Page 24 of Tell Me No Lies

I'm not sure if she wants the same from me, but I feel obligated to give her something back. And a little part of me hopes she wants to know me the same way I want to know her. "I did not grow up in a nice house."

Her lips purse, twisting to one side as she gives me a small nod. "I kind of figured that since you said this is the nicest place you've ever lived."

I almost get derailed over her memory of what I've said, but I can ponder the reasons for that later. "In a way, I grew up a lot like Christian and Lydia." It was what initially tied Christian, Simon, and I together. The parallels between our pasts. They weren’t identical though. Each had its own unique misery. "My dad didn’t just think women should be subservient. He also believed he was entitled to have more than one at a time. My mother was number three."

Piper's eyes widen as she breathes out a hushed, "Oh shit."

I nod. "Yeah." Raking one hand through my hair, I force myself to explain a little more of my twisted childhood. "Unfortunately, he didn't quite have the bank account to fund three wives and all the kids that came with it, so we were fucking destitute. Lived all together in the cheapest places we could find. Ate the cheapest food. Wore the cheapest clothes until they were literally falling off our bodies."

Piper’s eyes move over my face, expression pinched in sympathy. "No wonder you ran away."

I laugh, because that would have made sense. It's just not what happened. "I didn't run away. I got too big to feed, and my dad decided I was old enough I should be able to take care of myself, so he shoved my ass out the door when I was fifteen."

Piper leans forward, her sympathy turning to outrage. "But you couldn't even drive. How did he expect you to get a job and get back and forth to school?"

"School?" I shake my head. "School wasn't really a thing we did. Sending us to school might have exposed one of my family's many secrets, and they couldn't have that."

Piper’s eyes narrow and I can almost see her rage pinpointing. "Where is your father now?"

"Nowhere close." I smile, feeling lighter than I ever have after telling that story. Because I know she would fight for me. And outside of my brothers, no one ever has before.

Not that I would let her do it.

I lean closer, smile holding. "And it wouldn't matter anyway, because I took the hammer out of your purse."

10

HOW MUCH IS THAT PIPER IN THE WINDOW?

PIPER

"WHAT ARE YOU doing down here?" Myra’s whispered question sends me spinning away from the kitchen window where I've had my nose pressed against the glass for the better part of two hours.

I jump up from the cushioned bench, smoothing down my hair, as if looking less messy will make me less messy. "I came down to get something to drink and noticed there were a whole bunch of lights on next door and I wondered what in the hell Tate was doing this late."

It's a version of the truth. I did come downstairs. At one point I also had a beverage. There are lights on at Tate’s house. And I was curious about what he was doing.

Did things happen exactly as I’m claiming? Not quite, but I'm comfortable stretching the truth. No one needs to know this is the third night in a row I’ve parked my ass in this same spot to watch this same thing.

Myra stands at the edge of the island in Christian’s kitchen, lower lip pinched between her teeth. After a few seconds, she leans forward, peering out the same window I've been in front of for way too long. "Did you figure out what he's doing?"

I shrug, like I don't know exactly how Tate’s spent the last two hours. "It looks like he might be hanging some drywall with Simon."

Myra stands a little bit straighter. "Really?" She slowly steps around the island, fingers lightly sliding over the backs of the stools pushed up against the outer side as she comes my way, eyes glued to the glass. "Are they getting a lot done?"

I'm a little surprised at Myra’s interest in Tate’s drywall progress, but who am I to judge? I've been sitting here for way too long, staring like I don't have anything better to do while Tate scowls and sweats, the muscles of his body flexing as he lifts the heavy panels over his head. "They've got almost the whole ceiling finished, so they're getting way more done than I would have."

But it's not just sweaty, straining Tate that has kept me parked in place. I'm also hoping to figure out why he’s suddenly working on his house. After my first visit to his place, I managed to get out of Lydia that Tate’s lived next door for years, and his house has been pretty much the same the whole time. Christian’s offered to help him a number of times, and they’ll accomplish a little—like buying a pile of drywall that’s apparently been stacked in his future dining room for the better part of two years—but Tate always ends up stopping the progress for one reason or another.

It's confusing. I work at his business, so I know Tate is doing well financially. It's not lack of funds that's keeping him from completing his renovation. It's also not a lack of time. He leaves work at the same exact time every day, giving him four good hours to work every night, not counting weekends. He's also got a shit-ton of dudes willing to help him, so it's not like he’d have to do it on his own.

My eyes drift back to the window, watching as Tate stands in the center of his living room, hands on his hips as he gazes up at the newly drywalled ceiling. "I'm not sure why he's working on it at midnight though. Especially when he has to be at work in the morning.”

"That is kind of strange." Myra settles onto one side of the window seat I've been parked on, tucking her knees against her chest. She leans a little closer to the blinds, all her attention glued on the newly uncovered windows of Tate’s family room. "Maybe they just don't have anything better to do."

I slowly lower back to my still-warm spot, figuring she can't judge me for watching now that she's obviously planning to do the same thing. "I mean, they could be sleeping."

Myra's eyes peel away from Tate’s house, coming to my face. "So could we."

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