Page 43 of Tell Me No Lies

Tate glances my way, smile holding. "Well now you have one to put on your keychain when your mood is chaotic and overwhelming."

This time I laugh so hard my head tips back against the rest. "So it's going to be my new everyday keychain."

He gives me a nod. "Pretty much."

I spend the next hour of the trip telling him about a few of my keychains, and which ones are my favorite. It's a completely superficial conversation to have.

On the surface.

If I dig deeper, I’m actually sharing something pretty private. I tell him how I bought myself a fake chicken nugget the first time I could afford to eat fast food, and a bottle opener the day I turned twenty-one since it meant I could finally tend bar and make a decent amount of money. The way I bought a lightning bolt when I finally had a hundred bucks in my savings account. All the little milestones I marked as I navigated life on my own.

When we cross the border into Arkansas, Tate once again takes an exit. “Where are we going now?”

“Now we’re stopping to pick up some food for our room.” He pulls into the parking lot of a high-end grocery store.

“What I’m hearing you say is the hotel we’re staying at doesn’t have room service.” I wait till he parks and then slide out of my seat, adjusting my skirt for the five-hundredth time today.

Tate reaches me and puts out his hand the same way he did at the travel center. I take it even though there’s not a million people to wade through. “Didn’t check, but it’s always nice to have stuff on hand when you want it.”

He pulls a cart from the corral and releases my hand to push it into the produce area. “I booked us a suite, so we have a little kitchenette with a decent sized fridge and a microwave. Plus, I brought my griddle, so grab anything that looks good to you.”

That sounds great, but I’m not sure what looks good to me. My stomach is starting to twist up even though I’m trying my best not to think about how much is riding on me. “Just grab whatever you think.”

I don’t defer to other people. Especially not when it comes to making sure I have what I need. But I should probably get used to the idea of handing shit over to Tate. I’ve got to do it for the next couple days and I could probably stand to practice.

“Hmm.” Tate snags a veggie tray with snap peas, celery, and carrots surrounding a covered container of ranch and sets it into our cart before angling toward the bakery. “I feel like this might be a test.”

I press my lips together, because if it is, he’s off to a good freaking start. “It’s not a test. Really.” I rest one hand on my middle. “My stomach is just a little not excited about food.”

Tate slows, his eyes settling on mine as he turns to face me. “Everything’s going to be okay, Piper.” His hands come to my face, warm and calloused and careful. “I’ll make sure of it.”

A little of the upset gripping my insides eases, because I believe him. More than that, I trust him to take care of me. And that’s something I’ve never afforded anyone before.

Especially a man.

I force on a smile, reminding myself that even though I fully believe Tate can handle what’s coming our way, I’m no fucking slouch either. “That’s good. Because if shit’s left up to me, someone’s going to get shanked with a filed down plastic fork.”

17

OFF TO A BAD START

TATE

"NOT EVEN LIP gloss?" Piper stares at me across the front seat of my Jeep, jaw slack, the spongy tipped wand of the glistening shit she was about to swipe across her lips hanging from her fingers. "Are you serious?"

As I expected, she's still trying to wrap her brain around the full extent of the rules she's gotta follow. I don't blame her, there’s a lot to remember. But everyone is counting on me to make sure she understands and plays along, so I have to piss on her parade no matter how much I want to let her do whatever she wants. "Not when we’re outside of the hotel room." I reach into the console between us and fish out my tube of plain Chapstick, offering it up. "This is it when there's a chance someone can see us."

She lets out a dramatic sigh, recapping her hoped-for bit of makeup and shoving it into the glove compartment, before stealing my Chapstick and smearing it across her mouth. "How do these women not see how fucking stupid these rules are?"

"Some of them don't, but lots of them do." I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, the frustration I knew would come with this trip mounting. "But where in the fuck are they going to go? Most of them have nothing but a half-assed homeschool education and have been so sheltered they don't really know how to exist outside of the world they've been raised in." I force my fingers to relax, knowing my behavior this weekend is just as important as Piper’s. If I can’t get myself under control, I’ll be the one who outs us. "It seems like it would be an easy decision to walk away, but it's not." I glance at her. "Look at Myra."

Lydia's sister is a perfect example of how difficult the process is, and how it doesn’t end just because you’re out. She was lucky enough to have people ready to support her on the outside. A whole group showing her how to navigate her new life. And she’s still flailing. Still struggling to move forward.

“I wish we could save them all.” Piper slumps down in her seat, lower lip pushing out. She's been with Myra every day since we got her out. But more than that, she’s been Lydia's friend for over a year now—practically since Lydia made her own escape. I know Piper understands. I know she gets it. That's why I'm sure she can do this with me.

I also know she's not gonna fucking like it, because sometimes things like this don’t go as you planned.

“Not all of them want to be saved. And sometimes the ones who say they do change their mind once they have time to think about it.” I meet her gaze. “You need to be prepared for that possibility.”

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