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Perfect Lie(62)

By:Teresa Mummert


“That all you got, slugger?” Abel winked as he switched positions with me. “This is for…Becca.” He swung, knocking a basketball‐size hole in the wall. Panting with exhaustion, he dropped the sledgehammer at his side.

“You brought up Becca to James. Who was she?” I asked, as I tucked my damp hair behind my ear.

“That’s not how this game works, Kettle.” He scratched the back of his head as he released a frustrated sigh. “Becca was my girlfriend. She’s the reason I gave up selling. What I had that night I met you…and what was in the car—that was the last of it. I was telling you the truth.”

“She didn’t approve?”

“It’s not exactly an honorable profession. I’d finally gotten my inheritance, and there was no reason anymore. Becca was on my case about stopping.” He nodded, and his hand ran over his jaw. “She trusted me.” He picked up the hammer and swung at the wall, connecting with a grunt. “She shouldn’t have.”

I stared at him as his eyes dropped to the floor. “You’re not a bad guy, Abel.”

“Not a good guy either, Lie.”

“You…want to talk about it?” I grabbed the jug of water and held it out for him. He nodded a thanks and took a drink.

“Not much to say. Boy meets girl. Boy lies and loses the only person who gave a damn about him.” He smiled sadly. “One night we went to bed, and while I slept, she went through my phone. The next morning I woke up alone in bed.” He tapped the head of the sledgehammer against the floor like he was debating whether to finish his story. “I found James and Becca practically fucking in the spare bedroom. She was fucked up out of her mind. She did it to get back at me.” He shrugged, and I saw him fight back the sadness.

“Why would you blame yourself for that?” I took a step toward him, and his gaze met mine, stopping me.

“I promised her I’d go straight, and I lied. The fucked‐up part was that I didn’t need to do it anymore. I became addicted to being needed, ya know? I grew up in the in‐crowd, and after being on the outside for many years, I didn’t want to step away from it again. I lost it—I beat the hell out of James. Becca never talked to me again.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. It was a shitty night.” He smirked, but I knew he was hurting. “You should choose your friends more wisely, Kettle.”

I rolled my eyes as I stepped next to him and nudged him with my hip. “Who said we were friends?” I joked, as I looked over my shoulder to make sure he was out of the way.

“Funny girl.”

I lifted my hammer to take aim at the wall. I was grateful Abel had opened up to me, but I wasn’t sure I could do the same. “I think I’m too tired to do this again,” I said.

“You want to take a shower? Get out of the wet clothes?”

“If that’s some lame attempt to get me naked, it’s not going to work.”

“Suit yourself. I’m going to make something to eat. Bathroom is upstairs, and you’re welcome to anything in my dresser.” He propped his hammer against the wall and walked out of the room. I felt like a jerk for not sharing anything more with him, but I couldn’t form the words.

I made my way upstairs and into his bedroom. I grabbed some clothes from his dresser, a large gray T‐shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs. Under the clothes was a tattered picture, and I pulled it out to look at a young Abel with his parents. His mother was smiling, with her arm over his shoulder. His father stood on the other side of her, his arm around her waist. I heard a noise from downstairs and slid the picture back where I’d found it and tiptoed from the room and into the bathroom.

I stripped off my damp clothes and put them in a pile by the door. I made the shower as hot as possible and stepped under the water. I hated how easy it was for Abel to let me in, and I was unable to do the same. I knew it pained him to talk about his past, but he was willing to do it just to make me feel better. I washed away the memories of my past and quickly dressed.

As I slipped down the steps, I caught sight of Abel, his shirtless back to me in the kitchen.

“What ya making?” I asked, as he spun around and shot me a lopsided grin.

“Well, it’s no spaghetti, but raviolis are always a favorite.” He held up a can, and I shook my head as I walked into the kitchen and sat at the island.

“You have horrible eating habits,” I joked, as he slid a bowl in front of me.

“Yeah, well…that’s a fact. I’m gonna take a quick shower. Hope you saved me some hot water.” His hand fell on my shoulder as he walked around me, and I grimaced, knowing there was none left. A few minutes later, Abel came downstairs with my damp clothes. Then I heard a dryer begin to run before he disappeared up the steps again.