Page 48 of Under the Lies

“He’s a lowlife bartender with ties to the Irish mob. He owes me money. A lot of money and he came tonight to try and get me to lower his debt.”

I let go of the door and turn around. The Irish mob. Another quirk to Haven Harbor. “What does he owe you money for?”

“It doesn’t matter.” His tone says otherwise.

I don’t call him out on it. He’s talking to me. Noah is opening up and revealing some of his secrets and it’s doing things to me. I don’t want it to stop. “What did he try and bargain with?”

“Says Harlow came to see him the night she skipped town.”

Something strange takes over my heart. Half-elation, half-dread. “Do you believe him?”

“I believe he’d drop to his knees and suck my cock if he thinks it’d get rid of all the money he owes me. So no, I don’t believe he has anything important about your sister leaving.”

I nod, ignoring the weird satisfaction that washes over me.

I must not do a very good job, Noah calls me out on it. “Does this bother you?”

“You mean helping you find my sister?” He nods. I sigh. “Would you care if it did?”

Noah doesn’t answer, his face unreadable.

No, he wouldn’t care. Not if it got in the way of getting what he wants. It shouldn’t be hard to forget I’m the pawn, but maybe I was hoping that after spending a night with me, Noah would see me as something different. Something more.

The crushing disappointment that I’m solely a pawn weighs heavy. Why does it even matter? I want to shake myself. It shouldn’t matter what I am because no matter what I feel when it’s just the two of us, it’s never going to happen. I’m a piece on Noah’s chessboard and nothing more.

Without a word, I turn around and head for the door hearing Noah’s quiet steps behind me.

It’s not until we’re in the elevator, going down that the silence breaks between us.

“Did you find them?”

I look up at him. “Find what?”

“My secrets?”

Not even close.

After that night, Noah and I fall into a routine. Night after night, it’s a whirlwind of going out. We go to the casino, Heathen’s Hell, charity parties, or sometimes, like last night, we do something simple and have dinner at a nice restaurant.

And it seems to be working.

People are talking. Pictures have been taken, articles have been written for Page Nine, the gossip column in the Haven Harbor.

My parents have called, leaving messages I haven’t returned. I don’t know what to say. They hate Noah and his friends with a blinding passion. Brin texts me screenshots every morning of my face next to Noah’s along with a cryptic code of exclamation marks and emojis. Even a few people in my classes have asked me what Noah’s really like. That’s what everyone wants to know about.

Noah. Noah this, Noah that.

No one has asked about me. And I’m exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that stretches down to my bones. Between the late nights with Noah and early mornings with grad school, I’m lucky if I get an hour or two of sleep before the clock resets and it’s time to start all over.

I’d forgotten how taxing it is to constantly be on guard around these people. Where each word out of my mouth has to be picked with calculated care. It’s a mind game I’m not versed to play anymore and it’s starting to take its toll.

After almost falling asleep not once, not twice, but three times in class today, I texted Noah to count me out of tonight, even though he’s made it clear that I’m his every night until Harlow comes back. But right now I’m so tired I don’t give a single damn.

Tonight isn’t for him, it’s for me. One full of recharging with face masks, wine, and kitty cuddles. A little self-care if you will.

By the time I get home from campus, I haven’t heard back from Noah so with a victory smile I take an hour and a half nap before diving into my course work that has fallen to the wayside.

I work until I get comfortably ahead of the syllabus and then I crack open the first of many wine bottles of the night.

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