Page 49 of Liar's Heart
By the time we reach the end, she's visibly shaking, her jaw clenched as she vibrates with rage. The room is silent for what feels like endless minutes, all eyes trained on Len until she finally speaks. “Cataclysm Cadre it is.” She stares me down, lifting her chin as she issues her challenge. “Hope you're ready to rule, baby boy. Daddy's days are numbered.”
Hours later, the four of us are on the back deck, drinking and chatting around the outdoor fireplace. After the dour afternoon and evening, the new, lighter mood is a welcome change. Merrick and I share a lounger, with her sitting in the space between my legs as we both nurse bottles of beer.
She seems to be feeling better, even joking earlier, when I came down with one of my hoodies for each of us, that she didn't know I owned such a thing, let alone two of them. It’s not quite her usual level of sass, but the spark reassures me it'll be back soon. I think all of us are feeling more sure after the “inaugural meeting of the Cataclysm Cadre,” as Len kept calling it. It's nice to feel like there's an end in sight after all these years, even if it's also the beginning of a whole new set of problems.
I don't want to be Charon. I don't want to learn why my father is the way he is, to feel any sort of empathy for him. I lost any and all desire for those things a long time ago. Apart from my own personal daddy issues, it’s even more concerning that I don't know the dynamics at play among the Council, like how much agency Alec actually has. Something keeps nagging at me that what looks like power and freedom to most is really just more chains, a collar and leash being held by some unknown master. The possibility is stressful enough on its own, but it’s not just me I have to worry about. Everyone sitting here right now would suffer the consequences of my actions to some degree, and I don’t know if I could bear that.
But the four of us agree that we can’t sit back and let this go on any longer. Roman and I haven’t made any significant progress in figuring out what’s happened to those missing people for years. It’s time to take the risk andhope it gets us somewhere. The first step in that plan has always been to eliminate Alec. Before he dies, though, there are some things that I need from him. I’m sure it makes me a bad son to hope he makes me take them from him the hard way. But at least I’d finally be living up to his expectations for once.
Len has been animatedly recounting various adventures from her and Merrick’s youth, much to my wife’s embarrassment. Apparently, Merrick has a terrible sense of direction and can’t navigate for shit, leading to some really interesting adventures. Ro, of course, is right there with Len, matching her story for story—usually at my expense—keeping the two of them engrossed while Merrick occasionally tosses out a comment or asks a question when appropriate, and I try not to sink too far into my brooding.
Several hours into the night, I notice Merrick’s no longer participating as actively in the conversation as she had been, that she’s leaning back into me more and more. My social battery ran out hours ago, so I pull her against my chest and whisper into her ear, “You tired, baby?”
She turns to look at me and nods slowly, sighing. “Yeah.” She looks exhausted, the glow from the fire digging deep shadows under her eyes.
I lean in and murmur over her lips, “You want to go to bed?”
Another nod, this one more eager than the last. “Please.”
Tapping her thigh to signal for her to get up, I interrupt Len and Ro’s conversation and tell them we’re going to bed. We all wish each other good night. Len reassures Merrick that she’ll get everything closed up before they also retire, and then I lead Merrick to our room.
I offer to let her get ready for bed first, and while she's in the bathroom, I let myself wander around the room she called hers before moving in with me. I took a cursory look around yesterday but didn’t really take the time to study the finerdetails, like the east-facing balcony she used to watch sunrises from and the moody gold-and-black decor.
Picking up a gilded picture frame off her dresser, I examine its contents. Frozen inside is a picture of three teenagers wearing black graduation gowns, caps in hand, and arms slung around each other's shoulders. Merrick's face is rounder than it is now, a little softer with youth. Her black hair is slightly disheveled from the cap, but she’s still as beautiful as ever. Len's in the middle, beaming at the camera. Ox completes the trio, with him and Merrick both looking at Len like she just said something incredibly inappropriate. His hair’s tied back in a knot like he usually wore it, but his face isn’t quite as filled out as it was when I knew him, his jawline not as square, and his frame a little leaner. My guess is this was their high school graduation, a few years before I met him. They’re all so carefree, their whole lives stretching before them still, unmarred by grief.
