Page 29 of Conflicted Lies

“You’re back,” Mom says excitedly and waves me over. She sits up but doesn’t leave my father’s embrace.

“At a reasonable time, too,” Dad adds.

My mother slaps his shoulder. “Please. Midnight is early,” she says to him, then she turns back to me. “At least you went out. Was it fun?” she asks, making room for me on the couch. She embraces me, and it’s nice when we can have moments like this. We’re always so busy, our careers leaving us little time to be together. I was always inspired by my mother’s work ethic, and so I cherish the moments when we can be a normal family like this, knowing it won’t last forever.

When I’m overwhelmed or have too much going on, I know my safe place is right here with them. I want to tell them about Braxton, but I know if I do, my father wouldn’t waste any time finding him and killing him without a second thought. And I do want Braxton dead, but I want to do it on my own terms. He’s been toying with me for the last few weeks, so I feel it’s only fair that I toy back.

I’ve kept my morbid curiosity about the dead from them, so surely, I can keep this a secret, too.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Mom asks, angling her head.

“Did someone touch you tonight?” Dad grits.

“No, Dad. And if they did, you and I certainly wouldn’t be having a discussion about it.”

My mother laughs as he shoots me an unimpressed look. I cross my legs on the sofa as I turn to face them.

“I do, however, have news for you,” I announce.

They seem worried, and I let out an exasperated breath.

“I think I want to drop out of college.”

Silence fills the room. Then my father reaches for his phone, asking, “Should I make the arrangements now?”

“No, Dad. I can do that myself. Aren’t you a little disappointed or something?”

My mother reaches out for my hand. “Sweetie, we would never be disappointed in you. You have excelled at so many things already at your young age. To be honest, we were hoping you might make some changes for yourself. We don’t ever want you thinking you have to do anything to impress us. We love you. If anything, you can afford to loosen up a little.”

I open my mouth to speak but snap it shut again.

“But not too loose,” Dad is quick to add.

My mother rolls her eyes. “What he means to say is, you’re only twenty-two, and we are so proud of you and you’ve exemplified to yourself already that if you put your mind to anything, you can achieve it. But sometimes having fun is part of the process, too.”

I always find it ironic when my parents offer me a work-life balance discussion when they’re the worst choices to ever give this speech to someone. But it does fill me with relief. I almost feel like I’ve gotten off too easily. But perhaps my studies really have become irrelevant. I went to college for the experience, but now it just feels like it’s hindering my growth as an artist. And maybe I want to make time for other things.

Immediately, crystal-blue eyes gazing up at me from the bottom of a staircase come to mind, and I push Braxton out of my thoughts. I’m not making time for him, specifically, but maybe I can explore the dating thing. Maybe I can ask Ivy to organize a double date. Then again, I heard that a double date went tragically wrong with her and Billie.

I don’t even know if I want these things. What I do know is I’ve lived in my routine for so long now, I need something more. Something that challenges me. Killing a detective seems like a very intense shift in direction, but I’m not at all discouraged by it.

“Thank you.” I hug them both and press a kiss on both of their cheeks.

“You don’t need a piece of paper to tell you how incredible you are,” Mom says.

“We’re proud of all of your accolades already,” Dad is quick to say.

I roll my eyes. I really lucked out with the best parents in the world. But it’s only a matter of time before I’ll have to fly the nest, so to speak. And I feel a crackle of energy around me. I can tell something big is about to happen, and it excites me as much as it scares me.

“I’m going to go finish reading my book now,” I tell them, then make my way to my bedroom. After I shower, snuggle into my bed, and light a candle, I quickly check my burner phone in my top drawer.

I have a new message. It’s a photo of a bald man who appears to have had his neck broken. I think of the way I’ll be able to shape the glass, highlighting the twisted neck. But my eyebrows furrow as something occurs to me. I think I saw this man at the club tonight. Didn’t I? Or maybe it’s my imagination.

I’ve specially requested the homicides that are put across Braxton’s desk to be sent to me. So does this mean they think it’s the same killer?

CHAPTER16

Braxton

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