Page 69 of Beautiful Lies
We wandered out to the bay and I stopped in front of the ’69 Mustang Shelby convertible that Tate’s been working on for months. “Sweet ride,” I said, running my hand over the custom cherry-black paint job.
“Yeah. I was gonna sell her, but I haven’t found the right buyer.”
“You love her, and you can’t let her go.”
“I guess you’d know something about that.” He shook his head, looking at my face. Not so pretty in the light of day.
I worked my jaw. “My battle wounds.”
“Hurt?”
“Nah. I’ve had worse.” I followed him outside and leaned against the wall I’d painted a few months ago—a titan carrying the world on his shoulders with the name of Tate’s garage Atlas Motors. I puffed away on my electronic cigarette, the vapor disappearing almost as soon as it hit the air, and watched the traffic go by.
“You should try meditating,” Tate said.
I scoffed. “Meditating? Don’t tell me you’ve taken up yoga, too. Next you’ll be telling me you booked us a spa weekend.”
“Says the guy sucking on a pen.”
I took another unsatisfying drag of my fake cigarette and waited for a rush that never came. But still, I persevered. The definition of stupidity.
“Ava’s text stopped me from drinking that whiskey last night,” I said.
“You made the decision for yourself. Own it. And next time you get a craving, call me.”
“Will you talk me through some phone meditation?”
He snorted. We continued watching the traffic while I vaped and drank my strong coffee. I tipped my head back to catch the early morning sun on my face and tried to convince myself that everything would be okay.
18
Ava
My dad was going to be okay. That was the main thing.
“Stop fussing over me,” he grumbled as my mom hovered. She wouldn’t let him move a muscle and lying around on the sofa, being waited on hand and foot, was not his idea of a good time. He was desperate to get out of the house, back to work and back to a normal life. If it was up to my mom, he’d be retired by now. She kept leaving stacks of glossy travel brochures on the coffee table, within easy reach, but he barely glanced at them.
Tuesday morning, and I couldn’t get out of this house fast enough. I hadn’t intended to stay so long, but my mom had guilted me into it.“Your father could have died. The least you can do is spend quality time with him.”
Quality time had consisted of my dad reading the newspaper and watching TV while I updated the bar’s social media, texted back and forth with Eden, the guys at work, and Connor. When my mom hadn’t been hovering around my dad, she’d taken me aside for plenty of heart-to-hearts about Connor. Lana, as usual, had sided with my mom.
“Dad just had a heart attack,” I told my mom. “Can you drop this, already? What I do with my life is my business. Who I choose to spend my time with is my choice.”
My mom pursed her lips. “That boy will only break your heart again, Ava. Mark my words. But if that’s what you want, then be my guest.” She jutted out her chin. “Go ahead and choose him. See where that gets you.”
I checked my phone as a text came through from Connor.
CONNOR:I’m here
I didn’t need to ask where ‘here’ was. We’d met on the same street corner all through high school. How sad that we were twenty-four and still sneaking around. I jumped up from the faded floral chair in the living room and shouldered by purse, texting a reply as I crossed the room to the sofa.
AVA:Be right out
I hugged my dad goodbye. “Love you, Dad. You’ll be up and around in no time.”
“Not if your mother has anything to say about it,” he grumbled.
I patted him on the shoulder in commiseration. Sometimes I wished he’d fight back, instead of going along to keep the peace. My dad hated confrontation, of any kind, and avoided it whenever possible. Maybe holding all that frustration and bottled feelings inside was what had caused his heart attack. “Love you too,” he said gruffly, safely hidden behind his newspaper.