Replacing the frame, I move to the next one and find a picture of Merrick and her parents, recognizable from previous intel and because their daughter is a dead ringer for both of them. All three of them have the same dark, straight hair, but Charles Lockwood is starting to show a bit of gray around the temples, his green eyes a bright contrast to that deep, midnight blue I love to get lost in. His smile matches his daughter’s though. Most of the rest of Merrick’s features come from Margo—the high cheekbones, the shape of her nose and chin. All three of them are dressed in evening wear, but the background is the grand entryway of this house, like they paused for a photo on their way out the door to a fundraiser or gala.
The third frame doesn’t match the others—a shiny, simple black instead of the more ornate golds, but the frame isn’t the only deviation. The photograph inside is worn and creased, like it had an eventful life before finally landing behind glass. Like it’d been taken out over and over again to be touchedand looked at. Shoved in a pocket to keep close. It’s not hard to guess why either. Beneath the glass, beneath the creases and smoothed-out wrinkles, is a picture of Ox and Merrick. It’s a selfie based on the way Ox’s one arm is positioned, with the other wrapped around Merrick. One of her hands cups his jaw as they kiss, the morning light casting them in warmth. They feel so happy in this frozen moment, so at peace in a way I rarely ever saw my friend. “Oh. Len must’ve framed it.”
At my wife’s voice, I turn toward where she’s emerging from the bathroom. Her hair’s pulled up into a bun, her face freshly washed, but she still has my hoodie on.
And from what I can tell, nothing else.
My cock stirs at the sight, the primal beast inside my chest taking note of the simple way we’ve marked her as ours. The hem barely skims her thighs but covers her just enough to make it impossible to tell if she’s truly bare underneath, even as it moves while she pads over to me on bare feet. Wrapping her arms around one of mine, she leans her head against my bicep to look with me. “That one used to not be framed,” she explains. “I mean, it was at one point, but after Ox died, I took it out, and it never made it back into the frame. I gave it to Len the morning of our wedding for safekeeping, and she must’ve framed it and put it in here.”
I untangle my arm from hers so I can wrap her up in both of mine and rest my cheek against her temple. She still smells like the campfire we just came from, smoky and comforting. She faintly traces the two of them with a finger over the glass. “Tell me about this one,” I ask. It comes out more gravelly than I had intended, but if Merrick notices, she doesn’t acknowledge it.
“This was taken not long before he became a Ferryman, actually. Maybe about two months before? Honestly, I don’t remember much about taking it, other than it was a really good picture of the two of us. It was just a selfie, not taken tomark any sort of occasion or anything. Ox just held up his phone and told me to smile. This was my favorite out of what he got.”
I swallow, trying to clear the lump forming in my throat, and ask, “Why don’t you bring it back with you? Back home, I mean.”
I can feel her start to shake her head under my cheek. “I…” She pauses and considers. Then starts again slowly, “I didn’t bring it with me when I moved in for obvious reasons, but I hadn’t considered it now that things are different. I hadn’t really thought about it. It just seemed… almost disrespectful.”
“To who? Me or him?” I ask.
“You,” she replies quietly. Then louder, “It’d be bad enough to have a picture of my ex sitting next to my marital bed. Then when you consider that you’re kind of the reason why he’s my ex in the first place, it seemed rude.”
She turns around in my arms to face me, planting one hand on my jaw, much like she’s posed in the picture that’s still in my hand. Her eyes shine in the low light, the pupils almost indistinguishable from the irises, even from this close. “In a way, no matter what we do, Ox will always be between us. I used to hold onto that like a shield, like it would keep me from caring about you. Falling in love with you.” She smirks. “Obviously, that didn’t work. But he’s still there and such a big part of our history, but… I don’t want to hurt you.”
My free hand slides to her hip, not pulling her further into me, but increasing the points where we connect all the same. “Because you still love him?” She nods slowly, her eyes trained on mine. “Baby, I’m not intimidated by the fact that you love him. And I’m not trying to replace him in your heart. He was my friend too. I’ve mourned him in my own way, even though I felt guilty as fuck doing it. I want you to be able to talk about him to me, to reminisce when you’rehappy and seek comfort when you’re sad. He doesn’t have to be between us. He can just be a part of us.”
Her eyes are glossy with tears threatening to spill along her lower lash line. “You really mean that?” she asks.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re not jealous?”
That forces a smile to my face. “No, baby. I’m a possessive bastard, but as long as I have you, I don’t have a fucking thing to be jealous of anyone for.”
