“I used to sell,” he said. “I had no other choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I replied quietly, my bitchy tone evaporated by his honesty.
“Yeah. I guess there is. Survive or lie down and die. I chose. Not something I’m proud of.”
“Where’d you get all that money?”
His eyes met mine, and he seemed to be thinking over his response. The truth doesn’t need to be thought over, so I just rolled my eyes and looked out ahead to the tree line. I was growing bored of the half truths and judgments.
“You really aren’t going to let this go, are you?” he asked me.
I smiled because I knew he was going to cave. “Not a chance.”
“All right. My parents had money. Lots of money. I never wanted for anything. But then I had to move in with my grandpa here in Florida when I was thirteen.”
“Why did you have to move? Were you, like, a bad kid or something? Why wouldn’t they make sure you had money to live?”
“It’s your turn,” he said.
“My turn to what?”
“What’s your story? I know you’re not like these assholes, so spill it. How did you end up with Trish?”
I shrugged as I stared at the warped boards of the porch. “I moved here to be with my uncle. We’re practically strangers. My family never had money, but it’s better here.”
“Better how?”
“It’s your turn.”
He grinned and blew out a loud breath. “I wasn’t a bad kid.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to give me?”
“How long have you lived here?” he asked me. “If you didn’t just come here for sunshine and college, then why?” He leaned back on his elbows with a groan.
“About a year and because I had no choice.”
“We always have a choice, Lie,” he replied playfully, using my own words against me.
“I made the wrong ones, I guess, and now here I am.”
Abel flicked his cigarette into the yard as the sun began to peek out from behind the clouds.
“You’re not making any better ones here.” His eyebrow rose, and I lay back beside him on the porch as we stared up at the sky.
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” I smirked as I thought of having to explain that saying to Brock.
He laughed, and the boards below me vibrated. “Well, Kettle, I’m trying to make the right ones. It isn’t always that easy.”
“Nothing is ever easy, Pot.” We both laughed then fell silent. “How did you get that scar?” I asked him, as I propped myself up on my side, resting my weight on my elbow, my head in my hand. My eyes scanned the pink‐and‐white line across his ribs that marred his tanned skin.
“Boating accident.” His smile faded, and I waited for him to share more, but he didn’t. He reached up and tucked my hair behind my ear. “I thought your eyes were gray.”
“Fuck. My contacts. Did I take them out last night?”
He shrugged. “Brown suits you. It’s like…the earth.”
“You mean like dirt? Gee, thanks, Abel. I hate them. My mom used to say I was so full of shit that my eyes were brown.”
“She sounds fun.” He smiled.
“She wasn’t.” I rolled onto my back and squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears from falling.
“Shit, Lie. I’m sorry.” He was up on his side now, over me.
“Don’t be. I should get home.” I began to sit up, but Abel pushed my shoulder back down.
“Don’t do that. I’m not as big of an asshole as you think.”
“I don’t think you’re a big asshole.” I grabbed his arm and pretended to examine his muscles. “I mean…come on. Do you even lift, bro?” My words dripped with sarcasm, and he shook his head and tried to hide his smile.
“Tell me what’s going on with you and Brock.”
“What?” I was caught completely off guard. “I don’t want to talk about Brock, and it’s none of your business.”
“I held you for hours last night while you cried over him. The least you could do is tell me why.”
“I just miss him. That’s all.”
He shook his head. “Did he…hurt you?”
“Are you serious? No! Of course he didn’t hurt me. Brock would neverhurt me.”
“It’s just…if I loved someone, I wouldn’t be able to stay away from them.” His eyes locked on mine, and his gaze fell to my lips, causing me to lick them. As our eyes met again, I pushed him back so I could sit up, and he didn’t try to stop me this time.
“I really do need to get home.”