Page 94 of Beautiful Liar

“Yes. She is.”

“Did she ever … did she ever look for me?”

“Every day. She still calls me.”

“Why didn’t she ever reach out to me?”

“Because Cillian would’ve killed her.”

Tristan pulled up his cell phone and a few minutes later, mine pinged. “It’s her address. If you want to go see her.”

I hated feeling so damn angry all the time. Cillian was dead. He’d never hurt me again. Tristan wasn’t him.

For the following two days, Tomás went over everything he knew about Alessandro with Liam and Graham. Every place the guy ever took him. Where he liked to visit, watch plays, listen to music. Tomás spoke with adoration in his tone. I imagined him as a young child seeing that world for the first time. He’d come from poverty, a drug addict for a mother, a father who sold him, and a brother who hadn’t cared. They’d seen Tomás as a commodity. And Tomás still loved them.

Graham and Liam got everything they could, and Tomás and I headed back to Arcadia. Dr. Casera agreed to take me on as a student on the basis that I revoke my legitimacy while attending the school. Tristan had agreed to it.

But we took a detour to the airport.

“Are you kidnapping me?” Tomás asked.

“Yes.” I squeezed his hand.

He must’ve seen something in my face because he didn’t press the issue. We landed in Portland, and I rented a car and drove to our destination. Tomás unusually quiet beside me.

As we got closer to the small house, memories began to form. The elementary school I’d gone to, the field I’d played baseball, the feeling of being home.

“This is where I lived before,” I finally said. Tomás never let go of my hand and I needed it to ground me. “I blamed her for such a long time. My grandmother. For not telling me. For letting them take me. For not trying to get me back.” I shook my head. “I hated her for such a long time that I don’t know how to feel anymore.”

“Was it her fault?”

“No. Cillian hurt all of us.”

“Then maybe you can start with forgiving yourself for blaming her.”

Shit. Wasn’t that the nail that kept digging into my heart. But Tomás would know exactly how I felt. He hated Maddox, yet Maddox wasn’t to blame for what happened to him. They’d both been kids.

“I guess it’s easier for me to blame myself for everything.” I thought about Wren. “Wren,” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “The triggers were all there and I had ignored them. I should’ve anticipated his last move. I should’ve done more.”

“Hey,” Tomás said, squeezing my hand, leading me to look at him. “Wren will come back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because we are his home. And the end of every journey leads us all home.”

I leaned over and Tomás met me halfway. We kissed. Then we got out of the car and walked hand in hand to the lastplace I’d ever considered home. But Tomás was right. Home wasn’t a place. Home was people. Those you loved. And although I still loved my grandmother, I’d learned to love others along the journey. Fox, River, Henry, Wren, they were my brothers. Even Tor, Rumor, Graham, and John.

But Tomás, my beautiful liar, held me together. He gave me strength, purpose, and so much more. I wanted to be a better person for him. Love did that. And I trusted it, him, down to my very marrow.

I knocked. I felt him stiffen, almost slip his hand out of my own when the door opened and a familiar face looked from me to Tomás, back to me.

The image of her in my head had faded over the years but as I perused her soft brown eyes, the heart shaped face, with the soft chin, it felt as if she’d always been hiding in shadows behind my heart. I’d never really forgotten her.

“Grandma,” I said.

She pushed open the screen door. Her eyes a well of emotions that pulled at my heart. Tears quickly glistened in her eyes, and she took me into her strong arms. I folded over her, taking care not to squeeze so hard. She no longer smelled of rot from the meat plant she used to work for. She smelled of spices and lemon. I inhaled her, feeling like that little boy again. Feeling safe and loved.

“Kieran,” she said, clearing her voice and pushing away her tears. Grandma was a strong woman not easily moved to feelings. I got that from her. She pushed me away so she could hug Tomás too. Holding him at arm’s length she gave him a quick perusal. “And you, who are you?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” I said, trying hard not to sound like a whiny teen internally praying that she wouldn’t care that I liked boys.

The smile that graced her face reminded me of mom. I’dforgotten how they looked so much alike. “Well, then,” she said, hooking an arm around Tomás instead of me. “I guess I have questions for you,boyfriend.”

“Uh,” Tomás said. “My name is Tomás.”

“Oh, Tomás. Tell me, do you likebuñuelos?”

Tomás gave me a radiant smile over his shoulder I returned. As they slipped into the house, I took a moment to compose myself. Tomás was right. The end of every journey always leads us home.

The End

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