Page 193 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
I unraveled the package, doing my damnedest not to shake at his attention. So much pressure. The familiar steps came to me in an instant. I twisted the pentalobe screws, taped the display, and used the suction to remove the current screen.
Nash never moved his eyes from me during the process. When I finished, I handed him the phone, muttering magic words for good luck. He plugged it into the lightning cable. It took a few minutes, but thank Starless Skies, it turned on.
His fingers toyed with a few buttons. He opened the Photos app first. Pulling up a family album, his thumb raced down the screen until it came to a section of a picnic. He handed the phone to me.
I scrolled through. A lump bubbled in my throat with each passing picture. “Reed told me about the picnic. Your mom’s packed food rotted during the hot car ride.”
“We ended up splurging on fast food we couldn't afford.” Nash laid back on the comforters and watched me savor his memories. “Reed and I agreed to pretend we were okay. Ma and Dad pretended they were okay. A lot of fucking pretending going on.”
“I can’t tell. Everyone looks happy.”
“We were. Eventually. Fuck, I’m glad we had that day,” Nash said, but his eyes carried ghosts. The kind that looked real enough to touch. The kind that couldn’t be silenced by anything.
I returned his phone, telling him about the time Hank caught me talking to one of our neighbor’s cows. It struck me that this might have been the only time he’d truly talked about his dad since his death.
We stayed up all night, recalling our favorite memories of Hank.
By the time we fell asleep, I’d planted flowers in Nash’s graveyard of haunted memories.
Wilted ones, because those were me.
And he watered them with stormwater, because that was him.
“It’s my birthday. Ask me what I want.” Emery wiggled into her jeans, buttoning them.
Don’t ask me what Gideon said again.
Every time I skirted the subject or shrugged her off, I felt like a dickhead—or the liar her parents turned out to be.
I downed half my Gatorade and returned the bottle to the fridge. “You want me to ask you what you want for the day you, yourself, claim is meaningless?”
“I called birthdays a lie, said people aren’t special, and told you days of birth shouldn’t be celebrated, but I never said they’re meaningless.”
She tossed the lunch bag into the recycling bin and hid the note I’d written her in the Jana Sport when she thought I wasn't looking.
I always look, Tiger.
“Semantics.”
“Sure.” She tipped a shoulder up, giving me the stare you’d give a D-student when he claimed he earned an A. Sure, you did, Little Timothy. I believe you. “Maybe you should get your Insta Cart shopper to pick up some B12 vitamins with your next order. Your brain could use the boost.”
“A convenient memory, considering you're staring at me like you want something.”
“I often stare at you like I want something.” She lifted a brow, making it clear what that something was.
Not like I asked for these fucking blue balls.
I wanted her, craved every goddamn inch. But sex with Emery would only make things worse when—not if, but fucking when—she learned the lie I kept from her. Worse, if I saw her vulnerability and had sex with her anyway, I’d be just as bad as her shitty parents.
So, I turned down her advances.
Every. Goddamn. Time.
She waited for my answer. After it didn’t come, she collected a towel from the closet, stuffed it into the Jana Sport, and left.
Dramatic, this one.
Following her, I reached the elevator and stepped in beside her.
