Page 79 of Beautiful Lies
“I was just… is Connor here?”
“Left about five minutes ago.”
“Okay… well, it was good seeing you.”
“Hang on,” he said, drying his hands on a dish towel. “I’ll give you a lift.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to, but I’m gonna.” He pointed a finger at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”
I nodded and waited for Tate, staying out of the way of the volunteers cleaning up the kitchen.
Two minutes later, Tate was back with his coat. I followed him outside and down the block to a black pick-up truck that said Atlas Motors on the side, with an address and phone number advertising his business. “Good thing I brought the truck today,” he said, unlocking the doors. “I don’t have a spare helmet.”
I climbed into the truck and belted up, huddling into my seat as he pulled away, classic rock music playing on his stereo.
“Connor’s doing really well, isn’t he?” I asked Tate, trying to fill up the silence even though Tate didn’t seem bothered by it.
“Yep. Proud of him.”
We settled into silence again and I resigned myself to a quiet trip.
“You love him?” Tate asked a few minutes later, catching me by surprise.
“Yes, I do.”
“You’re willing to stand by him? Not go running off when things get tough?”
I considered his questions and tried not to get offended by them. It was obvious that Tate really cared about Connor and he had his back. He’d been there for Connor when nobody else had been. “I just walked out on my family’s Thanksgiving because they don’t support my relationship with Connor. They never liked him, and they never wanted us to be together.”
“Huh. You don’t say. But you didn’t answer the questions.”
“No. I guess I didn’t.” I mulled it over for a minute. Tate felt the need to protect Connor from me. That hurt. But maybe it was justified. I’d always thought that Connor was the one who ran away when things got tough but maybe, all along, it had been me. “We’re on our way to something good and I don’t want to lose him again.”
Tate nodded, pleased with my answer, maybe. I didn’t know him well enough to decipher his gestures. He pulled up in front of Connor’s place and put the truck in park. “Thanks for the ride,” I said, hopping out of the truck.
“You got it.”
I pounded on Connor’s door with the side of my fist, hoping he could hear me upstairs. A doorbell would be handy. I waited, my ear pressed against the door, listening for sounds on the other side. Then I heard his footsteps on the stairs. “Who is it?” he asked, his voice low and steely, and not sounding like him.
“It’s me. Ava.”
He undid the locks and opened the door, dressed in jeans, shirtless and barefoot. “Hey,” I said. “Surprise.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked, looking over my shoulder. Tate gave a thumbs-up before he pulled away, and I returned my attention to Connor.
“Are you going to let me in?”
He opened the door wide and if I didn’t know better, I’d think I caught him with another girl. I slipped past him and he closed the door, doing up the locks, his back turned to me. I stared at the gun tucked in his back waistband.A gun.
“Connor…”
He gestured with his hand that I should go ahead of him. I walked up the stairs and took off my coat, setting it on a chair with my overnight bag. Connor disappeared into his bedroom and I heard a drawer opening and closing. He returned to the living room, running a hand through his hair. “I was about to take a shower…”
“Why did you answer the door with a gun?”
“You need to text me or call me if you’re coming over.”
