Page 49 of The Light We Lost

“My cat,” I corrected him as the music stopped, thankful he didn’t land in front of me.

But that didn’t stop him from shouting across the circle: “We need to figure out some sort of custodyagreement—”

“Hey, pipe down,” the older gentleman across from me said, his finger pointed at Nolan. “She’s my partner, not yours.”

I laughed, sharing a wide-eyed look with Nolan. This group meant serious business. Just to get a rise out of Nolan, I told anyone who would listen about my cat. I was in the middle of comparing photos with my current partner, Claudia, when the music started again.

“I’ll email you that recipe I told you about when I get home,” Claudia called over her shoulder, following the rotation of her circle. With each song that passed, I met Nolan’s gaze, not missing the little wink he’d give me. And every time I’d hold my breath, bracing for him to stop in front of me.

Sandra called out last round, and just when I thought I was in the clear, the music cut and Nolan was in front of me. Despite his wrinkly shirt and messy hair, he looked damn good. I hated it. “It’s about time,” he said. “I’ve been hoping to get you all night. You mind telling me your name?”

He was trying to drive me insane.

Deciding to play along, I told him my name and said, “It’s nice to meet you”—my gaze flickered to his name tag—“Nol—Eugene?” I laughed hard. He was out of control. “What a lovely name, Eugene.”

“Thank you. It’s a family name.” He took off his hat and dipped his head at me, and for a moment I forgot he’d dragged me in here. “I was thinking, since this is the last round, we should switch it up and play a game.”

I raised a brow. “What game?”

“We used to be pretty good at hide-and-seek.” My smile wavered, and Nolan must’ve sensed I was about to turn him down, as he added, “But we probably shouldn’t play it here—someone might fall and break a hip. So why don’t we play two truths and a lie instead? They’re sort of similar.”

I chewed on the corner of my lip, my stomach twisting. Nolan knew enough about me that it shouldn’t be hard to tell him a few truths. It wasn’t serious. So why was I so scared?

Maybe because I’d already given him so many truths.

“I love baseball,” I began, deciding that was good enough, but when Nolan scrunched his face, it was clear he wanted more. I let out a breath, nodding.

No more holding back.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t matter what I do, my mom will never be proud of me.” I braced myself, waiting for him to give me any sort of reaction. But he only tipped his chin, urging me on. “I lost the only thing I ever wanted, and it’s my fault.”

I pushed a loose curl behind my ear, feeling entirely bare beneath Nolan’s gaze. I waited for him to guess my lie, but he stepped closer, stopping only when his boots nudged mine. His voice was a gritty rasp. “I haven’t had a drink in almost two years, but I’m an idiot and buying a bar.”

Lie.

Rather than calling him out then and there, I watched him as he had me.

“I’m a professional baseball player.” Wait, what? I opened my mouth to point out he’d given me two lies, but he stopped me before I could. “I’ve only ever been with one woman because everyone else pales in comparison to her.”

Well, shit. Those all felt like lies.

Nolan’s fingers brushed mine, and my heart pounded. I didn’t shy from his gaze. I didn’t care if he saw how confused I was, nor did I bother to guess which response was a lie. It was safer that way—I’d already been vulnerable enough.

But Nolan must’ve meant it when he said no more holding back. “You cheated.” His voice was ragged. “Everything you said was a lie.”

“I told you two truths. One lie.” I didn’t love baseball. I hated it.

“No,” he pressed, something edged in his tone. “They were all lies.”

I shook my head. “You’re the one who gave me all lies.”

“Like hell I did.”

“Oh yeah?” I tipped my chin up, the heat of his breath coasting over my skin. “Then tell me which one was the lie?”

He stared at me with those brilliant blue eyes, and neither of us stopped the way our fingers brushed again and again. We were too afraid to let go, too afraid to hold on. “You’ll have to stick around and find out.”

“Fine.”

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