Page 46 of The Liar's Reckoning

“Send me a shopping list. I’ll see you Sunday.”

She sighs. “What are you running from, Silas?”

Myself, I want to tell her. My choices, my urges, my desires and poor impulses, like the one I have when I hang up with her—to text Graham.

And say what? I scoff at myself. Another string of nonsensical words that piss him off and give him the wrong idea about who I am and what I want from him?

I take a shaky breath as I stare down at my phone. The car’sstuck in traffic. I should have taken the train. Texting wouldn’t be an option from the subway.

What the fuck am I doing pulling up his contact? I can barely speak to him in person. Do I think I’ll be able to do better in a text?

I have my doubts, so I open up my notes app and let the words pour.

The car hasn’t moved a foot by the time I’m done.

Feeling reckless as hell because what the fuck do I have to lose, I copy paste it into a text.

Without thinking, I hit send. It’s 7:14 a.m. Something inside me tells me he’s up, and my theory is proven correct within a minute as the text shows as read.

I re-read it, my face heating with embarrassment as I put myself in his place, waking up to this rambling word vomit that says way too fucking much.

Ben really did break me.

I think I knew he would. And I’m pretty sure part of my thought process last night was welcoming it.

Me

Hey it’s Silas. I woke up in my ex’s bed this morning and I still can’t stop thinking about you. You’re right—I suck at talking to you. I could chalk it up to the fact that you went to Harvard and I barely graduated high school, but it’s more because if you knew the kind of shit I think about when you’re anywhere near me, you’d know how smart it is to stay away from me. I want you. Pretty bad. I guess I thought it was obvious, but maybe you’re not used to someone coming onto you, and I can’t claim to be an expert at it. Maybe I’m playing hard to get? Shit, if that’s what I’m doing, you should know all you have to do is say the word, and I’d be on my knees. I’m easy, Graham. I think I’m just pissed at myself for not being able to stay professional with you. No promises I’ll be able to say any of this in person, but I never meant to make you hate me or even piss you off. You’re in my head and I can’t get you out. I’ll be at the park in an hour. I can wait for you if you want.

As I read it, I see it’s not exactly an apology, but a confession. On his phone—in the goddamn cloud.

I tap out a second quick text and commence freaking out.

Me

You should probably delete this and clear your cache. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put that in writing.

Thirty seconds later, my phone buzzes in my hand, and my stomach rolls over in a sickening flop.

Graham L.

Wait for me. I’ll be there.

Oh. Shit.

Traffic clears, and the car starts moving toward my apartment again. Too fast, and not fast enough.

16

GRAHAM

My blood thrums as I approach Silas at the park entrance where we’ve met twice. He looks me over, confused.

I’m not dressed for a run. I have no interest in sweating and freezing my ass off at the same time. This is already the coldest November I can remember. I can’t believe it hasn’t broken a record. I’m in jeans, boots, a black sweater, and a wool overcoat. He’s in all his tight compression clothes, a beanie and gloves, lightly jogging in place and shaking out his arms to keep himself warm. Or he is until he sees me and goes still.

“That was a good text,” I tell him.

He looks me over again. “Not good enough to talk you into a run apparently.”

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