand her a little more. Helping me narrow down the possibilities of why she is the way she is.

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