Page 124 of Loving the Liar

I pinch my lower lip and nod. When she still doesn’t give me his room number, I say. “Future daughter-in-law.”

A disgusting lie that tastes kind of nice.

She looks down at her laptop and says, “His son gave us a list of names. What’s yours?”

Should I lie again? It would be taking it too far to impersonate Megan. And what if she’s seen Megan before? What the hell did I just get myself into?

“Ella Baker,” I croak. Let’s get this over with.

Her eyes go from left to right, and she nods. “Room 294.”

My mouth drops open, and I’m about to double-check if I’m on the list, but stop myself short. I’ll just go.

He’s alone in the room, sitting by the bed, facing his father. Even though he’s unconscious, Chris is reading to him. One hand holding the book, one resting on his dad’s forearm, I can hear his deep voice even from behind the door, looking through the small window like a creep.

I take a deep breath, both my hands gripping the vase with the flowers and the get well soon card.

One pearl at a time, Ella.

I knock, wait for him to call me in, and push the door open.

He looks up from the book, his eyebrows rising and his face freezing. That’s shock, if I’ve ever seen it.

He doesn’t say anything, suffering a rare case of speechlessness. So, for once, I take the wheel.

“I’m on the list,” I whisper, barely containing the disbelief in my voice.

His gaze drops to his book. It’s a play. The Trojan Women by Euripides. It’s not like him to not look me in the eye when he talks, but I don’t get the pleasure of seeing his amber gaze.

“Does it make me desperate to have put you on that list the second I came back to Stoneview? Every night, I hoped you’d come.”

The undertone in his voice plays a lovesick melancholy, and it pulls at that red thread that links our hearts.

He’s here every night…alone?

“Hurting the two men I dated makes you desperate.” I huff, settling the vase down on the table before kneeling between his legs. “Wanting someone you trust by your side when you’re going through something makes you human.”

He finally looks at me, and his big arms awkwardly wrap around my body. Pulling me up, he sits me on his lap as he puts the book on his dad’s bed.

“I needed you here so badly,” he murmurs in my ear. “No one can make me feel the way you do. Nothing is as safe as your embrace.”

Isn’t it strange that such a strong man feels safe holding my small frame? Isn’t it heartbreaking that a person who is always in control finds balance within a woman who never figured life out? Every day I feel like I’m crawling through existence with no idea where I’m going. I have weights attached to my ankles, heavy stones in my chest. But right now, being with Chris, able to offer comfort, I feel like I’m fulfilling a purpose I never knew. It’s existential, yet light as a feather. It’s as natural as waking up every morning.

He's always taken care of me. I think just for tonight, I can be here for him.

“How is he?” I ask, my head resting on his shoulder.

“His…” He scratches his throat, and I feel his heart accelerating against my chest. “His…um…his brain activity is deteriorating.”

I hug him tighter, both arms around his shoulders as he holds me closer to him.

“They’re worried he’ll be...” His voice is barely audible now. “Brain dead soon.”

“Chris,” I croak. “Knowing you, you’ve probably been the one holding your family together, taking care of your mom and Juliette… I’m so sorry you’ve been going through this alone.”

Pulling back, he puts a hand on my cheek. “I haven’t been alone. I harassed you for weeks and look at you now. You’re here.”

I know he’s trying to lighten up the mood, so I won’t tell him that I’m here, but that I disagree with how he proceeded to achieve that. That I might put aside my anger toward him for one night, but that the facts stay the same. I am not his, and he is not mine.

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