Page 162 of Loving the Liar

I dig into the left one, but there’s nothing there. When I check the other pocket and finally grab and pull out what feels like a hard sphere, my stomach flips.

A pearl.

That’s what he plays with in his pocket every time he’s calming himself down. A small pearl, like the ones he gave me to make necklaces to help me cope with anxiety.

“Christopher Murray, you’re something else,” I chuckle to myself.

I walk back to the bed, getting under the covers. But I can’t help it. I want to know what else he hides. I want to know what other things I can discover about him.

I turn to my side and open the drawer of the nightstand, and a gasp escapes me as I see the pile of pearl necklaces.

“What the hell?”

I take them out by the fistful, putting them next to me on the bed, and I count them. Sixty-eight. Sixty-nine, if I include the one that isn’t finished.

Why does he have so many of them?

“I put a pearl on a necklace every time I thought of you since our breakup.”

My head snaps up from the necklaces. I’m caught red-handed.

“There are 4,122 pearls. That’s about twice a day since I broke up with you.”

I sit straighter, the need to kiss him flaring inside me. How could he hide something so beautiful from me?

But then he takes a deep, trembling breath, and I feel his composure failing.

“Chris, are you okay?”

“I need you,” he croaks, tears building in his eyes. “Every day of my fucking life I need you.”

I stand from the bed, wrapping the robe around me.

“What is it?” I lift onto my toes, dropping a soft kiss on his lips and putting a hand on his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t have time to call my mom. The hospital called me.”

My heart drops before the news does.

“My dad. He’s dead.”

I put a cup of steaming hot coffee in front of him, and check I have everything in my bag.

“I really need to go.” His voice is vacant.

“I know. I’m just checking I’ve got your phone and everything.”

“I don’t want to go,” he adds. I’ve never heard or seen him so frail. I’m worried he’s going to fall the second he stands up.

We’re about to leave to go to his mom’s house to tell her the news. Earlier tonight, this man was everything I hated. And now I want to be the person he relies on to keep going.

“I just need to make a quick phone call,” I explain. “Drink your coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”

I don’t wait for his answer. I run up the stairs with my phone and call Luke the second I’m hiding in the bedroom.

“Call it off,” I say as soon as he picks up, panting from dread rather than the run.

“What?”

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